#I mean he has to survive on his own in winter so | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hwan-g · 2 months ago

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( 𝑻𝑬𝑬𝑻𝑯 ) ୧ ⠁

ೀㅤ۪ pairing. biker/drug dealer! chris x fem! reader : genre. age gap, dark romance, angst, smut : warnings. read at your own risk — mdni ! use of pet names, smoking, explicit sexual content, possessiveness, obsession, severe anger issues, violence, flawed characters that make mistakes : word count. 10.1k

ೀㅤ۪ synopsis. he was born with a gun in his hand, a ticking time bomb in his head. it’s been counting down since, the brain has festered into a landmine, a battlefield. no. peace is a foreign word. reserved only for you.

PROLOGUE.

You cannot begin telling this story if you don’t first punch your own mouth. His gun, safety off, shiny and awful in the dead of night, the barrel of it pointing at your temple, a patient irony. It’s three in the morning and the red bleeding is sweet, oh so sweet.

There’s no love without violence, sweetheart, and did you know? He loves you so much, he’ll kill you. He loves you so much, you’re calling for help. Of course, it cannot be your voice, and if he gives you another chance, you’ll say everything differently this time around like—this bed is where he fucked me slow and rough, I think he was trying to bury some part of himself in me, and here, you see, the sheets smell just like his cigarettes, and this, here, is where he brushed my hair, just like this, so careful, but never mind the cracks in the mirror, the shattering is always the same, it has nothing to do with me, everything to do with him.

You hear his voice in your head all the time, haunting, your dutiful ghost; he’s there when you sleep, he’s there when you wake up, a nightmare concealed as a daydream, and you want him to do his worst, you want it to hurt, to scar, to be a permanent mark, because it’d mean you’d loved him; that love has been here and it was ugly and terrifying, and you survived it, even if you could never survive him.

Upstairs, the bed is unmade, stained with wine and your climax. Chris is gentle in all the ways he is not, which is to say he kisses you with teeth, he holds you with fists. You saw him on a black motorcycle once, an impressionable girl in a dark place, lost, searching for purpose, and he looked like a knight in shining armor, he looked like hell and heaven combined, a savior and captor, and you’d wished to crawl inside, to make a home out of him. You’d smiled and waited, you've always waited, you always will.

When he came, he was so cruel, he burned brighter than fire—you believed in him; after all, how can a man be so consumed by flame and not put his own hands around his neck, not succumb to his charcoal painted flesh? You were a fool, and he saw it, and you paid the price for it. He wants to keep you forever now, he’s never going to let you go, do you understand that? Why, why, why did you go ahead and do that?

For what? A scrap of metal heart and a ribcage, bone and muscle?

What about your own heart?

What about the eternal winter residing when he's not there?

ACT ONE: before.

He smiles and the world expands. His face blooms into a thousand different shades; the pink of his mouth curving, the red of his cheeks rounding, the dark of his brow straightening. A stop motion picture, the beginning of autumn, the turn of the leaves, the crisp air replacing warm winds.

His fingers weave through yours, interlocking, thumb running down index, mouth a breath over yours, so close he could graze your lips if he wanted to. You look between you, noses touching, then back to brown so deep you imagine raw honey gliding, real amber in the face of the sun.

Chris. You whisper his name in your head. It sounds like a secret. Your best kept one. Chris, Chris, Chris . . .

There’s blood on his shirt underneath the leather jacket. There’s a loaded gun on his belt strap, a knife tucked in his boot, a razor engraved on the ring he wears, and he’s not so careful with it, and you don’t think you want him to be. You assume it’s normal to want this—if his blood mixes with yours, well, isn’t that enough to take you with him? Isn’t that almost a wedding ceremony, isn’t that almost a declaration of war?

Do you think I’m crazy, you think to yourself. Do you think I’m crazy, would you want me if I am, would you want me, do you want me? You don’t dare say it out loud, but he’s staring at you as if he could eat your face raw—a demon, a demon—and shove the rest of you in the deep freezer, so you decide to bite him instead. You get on your tippy toes and nuzzle into his neck, biting the soft flesh underneath his earlobe.

He doesn’t exclaim, not a hiss, not a gasp, not even the slightest of inhales. He withstands the pain you inflict him, and you feel his desire digging into the inside of your thigh. His arms reach out around you, pulling you to him in that all-encompassing way, and you’re left to witness what can only be the slow consumption of your beating heart. His bike groans under the sudden weight, but he’s got you. You don’t think, then, of what that entails.

��(Y/N).”

The night sky comes into focus, all dark indigo, starless, and the streetlights flicker bright, sounding the late hour. The light never seems to go anywhere near you two, it refuses, it hesitates, and back then you found it all so mysterious and exciting, ignoring the warning bells, swallowing down the instinct of danger, danger, danger.

“Yes?”

Your eyes fall shut at having his rough palm grabbing hold of your face, thumb tilting your head upwards to meet his sizzling gaze. You hold onto his wrist for support, your body floating, mourning the loss of his body heat against the biting cold. He notices this, and moves to shrug off his huge jacket, wearing it over your shoulders in one swift move.

“What will I do with you?” It’s a plea. A threat. Both.

Chris looks down at you, and the earth shakes to its core. He looks down at you, and you don’t want to be alone anymore. You want this, this, this, every day, all the time, forever. You wish to wake up in bed next to him and know he’s yours, wake up and not wish for some other dream so you can find him again. To be awake and want to be awake.

His big hands caress your face, sink into your hair. He stares at you intently, as if he’s holding back from saying whatever’s turning over and over in his head. It can switch so fast, that look, faster than you can blink, a clipped temper, a quick anger.

You’ve only seen it once, and you’d been quickly turned away. He’s got people watching everywhere, he’s been haunted by darkness and shadows long before you served him that drink in The Bloody Muse. You almost forget about returning to your shift, time slipping away, responsibilities fading whenever you’re near him.

Seungmin will be missing you, Felix will be looking for his good luck charm before he goes on stage. Midnight means you return from dreamland. Still, you have a couple of minutes left. Enough to hear the gunshot, enough to panic and let out a scream and have Chris slap a hand over your mouth, willing you with his gaze to calm the fuck down.

You breathe hard, stiff with fear. He appears perfectly composed, relaxed even. It’s then you realize who he is and what he does, and how this is probably his or his club’s doing. There’s misdirected anger in you ricocheting on all corners. You want to bite his fingers, you want to demand an explanation. You work here, dammit, and he’s kept his bullets away from this place so far, for what you thought was your sake.

Chris was a handsome hypocrite, a skilled liar.

“It’s not what you think,” he says simply, removing his palm from your mouth, shaking his wrist off. “Don’t overreact.”

All of his previous warmth disappeared, instead, the cold, menacing man you know very little of and have never dealt with taking its place. You understand he has to be this way, but you hate that he has to act like this with you too. Because of your reaction. Because you couldn’t keep your cool.

Silly girl.

“What is it, then?” A naive question, so many untrue answers he could give you.

He passes a finger over the cut on your cheek. The cut he gave you. You lean into his touch, desperate for anything, hungry, starving, even. You don’t want him to leave, but he won’t stay. You hate, hate, fucking hate this part.

“Something that needed to be taken care of,” he chooses the words carefully, you can tell, and you decide that, if he wants you to stay in the dark, you will. You have to.

You love him.

“Someone,” you correct, quietly.

Chris smiles, mouth curving, and his hand moves to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is tender, affectionate. Something inside you cracks and caves, it melts. You would withstand too, you think then. You would deal with anything, put up with everything, for that single touch. For that one single look.

“Someone,” he echoes, his own voice smooth blue velvet, an overture. “You should get inside.”

A sharp pang of bitterness in your chest. “I should?” Because I questioned you?

He drops his hand, and brings his arms over his broad chest, crossing them there. Closed off and done for the night. You unconsciously take a step back, hurt from the sudden change, whiplashed and upset.

“If you don’t want to be late,” he states matter-of-factly, but he says it in this kind of open tone, a mere suggestion rather than a complete dismissal. Yes. “Don’t look at me with those damned eyes, sweetheart, what can I do against them?”

You wipe at your cheeks, and try to fix the mess, try to smooth over, to make right again. “I’m not, I’m sorry.”

“Come here.” A command.

You go like a kicked puppy, your leash short, your loyalty unshaken, despite the scolding. He reaches out and slams you to his chest, a hand pressing the back of your head there, and you inhale him, all of him, memorizing his scent, trying to hold on to whatever parts of him you can in case he decides to never come back for you again. It’s pathetic and it’s pitiful, but this is what you know. This is all you know.

“You’re my girl, you know that?” He mumbles in your hair, his breath hot on your scalp. You lean into him, wrapping your arms around him, and almost cry yourself dry from the prospect of ever losing him.

You’d die. You’d die, it’s entirely unthinkable. It’s the worst pain imaginable.

“You’re my girl, baby. I’d never let anything happen to you. Do you believe me?”

You nod your head yes. He squeezes you against him tighter. You feel so safe, then, the safest you ever have. Of course you believe him. You’d believe his every word, you’d follow him into anything, blindly, willingly. You want to please him. To make him happy.

He grabs a fistful of your hair, suddenly and pulls you back to look at him. His eyes are manic, black. “I need your words, (Y/N). Do you believe me?”

“Yes. Yes,” you yelp, your mouth falling open from the sting.

In your stomach, something lights on fire. You rub your legs together, trying to relieve it. He glances down between you, curses.

You started it.

The descend.

It was your fault.

He’d never touched you so savagely before that night, he’d never shown the same need you had. That he could want you the same way you do. . .You felt so giddy you could squeal, so happy you would gladly reduce yourself to schoolgirl-and-her-stupid-little-fantasies.

“Is this fucking getting you wet?” And he pulls harder, tilting your head all the way. His tongue comes out to lick from the base of your neck all the way up to your lips. You’re on fire, you’re on fire! You moan hoarsely and try to keep your footing. “You like me being rough with you, sweetheart?”

You’re too embarrassed to respond. So, you guide his hand under your skirt. Chris curses again, more lewdly this time, nasty things, words you’ve never heard him say before. Oh, this fucking cunt, fuck me . . . So goddamn wet, baby girl, I bet it tastes so sweet. Will you let me? Will you let me have a taste right here?

“I— I have to go back, I’m—” but his fingers are already dipping into your underwear, his palm cupping your burning sex.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he growls into your ear. “You hear me?”

You jump, and look around, paranoid. He grabs your face and forces your eyes back on him. He’s got that crazed look again, the one that lets you know he’ll stop at nothing to have this. Out here, in the open. And he’ll fucking make it worth it. You succumb, too flushed, too bothered, unbecoming in his arms, as he backtracks you into the wall next to the exit door, and gets on his knees, tugging your undergarments down with both hands, hooking your leg over his shoulder.

Your fingers dig into his hair, dark eyes staring up at you. In your mercy, kneeling in front of you. Do you love me? Is this you, saying it? Is this your way of showing it? You caress the soft strands, staring back, overwhelmed. The beginning of the end for you. You’ll never escape him after this. He’d never accept it. You’d never survive it.

When his face gets lost in between your legs, you almost collapse, your entire body shaking with the forceful need to come. He licks and laps and sucks your clit into his mouth, and it’s too much, it’s fucking unbearable, it’s incredible, it’s so much, it’s everything, you want more, you want him to stop, more more more, oh my God, please, please—you’re being so loud there’s no way they haven’t heard that, that Seungmin hasn’t, he’s really only around the corner, and what about everyone else, oh God, oh God, you’re close, you’re so fucking close, if he could just—oh, fuck yes, fuck yes . . .

Chris pulls away, his lower face glistening with your juices. You whine at the loss of contact, your pussy clenching around nothing, aching.

“Don’t fucking come,” and he’s getting up, he’s unzipping his pants, and you’re eager to help, you’re eager to reach inside and grab him, free him. “I have to get inside you, baby.”

His cock is standing rock hard, angry. He wraps one hand around your neck, and the other slides over his length once, twice, you’re so entranced you can’t look away; he’s so big, he’s so erect, and you want him so fucking much, you’d do anything right then, you’d be anything.

He turns you around, and you barely have time to get a good grip on the wall, before he’s entering you with one long, violent thrust. You scream out, pressing your temple on the cool brick, allowing him to take whatever he needs. His fingers squeeze around your neck, tighter and tighter still, until all you see is stars, until all you feel is him slamming into you, his hot body over yours, your mixed moans of pleasure.

I could come to this image forever . . . Look at this fucking ass, you beautiful fucking girl, I never want to stop . . . fucking tear you apart, lay inside you . . . Taking cock so well, made for me, made for me, made for this . . .

His movements turned sloppy and primal, reaching the end, and you, forever following him, forever after him. He was no more than beast, pistoling into you with vigor, all animal, your sides bruised from the way he was holding onto you, but you loved it, you wished he’d never stop, exploding into a million pieces, coming apart under him in vibrant streaks of color and tears. His head dropped on your lower back, whispering there she is, there you go, sweetheart, there you are, my baby, as he gave one, two, three final thrusts, before reaching down and removing himself from your soaking cunt, flipping you around, and forcing you on your knees, his cock in his hand, on the verge of climax.

You open your mouth wide, and he shoves in, fucking into it no more than three seconds before you feel his cum hit the back of your throat, warm and salty.

“You fucking vex me, woman. Look at the sight of you.”

You breathe through your nose slowly, as he grabs your face and makes sure you swallow, fingers rough, before pulling out at once, tucking his softening length back in his jeans, and lifting you up by the waist.

He fixes your skirt over your ass, and smoothes over the edges, making sure no indecent part of you shows. When you catch his eye, he winks at you. You bubble over like a soda can, spilling everywhere, and he chuckles low and raspy, before reaching for your hand and pulling you flush against him, trailing kisses on your shoulder, your knuckles, your cheeks, your brow.

This is the Chris that looks at you and sees you. The one you love, the one you miss the most when he’s gone. This Chris comes out only when you’re alone, when he’s forgotten what else there is, what he has to do after you go back to the club. For now, he loves you, no violence, no hunger.

You almost weep at the sight of him.

“I’ll talk to your boss,” he murmurs, pecking your lips over and over.

You giggle, and he twirls you once, your arms extending as you try to go towards the door. He pulls you back in at the last minute, handsome, glowing, smiling.

“I haven’t lied to you,” he says, and half of you doesn’t miss the solemn way in which he says it. “I won’t let anyone touch you. Ever.”

You pause for a split second, still remaining in the post bliss of your orgasm, but then you’re moving again, slipping from his grasp, heading back to your drinks and suggestive conversations.

“I wouldn’t want to be touched by anyone else, Chris,” you retort, blowing him a kiss, and disappearing through the big black door, letting it close behind you.

You don’t see the way you leave him standing there, how he closes his eyes and has to breathe through the loss of you; how he drags his feet to go pick up his jacket from the floor. How he inhales your sweet smell, and instantly wants you back, a corpse in his arms that can’t go nowhere.

The corruption began when you told him your name. It invaded his bloodstream and blackened his mind.

He’d rather kill you than have you walk away from him like that.

ACT TWO: in the midst.

Chris fucks you with the purpose of possessing you.

There’s not a minute of peace when you are with him, he envelops all senses, he erases all other thoughts, until all you know is him, his touch, his cock. Months into sharing a bedroom, and coming apart underneath him every night, he’s never once mentioned that incident, the first one.

He’s never apologized for how he treated you, never brought it up. But he’s never once treated you the same since. Now that you live together, he gets to call all the shots, know your exact whereabouts, control what you wear, what you eat, how you come, how many times—he’s fucked you in places you never thought possible. He’s fucked you in front of people, shamelessly; on the banister, in the pool, on the kitchen counter and the office. Against walls and on the hood of his car, parked in the garage, Changbin, the road captain, working on his bike not a few steps away.

No one ever said anything to you, tried anything. They didn’t have a death wish, or they respected Chris too much. His influence was a testimony to his abilities. No one questioned him, but everyone obeyed him. They treated you like one of their own, they protected you when their sergeant would leave the house.

Other things—the shitload of drugs hidden in every trinket, every crevice, places you’d never think to check, and the meticulous way they deliver said product, how the trucks come in the middle of night, motorcycles deconstructed, filled to the brim with cocaine and sent to wherever, distributed to whatever unfortunate person. Chris never touched the trucks, you never saw him near them.

That was Minho’s job.

You spent entire days in bed after the deliveries, fucking, improvising stories of hunters and angels falling in love, how the hunter is always attracted to the angel’s light, how the angel forgives the hunter for his nature, and willingly dies by his axe. Chris bathes you and washes your hair with lavender, then carries you over to the vanity and brushes the strands with such care, you think he’s always loved you, in every life. That, perhaps, he was born loving you, and that this was predetermined; inescapable, inevitable.

He doesn’t sleep. He spends hours making love to you, feeding you; he works for even longer, meetings with the president, meetings with the suppliers, mountains of paperwork that you see him burn afterwards in the fireplace downstairs. If he does close his eyes, it’s flitting, twenty minutes here, an hour there; after he comes down from the high of being buried inside you, after a shower, at night as he watches you sleep, you pretend to close your eyes and feel him get comfortable on your stomach, his lips kissing any spot of naked skin he can find. When he does drift off, you lift your head and observe a man such as Chris Bahng sleep, how he does it, so unaware and off guard, so unlike his usual self.

It’s endearing. You love him the most when you find him in those positions, so peaceful, and a part of you thinks, ashamed—at least no one is dying by his hand tonight. His soul is something you think about a lot, the wretched, poisoned thing, paying for his actions. You asked him once; what keeps him up, why is he so unable to fall asleep?

“Nightmares,” he mumbled against your neck, teasing the sensitive flesh there. “Every time I close my eyes . . . someone is waiting for me. It’s always different, but they always end up dead. Everyone I care about— you. When you’re in my dreams, I can’t stand it. I’m always the one holding the gun. You’re always falling, or— fucking . . . walking away from me. When I wake up, I always check if you’re next to me,” his hand travels to yours, interlocking your fingers. He avoids your gaze. “If you’re not, it’s . . . it gets hard to breathe. I think I’ve killed you, that I’ve finally fucking lost it and, and done it, and the walls close in around me . . . Christ, I sound fucking insane.”

It’s difficult for you to say anything after that, so you slowly make your descend at the foot of the bed, making sure to kiss every inch of him, to let him know you’re right there, that he’ll never lose you, that the day it’ll come to that you’d rather he does kill you, that he does make that decision for you, because you’d have clearly gone mad; you cannot see yourself beyond him, cannot see a future where he’s not there, even as a fixture, even as someone who’s loved you once, a very long time ago. A friend, a lover, it’s all the same, and it’s all him, and you’ll always get whatever version of him you can.

You know you sound crazy, and maybe you are, maybe you deserve each other in that way, but it’s irrelevant to this story. This is not for the faint of heart—loving someone like him does not come easy, it’s not one of those ridiculous words—fate or destiny—or anything simple like that; loving him is hard fucking work, it’s torment and agony, it’s excruciating, and it’s a choice you make every single day, because you need it to live. An addiction, perhaps, though you’ve never been an addict.

You know this is how it feels. The needle in the vein. The snow on your nose. The smoke in your lungs. The burning, the boiling. This is it. When you take his cock in your mouth, when you hear that broken gasp fall from his lips, the familiar groan, the guttural sounds from the back of his throat, and how he grabs the back of your head, forcing you down to the hilt of him; when you’re so full you might as well inhale him entirely, become part of his crotch, his most private part, the one he keeps to himself—you think this is what it’s like to wait on someone’s steps, a beggar, a desperate girl giving her heart on a silver platter for the one in the house, the one holding the reins.

Chris is kind and generous. He opens the door, he allows you to come inside. There’s light and warmth here, but there’s also shadows in the corners, there’s locked doors and no one else around. It’s a lonely house, but he’s right there, all you need, all you’ll ever need. He welcomes you with open arms.

You get lost in the labyrinth of him.

“What the fuck was I doing before you, sweetheart? Who was I, who was I without this fucking mouth, fucking hell, baby . . .”

It’s a savage act, some would call it cannibalism, but it’s only been known as love to you. Your insides are aflame, roasting a pretty crackling orange, when he finally comes on your tongue, his hips lifting, eyes shut tight, your head in his big hands, keeping you there, making sure you’re swallowing every last drop. You do. You do. You‘re licking circles around the shiny, swollen tip one moment, and he’s got you bouncing on it the next, manhandling your ass, facing you away from him, wrapping muscular arms around your waist, ravaging your back with his teeth, biting and soothing, putting out the forest fires himself, braving the danger.

A devouring hunger. Stripped to its most primal state. Everything within you is jumping. No one talks about this—screwing for the sake of the flesh. You need to come, and keep coming, and he does too. There’s no other thought, no other reason. He’d mount you if he could, knot in you for hours, pump you full of his seed. If this is the way it’s meant to be, then let it be. Let him fuck you until he’s satiated. Let him fuck you into your last dying breath.

But his words. You want those for yourself. He whispers them in your ears, his mouth everywhere, the hotness of his breath, the raspiness of his voice—just as lost as you. This is how you need him.

“This cunt is mine, fucking mine, mine . . . Say it,” he drills into you, skin slapping on skin, sweat like water, and your tears, so uncontrollable, so many— “Say it, damn you.”

“Yours,” you comply, your arm reaching out to wrap around his neck. He kisses your shoulder, he bites, he marks. “All of me. Forever.”

“Swear it. Don’t ever leave me.”

“No . . . no . . .” You moan loudly as he reaches deep inside, to spots that make you see stars.

He shoves your face in the mattress, and gets on top of you, pistoling his length into you, hard and fast, chasing after the high he craves. You cry out and take it. The pain is so intense, bleeding into pleasure, overwhelming your body. You can’t feel your own heartbeat anymore, only Chris, only his pounding.

“Such a goddamn slut. Look at you,” he slaps your ass once, “fucking look at you,” twice, three times, four. You sob into the sheets, grab onto them. He’s relentless, he’s so close, you’re so close— “Why are you crying, huh?” He pulls you by the hair hard, lifting your head. You gulp down air, you’re glutinous, deprived. “Did you need my cock that bad? Have I not fucked your needy little hole enough?”

“You have, you have, please . . .”

Let go for me, sweetheart, fuck, you feel so fucking good . . . Never get tired of this pussy, taking me so well, baby, so fucking well, come on, one more, one more, that’s it . . .

Coming felt like the gates of heaven liquifying inside you. Your orgasm tore through you so savagely, you forgot how to breathe for several moments, your limbs unresponsive and extremely sore. Only thing you could do was convulse under Chris’ massive body, and let him ride his own, his nails digging into raw flesh, voice groggy and incredibly deep after three rounds of sex.

“Did I hurt you? Did I hurt you, baby?”

You hadn’t realized you were still crying ugly, terrible sobs. You immediately missed the weight of him as he got off you at once and flipped you on your back, panic-stricken honey eyes searching your face, your chest, any part of you he might’ve harmed.

“Where does it hurt? What have I done?” He kisses your temple, your eyes, he tastes your tears. He’s so worried you almost feel guilty for not responding. “(Y/N), I need you to tell me, sweetheart, I can’t see it, I can’t—is it your—”

“I’m fine,” you pacify him, placing your hands on either side of his face. You’re still breathing abnormally fast, but so is he. The room is spinning. “You didn’t hurt me anywhere, I’m fine, Chris.”

“But if you were, you’d tell me, yeah?”

He was so handsome, so handsome when he loved you.

“I would.”

His gaze was piercing, honeycomb giving way to molasses. His hands were trailing off again, doing their own thing, what they knew best; how to please you. His thumb on your clit, rubbing soft circles, your creamy entrance making lewd sounds that had the man over you growing impossibly hard again.

“And what about this?” A warm, tingly sensation grew low in your belly. “Does this hurt?”

You trap his hand with your thighs, and he smiles. You smile back.

“Maybe a little,” you lie, stretching.

He doesn’t let up. His fingers slip inside again, his other hand moving on himself, veiny and sure. Chris masturbating to the sight of getting you off is perhaps the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. Your body is a tool he’s acquainted well with, and has made his sole expertise. So many hours on this bed, learning each other naked.

“Your cunt says something else,” he smirks, pumping his fist over his girth slowly, deliberately, growling low in the process, making you wetter, making you want, want, want. A chain of chemical reactions, you’ve become. “I wanna eat you out, (Y/N), you think you’ll be able to handle that?”

Yes. Yes, yes, yes.

“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” he mumbles on your stomach, placing a kiss there, and traveling down, nose dangerously close to where you want him most. “Your face when you come apart on my tongue—I wish I could die between your legs, baby.”

“Don’t say that,” you hide your face in embarrassment, as you feel him get in position, opening your legs wide, staring shamelessly at your swollen pussy.

“I’ll say whatever the fuck I want,” he licks it once, tongue pressing flat on your clit and flicking, and you’re fucking gone. You’re writhing, trying to get away, moaning so loudly the whole house must’ve heard you. “This is mine, you’re fucking mine, and you’re so goddamn beautiful.”

He doesn’t get to work much on you, you’re coming apart in minutes. You’re so overstimulated, your legs are shaking uncontrollably, the muscles twitching. He doesn’t seem to care though, because he’s fingering all of your cream on his cock and finishing himself off, an ungodly sight, something out of a renaissance painting, the most explicit one, all well defined abs and veins popping on his neck, mouth formed into a perfect silent scream, as he pumps, and pumps and shoots on your thighs, white thick streaks, hot and sticky.

There’s a knock on the door, a throat clearing.

“Bahng,” Changbin’s voice. “It’s important.”

The room drops in the negatives. You see the abrupt change on your boyfriend’s face, his expression freezing over, his jaw clenching, moving, as he stares at the door like he wants to break it, and then beat his friend’s face in. You get on your elbows and whisper softly, “It’s okay,” to which he ignores.

“What the fuck do you want?” He calls out, furious, getting off the bed and grabbing a pair of discarded jeans from the floor.

“Meeting in ten,” his captain replies, and then there’s footsteps shuffling away.

“I need to shower, anyway,” you try to lighten the mood, reaching over the bed for your shirt. “We’ve been holed up here for hours. I don’t even know what time it is.”

“Why do you need to know?”

You don’t let his tone ruin what you’ve been building for the entire day. He was perfectly fine up until two seconds ago, it has nothing to do with you. You repeat this to yourself as you move around the room, clipping the hair away from your face, wiping the makeup from your cheeks.

“It’s really alright, Chris, you’ll only be gone for a bit.”

He ignores this as well. What he does—he takes two big strides towards you and grabs your face roughly. You meet his eyes, dark and menacing, and keep your cool. You don’t let his anger scare you, you’ve seen it all before. It has nothing to do with you, it has nothing to do with you.

“All you need to know, is I’m still in this fucking room and you smell like my cum, and there’s a lot of fucking things I can do in ten minutes,” he snarls, patting your hair down, bringing your hips together. “All you need to know is you have no use for clocks, because you’re not going anywhere. Am I fucking clear?”

You try not to let your body take over your mind, as it’s happened many times before. He knows your weak spot, he knows how good he can make it feel, and he uses it to his advantage any chance he gets.

You will not be manipulated. You will stop falling for his words.

“You’re going to regret saying that,” you retorted, suddenly sad. “You’re only being like this because you want to stay.”

To that, he visibly calms, he mellows. “Of course I do. I never wanna be anywhere else. I wanna fuck you until you’re on the verge of passing out, and then I want to take you in the water and make it all better,” he tries to kiss you but you turn your head. There are no words to describe the hurt etched on his face, then. “You’re the only thing that matters, (Y/N). The only true thing.”

“Why do you treat me like this, Chris? Hot, then cold, again and again.”

You might’ve as well slapped him. He untangles himself from you at once, and walks over to the closet for a shirt. Your stomach drops. You definitely said something you shouldn’t have. Who knows how he’ll be now, what he might do. You might not see him for days. He knows how to hurt you and keep hurting you. One coin, two sides.

Nevertheless, you have to know. He never gives you any answers. You’ve given away so much to be here, to be with him. He walks the thin line of having something like that, a line between holding you—broken glass on his shaking palm, recklessly picking up the pieces when they fall, unafraid of the blood, of the cutting and maiming, and the repercussions afterwards.

His self destructiveness has never been more prominent before. Now it’s all you see.

“One true thing, Chris. Please.”

He looked so severe, the set of his jaw, the glint in his eye. When he punches the closet door closed and smashes the mirror with his fist, you don’t think he’s quite there in the room with you anymore. He’s in that faraway place again, in that hole, so hard to find.

Of course, the blood. The blood is always there. It’s been there from the start.

He motions for you not to move, his hair a mess sticking in all directions. Such violence and it’s all within him, there’s nothing you can do to pull it out of him. Only when it lashes out, only when he becomes the weapon.

“Don’t fucking come near me,” he barks, and you stop, you remain perfectly still, your gaze locked to his knuckles, bleeding profusely, staining the carpet. “I will never hurt you,” he rasps, and there’s iron will behind his words. “I will never fucking hurt you, I’d sooner die. I’d sooner fucking die . . .” His eyes fall closed, his breathing deepens, and you’re pretty sure you only have a few seconds before this all goes to shit.

You grab your clothes, and shoes, and where’s your phone, where’s your stupid phone—

“Get out of here. Get out of here now.”

You bite your lip until you taste copper. You won’t cry. You won’t fucking cry. This is not your fight. This is not your problem.

“I love you,” you squeeze out, before you throw the door open and spill down the stairs, the beast bellowing behind you, “GET THE FUCK OUT, GET THE FUCK OUT.”

“What the hell’s going on?” Changbin puts his hands out, grabs your shoulders.

Felix doesn’t even have to look at you; he curses, and climbs the stairs three at a time, calling for backup. The demolition has already begun.

You won’t cry. You refuse, you refuse, you refuse.

There’s no love without violence, sweetheart, and did you know?

ACT THREE: intermission.

In a fight, he’s devastating.

You’d told him time and time again, none of it meant anything, not a thing, just some mindless flirting to get better tips, it was part of your job, it was silly, little, nothing, nothing at all. You’d warned him against coming inside the Muse. It’d only cause trouble.

He would only cause trouble. It’s why he had Minho permanently positioned in there, it’s how the club was under Strays payroll, it was his excuse for visiting that night.

Making sure the product was being distributed properly. Keeping an eye out. Bullshit. You were so mad at him. He never showed up for these things, they went through other people. Chris was too important for it. And yet, here he was, disrupting your workflow, beating your regulars into a pulp.

You didn’t recognize anything from the man he was the last time you saw him. He had none of the tenderness, none of the ember in his gaze, no softness; only sharp, obliterating cruelty and the gun on his strap. His fists were bloody, his anger palpable.

Your tables had emptied out, unpaid. You were so angry.

“Try it, motherfucker,” your boyfriend smashed the poor guy’s head against the hardwood floor, repeatedly, in succession, until your voice was scratched raw from shouting for someone to stop him. “Try getting near her again, let me see you. Walk a straight fucking line to my girl, see if you get to live another goddamn day.”

“I didn’t know she was your girl, man! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” The man had been reduced to tears, his face so beat up you could barely make out his features under all the blood.

Minho stood in one corner, observing passively, while Seungmin tried to keep his friend back, ever the security guard. Chris was gone, though. There was no way to bring him back. There’d be a death tonight, and all of you would have to pretend it never happened. You think about that. About the first time you lied for him. For them.

“Bet you wanted to fuck her, hm?” He pulls his head up, only to bring him to his knee, kicking his nose broken, and throwing him back on the floor, chairs wobbling and falling over in the storm of him. “That’s what you’ve been coming for, isn’t it, you sick fuck?”

The whimpering is what did it for you. “I didn’t know. Please! Please!” You couldn’t just stand aside; you couldn’t let this go on.

The stage was empty, the band long finished with their set, now sitting at the counter over at the bar, glancing curiously your way. It was infuriating how none of them wanted to get involved. It was too late for this. Too fucking late, and you were tired.

So, you walked over to where Chris was stomping on the man’s ribs, making sure you were in his line of vision. When you got as close as you could, you called out his name. Nothing. You tried again.

“Chris. Chris.”

“I’ll fucking kill him, baby, he’ll never look at you twice, he won’t be able to, I swear it to you.” In what dark, dark place have you crawled into, my love? How do I get there?

You try to keep your voice steady, reasonable. From the corner of your eye, you see Seungmin shaking his head at you, motioning you to step back, away, out from the line of fire.

“I don’t want that, Chris. I want you to let him go.”

“What?”

“And then I want you to go home.”

In retrospect, you should’ve heeded the bouncer’s advice. This version of Chris does not belong to you, it has nothing to do with feeling or logical thought. It festered in some terror-stricken hole he’d found as a child, and grew into a large open wound, the heart tree of all inhumanity in him. You’d have to carve it out if you’re to ever save him. But to carve it . . . No. You couldn’t. Not you.

Two terrible things happened that night, things that you’d quicker forget than let yourself remember fully.

His calloused hand attacked your neck, wrapping around it with such brutal force, it knocked the air out of you. Immediately, four men jumped to your rescue, circling you like hounds, yelling at Chris, trying to snatch him away from you.

“Stand the fuck down,” he snarled at them, never taking his black eyes off you. “You think I’d actually fucking hurt her? She can take this, can’t you, sweetheart?”

You nod, willing yourself to breathe through your panic, to combine this touch with the one he uses when he makes you feel good, the pain only pleasurable, only flitting, almost enjoyable. He watches you do this, and something flashes in his expression, a recognition, a moment of clarity. It’s gone as soon as it arrives.

“Don’t ever tell me what the fuck to do, you understand? I’m doing this for you, so you can be safe,” he’s never raised his voice at you, and he’s not doing it now, either. You’d take the screaming over this eerie calmness, this polite rage.

This is the monster under your bed, the demon in your closet. You can’t do anything about this, you don’t even know what’s hiding there.

“I didn’t ask for that, Chris,” you manage to say, placing a hand over the one on your throat. No one speaks, no one moves.

“You’ve no fucking idea what’s good for you, do you?”

“Clearly,” you reply, calmly, bitterly.

You see him swallow, and fight with the shadows clouding his judgment. You see the split decision—and the way he shoves you away, the way he refuses to look at you any longer.

“Have it your way,” he snaps. He’s still so beautiful to you, even like this, the way a severe thunderstorm is, the way gray clouds can cover an entire sunny day in minutes. Not despite, but in spite. “But this fucker dies today.”

In a split second, your life—an infinite whirlwind, a dizzying dance with no end in sight—it changes, it shifts, because—Chris takes his gun out, a single click, and shoots the man on the floor beside you. All it takes. A blink of an eye. No one seems to get what happened, probably accustomed to the death looming over, but you—you’re covered in blood now, blood that’s not yours, and you’ve never seen someone die before. You don’t even think it registers in your mind, really. You just stare, and stare, and hope that he’ll get up and go to a hospital, because he looks terrible.

“Don’t feel too bad, princess,” Felix whispers somewhere from behind you. “He was a registered sex offender. Boss found out today. Chris had to do it.”

“Chris is not a hit man,” you say mechanically, paralyzed, something else looking through your eyes, inhabiting your body.

Where are you? Where’d you go?

“No, he’s not,” he agrees. You faintly feel a hand on your shoulder. You don’t react. “But he’s the one that’ll always get the job done. No matter what.”

This is the second thing. Learning that your boyfriend might be more of a collection of ghosts than an actual person. That the blood sprayed on your legs could be anyone’s, could be yours. The thing is, you weren’t truly scared before, but you are now.

And the terrifying truth—you still love him. You love him, you love him, it beats as sure as your heart, it fills you with guilt and despair, because . . . you don’t even really care. You should, surely. This is a horrible situation. But Chris is standing a mere few feet away from you, and he wants nothing to do with you, not when he’s like this, and somehow that’s more severe, that’s—that’s the real tragedy.

“Take care of it,” he cracks his neck, addressing no one in particular. Any of these men would do anything for him, for the club. Honor and loyalty, above all. “Bring me the books. There’s still business.”

Minho and Seungmin get to work, while a third person goes in the back. You don’t know who, you don’t see them, your gaze hasn’t moved from Chris. You whisper his name again, like back in the alley, over and over, and hope for him to turn around, to look and see, to dance with you, to shake you and make you spill. But he doesn’t. You don’t think he ever will again.

You’re one of them now. He didn’t keep you away, he failed, and so now you know.

“And for fuck’s sake, someone take her the hell away from here.”

You kickstart. “No, I won’t go.” You’re here, you’re here, where would I go if you’re here?

He won’t even spare you a second, a moment. He’s walking towards the bar, he’s lighting a cigarette, his hands are still raw and bleeding. The club is closed for the night, you’re no longer needed. Just another witness, just another person in the room. He can make you feel so small, so incredibly small, like you never mattered at all.

Felix steps up and offers to drive you.

“To the house,” Chris instructs firmly, skimming through pages of numbers. “Stay with her until I come back.”

There’s tears stinging your eyes. You fight not to let anyone see them. There’s so much movement around you, it’s making your head spin. Red, fuschia, orange, yellow, blue—the lights never stop turning, they bleed over everything, a dream, a technicolor dream. You lift your hand to your cheek to confirm you’re still real, that you’re still breathing.

You’re sick to your stomach. Not enough. Not enough.

“Why are you sending me away?” You try again, foolishly hoping he’s going to pay you any mind, give you any explanation.

“Come on, (Y/N),” Felix mumbles close to your ear. “You don’t wanna be here for the clean up, trust me.”

Why are you sending me away, why are you sending me away . . . You don’t remember the ride to the club house. You don’t remember much of anything after the click of that gun. It echoes. The man’s eyes roll to the back of his head, a loop of red, fuschia, orange, yellow, blue, redfuschiaorangeyellowblueredfuschiaorangeyellowblue

Someone screams.

ACT FOUR: after.

“I’ve never had a moment’s peace.”

Shirtless, with bandages running down his chest and over his shoulder, he looks like a tortured man returned from war. Burned. Turned inside out.

He was born with a gun in his hand, a ticking time bomb in his head. It’s been counting down since, the brain has festered into a landmine, a battlefield. No. Peace is a foreign word. Reserved only for you.

You listen, you let yourself become the body he loves. You can’t find it in you to be angry at him, not anymore.

“How can I hold a thing like you in my hands and not break it? When you asked me for the truth . . . I couldn’t think of anything, (Y/N), not a single fucking thing,” he wraps a towel around your head, sure, capable hands pulling you up and helping you out of the bathtub. “What I feel for you is poisonous, it’s disturbing. You don’t want that. You shouldn’t want that. It’s not what you deserve.”

“You’re saying all this like you’re saying goodbye,” you whisper, letting him dry your skin, noticing the way he won’t allow himself to linger too long.

You see his mouth curve, his brow furrow. A strange image. It’s almost as if . . .

“I’ve only ever been a monster. A pathetic fucking excuse of a man, and I cannot keep you caged, I can’t keep being selfish with you,” when he’s once again met with your silence, he circles around you, hides behind your back. “You’re incredible, you know that? Other girls would’ve been running for the hills, but not you,” when he lets your hair fall, there’s a horrifying sound, like the earth ripping apart, the heavens falling—

Chris is crying.

Chris is crying and something is very, very wrong. Nothing feels right. He won’t let you turn around. His hands hold you still, his face is buried between your shoulder blades, and he.won’t.let.you.turn.around.

Your eyes sting with the effort it takes not to break down alongside him.

“You just—won’t—fucking—leave. You won’t give up,” he sobs, and then he’s hugging you, he’s hugging you so tight your ribs burn, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, because you never in a thousand years ever pictured this man crying, much less in front of you.

“I’m never giving up,” you reassure him, trying to soothe the boy trying to come out, to escape. “Because I love you. Whatever that means for you, Chris. I love you. I’m not going anywhere.”

He feel him shake his head, his hand wraps around your throat, bodies flush against each other. “I want you. I want you without . . .”

He lets go.

You turn to him, tilting your head, looking for his eyes. He exhales shakily, and moves away, grabbing his lighter from his back pocket, the cigarette from behind his ear. He rubs his face raw, then lights it, tip cherry red and burning fast, and he uses a hand to sit on the tiled floor, one arm resting on his knee. You get in front of him, towel forgotten, numb, completely numb.

“The club?” You say, quietly, so as not to anger the spirits, the demons. For no one else to hear but him. “You want to leave the club?”

He chuckles bitterly, and scratches his brow with a thumb, avoiding your gaze completely. Smoke swirls around you like snakes hunting for prey, an ominous presence. “I can’t even fucking say it. It’s been my whole life, my whole life. This fucking place—I know nothing else.”

“We‘ll figure it out. If you want out, we’ll find a way. Chris, these people look up to you, they trust you—”

“No, the fuck they don’t. That trust goes out the fucking window as soon as I walk. If I leave I’m a fucking traitor. If I leave I’ve betrayed all of them.”

You reach for his empty hand. He pulls away. You can’t ignore the Deja vu of this action. “And what about you?” You press, still. “What about what you’ve given for them, for their laws and rules? Your soul, Chris—”

He laughs, then, a proper laugh. When he does, finally, meet your eye, you see it all. The tortured, the choked, the repressed. It will never be easy. Ever. He might not ever make the decision, he might not ever leave. But dreaming about it . . . He has the right. No matter how unattainable, how unrealistic it seems to him. Why has no one ever shown him how?

“That battered, old thing,” he muses at his cigarette. “Lost it a long time ago, baby. Nothing there.”

“I don’t believe that.”

His smile breaks your heart. It looks so defeated, so devoid of any real happiness. “This is why I can’t let you go,” his fingers reach out and touch your bottom lip, the intention pure, nothing more than a reminder you’re still there, still his, but his gaze speaks of something darker, something you’ll never be able to quit.

“I got charges against me,” he says. “If I take the fall, the club remains. If I don’t, it all goes to hell.”

No. No. “Let it,” you choke out. “Let it! Chris, we can leave. We can go. Let’s just go. Please, I don’t—I can’t, I don’t want to lose—”

The biker puts his hands on your shoulders, shushes you, cradles you like a baby. You comply, a million different things bubbling inside you, ways to get him out, words you never said, everything you didn’t get to do yet. It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair.

“Listen to me,” he continues, cigarette hanging limply from his mouth. “It’s already done. I’ll be gone for a long time, alright, and I need to make sure you’re fucking taken care of. Be a good girl for me, yeah? Listen to me, (Y/N).”

You couldn’t. You were crying too hard, you missed him already. What you two had was nothing but burrowed time, you knew this, and you still mistook it for forever. This was why he didn’t want to get too close. This is why, every time you tried to hold onto him, he slipped away like quicksand. It was all coming down to this.

“Sweetheart, come on, stop crying. You know who I am, yeah? Don’t worry about me, I can take care of myself. Listen to me—I’ve hidden money away. I want you to have it, okay? Use it to get yourself a place, somewhere safe. And don’t fucking go back to that club, I don’t wanna hear you went back, you hear me? Do something for yourself, go to school, I know how fucking smart you are, you’ll fucking blow them away. Hm?” He lifts your chin with his thumb, kisses your forehead, staying there, lingering for one, two, three seconds, before he pulls back and looks into your eyes, willing you to agree, to accept the money, to go on living without him. “I love you, alright? You got all of me, whatever’s still there, it’s all yours. Don’t wait for me. Live.”

“I don’t want to.”

He deflates, sighing heavily. “Don’t make this harder than it is, (Y/N). Do what I say.”

You shake your head, sniffling, wiping at your cheeks. “Not without you. I’m not doing any of that without you. I’ll wait. I’ll wait for you.”

His expression is pleading, his nails digging into your skin like he wants to crawl inside and change your mind. “It’ll be years, baby. Too many. You’ve no fucking idea the shit I’ve done. They got it all, some fucking snitch went and gave it all away. I’m turning myself in tomorrow, I’m not—I’m not fucking asking you to wait. You’re not. Find some lucky boy that’s got nothing to do with this life, and be normal. I never meant to bring you into all of this. You didn’t—didn’t fucking deserve it.”

“Just like that?” you ask, defeated. You could never picture yourself being with anyone else, no one at all.

After Chris, nothing. Alone. Lonely, forever.

He chuckles, crushing you to him, his arms strong, and steady, and home, home, home. “Just like that. I’ll wring his fucking neck out if he’s not good to you, though. I’ll always keep an eye out, always make sure you’re safe.”

“Can I hear it again?” Such a quiet request, barely anything.

He knew exactly what you meant. Your heart broke, fresh tears making their descent on your face. He wiped all of them away. He held you as if, if it was up to him, he’d never, ever let go.

“I love you. I love you so fucking much, sweetheart. You’ll be alright. I got you. I got you.”

You reach to where you know he keeps his gun. His hand flies out to stop you, gaze flaming with fear, with anger. Ash burns your arm, but you don’t even feel it. You’ve seen him use it; undo the safety, press down on the trigger. It was so easy for him. It’ll be easy for you too.

“Shoot me, then,” you bellow. “If you’re not gonna let me do it myself, shoot me! I don’t fucking want this, I’m not losing you, I’m not getting with someone else! What about me? You got this great plan—did you ever stop to think about what I’d want? If I’d be able to move on like how you’re expecting me to? I can’t just switch off my feelings for you, Chris, it doesn’t work like that, okay? I’ve gone through too much, I’ve seen too fucking much to just—to just—”

He wrestles you down, pinning your body on the floor, and getting on top of you, his smooth, cold gun resting on top of your heart. His mouth had curled into a tortured snarl, a bitter smile, his eyes shiny, crazy. You were shaking, he was shaking. You started crying, he started crying. With his thigh against your cunt, you felt his erection, hard and twitching.

“You think I didn’t think of this first?” He said roughly. “Christ, (Y/N), I’m trying to do the right thing here. You think I’ll be able to fucking kill you? I fucking adore you. I’d rather shoot myself in the head first, get it over with. Don’t ever fucking ask that of me again. I’ll be a dead man the second I do such a thing. I’ll be a dead fucking man if I’m not able to have you. Don’t ever fucking do that again.”

“Coward,” you spit in his face, and fight against his death grip. “Sentence us both then. I’ll be dead either way.”

He smashes your lips together. It hurts, it hurts, you wanna say, but you don’t think it’ll ever stop. There’s nothing in his way, everything in yours. In the time it takes to unzip his pants, grab his cock and guide it inside you, you’ve mourned him a thousand times over. To never have this again—him, again. . . You’ll die from missing him. You’ll cry yourself dry. There’s absolutely no way to escape this fate. You’re not ready, you’ll never be. How ridiculous it all seems in the end, faced with losing him.

He makes love to you slow, gentle, like he’s never done before. It’s not so much to get you off, than it is to make you understand. He could kill you both, but he’ll never be able to see you again. His place will be hell, the lowest level, the one he’ll have to keep walking for all eternity, while you’re up with the angels. If he doesn’t, if he hides the gun and never thinks of it again, at least he knows you’re somewhere out there, where there might be a one in a million chance he gets to be with you once more. If you’ll take him. Old and grey. He’ll never see you again as you are underneath him right now.

You stay like that on the floor for a while, with his seed spilling from between your legs, your scent all over him. You kiss him and for the first time, he kisses back. No teeth, no fists.

When he moves you over to the bed, he sleeps for the first time since he was born.

He sleeps and he dreams of you, of little hands reaching out, of being away from all this, far, far away. What he would give.

Everything. Everything.

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hopelessromantic5 · 10 months ago

Text

King Arthur happens to be traveling through Ealdor the exact day the citizens decide they’ve had enough of Merlin.

Labeling him too dangerous, they tied him up on the pyre in the center of town.

As long as Merlin had been alive, he’d never seen this pyre lit.

He would’ve just gotten himself out of this situation with his ‘gifts’ if it weren’t for his poor mother.

The villagers would never let her live in peace if he magically disappeared.

No, this was the only way she could go on living, even with a broken heart.

He didn’t fight. He didn’t really hear much of what they spit at him. But he could hear his mother wailing at him, to save himself, to do whatever he must do.

He’d resigned himself to an early death.

Tom, the town representative, started spewing some righteous words at him. New Religion words that didn’t quite make sense to him, but that’s to be expected. He is, himself, a creature of the old religion, if prophecy is to be trusted.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, serpent?”

Merlin opened his mouth to tell his mother that he loved her, but he stopped short.

In the distance, he could hear a sound.

The beating of hooves on hard, cold dirt.

Visitors were approaching.

It must be fate, he thinks.

As the horses drew closer, the villagers slowly turned their attentions away from him.

Merlin simply hung his head, letting the Earth he loved so dearly decide which way his life would swing.

“What is the meaning of this?”

A calm, steady voice came from behind him. Deep and concerned. Merlin wished he could see the man.

“My lord,” Tom bowed, as well as he could, which was strange.

Upon realization, Merlin’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head, were these visitors noble? They never had nobility stay long enough to make comments on anything, only ever just passing through.

“I asked you a question.” The voice said again, with all the authority of someone who’s used to using it.

“This man is a sorcerer, sire. We were just-“

“What has he done?”

“Sire?”

“What has this man done to call for these extreme measures?” When no one answered him immediately, he rephrased.

“Surely there must’ve been a crime committed?” As if it’s a question.

Merlin’s mother pulled herself out of shock and brought herself forth.

“He did nothing, sire.” She spoke firm and unmoving. She must’ve seen hope in this man that Merlin had yet to lay eyes on. “He’s only ever used it for healing wounds and helping our gardens in the winter. Please have mercy on him, my lord. He is my only son.” Tears started falling as her voice broke. She finally met Merlin’s eyes again and he smiled at her, weakly.

“So this man-“

“Sorcerer.” Corrected Tom. What a dick.

“This man, did nothing but heal you and help you survive and this is how you repay him?”

Again no answer.

The man seemed to gesture at Tom, walking towards the town elder, and bringing him finally into Merlin’s line of sight.

The doomed boy nearly gasped.

Silver and red bled together in the sun, armor and finery melded like roses in white sand.

The man-the lord…the knight? He had golden blonde hair, that shone like it’s own light.

Blue eyes made even more obvious and striking surrounded by unblemished, sun-kissed skin.

“You seem to be leading the horde. Tell me why?” No, answer. “Cut him down.” A command. The stranger’s face was a hard, blank line.

Funny how, even then, he didn’t feel like a stranger. But Merlin was in no state to remember it.

“My lord, I do not think that would be wise. Your father was the one to wage war on magic-“

“I am not my father. Cut him down.”

Merlin swallowed. Uther Pendragon was the only person in his mind that waged the war on magic, that began the purge. Which means this man could only be his son, Prince Arthur.

What a prince he was.

Well, King, now.

No wonder every person in the vicinity practically dropped to their knees upon his arrival. They’d all heard stories of ‘The Just King’ that now reigned over Camelot. Giving whatever he could to his citizens that needed it most, never turning anyone away who seeks shelter. Merlin had heard the same as everyone else. Seeing the King in person now, he was in awe.

“I will not endanger the lives of all who live here.” Tom turns back to Merlin with the lit torch.

Merlin held his breath, but the second Tom turned away from him, the King pulled his sword. It made the loveliest sound as it left the sheath.

The sound of salvation.

Tom had the tip of a majestic blade directed right at his throat, as the King spoke again.

“I said, cut him down.”

The look on the King’s face was one that could kill.

Merlin wondered momentarily why he cared so much.

Finally someone from the crowd stepped forward with a knife and began to cut away Merlin’s ties.

Hunith leapt forward and engulfed her son in a hug, while also somewhat holding his body upright.

He did not want to let go, considering he thought he would never get to hug his mother again. But the entire village was watching them.

As was-

“What is your name?”

It was phrased as a question but spoken like a command. Merlin knew it was directed at him without opening his eyes.

He did, reluctantly, release his mother and turn to the golden King, facing deep blue eyes head on. Never cowering.

“Merlin.”

The King must’ve seen something in him. Something every other person was blind to or chose to ignore, simply because he was a peasant. He took a step closer and Merlin could hear the tiny tink of metal pieces on his shining armor, as he did so.

“Well, Merlin.” He said, as if trying it out for himself. “Seeing as I’ve just given you your life, I’d like to ask a favor.”

Merlin’s curiosity was peaked, to say the least. King’s didn’t ask favors, they took whatever they wanted.

King Arthur did not wait for a reply to continue.

“I’m in need of assistance. And I could use someone with a gift like yours, specifically.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes in minuscule doubt. Doubt of intentions, doubt of his safety.

The King somehow knowing his exact thoughts said

“Of course you would be permitted to come back when you are needed. And when I have accomplished my goal, if you wish, you can leave. I will not keep anyone against their will. I am simply offering.” A small smile played on his mouth. Flush pink lips. He also held up his hands as if to say ‘I will not harm you’.

Merlin’s gut told him to follow this man.

Terrifyingly, his intuition told him to follow this man, practically a stranger, anywhere. Everywhere.

Merlin felt a pull he’s never felt before. In the moment, he assumed it was immense gratitude for saving his life.

Merlin turned to meet his mothers eyes, he already knew what she was going to tell him.

“I think it will be good for you. To get out for a while.” She smiles softly.

“Will you be alright?” He whispered, glancing at the crowd still gathered around an unlit pyre.

“I’ll be fine.” She grabbed him in a bear hug, like she always did. “And if they boot me out, I’ll come find you.”

Merlin sighed into her shoulder.

“Alright.”

When Merlin turned back, the King had turned his eyes to the ground, giving mother and son a moment of privacy.

Merlin was starting to warm to him already.

“Can I pack first?”

King Arthur met his gaze then, doing that half smile thing, again.

“I suppose.” He nodded. “But don’t dawdle we need to move if we want to make it back before sundown.”

“Yes, sire.” The title which usually held reverence and respect, was laced with sarcasm. He didn’t seem to think twice, as he strode away towards their hut to gather his things.

If Merlin had looked back, he would’ve found a fully beaming King looking after him and about six knights with faces of complete shock.

And perhaps, one knowing mother.

#merthur #merlin #arthur pendragon #merthur fic #merlin and arthur #hunith #king arthur #Ealdor #might continue #longer version will probably be on ao3

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heavysighing-dreamyeyes · 3 months ago

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Between Heartbeats

Hurt/Comfort ~1k words

Jason Todd rarely finds peace. His whole life has been spent fighting, surviving. But he finds peace with you, simple, quiet moments that he returns to in his mind when everything else seems hopeless.

The soft times, that people may call mundane, are the most precious to him.

When you sit out on the fire escape of your apartment, wrapped in a blanket together, watching the sunset between buildings. Your head rests on his shoulder, his hand idly traces patterns over your hip. Steam rises from the hot drink in your hands.

Later, on patrol, he'll hold this moment close to his heart. He'll close his eyes, and it's almost like he can still feel your warmth.

When you're falling asleep, tangled together before he leaves to protect Gotham, the way you seek his warmth in the cold winter months. You always find a way to press as much of yourself against him as possible, he relishes in it, being so close to you, the way your chest rises and falls. He forces his tired eyes open so he can watch the way your fingers curl against his skin, the way you tuck your head against his shoulder. It's beautiful, perfect, and he wants nothing more than to stay like this with you forever.

Later, when the steel and concrete are crushing his body to the ground, he'll wish he did.

When you always find a way to touch him. Ankles hooked under the table, pinkies entwined when you have to lean away to reach something, a promise you're coming back. Your body flushed against his side, his chest against your back, his forehead pressed to yours. He loves touching you in any way. He loves you. He loves you.

Now, in the ruins of rubble he's trapped under, when his vision is starting to go dark and he can't quite make out the voices coming through his helmet, he dreams of touching you one more time, telling you how much you mean to him. He can picture it so clearly, the brightness of your eyes, the feel of your skin against his, the smell of your scent in his nose.

He hopes they spare you the details. That they tell you he died saving people, that he died good.

He hopes he goes to heaven. He'd wait as long as it takes, but he wants to see you again. He's still seeing the color of your eyes, still swearing his love with every beat of his heart, when everything goes black.

Jason doesn't go to heaven. He knows this because he can hear you crying. He's not hell, either. He knows that because he can feel the familiar touch of your hand in his.

It takes all his strength to open his eyes. But you're crying, and nothing's going to stop him from fixing that.

"Baby?" He chokes out. He winces a little. His voice sounds awful, it hurts to talk.

Your head whips up and you pitch towards him, moving to hug him before you stop short. He can tell you're scared to hurt him more than he already is. He can feel the bruises littering his skin, the swelling in his face.

"C'me 'ere," he mumbles out, struggling to gain control over his own tongue again. You shake your head, tears still spilling down your face.

He sighs out your name, soft and pleading and tugs your hand. "S'okay, baby, C'mere."

"I thought you were dead," You cry instead, "the news said– and the others you stopped answering over comms–"

He frowns, he really, really wants to hold you right now, to make it better. "Not dead. I'm okay." He tries again to pull you onto the bed, but it's really difficult when his arms feel like they're not attached to his body.

"You're not okay!" You protest, eyes darting over him anxiously.

"Baby," he pleads, tugging your hand to his chest, over his heart, "please."

You give in this time, following his tugs onto the bed, you carefully curl at his side, and make sure to to put any weight on him. Jason's not having any of that, and pulls you half on top of him.

"Jason," You scold through your tears, moving to pull away.

"Don't," he says softly, begging as he starts to find his words again, as the anesthesia starts to wear off, "thought I wouldn't see you again. Lemme have you close."

He relaxes when you settle against him.

"I thought you were dead," You tell him again, voice quiet and shaken, but your tears have started to slow. So he must be doing something right.

"Yeah," he kisses your hair, and knows better than to lie right now, even if he doesn't want to scare you, "me too. I thought about you, you know. The whole time. Knew I had to get home, back to you."

You let out a choked noise and and move your head over his heart, listening to it beat against your ear.

"I'm gonna be okay, baby," Jason soothes softly, breathing out your name carefully to try and console you, "looks worse than it feels."

"You're just saying that cause the morphine hasn't worn off yet," You murmur against his chest.

It makes him laugh, then wince a little as he runs his fingers up and down your spine, "Are you– are we gonna be okay?"

You look up at him, so pretty, so perfect, "Yeah. As long as you heal completely, before you start patrolling again."

Jason grins down at you and doesn't fight the urge to press kisses to your cheeks, your nose, your lips, "I love you."

And when you echo the sentiment, say his name with more adoration than he knows what to do with, it's another moment he engraves into his soul.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #red hood x reader

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munson-blurbs · 11 months ago

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Eddie Munson x Shy!Reader

Summary: Max and Lucas are tired of their friends silently pining over each other but never making a move, so when the Winter Formal rolls around, they take matters into their own hands.

Warnings: mutual pining, idiots in love, fluffy fluff

WC: 1.8k

A/N: Happy anniversary to the love of my life, @corroded-hellfire 💚 one year ago today, we met in person for the first time, and my life has been infinitely better ever since. Thank you for being my best friend. I love you more than Dustin loves his Weird Al shirt. Red, this fic is for you.

Divider credit to @saradika

“Kill me now.”

Three words uttered by none other than Max Mayfield, sliding her lunch tray onto the table and sitting down with an irritated sigh.

You look at her with an amused grin. “What is it this time? Bombed a pop quiz? Got detention for flipping off a teacher—again?” Her brazen, flippant attitude provided many entertaining moments, so long as you weren’t on the receiving end of it.

Max shakes her head, spearing a limp macaroni noodle with her plastic fork. “I wish.” She holds up two tickets to the Winter Formal. “Lucas is dragging me to this bullshit. ‘All the other basketball guys’ girlfriends are going,’” she mocks him in an octave much lower than his actual voice, “so I guess that means I have to follow suit.”

Bringing a hand to your heart, you jut out your lower lip in mock-pity. “Oh, no; your boyfriend wants to show you off at a school dance! How will you ever survive?”

Max doesn’t miss a beat. “You could go, too,” she says, blue eyes pleading. “Keep me company when the guys inevitably bail to get wasted in the woods.”

“I don’t—”

“You don’t need a date,” she insists, reading your mind before the words can leave your mouth. “I’m telling you, Lucas is gonna ditch me as soon as Jason and Patrick show up.” She takes your hand between both of hers. “Please? I’ll even tell Ms. Kelly the lengths you went to for your poor, troubled freshie.”

You exhale, knowing that she doesn’t need to go to all of that trouble. You’d started off the school year as her peer mentor, but just a few months later, you two have become close friends. “Fine, I’ll go,” you acquiesce, laughing when she pumps her fists victoriously. “But I’m not gonna be happy about it.”

You return to your own lunch, completely missing the mischievous look that graces her freckled face.

Unbeknownst to you, a similar discussion is had at Hellfire Club later that same afternoon.

“Absolutely not,” Eddie scoffs, folding his arms across his chest. “Nice try, Sinclair, but I wouldn’t be caught dead at some lame dance.”

“Seriously,” Jeff smirks from his position across the table. “He’s never been to a single one in his ten years of high school.”

Eddie flips him off casually. “It’s only six, asshole. But that doesn’t matter, because I’m not dressing up in some penguin suit to drink unspiked punch with a bunch of shitty people.”

“C’mon, dude,” Lucas says, his tone bordering on a whine. “If you don’t go, I’m gonna be stuck with the jocks all night, and they just wanna suck face with their girlfriends.”

“And you don’t?” Gareth quips.

Lucas rolls his eyes. “Not in front of everyone. And I don’t need a front-row seat to their performances, either.” He turns his attention back to the Dungeon Master. “Look, I’m desperate. Mike’ll be visiting his grandma and Dustin’s grounded because of his D-plus in Spanish.”

Eddie narrows his eyes. “What about Huey, Dewey, and Louie over here?” he asks, gesturing to the three remaining club members.

Their collective responses are jumbled excuses; Eddie swears one of them says he’s going kayaking—in mid-December in Indiana—but he doesn’t bother to sift through their lies. “You owe me, Sinclair,” he declares, pointing his forefinger at the underclassman. “Big time.”

The next few weeks leading up to the Winter Formal are spent meticulously making plans. For someone who seemed so disinterested in this dance, Max is paying careful attention to each detail.

You walk out of the dressing room in a velvet emerald green dress that hits just above the knee. Max is beaming as she adjusts the off-the-shoulder sleeves and smooths down any creases.

“You look really nice,” she says, nodding her head. She’s trying to temper her enthusiasm, but you can sense her excitement. “I can’t wait to tell Lucas.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Lucas? Why would he care?” He’s a nice kid—more in tune with emotions than the average fourteen-year-old boy—but that doesn’t constitute an interest in your fashion choices.

Max’s cheeks burn as red as her hair. “Uh, well, seeing you happy makes me happy, and seeing me happy makes him happy, so…everyone’s happy?” she finishes lamely. She clears her throat as if expelling the awkwardness from the conversation. “Anyway, let’s buy this dress so we can look for shoes.”

“Yeah, okay.” You’re not fully convinced, but you brush it off and steel your nerves to ask a question. “Is anyone else gonna be there that we know?” You really want to know whether Eddie Munson is going to be there, but you can’t say the quiet part aloud.

“Probably,” she shrugs, a bit too quickly, but she’s pushing you back behind the curtain to change before you can inquire more.

“Why does this stupid tie need to be green?” Eddie asks, sifting through the store’s selection with Lucas by his side.

“Uh, Christmas colors,” Lucas stammers, fumbling for a decent explanation other than the contents of his secret phone call with Max earlier today. “And, y’know, red is way overdone, so…” he trails off lamely, going back to the display table and hoping Eddie drops the matter.

They find exactly what they’re looking for—not without Eddie complaining about putting in too much effort just to be a third wheel—and make their way over to the food court. Eddie makes a beeline for the Pizza Hut when he stops dead in his tracks. “Shit, Sinclair; we gotta go,” he says urgently, clapping a hand on the younger boy’s shoulder and steering him away from the fast food.

“What the hell? I’m hungry!”

Eddie shakes his head, curls brushing against his shoulders. “Look, man.” He discreetly points to his left, where you and Max are giggling at the Orange Julius. “We can’t let them see us.”

“Dude, she’s like the nicest person ever,” Lucas rebuts. “Even Max likes her, and Max pretty much hates everyone.”

“That’s not the problem.” Eddie rakes his ringed fingers through his hair, wincing when he snags one on a knot. “The problem is that she’s gonna be all, ‘hi, Eddie; what’re you doing at the mall?’ And I’m gonna be all, ‘just picking out a tie for the Winter Formal.” And then she’ll go, ‘oh, who’s your date?” And then I’ll have to say, ‘I don’t have one; I’m just playing babysitter to some freshmen like a goddamn loser!” He hops back and forth to indicate each character change.

“First of all, ouch,” Lucas quips, “second, go hide in the bathroom if you want, but I’m getting something to eat.”

Eddie exhales an exasperated sigh, giving in and schlepping over to Pizza Hut, one of the few times in his life that he’s trying to be inconspicuous.

You pull into the school parking lot on the night of the Winter Formal and shift into park before killing the engine. Max is bouncing her leg up and down in the passenger seat, lower lip tucked between her teeth.

“What’s on your mind?” you ask, mistaking her excitement for anxiety. “You know that Lucas would think you look beautiful even if you showed up in a potato sack.” You furrow your brow. “Where is he, anyway? Why didn’t he come with us?”

She mumbles something about not wanting her mom to ask any questions about the relationship, and you take them at face value. Her eyes light up when she spots her boyfriend walking into the school alongside…Eddie Munson?

“Eddie’s here?” you ask in a hushed whisper, feeling sweat prickling under your arms. You’ve been nursing a massive crush on him for ages–one that Max is very much aware of. And now he’s here, dressed in a black suit with his hair pulled back into a low bun at the nape of his neck. “Max, why didn’t you tell me? Who’s he going with?” The idea of him slow dancing with someone else has your stomach turning.

Max just shrugs. “I don’t think he had a date.” Too casual, too blasé–she knows something. “C’mon, let’s go in.” She swings the car door open enthusiastically, leaving you shell-shocked in your seat.

“Maxine Mayfield!” you hiss, using her full government name to drive home your bewilderment, but she just skips ahead. Damn your heeled shoes, slowing you down before you can catch up to her. When you finally do, she just grabs your hand and tugs you towards the guys.

She poorly feigns surprise, jaw dropping as she exclaims, “Eddie? What are you doing here? Oh, my gosh, this is such a coincidence!” She pulls you closer, smiling far too wide. “Lucas and I both brought our upperclassmen friends! What are the odds?”

“Yeah, so weird,” Lucas says, not as loud as Max but just as transparent. He looks at Max before regarding you and Eddie. “Okay, well, we’re gonna go dance–bye!” The two of them scamper off, leaving you alone with Eddie. If their stilted dialogue wasn’t evidence enough, the way Eddie’s tie perfectly matches your dress certainly clears up their intentions.

Eddie speaks first, shoving his hands in his pants pockets and nervously swiveling his body. “I, uh, think we’ve been set up,” he says with a small, awkward chuckle. “I swear, it wasn’t my idea. Not–not that it’s a bad thing, I just meant, like, if you’re uncomfortable with this, I don’t wanna be held responsible.” His cheeks burn red. “Shit, I need to stop talking.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him with your own kind laugh, “we might as well make the most of it. Get some punch and make fools of ourselves out there?” You gesture towards the gym’s makeshift dance floor; the band has just started playing Journey’s “Faithfully.” Eddie’s nods, following you to an empty space, and you timidly drape your arms over his shoulders. Taking care to avoid an inappropriate touch, he rests his palms on the small of your back.

His voice is low when he murmurs in your ear, “you look really beautiful tonight.” He clears his throat and speaks again. “You always look really beautiful, though.”

The two of you sway to the music, swapping shy smiles and fleeting but longing glances. As the song ends, you look over your shoulder. “We’re being spied on,” you report, noting the way the two younger kids are watching you from across the room. You consider your next words before eventually deciding to go for it: “Did you talk to Lucas about me as much as I talked to Max about you?”

“Probably more,” Eddie laughs, bringing you a bit closer. “But I’m interested in comparing notes.”

You nod, staving off any lingering nerves. “Maybe after the dance, we can split a burger from Benny’s and discuss?”

Eddie presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “Yeah,” he says; you can feel his lips move against your skin, “I’d like that.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie x you #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things

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rallamajoop · 9 months ago

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That time Heisenberg stabbed Ethan with a rusty fencepost

Thanks to this one fic project that needed a pornographically detailed list of Ethan’s most memorable injuries, I've spent some time trying to figure out exactly what Heisenberg stabs him with when they first met. Working mostly from a free-camera version from youtube, I settled on calling a metal pipe with a square profile.

Tumblr: I was wrong. The reality is so much worse.

Having cracked the game files and installed my own free-camera mod, I tracked down the original asset for this thing, and, well...

No, really, this is it! Check out those matching cross-bars if you doubt me.

FWIW, it isn’t actually a spear. Those semi-mangled crossbars flag it instead as a spear-headed fence-post. (This may not be a distinction that Ethan would find very comforting after being stabbed with the thing, but there it is, regardless.)

In fact, if you poke around the cemetery area just outside the castle gate, you can even find the fence it presumably came from.

Look in on the cemetery near the church from the lane leading up to the Duke's shop beside it, and this is what you'll see.

It's not a perfect match (in fact, it's even worse viewed from the opposite side, because someone has clearly stuffed up the textures on different sides of the same asset). I'll also note that if you go back to this fence again after meeting Heisenberg, you won’t find any suspicious gaps in it where a post was recently ripped out. So I’m going to just go ahead and assume this particular piece was lying in a pile of surplus scrap in the cellar somewhere, and Heisenberg did not, in fact, drag the thing all the way there from well outside the whole damn building. I mean, at that point, you’re just showing off.

The fence post is, admittedly, pretty hard to get a good look at in the actual game. Unlike all the other crap Heisenberg already has levitating around him in this scene, the fencepost doesn’t appear at all until Heisenberg stabs Ethan with it. It actually seems to emerge at speed from between a couple of barrels at the back. But if you’re enough of a lunatic to play around with the various slow motion/rewind settings that came with the free camera mod, you can get a decent shot of it in flight, cleaning up any remaining doubt that this is the same asset that was used in game.

It even freaking spins in the air as it moves. FTR, yes, it does go in pointy-end first. And the whole fucking spearhead ends up buried in poor Ethan. (Please feel free to insert your own dick-joke here.) Those paying really close attention might even note that the blood on Ethan's shirt is present even before the spear hits him, but that's just going to be virtual-stunt-coordination having a normal one.

I can offer you no similarly definitive insight into why Heisenberg would think stabbing Ethan with this thing was a good idea. I can’t even tell you if he knew for sure that it was Ethan Winters he was talking to at this point (maybe he's just playing dumb, pretending not to recognise him. Or maybe he legit didn't know that Ethan himself had made an appearance until Miranda told him. Sure, he's already got that whole conspiracy board, but finding real pictures of this Ethan-guy is surprisingly hard.) But whether Heis was already testing out Ethan’s ‘interesting body’, or whether he’d just generally assumed that anyone who could survive a full lycan assault on the village wouldn’t be too seriously inconvenienced by a little stabbing, hoo boy was this one way to make a first impression.

I’m not even sure which of these losers is the bigger idiot here: the one who imagined Ethan might still agree to work with him even after inserting a very convincing imitation-spearhead into his intestines, or the one who never thought to seriously question how he keeps shrugging off injuries just as exciting as this one.

They probably deserve each other.

#Karl Heisenberg #Ethan Winters #RE meta #winterberg #Resident Evil Village #Resident Evil #RE assets #not to soapbox but that's also why the popularity of AO3's 'soft' Heisenberg tag makes me roll my eyes so hard #this dude is 'soft' like a fencepost to the gut

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afurtivecake · 6 months ago

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I didn't really care much for Jean when I read the original trilogy the first time because I, like Neil, was very much just cycling the thoughts, "But what about the rest of the season's games?" and "what's the deal the with Andrew?" Reading TRK the second time after reading TSC, I just want to pat Jean on the head.

It's so endearing to see that Jean has always been obvious as fuck when he's attracted to someone. No chill whatsoever. It's more obvious in TSC when he just freezes and his brain empties of all coherent thought. (like when he interrupts his own angry tirade to simply comment "Blond" at the sight of Jeremy). I hadn't noticed that he just forgets to keep shaking Andrew's hand in an intimidating fashion at the sight of Renee.

It's a bit confusing here what exactly Neil noticed about Riko but with TSC knowledge, it's clear that Neil noticed Riko noticing Jean's reaction to Renee because he's been so focused on keeping an eye on Riko. And it implies that Jean realized as quickly as Neil that Riko had seen him looking. In TSC, Jean can't stop himself from looking, but he's also mortally afraid of being seen looking. There's a line in TSC: "Jean knew better than to look at another man too long. He'd learned that lesson the hard way and would not survive a repeat". So he's definitely gotten into trouble for being caught looking before and this exchange in TRK suggests that the person who gave him trouble for it was Riko.

(I mean, my theory has always been that the reason Riko set the backliners on him as torment is that he caught Jean checking out Kevin in that obvious way of his and didn't like it. Why else would Riko not tell Kevin the whole truth about that incident?)

And then this bit at the winter banquet when Riko orders Jean to take Kevin and go? The line that he "held onto Kevin like his life depended on it" takes on a different tone because it's not that Jean's worried Kevin will go charging back unwisely; Jean's just scared. And holding onto Kevin like his life depends on it is not a bad summary of their entire relationship.

Like you know that Frenchman must have really SUFFERED because even Neil, who can't bother to give a shit about the majority of everyone he meets, can't help noticing how jumpy Jean is.

#aftg #the sunshine court #all for the game #the raven king

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fandomsimagined · 9 months ago

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Don't Go Dark - Kaz Brekker x Reader

Title: Don't Go Dark

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Female!Reader

Summary: Kaz Brekker realizes that he has feelings for his healer.

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: What you could expect from Six of Crows

A/N: This is my first time writing for Kaz, so if it's out of character, I apologize. I kind of gave up and phoned it in at the end so if you can tell, I'm sorry. Very loosely inspired by the song Don't Go Dark by Bleachers.

For most of his life, Kaz Brekker called the Barrel home–despite the fact that there was really nothing homey about it–and there was one thing that he knew for certain about the dreadful place: that it always had a tendency to contort even the purest of things into something nasty. No one was good-natured for the sake of it. If someone was kind, it was usually a ploy, as he very well knew. That was one of his first lessons in survival. Love was a weakness that oftentimes had disastrous consequences. The only thing to come from the Barrel was carnage. The currency was blood, and he’d paid his share and then some with his own, and with others. Only the most ruthless and ungodly people prospered, and prosper he did.

Believe it or not, he did remember the short life he had before the Barrel. He remembered his father and their farm, and he remembered after his father died when Jordie sold the farm with the promise that they would find fortune in Ketterdam. That was when he’d learned the most valuable lesson that there was to learn. That the only person he could truly count on was himself. To love nothing and trust no one. If he loved nothing, then there was nothing to be used against him. Nothing that anyone could take from him. It got lonely, but it had kept him alive for this long, a feat not many accomplished, so that was how he lived.

She was different. She didn’t live under the same guise of violence as the rest of Ketterdam. She didn’t have the same mentality: that things can always–and most likely will–get worse. She didn’t hold grudges. Not like Kaz did. Kaz was fueled by vengeance and spite. He took whatever was thrown at him in stride with the knowledge that he would find vindication by dealing a much harsher punishment.

The winter chill bit to the bone, an unfortunate truth for Kaz especially, whose bones were already not in well-working order. His limp was more pronounced as he made his way to his office (formerly Haskell’s). The Dregs were still bustling about, doing Saints knows what, but none would bother him. It was late, the state of his face was less pristine than when he’d left, and his permanent scowl was even more noticeable than usual. No, they would leave him be.

The meeting with the Razorgulls had gone as well as he’d expected, which was not well at all. They weren’t too happy to see him, still holding a grudge over Pekka Rollins’ quite unfortunate downfall. They’d landed a couple of punches, but he always had the upper hand, and they were smart enough when it was over to abandon Fifth Harbor entirely.

His office door was slightly ajar, something that didn’t bode well. He knew that the healer would be waiting for him, but she was never so careless to leave the door open, as there were quite a few documents and collectibles that he preferred to keep away from the other Dregs.

He pushed the rickety door open and immediately he could feel that something was off. She was sitting in the extra wooden chair that he kept there (mostly for her and Jesper since he rarely gave anyone else the privilege to stay in his office for long periods). He sat in his desk chair, his gloved fingers thumbing through the papers that he’d left. Nothing important, just something to keep him occupied.

Kaz Brekker noticed everything; meaning that Kaz Brekker noticed her trembling hands, though she tried to disguise it by keeping them folded in her lap. He noticed her red-rimmed eyes and puffy cheeks that she’d tried to hide, and he noticed that she was jumpier than usual. Something had happened, that much was obvious, but he wouldn’t push. If she wanted to talk, she would, otherwise, it was none of his concern. Though, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of anger at the mere idea of anything happening to her.

“Again? Kaz, you really should be more careful.” It was no surprise that she was born a healer. It was quite literally in her nature to be caring. She was born to fix things.

“Why? If I were to die tomorrow, all of Ketterdam would breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe even cheers to the occasion,” Kaz scoffed. It sounded grim, but it meant that he was good at what he did, so he saw it as an honor of sorts. He was in control.

“I wouldn’t.” She frowned. She moved to stand above him, getting leverage so she could properly heal his face. Her lips were pursed in concentration as her fingers hovered over a gash on his cheek. It was a strange feeling. It was like he could feel the skin stitching back together as she worked. It was like an itch. “I quite like having you around.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere.” Kaz raised his eyebrows, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “What are you getting at? A raise?”

“Oh please, why would I even bother trying to flatter you?” She rolled her eyes. “Not when I know all I have to do is compliment Jesper’s hat, give him a few kruge to gamble away, and he’ll talk you into whatever I want.”

“And here I thought that you were too soft for the Barrel.” Kaz smirked.

“I’m serious, what are you going to do if I’m not around to fix you up?”

He thought about the statement carefully. The implication of the words. That was the confirmation he needed to push for further information. She’d opened the door. “Are you planning on going somewhere?” Maybe that’s why she was acting so strange. She seemed like the type to get all weepy about leaving. He wasn’t particularly fond of the idea himself. It would be harrowing work trying to find a new healer. Especially a trustworthy one, but he wouldn’t stop her if that’s what she wanted. He just wouldn’t pretend to be happy about either.

“No!” She exclaimed quickly. “No, of course not.” Her quick response and furrowed brow were a relief. She wasn’t planning on leaving him. Not yet, anyway.

“Well, if you’re not planning on leaving, then I suppose I don’t have to worry about it then, do I?” Kaz spoke bluntly, though he supposed if she listened close enough, she would hear the twinge of satisfaction hidden beneath. It was selfish. Ketterdam was a grim place, but he didn’t want her to leave. She made it a little less grim.

Her fingers moved eloquently, drifting over his broken nose, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her palm. It did him well not to think about how close she was to him. It would probably send him into fight-or-flight mode if he did.

He winced as he felt the bone setting back into place. It was nothing that hadn’t happened before, though he wasn’t sure that he would ever get used to the damn itch that plagued the area as she was working her magic. That wasn’t what bothered him, though. What bothered him was that she hadn’t spoken again, something that was quite unlike her. Normally she would be scolding him or telling him all about whatever had happened at the Crow Club that afternoon. No, she hadn’t spoken and she hadn’t provided any elaboration to her previous statement.

“Is everything alright?” He pressed further. If it was anyone else, he would’ve left it be. A problem for another day, but this wasn’t anyone else.

“No… I mean…” She started and paused, turning to face the wall to her side as if avoiding looking at him. He was relieved that she wasn’t planning on leaving the Dregs just yet, but there was something bothering her and he couldn’t deny being slightly concerned about what it was. Had something happened at the club while he was gone? Surely one of the others downstairs would have mentioned something to him when he walked in if it had. But, there was no way to be sure.

She turned back to face him, taking a shaky breath as if trying to figure out what to say. “This afternoon while I was on my way to the club, a man grabbed me. Put a knife to my throat and said that if I didn’t give him all of my kruge, then he would slit my throat, watch me bleed out, and then take it all anyways. It wasn’t even much, just seventeen, but he was willing to kill me for it.” He clenched his jaw as she recounted the story. He wouldn’t interrupt, but he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t already plotting on what he would do when he found the bastard. She reached up to fiddle with the necklace chain that she always wore, but it was missing. He’d taken her locket too.

“I was sure he would kill me even if I gave it to him, I saw his face for Saints’ sake, but I just… It made me think about if something had happened to me, then who would be here to make sure that you didn’t get yourself killed? I mean, you’ve almost done it several times with me here and I’m one of the best healers in Kerch, not to pat myself on the back or anything…” She was one of the best healers in Kerch. That was why he’d recruited her in the first place, and that was why she was under his protection. Though, he thought that she might’ve been exaggerating. He was pretty sure, he only almost died twice, and only once was his fault.

“Who was it?” Kaz said through gritted teeth. It was unlikely that it was anyone from a rival gang. It wasn’t a secret that she was associated with the Dregs and they weren’t stupid. Pulling a stunt like that would start a war, especially since it was in Fifth Harbor. That was his territory. No, the only one that bold would be the Dime Lions, but they would’ve killed her to send a message. This was probably some random person off of the street if he had to guess. Looking for a quick buck, so they thought why not steal it? What they didn’t know was that they’d stolen it from the wrong woman.

“Kaz-”

“Who was it?” He repeated.

“It doesn’t matter. The point is, that I might not be here next time you decide to go and get yourself all bloodied up, and what if it’s more serious next time?” He didn’t like the way that she was talking so casually about the prospect of dying. Like it was inevitable, and she was making her final arrangements before she went.

“Listen to me carefully. Nothing’s going to happen to you because I won’t let it.” It was a statement not a question. He would make sure to get the message across that not only was she associated with the Dregs, but she was under the protection of Dirtyhands himself, and he would make sure to send a very clear warning as to what would happen should anyone get the bright idea to lay a finger on his crew again.

“You’re not always going to be there to protect me, Kaz. We all know it’s only a matter of time. People like me don’t make it very long here. I’m not strong, or smart, or resourceful enough…” Her eyes were glassy, trying to hold back the tears that were forming in her eyes. He was confused. None of those things could have been farther from the truth. She may have been soft, sure, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t smart or strong. She had to be strong to have put up with him for so long. He wasn’t known to be the most facile person in the world.

“Nothing is going to happen to you.” Kaz’s voice was gravelly. It was rough. In fact, he’d often heard it described as the voice of a demon, or the devil himself. There was nothing soothing about it, yet he saw her shoulders slump in what seemed to be relief. That even though the Saints had never looked out for her, he would.

She didn’t say anything else. Neither did he. That was that. There was nothing left to be said. He didn’t make promises that he didn’t intend to keep. He lied, he stole, he killed, but he didn’t break his promises. And there wasn’t a promise that he ever intended to keep more than that one.

She silently worked on mending the split on his cheek. The Razorgulls had gotten a couple of good shots in. More than he thought, and he was starting to feel it, though he wouldn’t for long.

“Stay at the Slat tonight.” He finally broke the silence. She didn’t live far, but clearly she wasn’t safe and he couldn’t have that.

“What?” She shot him a puzzled look. It was seemingly out of the blue, and he didn’t exactly give much room for any discussion.

“I want you to stay at the Slat tonight. It’s late, you shouldn’t walk home in the dark.”

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Kaz perused the selection at Alwynn’s pawn shop. When he’d noticed that her necklace had been stolen, he knew that it had probably ended up in a pawn shop somewhere. No one stole jewelry off of ladies on the street to wear. No, clearly he needed money.

He’d expected to have to go to more than one shop to find any relevant information, but no. It was almost too easy. He’d spotted the necklace on a display in the front of the store. He recognized it immediately. The dainty gold chain could’ve easily been confused, but the locket that dangled from it, couldn’t be.

“Mr. Brekker, I didn’t think of you as the jewelry type,” Alwynn gave a short laugh.

“Well, Alwynn, there are quite a few things you don’t know about me.”

“That, I’m sure of.”

“How much did you buy it for?” Kaz inquired.

“Bought it for twenty-five. Selling it for forty-two.” Kaz wasn’t surprised. Alwynn had always been a crook.

“Who brought it in?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say. Merchant-client privilege, I’m sure you understand.” Alwynn appeared nervous now. Good.

“I’ll pay double the price.”

Alwynn thought for a moment. “His name’s Griffin. He came in yesterday afternoon. He’s been staying in the alley beside Burke’s.”

“Thank you, Alwynn. It’s been a pleasure as always.” He was well aware that he probably could’ve stolen the necklace or threatened him without spending the kruge, but he decided to, for once, pick his battles. He slid over the proper amount of kruge before making his way to the door.

Kaz found Griffin exactly where Alwynn said he would be.He’d clearly been staying there, the pile of rags on the ground and empty bottles were scattered beside them. He almost felt sorry for him. He almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

Kaz approached Griffin, making his presence known. The man, probably around twenty or so, must have been at least a little intelligent, because his expression was a mixture of fear and confusion.

“Good evening Griffin,” Kaz crooned. “You know, I heard from a close source of mine that you met a lady around this area yesterday afternoon.”

“I meet a lot of ladies around here.” Griffin scoffed.

“Well, this particular lady said that you threatened her. Stole her money and a necklace. Surely you would remember that. Unless, you make a habit out of stealing from women. Do you?”

“What?”

“Do you only target women to pay for your alcohol addiction, or was this particular lady just a special case?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he sputtered.

“How much did you take?” Kaz growled, ignoring the obvious lie that had escaped from his mouth. He didn’t need an answer. He already knew. 17 kruge and her necklace (which he’d gotten thirty-five for at the shop), but he wanted to hear him admit it.

“I told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Even if Kaz didn’t already know he was lying, it wouldn’t have been hard to tell. The sweat beading at his forehead, the way his eyes darted, the fact that he had around fifty-two kruge worth of bottles at his feet. It was too easy.

“This wouldn’t happen to jog your memory would it?” Kaz held the chain out. Griffin’s face went pale. It was as if all of the color had simply vanished. “So, I’ll ask again: how much did you take?”

“Not a lot, just seventeen kruge, and I’ll-”

“You’ll pay it back. In fact, you’re going to pay back the seventeen that you stole, the eighty-four I had to pay to buy the necklace back from the crook you sold it to, and an extra thirty kruge for making me get out in this dreadful cold to track down you and this necklace.” Kaz felt it to be a fair trade. For him at least.

“I don’t have that kind of money.”

“Well, I suggest that you find it before the week is out. Paid in full, and after that, I don’t want to see you back in Fifth Harbor again, and if I do, I’ll make sure that you end up at the bottom of the Harbor.” He turned to walk back towards the street, but he turned back before he got there. He swung his cane, hard, at Griffin’s right hand–his dominant one–earning a howl of pain. “Next time you decide to steal jewelry from a woman on the street, I would suggest selling it to a shop that’s not only a few feet away from where you’re staying.”

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“What’s this?” She looked puzzled at the pouch of kruge that he’d dropped on the table in front of her. Kaz didn’t answer, and realization flooded over her face. “Kaz…” she gave him a stern look. “You didn’t kill him, did you? I would feel really guilty if you killed him.”

“Relax, I didn’t kill him.” Kaz scowled. “But, he won’t be bothering you or anyone else around Fifth Harbor anymore.”

“That really makes it sound like you killed him…”

“I did not kill him. I simply reminded him that it’s not very polite to threaten women.” Kaz rolled his eyes. “Besides, if I’d killed him, I wouldn’t have gotten this back, would I?” He draped the gold chain over his gloved fingers. It was beside the point that he’d found the necklace before he’d found Griffin, and that he could’ve easily gotten it back had he killed him. She didn’t need to know that.

“You got my locket back?” She gasped in disbelief. She took the chain, eyes wide. “How? Wait…” she paused. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

“I’ll have you know that you’re missing out on quite the lovely story, then,” Kaz teased.

“I’m sure. I think it’ll be far lovelier if I never find out, though.” She chuckled. “Because something tells me it involved some of your more extreme measures.”

“Not extreme enough if you ask me. He got to keep all of his fingers. You know if I didn’t know any better, I’d think that you’re making me soft.”

“Thank you.” She offered him a gracious smile.

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Kaz had never been one to fear others. He was fairly confident in his ability to fight his way out of a skirmish, should one come up, so why would he? He’d fought off far more men than the three in front of him on his own. What could he have to fear?

He had never been afraid, but all it took was a few goddamn words and his blood turned to ice. “It would be a shame if something were to happen to that healer of yours, wouldn’t it?” A threat. A barely subtle attempt at one. In any other case, he probably would’ve laughed it off. Come up with some witty response. He didn’t have it in him. What if it wasn’t a bluff?

“If you touch her, I swear to you, I’ll gut you,” Kaz snarled. It wasn’t the smartest move. Now, there was no doubt that he cared. That they could use her against him.

“The Bastard of the Barrel does have a heart, eh?” Rowell sneered. His last encounter with the Razorgulls hadn’t ended as smoothly as he’d hoped. They’d gone searching on him. Trying to find–well he supposed they did–find leverage. They’d finally found Kaz Brekker’s weakness.

The words echoed through Kaz’s head. “Rowell, if you touch her, I can always pay a visit to Broad Street. I seem to recall that’s where your wife and daughter are? If I find out any of your men touched my healer, I’ll put a bullet in their heads myself.” He was good for it. Rowell knew it. He had never been above killing, and that was when he didn’t have something to lose.

Rowell’s face contorted in alarm. Kaz knew where his family was. Kaz had just as much leverage as he did. The only difference was Kaz was far more ruthless than Rowell ever imagined.

“You may think you’ve found my weakness, Rowell, and maybe you have, but you should know by now that I don’t respond well to threats. If you’re going to do something, do it. Otherwise don’t waste my time and your breath just telling me about it.” With that, Kaz began his trek back to the Slat. For the first time in quite a long time, he was scared. They could very well call his bluff. By this point, Rowell could have already gotten to her by now. He’d spent so much of his time focusing on protecting her from the Barrel, that he’d forgotten that association with Kaz Brekker was the biggest threat of all.

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It had been weeks since Rowell’s threat. He hadn’t taken it lightly. He didn’t think Rowell was brave enough to do anything, but if he’d noticed, it was only a matter of time before others would too, if they hadn’t already.

He’d decided to keep his distance. That was the only way he knew how to keep her safe. Kaz Brekker was the most feared man in the Barrel because he had nothing to lose. If it came out that he did in fact care for anything… well he had a lot of enemies that would waste no time doing everything in their power to take it from him.

He’d been avoiding her altogether. She was hurt. He knew that. It was better for her to be hurt than dead.

He was making his way up the stairs to his study, ready to shut himself for the night to plan for the upcoming job he’d secured. It was nothing big, probably him, Jesper, and a couple of the newer recruits for the Dregs. Test their loyalty before anything major.

He saw her near the bar talking to Jesper, laughing at something he’d said. He swiftly turned away. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Xavier (ironically one of the new recruits he was planning to take) grab at her waist. He was quite intoxicated, slurring a remark that he couldn’t hear, but was almost certainly derogatory. She politely pushed him aside, muttering a soft ‘no thank you’, but Xavier wasn’t taking no for an answer.

Kaz didn’t even have time to think, really. He didn’t have to think. It was instinct. He ignored the pain in his leg and crossed the room. He’d never been the biggest fan of Xavier, so he didn’t feel too guilty about the punch that landed on the boy’s jaw. His knuckles throbbed from the contact, but he ignored it. When Xavier offered to try and return the blow, Kaz dodged the jab and cracked his cane over his back.

“This is a respectable establishment, and that means when a woman says ‘no’ that’s the end of the discussion.”

Kaz avoided her gaze, and made his way up to his study, but he was followed.

“What was that?”

“What was what?” Kaz muttered, sitting in his chair, finally resting his leg.

“You’ve spent weeks acting like I don’t exist, and now you’re getting in bar fights to defend me? And what? You’re just going to go back to ignoring me?” She was hardly a confrontational person, so Kaz knew that she was angry by the sudden outburst. “I don’t get it. What did I do to make you decide that you hate me?”

Surely she didn’t really believe that he hated her. “I don’t hate you.” He still didn’t look up.

“So, what is it then?” She was blinking back tears. He felt guilty, a feeling that he didn’t even know he was capable of.

“You seriously don’t get it?”

“No, I don’t get it!” She shouted.

“I care about you!” He blurted. “Far more than I should.” His confession earned a scoff. “You don’t believe me?”

She raised her eyebrows. “No, I don’t believe you. Why would I?”

“Why? What would I possibly have to gain from lying to you about that?”

“I don’t know, but I never know anything with you!”

“Fine, if you don’t believe me, then go. If you think I’m lying then why are you still here?” He didn’t believe that she didn’t believe him. She wasn’t stupid. He knew she wasn’t.

“I just want to know why! Why have you been avoiding me?”

“I already told you the truth, so what do you want from me?” Kaz suddenly felt defensive. “I care about you, and people noticed. Rowell threatened you straight to my face, and I realized that if people thought that you meant anything to me, then they’d come after you. They’d kill you to get to me, and that can’t happen.”

“So, it was that easy then? You got scared that someone was going to come after me so you decided to just stop caring? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“That is not what I said. What I said was that if they thought that you were important to me, they would come for you. I never said that meant I stopped caring.” Kaz huffed. “This is the only way that I can be sure you’re safe.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I have a stake in this too?” She was letting the tears fall freely now. “I don’t care who comes after me.”

“I can’t lose you.” Kaz shook his head.

“You don’t have to.”

“I can’t guarantee that people won’t come for you. I’m not sure if you noticed, but I haven’t exactly made a good reputation my priority.” Kaz attempted a joke, but really it served more as a warning. A glimpse into what being close to him would entail, which would mean always looking over your shoulder.

“Believe it or not, I have actually caught on to that part…” She let out a soft chuckle.

He reached up, brushing a stray piece of hair out of her face. He took the opportunity to rest his gloved hand on her cheek. He felt his body tense. His hand fell. Flashes of the nightmare that he’d endured. Jordie’s cold grey skin. The smell of waterlogged rotten flesh. It was as if he was back in the harbor. Surrounded by nothing but death and decay.

She seemed to notice his ordeal. Concern flashed through her eyes. “Are you feeling alright, Kaz?” He’d never told her about his brother. He’d never told anyone, really. As far as he was concerned, Kaz Rietveld had died in that harbor, but that wasn’t all true. If it had, he wouldn’t be damn near hyperventilating because he’d touched her. It was stupid. He was stupid. He couldn’t imagine what she was thinking. She probably thought he’d lost his mind.

“I think you need to rest,” she suggested. “I’ll run downstairs and grab you some water, I’ll be right-”

“No.” His voice came out hoarse.

“Kaz, you look like you’re about to pass out, I think you should drink something.”

“I want you to stay.” He sounded needy like a child and he hated it, but he also meant every word. “Please stay.” He grabbed her hand. Only this time, it was easier. He wasn’t thinking about death and despair. He wasn’t thinking about Jordie. He was thinking about her.

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker imagine #grishaverse #six of crows #imagine #fanfiction #Spotify

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kick-a-long · 2 months ago

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i find it so desperately sad that goyim generally would be so much less antisemitic if jews started physically fighting back with guns or sticks in every country. calling for the murder of muslims all over the world, if the jewish population was big enough to have large scary groups of crazy fringe fundamentalist synagogues all over the world, a billion strong, that preached murder and hate so goyim could look down on jews like some noble savage in need of assistance and western education and protection. so we could be reformed in obvious patronizing ways because there were so many of us that we had militant violent fringe extremists, like christians and muslims have, mixed in with the normal jews.

if jews didn't have such a reputation for success and intelligence maybe conspiracy theories would stop blaming us for controlling the world. if we felt less in danger maybe we wouldn't be so obsessed with long term survival.

is antisemitism some warped form of envy? maybe. what sucks is that jews are no better or worse than anyone else. some jews are brutes and some are the most wonderful people imaginable, just like any other group. what sucks is we don't all live up to the reputation of tactical geniuses and wizards with mind control magic. all of us jews are just tired and abused humans who have lived with 2000+ years of generational trauma and the endless fall out from a popular jewish book written 3000+ years ago describing the best practices of jewish culture. It has some great stories, histories, life advice, diet recommendations, hygiene, and rules about how to treat others.

is that such a crime?

trying to show a path forward? not demanding anyone else follow those rules but wanting to do our best to follow them anyway? how to live a good life that makes the world better and makes you proud to have been on earth for the time you were there? jews fail to do this all the time, just like everyone else. I fail all the time. why are people so obsessed with that? people say shylock is a stereotyped antisemitic character but,

"I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example? Why, revenge! The villainy you teach me I will execute, and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction."

so why do jews always have to be the better man? why do we have to apologize for being angry and sad and hating the people that attack us? that was written by Shakespeare, a christian in the 1600s who who had probably never met a jew, they were expelled from england, but imagined us as money lenders, the only profession left to jews at that time. even he saw the double standard. it makes a good point.

now, i don't want vengeance, i don't want violence, but i feel vengeful. i feel angry that i am unsafe because of play actors and terrorist supporters who want revenge for jews existing but scream bloody murder when jews refuse to dig their own graves, beg forgiveness for ever being born, and lay down in them to be mocked and pissed on and abused in the worst ways imaginable for the entertainment and conquest of it. i want peace with them. they are as human as i am, full of foibles and anger. i want nothing to do with them. i want them to never come near a jew again for the rest of time.

i am sad. all i want is to feel my feelings and advocate for what is the most ethical and practical work around to a world filled with unending suffering while i am still alive. i want them on thier side to live in the world they want and me on my side to live in the world i want. why don't these children of all ages, lost in delusions of fantastical battles and ultimate good and evil, see that? why can't I be a human first as well as a jew first? why do they ask me to pick? why am i not allowed to pick?

it's been almost a year. we're all so tired.

I'm going to a music festival. I'm trying to decide whether to wear a star. why is it dangerous to wear a star around my neck?

#jumblr #antisemitism #ramble #jewish #jewblr #the sadness hit me like a gust of wind before a storm #i wanted to say something before it hits #whenever it hits #judaism #jewish history #a moment of grief #I'm trying my best

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sapphoherselz · 4 months ago

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howdy!! two literal people have asked for some andreil rec so here they are!! my most favest fics EVER in the first 60 ao3 pages (I'll keep updating tho as I read!)

Not yours to bleed:

The Pros were never in the cards. Not for an ex-medicated alleged psychotic with a dysfunctional family and an Exy career he’d rather not have. But even if it wasn't his first choice, no matter what happens, it can’t possibly be worse than that one fucked up sophomore year when he stood toe to toe with the Yakuza-and won.

At least, that’s what Andrew thinks until a familiar face shows up.

Another Raven!Neil AU. Or, the one where the boys don’t meet until the Pros.

**Updates every other Wednesday, whatever hell may come.**

The Sun Still Rises:

Somewhere on the road, Mary Hatford gets pregnant with her second child. When she passes, she leaves behind not only Neil, but his toddler brother. Survival is difficult without also raising a kid. Worn out and desperate, Neil still somehow ends up at Palmetto, only this time, he brings his four-year-old brother with him.

TALE OF A MARTYR IN XII PARTS:

Neil closes his eyes and counts the things that he knows:

One: Death has a name.

Two: He has met Death before. Several times, in fact.

Three: Someone is trying to kill him. Permanently. But it's only kind of working.

Or, the one in which Andrew is the Grim Reaper, Neil is very, very good at dying, over and over and over again. They teach each other a few things over the centuries.

Hearthlines:

The Fae king and queens have gone away, closing the knowes behind them and abandoning their offspring to the mortal world. As the Fae have spread far and wide, their bloodlines thinning if not vanishing forever as they flee from mortal persecution... two Fae have found a way to reopen the knowes - Kayleigh Day and Tetsuji Moriyama. The Fae regroup once more, the balance of power shifted amongst them, and 'changelings' appear now and then in the mortal population.

Andrew Doe is one of those changelings, a young child suffering in the foster system, shunned by his peers for some reason and hearing voices in his head.

Alex - the latest name gifted to him by a charm - is on the run along with his mother from his father, using their talents as shadow walkers to slide between worlds and stay one step ahead of the powerful Fae. Except even that is not enough anymore. Except that's not Alex's only talent.

*******

An urban fantasy where I throw Fae, necromancy and magic at TFC characters, pretty much!

Scared to Live (But I'm Scared to Die):

Neil Josten goes to the Nest for Andrew, but he stays for a lot more.

"I'm sorry Coach," he muttered.

"For what kid?" Wymack shifted. "You've got to give me something to work with here."

Wymack watched the thin traces of sorrow as paper exchanged hands and he was looking down at a contract with the Edgar Allan Raven's.

"I signed them Coach, I'm sorry."

The one where Neil doesn't come back from Winter Break.

Amor Vincit Omnia:

“I said it already,” the man said, “Your cluster.”

“But what does that mean?” Neil asked.

“It means that you are no longer just you,” the man said tersely, “Congratulations.”

It didn’t feel like anything worth celebrating.

A Sense8 AU where the foxes all share one subconscious and kick a lot of ass

The Real Thing:

Andrew was more than willing to turn down the Ravens' offer to be their newest goalie, unwilling to play five more years of Exy - let alone for someone with a too-sharp smile and a manic gleam in their eyes.

That was, until he realized that a member of their Perfect Court was his soulmate. (That was, until Riko Moriyama realized that Nathaniel Wesninski, the Ravens' #3 in waiting, was Andrew's soulmate.)

Andrew always knew that Fate loved tormenting him, he didn't need a reminder yet again via a too-attractive soulmate who appeared to loathe him. Yet things aren't always what they seem, especially in the Nest.

mad girl says she's wolf-proof:

Keeping her grip light on Nina’s throat, Andrea drops her gaze to her plump lips. She smiles—coldly, slowly. Fangs on fangs. Salt tombstones. It is not a nice smile, none of Andrea’s smiles are, but Nina’s eyes are stuck in it regardless. “And I will answer, all the better to eat you with.”

(Andrea Dobson vs girlhood and lycanthropy.)

lessons in caretaking:

Neil was acting shifty, and Andrew knew why; that motherfucker was leaving. Despite the promise between them, Neil was prepping to run. Andrew wasn't upset about that, not at all. After all, if notorious Neil "No-Swing" Josten needed to leave after Andrew admitted his desires regarding his proximity to Neil's shorts, who was Andrew to stop him. But that doesn't explain why Neil was stealing socks, or why he wanted Andrew's clothes.

Whatever. That was probably unrelated.

Sauntering Vaguely Downwards:

They’ve known each other since the Beginning. Not the Beginning Beginning—they didn’t meet until after the War in Heaven, where they kept to their own sides, or until after the subsequent Fall. It wasn’t even until after the Exodus from Eden, but only by a couple minutes. They’ve witnessed the rise and fall of empires, sampled all the cuisines the world has to offer, and weathered several very silly fashion trends.

Andrew doesn’t think they’re friends, exactly, but it is natural to become accustomed to the presence of the only other being who has been around more or less consistently for six millennia. It wasn’t anything more meaningful than that.

A Good Omens AU where Andrew is a grumpy angel, Neil is a sharp-tongued serpent, and it takes them literally six thousand years to figure out they belong together.

#aftg #neil josten #andreil #all for the game #andrew minyard #aaron minyard #andreil fic #fic rec #aftg fic rec #aftg fic

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mountainsandmayhem · 7 months ago

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Right Person, Wrong Time

Joel Miler x Female Reader

AN: This is for @undercoverpena 's April Showers Challenge. And for once, I did not write smut. I know, who am I? This is not beta'd or really proof read. I'm basically having imposter syndrome over the whole thing soooo...Love you, say it back, bye!

You know that famous saying, “Right Person, Wrong Time”? Well, that was Joel Miller. He had the potential to be the absolute love of your life, but as a single father to a teenage girl and a small business owner, he just didn’t have the time right now. You were about to turn thirty, him thirty six in just a few days time. So, the night before his birthday you made the gut wrenching decision to end things with him.

“What do you mean we should see other people? There’s no other people.” He proclaimed, eyes filling with tears, mirroring yours.

“It’s just not the right time. I want to get married and have a baby, Joel. Do you really want that?” You have to remain strong, it had only been three months, you hadn’t met Sarah or any of his family. Same with your side, he knew about your sisters but no one else was at risk of being hurt by this break up outside of the two of you. This was the right thing to do before you both got in too deep.

Right Person, Wrong Time.

Almost twenty five years later and you still find yourself replaying that conversation. Every September, Joel flashes behind your eyelids - still perfectly clear, almost like it had just happened yesterday. Dark curly hair, patchy scruff, big brown eyes and furrowed brows; one day he’s going to have a permanent crease between them from all his sexy scowling. If you focus hard enough, you can feel his rough and calloused fingers on your skin. You can still hear his deep and silky voice, almost managing to make you feel lighter every time he said your name or called you darlin’ or sweetheart.

“That feel good, Darlin’?”

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let go for me.”

The outbreak happened not even 24 hours after you broke up with him. Had he survived? There’s no way you survived and he didn’t. Your suspicions were confirmed the day Tommy Miller showed up.

For the most part you liked to keep to yourself, running the community garden. You’re thankful for the small and safe community, but word gets around. And when you hear that Tommy’s brother has come to town you shrink even further back into the shadows, unsure if you want to see him again. Would it hurt more if he remembered you, or if he had no memory of you and that conversation that has imprinted itself upon you? Joel Miller is your last memory, both happy and sad, before the world fell apart.

Him, and the little girl he showed up with, left before you found the courage to approach him and soon winter took over Jackson, leaving you without the garden. Without the distraction from your thoughts of Joel.

The winter is long and brutal. April finally rolls around, and you trudge out into the rain and head to the dining hall for dinner. The gates open in the distance, but you’re lost in your own thoughts. This is more rain than you have seen in months. The garden is going to love it, you think. Just as you’re about to step up the creaky wooden steps you hear your name. It floats across the commune in a deep, gravelly, and oh so familiar voice.

You stop, tears flooding your lash line and the mud squeaking under your rubber boots as you turn to look at him through glassy eyes. Your lips part and your mouth goes dry at the sight of him. The world around you melts away. All you can see and hear is Joel Miller. He’s aged, grey peppers his temples and facial hair, he has those lines that you knew he would permanently etched between his brows, but those big brown eyes are like they’ve been frozen in time as they dance around your face.

“It’s you,” he says softly, voice shaking in a mix of sadness and relief, as he takes a few steps towards you. “I-I can’t believe it. I’ve, well…” He rakes his fingers through his soaked curls as you stare at him. The rain is coming down in a steady sheet, the ground becoming a muddy mess, and both of your clothes completely soaked through. You haven’t taken a breath in what feels like hours.

It’s you.

“I have thought about you almost every day since the world fell apart,” he continues, his warm voice washing over you like molasses. “When I was at my lowest I would think of that little dimple you get when you smile, or that time wine came out of your nose from when you laughed at that stupid joke I made. I don’t remember the joke, but I remember how happy you looked as the sun set and the orange glow lit your skin. I’d remember the way your face scrunched up when you tried whiskey for the first time. I would remember where all your freckles are, and how soft you were against my lips as I kissed every single one. I’d think of that first time we made love, how I’d never felt that overwhelmed with emotion for another person before, how in that moment I realized that I was truly fucked when it came to you. It was anything you wanted, sweetheart. Even if it meant you wanted to break up. I never should have let you go, darin’. I’m so sorry. I tried to find you before we fled for Boston.”

By the time he’s done talking you’re right in front of him, chest grazing his, close enough that you can feel the heat of him. You have no idea how you got that close to him. You don’t remember moving your feet. Joel Miller, your Joel Miller. Greyer, lines around his eyes, but yours.

As the rain pelts down you waste no time, reaching up around his neck as he lifts you up and into his embrace. Your noses graze as you whisper a quiet ‘I missed you so much’ into his lips.

“I’m never letting you go, baby. Never again.” He says and then you press your lips into his in a searing kiss. It lights your whole body on fire, you feel like you’ve been hit by a defibrillator.

You’re alive again.

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

Taglist:

@corazondebeskar @hiddenbabynyc @rainstorms-library @smutsmutslut @sullyrocky44 @keylimebeag @pimosworld @casa-boiardi i @pedritoferg @lorilane33 @pansexual-potatoes @baar-ur @jessthebaker @jasminedragoon @koshkaj-blog @pedroswife69 @strawberri-blonde @none-of-this-makes-any-sense @iloveenya @javierpena-inatacvest @blazeflays @akah565 @pinkiec6-rubi @pedroshotwifey @iluvurfather @ashleyfilm @mermaidgirl30 @untamedheart81

#undercoveraprilshowerschallenge #joel miller #joel miller tlou #pedro pascal #joel the last of us #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel miller x reader #joel angst #joel miller angst

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jamiebluewind · 6 months ago

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Warning! Pet illness, xray

A friend of mine a few states away had a pregnant female cat walk onto her porch and decide she lives now. She had 3 kittens. Since my friend/roommate @winterpower98 was looking for her first cat, we (other roommate/bestie, Winter/Gaia, and I) decided to take a trip down to visit and see if one of the kittens would work for her.

The thing is, she did fall in love with one! He's black with white markings, so the 6 year old had been calling him Eclipse. He's, curious, playful, and always trying to get into something. He loves Gaia. I mean LOVES her. And she loves him. Like... emptying her savings loves him.

Right before we arrived, our friend noticed a little lump on his belly. They thought nothing of it. And then, it got bigger. And bigger. And bigger.

After a week, we took him to a local vet to get checked out. He had a umbilical hernia. Luckily it stopped before his diaphragm, but the hernia was severe enough that he would need surgery to close it (a lot of articles talked about smaller ones closing on their own which is why we waited). He would also need special care for IBS symptoms and to keep his hernia from getting injured or obstructed before repair (which couldn't happen until he was big enough to go under anesthesia). He would need to come indoors for his safety and be separated from the others as his sisters pouncing on the hernia was causing issues (a week earlier than the 8 week mark).

I was honestly expecting Gaia to say it was too much for her to handle. Even told her that nobody would judge her for not being ready for that level of responsibility. That we could find an organization that could take him and get him the help he needed and find him a good home. He has two sisters she could consider, there were plenty of shelters back home with cats under a year old, and we could even check the town we were visiting and places on the way back home, so there were options. I knew how much it took to care for a kitten with health issues (my current cat required months of specialized care and there were plenty of scares along the way) and Gaia has no previous experience with cats outside of hanging out with our cats, so that's just starting on hard mode.

After a long serious talk on the responsibilities she was about to take on, she said she knew it would be hard but the thought of giving him up made her sick. That she would do whatever it took to give him a happy life for however long she has him. We aren't rich people, she's going back to college full time, she had only decided on him over one of his sisters that morning, and (again) this would be the first cat she has ever had. She went all in without a second thought.

The original quotes from various vets willing to do the surgery (not all vets can) were pretty insane, but luckily I found a non-profit that did the surgery for about half. My other roommate and I fully support her and chipping in what we can.

Eclipse is 8 week old and his surgery is scheduled in a month, but we are going to call in and check for cancelations since he's reached the minimum weight and age for anesthesia. Winter has been so busy caring for him that she's not had a chance to post about him, so I decided to do it on the drive home. I think the story is important because it raises awareness about an issue most don't know about and shows someone genuinely caring about a pet with special needs. As a disabled person who's went through a lot of ableism and survived abuse, it really hit me to see how much she loves him with her whole chest and doesn't ever approach his issues with anger or blame.

I don't ask for reblogs much, but I wanted to ask you guys to boost this. I linked Gaia's PayPal below if anyone wants to help take some of the financial burden off her, but you can also support her with messages and boosting this and her future post/s about Eclipse (cut her some slack guys, she's currently in tired new mom mode). I don't expect anyone to donate because I know you guys are mostly in the same shape as us, but I think showing Gaia support is just as important.

Now if you'll excuse me, the hyperactive boy got the zoomies and just jumped in the toilet XD

Edit: Late thing to add on, but a few days after posting this my other roommate/bestie Sarah decided to adopt his sister! Her name is Melanite, but her honey eyes have earned her the nickname Miel. Her and Eclipse have always been very close (often laying on top of each other), so it's great that they'll get to stay together.

#cats #umbilical hernia #storytime #kittens #pet help #surgery #xray #health issue #paypal #help #disability mention #thank god for cat safe baby wipes!#we used a washcloth and then baby wipes to clean the little mess #god help us when the hernia gets fixed if he's this hyper WITH a health problem #gotta love him though #he's a goof

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sp4ceboo · 7 months ago

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Stray: Lee Dokyeom x Cat Hybrid!Reader

A/N: so there are a lot of hybrid AUs out there where the members are the hybrids but it got me thinking about dk with cat hybrid reader (i heard dk was allergic but dw i got it covered)

tw: 18+ because of eventual smut, swearing, hybrids are not treated well by society, a bit of trauma from reader being treated badly, reader doesn't have a home or food at the beginning, reader is extremely emotionally repressed whoops, mentions of death + starving, not really slow burn it's just long and has weird pacing because i refuse to cut out some bits, dk is a huge ball of sunshine, it starts off waffly but gets sm better i promise, cheating and breakup (not dk and reader),

wc: 11.7k (oops)

you'd had your dealings with humans, and most weren't pleasant

as a hybrid, you didn't fully belong with cats or humans

the latter often thought you were inferior, and treated you as much

you find your fully cat form is much more agreeable to your human form with ears - it feels less obvious that way, even though normal cats can smell that you're a hybrid

still, the world isn't kind, and you don't have a home

you'd stood up for yourself at your last job - a secretary in a huge office block - pointing out that you got a much lower salary than the comparable human employees, and had been promptly fired

briefly, a human couple had taken you in, but once they realised you were a hybrid, they kicked you out

which leaves you where you are now, wishing that you were just one or the other and not both

the winter is especially harsh this year, and your soft coat, matted from too many days on the streets, doesn't do much to keep out the cold

the wind is cutting, and you find yourself slinking through the back gardens of some low rise flats, wondering if anyone will spot you and think you're just a stray cat

you can't believe you're stooping this low, but you'd rather this than death by frostbite

like hell you're just going to give up now

it's not like you'd stay permanently without the home owners knowing you're a hybrid, anyway - you know how that ended last time

the muffled sound of laughter floats towards you, and you scale a fence, following the noises until you make your way into a rather overgrown garden

warm light spills through the glass doors, and you curl up on the patio, at the edge of the beam cast by the full kitchen

by full, you mean full

there must be over ten guys in there, all crammed shoulder to shoulder around the dining table, laughing raucously

they're all human, from what you can tell

you can feel a bit of the warmth seeping out from the miniature crack under the door, but before you dare inch forward, further into the light, one of them turns around

he's got a sweet face, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he laughs at one of his friend's jokes

the hackles on your back rise as you feel his gaze on you

you've learnt that when humans smile it doesn't always mean they're good people

retreating quickly, you find yourself thankful for the crowded garden, slinking behind a bush to get out of sight

you immediately feel the lack of warmth, the laughter more muffled from here

for some reason, an empty feeling wells up inside you, like you lost something

like you strayed from the path of your destiny

but deep inside you, the survival instincts tug you away from the warm kitchen and the warm smiles

those instincts haven't failed you yet, so why would they fail you now?

however, despite your so called survival instincts, you find yourself in the same garden a week later

again

you'd visited a few times, but they didn't really count, because all you did was peer furtively over the fence, ears swivelling vigilantly

you'd caught sight of the guy who spotted you before, peering outside and frowning

you assume he's the one who owns the bottom floor flat

you hope he was wondering if he should get his garden in order, because if he was, you whole heartedly agree - you almost poked yourself on the brambles a few times

right now, the Guy is washing up, his sleeves rolled up and his hair a bit of a mess, elbow deep in the soapy sink water

his glasses keep falling down his nose

the kitchen lights are on - it's almost dark, and the night's chill is creeping further into your bones

it's been so long since you've been inside that you find indoor lights kind of... mesmerising

it might seem strange, but you almost crave the fake yellow light the light bulbs give off

the Guy suddenly stops washing up and you almost fall off the back fence that you're perched on, thinking he's seen you

then he bobs his head in time to a beat you can't hear while busting out some quite respectable dance moves, and you realise he's just listening to music

it must be some pretty good music - now he's singing, and you can hear it faintly

wow, he's good

he also looks pretty engrossed

that's your queue; you jump down from the back fence, your paws pattering against the frosty patio as you approach

there's something that always draws you back here

and it's not just because of the warm air radiating from his badly insulated flat

still, you're wary - he might seem friendly, and you might feel a certain pull towards him, but that doesn't mean anything

lots of things have felt right that weren't

you're not making any mistakes this time

you're tired of being mistreated because you're a hybrid, and tired of being seen as a pet and not a person

never mind if this ends with the Guy feeding you caviar some cats could only dream of, if he looks at you funny, you're not going to even set foot in his mess of a garden again

with that thought, you curl up beside the glass door, happy to bask in the lingering warmth from the kitchen and enjoy the artificial light

turning your head, you peer at the Guy over the lip of the door

his shoulders are turned in your general direction, but he's looking studiously at the dishes in the sink, shimmying his shoulders and tapping his foot along to the rhythm of the music, so you decide to stay a little longer

that's when the grey clouds coalescing above you decide to start snowing

you feel the fur on your sides fluff up in response, and you wrap your tail around your paws, edging an inch closer to the door

the air is bitingly cold, and you wonder if you'll make it through the night if the snow settles

you haven't eaten a real meal in ages, and you're suddenly aware that it means your poor little cat body has even less insulation

you're certain that if you don't find shelter soon, tonight will be your last

but do you really want to seek help from some random human?

it's ended badly before, but you know it could have ended worse

you won't let that happen again

abruptly, you stand up, tail lashing in irritation at yourself - like hell you're going to come crawling into some human's home, ears pinned back like you need their help

it's not your fault you were born a fucking hybrid

you're halfway down the patio when a warm gust of air blasts down your spine

you wonder if hallucinating heat is an early symptom of hypothermia but continue resolutely making your way towards the back fence

'hey,'

you whip around, a snarl half forming on your face in shock, but it's just the Guy

he leans in the doorway, a smile on his face and his eyes sparkling

'you can come in, if you want.'

the warmth coming from inside his flat is absolute bliss

you're a metre away from the open door, but you can feel your bones defrosting, and you know however hard you try, you can't leave now

not now that he's offered

not when his kind smile triggers not zero, but minus one alarm bells in your head

you approach but hesitate, knowing you're being too quick to give in - he doesn't know you're a hybrid, and you don't know if he's secretly evil and plans to skin you as soon as you step through the door

just to be safe, you stop just out of kicking distance, staring up at him quizzically

surely, he wouldn't voluntarily let a hybrid into his house - you're much more expensive to look after than pets, because you'd basically be another human in the house who can't earn enough to pay bills

you're considering backing out, even with that delicious heat emnating from his kitchen, when he moves to the side so you have a clear path in

your eyes widen a little

you feel like he's being too nice

he laughs a little at your indecision, squatting down so he looks smaller and less intimidating

'come on. i know it must be way too cold out there. i'll let you out whenever you want to leave, if that's what you want.'

that's the final straw

you step over the threshold and bolt

you're not even sure where you're going, but you swerve away from a room where there are clothes strewn over a chair and the desk filled with clutter - that's definitely his bedroom

the only other room that isn't the bathroom or the kitchen is a dusty room full of cardboard boxes and a bed with no sheets on it

a guest room, you assume

flattening yourself against the floor, you crawl under the bed

quickly, you tuck yourself behind one of the boxes which had been artfully stuffed underneath the bed

once you're settled, it occurs to you that that was frankly rude of you

the Guy let you into his flat, and the first thing you do is sprint past him and invade his guest room

but then again, he probably thinks you're just some feral cat who he saved from becoming a feline icicle, so your behaviour would make sense

you tense when you hear footsteps pass the door, but he doesn't come in, just walks into what you assume is the bathroom

a few minutes later, you hear the shower turn on, and you relax a little more

maybe he'll let you be for now

curling your tail over your nose to stop yourself from snorting in the ridiculous amounts of dust under the bed, you wedge yourself further behind the box and close your eyes

it's amazingly warm in the Guy's flat, you'll give him that

warm enough that despite the hunger that's been gnawing at your stomach for the past week, you find yourself falling into a sleep deeper than you've been able to reach for ages

you'll get to sorting out the details of your little invasion of his flat in the morning

for now, you're happy to sleep

when you wake up, he's gone

understandably, though - he must work pretty hard to afford a nice-ish flat like this, and it is also twelve noon

unfortunately, he doesn't appear to have any cat flaps, so that means you'll have to momentarily shift into your very naked human form to let yourself out the back door

you wonder if you should check in his fridge if he's got anything to eat, but then you decide against it - he's already given you a place to stay for the night, no need to eat his food as well

ignoring the call of the fridge and the shower, you pad over to the back door, pausing when you see something propped against the glass

it's a little whiteboard, and as you approach, you make out the writing

it's got 'hi, i'm dokyeom, dk for short :D' written across the top, with a little flow chart beneath

it starts with two options: 'are you a hybrid' with a box for ticking under 'yes' and 'no'

under the option for 'no', it says 'i'll buy cat food' and under 'yes', it says 'there are spare clothes in the guest room and towels in the bathroom (both clean, don't worry), help yourself to anything in the fridge'

you sit down on your haunches, shocked

so he did consider that you could be a hybrid?

and he's alright with it?

plus, he managed to leave clothes in the room you were sleeping in, and you didn't wake up?

maybe your instincts aren't as good as you thought

or maybe your body thought you were safe last night - safe enough to not wake you up when the Guy (dokyeom, you've learnt from the mini whiteboard) came in

you cock your head, staring at the whiteboard for a few moments longer before making your decision

honestly, it's not hard to choose

you make your way to the bathroom, already eagerly anticipating a shower

sure enough, he's left a towel on the rail, and you're quick to hop into the shower, shifting into your human form and turning up the heat high

it's strange to be out of your cat form, your body suddenly seeming too large and ungainly, your senses immediately dulled

but in a way, it's also freeing - you haven't been able to be like this in ages, as clothes unfortunately don't shift with you from cat to human form

you feel more real this way

that's the problem: you can't exist as just one or another, both animal and human are part of your soul, your essence - you can't just pretend that one half of you doesn't exist

eventually, you drag yourself out of the shower

you're aware that he might have limited hot water, and what kind of guest would you be if you used it up before he even got a chance to get home?

wrapping the towel around you, you slip into the guest room to put on the clothes he'd left there

it's a pair of black tracksuit bottoms, a large white t-shirt and a grey hoodie, all obviously his

even in your human form, you can smell the mixed scents on his clothes

there's the fresh smell of clean laundry, a hint of aftershave, and his own unique scent: you can't quite put your finger on it, but it feels... cosy

it's a smell that's all over his house, actually

barefoot, you enter the kitchen again, scooping the whiteboard off the floor so you can write on it

you tick the box under 'yes'

underneath that, you write a quick note:

'thanks for letting me stay. i'll be out of your hair in no time, i just needed somewhere for the night. you're very kind, dk. thank you so much :))'

signing your name and setting the whiteboard down on the counter on the way to the fridge, you rummage around, wondering what you can cook

you're pleasantly surprised - the contents of his fridge aren't awful, and although they could be organised a little better, it's thankfully not full of expired ready meals or anything like that

feeling better than you've felt in ages, you wander around his kitchen until you find his rice cooker, and then you get cooking

you're absolutely ravenous, but you make sure to make enough for him too - he's been unnecessarily kind to you, this is the best you can do for him

you're just finished washing up your dishes when your instincts prickle

it's a sensation that happens a lot when you're in your human form - it means that your cat form would be picking up something that your human senses are too dull to detect

rushing back to the bedroom, you slip out of the clothes he laid out for you, hastily folding them before shifting back to your cat form

logically, you have no reason to fear

he's been nothing but kind to you, but he's still a human

and humans aren't always as nice as they seem

you feel so much more secure in your cat form - smaller, faster, better at avoiding sticky situations, better at surviving

your ears twitch as you hear a key scrape in the lock

that must be him - dk

you stand indecisively in the middle of the guest room, your claws sinking unconsciously into the carpet before you hastily retract them

by then, he's toed his shoes off and is in the kitchen

you hear a soft 'oh'

he's probably found the whiteboard on the counter, moved from where he left it, and the dinner you cooked for him

he calls your name then, and you almost jump out of your skin before you remember you wrote it on the whiteboard

feeling far too nervous, you trot out into the corridor, nudging the kitchen door open before entering

he's right there, leaning against the counter, his smiling eyes bright as he looks down at you

this is the first time you've really seen him, really realised you let your guard down and allowed some random guy to let you into his house

he looks absolutely huge

like, he could crush your cat form in his bare hands if he wanted to you, although you realise that's not that great of a feat considering your small stature

he would also tower over your human form, but then again, that's not much of an achievment

still, it makes you take a small step back

humans have unquestioned power over hybrids - you're pretty sure if he killed you right here and now, no one would know or care

and if someone did know, the case would be as likely to make it to court as you are likely to become a billionare next week

your hackles begin to rise, and you mentally run through your escape options

unfortunately, none avoid you shifting into your naked human form, even if it's just for a few seconds

you're beginning to panic

a lot

but then, he crouches down, just like last night

slowly, keeping his movements predictable, he reaches his hand out towards you

'i won't hurt you,'

you relax just a tiny bit, ears twitching, waiting to see what he'll say next

'promise.'

of their own accord, your hackles lower, and you find yourself inching towards his outstretched hand

'you don't have to leave, you know. it would be nice to have some company. plus, i don't want to make assumptions, but i'd rather not let you go if you have nowhere else to stay.'

part of your brain wonders why he's being so nice

the other part, the part that you've shoved down for so long, surfaces like a long lost ache, reminding you how lonely you are, reminding you how much you miss simple human interaction

dipping your head forward, you sniff at his broad palm, before lightly licking his fingertips

he chuckles, albeit a little nervously, as if he's scared you're going to bolt at any second (to be fair, if you were him, you wouldn't write off that option either)

his other hand comes up to rub behind your ears, and your eyes close at the feeling

the beginnings of a purr start to form in your chest, and you know that's when your fate is sealed

the permanence of that thought unsettles you

pulling away, you head towards the radiator, settling close to it, glad that your cat form means that you don't have to talk to him

he grins brightly at you, picking up the plate you left on the counter and putting it in the microwave for warming up

'thanks for the dinner, but you know you don't owe me anything, right?'

you blink up at him from your spot on the floor

he's literally the kindest human you've ever met

then again, you haven't met very many kind humans

that night you sleep curled up on the sofa - it's much more comfortable than wedged underneath a bed, and his cushions smell nice

in the morning, you hear dk get up, but he tip toes around quietly

cracking an eye open, you yawn, eyes blinking into focus as you watch him quickly scribble on the whiteboard, his brow furrowed in concentration

he glances your way, and for some reason, it shoots a bolt of panic through you, and you duck your head back down, closing your eyes

it's not that he's threatening - quite the opposite

it's just that you're not used to this; not used to being in such close proximity with another being for prolonged periods of time, not used to interaction with humans after avoiding them for your own sake for so long

you hear some shuffling, the sound of the fridge door, and then his footsteps approach

as he walks past, he brushes a hand lightly down the soft fur of your back, as if in greeting

you almost twitch at the feeling

you wonder how long it's been since you've let anyone come that close

not daring to move a hair, you wait until you hear him ease the front door shut

the second he's gone, you jump up, eager to see what he wrote on the whiteboard

it's on the counter, so you shift into your human form and put on some clothes - you're not sure what his rules about paws on tables are

there's a fresh t-shirt on the guest room bed, but you opt to wear the one you wore yesterday

a smile plays on your lips as you read what he wrote

it's a short but sweet message extolling the virtues of your cooking and telling you to help yourself to the fridge again, followed by a question asking if what food you would like and whether you prefer cat food

still grinning, you write your reply, explaining how you can eat both human and cat food and how you love tuna in either form, adding a short shopping list of ingredients and asking how his day was

once you're done, you decide to explore his flat properly

it consists of two bathrooms, two bedrooms, a tiny room with a washing machine and various bits and bobs crammed inside, and the kitchen which sort of melds with the living room (if you could call the couch and TV in one corner a living room)

you spend most of your time snooping around his bedroom, just to sate your curiosity

it's not neat, but it's not messy either, and the smell of him is strongest in there

you're sure his desk should be buckling under the combined weight of his pc and the impressive amount of paraphanalia that's collected upon it

it's not that it's dirty - it's actually pretty orderly, there's just... a lot of stuff

there's a mug full of pens which says 'dude kisser' on it (you're not going to question that one), a haphazard stack of books - the top one of which has a fuzzy bookmark sticking out, a pile of mismatching keycaps, a group photo of dk and twelve other guys with moustaches and other flattering things lovingly drawn on, and tons more stuff you couldn't explain even if you tried

the chair has a lot of clothes draped over it: nice, comfy clothes, like the ones he's lended you

you're tempted to explore further into his room, but you feel kind of rude so you scuttle back to the kitchen/living room to make the happy discovery that he owns a nintendo switch

that means he probably has some more complicated games lurking around but you're happy to settle with mario kart for now

it's not something you've played before, although you've heard some of your human ex-colleagues talking about it

by the time dk returns, though, you're a pro

well, maybe not a pro, but not inept, either

by then you've made dinner and left it out for him like yesterday - you feel kind of weird doing nothing but playing video games while he goes to work, and at least cooking for him makes you feel a little useful and not like some awful parasite taking advantage of him

he tells you about his day as he eats at the dinner table while you sit in cat form on the chair next to him

he smiles the whole time, and you find yourself relaxed and content, infected by his happy virus

once he's done with his debrief, he unthinkingly asks how your day was

you look at him and give him your best deadpan meow

he laughs and you find it a bit dazzling - he hands away smiles as if they're free, and honestly it kind of restores your faith in humanity

'what if you blink twice for yes and once for no? how about that?'

you blink twice at him

dk grins, his eyes lighting up; he's so excited you can almost imagine him clapping his hands and kicking his legs like an enthusiastic little kid

'do you like pineapple on pizza? is it wrong to wear socks and sandals? how about socks in bed? are tomatoes a fruit? is it right to have toilet paper over? or do you like it under?'

he bombards you with random yes or no questions, each one getting weirder than the last, but you find his delight in your answers is more than enough to let him continue

after about half an hour, he either runs out of questions or decides to spare you, asking instead whether you want to watch a movie

that's how you end up curled up on the sofa beside him

he'd insisted on a horror movie, even though you'd said no, very clearly blinking only once

you would leave but you think it's kind of entertaining how bad the makeup and plot are and how violent his reactions are (they consist of a lot of flailing and terrified squeaks)

despite your reluctance to watch a horror movie, he's actually more scared than you are

the poor thing is tense as anything, his mouth hanging half open as he stares wide eyed at the tv, transfixed

you're actually too busy watching him that when the jump scare pops up on screen, you jump about a foot high, landing hissing on his lap with your tail all fluffed up

your claws accidentally come out and prick him through his jeans and he yelps

'ouch - shit - ow - '

you hop off his lap and watch him dramatically curse and pretend to be wounded, both of you distracted from the movie now

eventually he calms down and goes back to watching, but not before he picks you up and plops you back on his lap, one hand anxiously smoothing down your back as you both wait for the next jump scare

after a while he goes so far as to pick you up and hold you to his chest, hiding his face in your fur every time the music warningly crescendos, whispering to you how utterly terrified he is

even still, his grip stays loose enough for you to move away at any time if you want

you'd think that after your previous experiences with humans, you'd hate him anywhere near you, but you don't

you don't mind it at all

it's kind of ridiculous actually, the way you feel safer than you have in months when he clutches you to him while watching a literal horror movie

you don't think much of it though

he's just a guy who's letting you stay for a bit

you don't plan to stick around

a week later, you find yourself writing an apology on the whiteboard that you'd been putting off since watching the movie

dk is welcoming and warm and friendly but you're sure he must be wondering why you haven't shifted into your human form yet

sometimes, you wonder that yourself - there's something in his eyes that instantly puts you at ease

the day before yesterday, you'd planned it, changing into your clothes - his clothes, and sitting on the sofa, ready to greet him, but the moment you heard his footsteps up to the front door, you just couldn't

your cat form still feels so much safer, even though you have nothing to fear

well, apart from all the explaining you'd have to do once you shift into a form with a tongue that can talk

you don't want to see the pity that would spring into his eyes, or worse, disgust

you're scared of the change it will bring

you're scared to let your walls down

you're scared to bare the soft, vulnerable part of your heart

clenching your teeth, you force yourself to relax, the marker in your hand shaking from how hard your fingers had been clenching around it

you lean against the counter for a while, writing messages then rubbing them out, needing to tell him why but also terrified of what he'll say

solitude has been your only companion for so long, you find that you don't have the words to express what you feel

you don't know how to tell him how you hadn't realised how lonely you were until he let you in

you don't know how to articulate the warm feeling inside you when he smiles at you, as if he doesn't care whether you're a human or a hybrid - because he doesn't

you don't know how to say how eternally grateful you are to him for finding something soft and gentle and innocent within you that you thought you lost years ago

in the end, you decide to keep it short, an apology that feels more like an excuse, but it's the best you can give him

sure, you don't plan to stay here with him forever, but you owe it to him anyway

your restless for the remainder of the day, pacing around the flat and the garden for a little too, tail lashing agitatedly

you've almost convinced yourself to go and rub out your message completely when you hear the front door open and dk comes in, calling out that he's home

peeking around the corner, you see him down the hallway but he doesn't spot you

he's got a strange look on his face, one you can't decipher yet, and there's a flowery scent on him that you've smelled only one time before

you wait just out of sight, not wanting to see his face as he reads

slowly, you venture out, feeling far more nervous than you should be

he sits down on the floor opposite you as soon as he spots you, signalling for you to do the same by patting the spot in front of him

you sink down on your haunches and curl your tail over your feet, nerves a tight ball in your chest

'you don't have to shift if you don't want to.'

the words immediately give you space to breathe, and you feel kind of silly for being so worked up about it all day

'i know hybrids aren't treated well at all, and i'm okay with whatever form you feel most comfortable in, you know? you can shift when you're ready, and whether that's tomorrow or in a decade or never, that's fine. you don't owe me anything.'

your chest feels tight at the earnesty of his words, and you know that if you were in your human form right now, tears would be welling up in your eyes

getting up, you close the gap between the two of you and rest your shoulder against his knee, needing to show your gratitude, needing to be closer to him

he rests his wide palm on your back, a silent assurance

'it's nice to have you here. i used to share with a bunch of my friends - the ones coming over tonight that i told you about this morning, actually - and sometimes it gets lonely in a flat all by myself. i like talking with you.'

you meow, nuzzling against his other hand as he lifts it to stroke the silky spot between your ears

it's amazing, how simple his words are but how he can use them so well, articulating how he feels so boldly

he smiles down at you and you look back up at him, leaning against his hand before he gets up, groaning and cracking his back

his friends will be here soon

he'd warned you this morning, informing you they were noisy but harmless and that if you didn't want to see them, you could hole up in the guest room

they're the first people he's had over since your first night in his flat, and you feel kind of nervous about so many humans, but dk will be there, and you're determined to at least attempt to meet them

anyways, if they're all anywhere close to him, you'll have no problems

still, you stay in the guest room, ears twitching with each arrival

they laugh and chat, their voices carrying through the flat as they jokingly rib each other

occasionally, they have a little karaoke break where they all stop talking to sing along to the song playing on dk's speaker

then there'll be peals of laughter that follow, usually after an exaggerated falsetto note or a scuffling noise which you assume is dancing

it's after their laughter dies down a little when you finally whip up the courage to approach

poking your head into the kitchen, you peer in

there's twelve of them, not including dk, all sitting around the dining table, an array of soju bottles and mainly empty takeaway boxes arranged around them

you're pretty sure they're the same group that you saw the first time you found yourself in dk's garden

one of them spots you in the doorway, and he grins, leaning with his elbows on his knees and opening his palms to you

cautiously, you trot over to him, and he scoops you up, tickling your chin

one of dk's friends across the table gapes at you - he's a bit more drunk than the others (or he holds his liquor less well), and the guy you're sitting on chuckles at his expression

'dk, you got a cat?'

that's the drunk one speaking, his speech a little slurred as his eyes well up with tears

he's a sad drunk, it seems

'dk, you're a dad - '

dk scratches the back of his neck, watching his friend sniffle

'well, hoshi, not a dad, but - '

the guy still holding you adjusts you in his grasp, letting you catch the thoughtful frown on his face

'why didn't you tell us? i thought you were al - '

he's cut off by a sassy looking guy

'jun, just because you want to have a baby shower for a cat doesn't mean all the rest of us do.'

this causes absolute chaos, and the one holding you - jun - lets you down on the floor so he can stand up in order to argue with the sassy guy about the benefits of cat baby shower

navigating your way through the mess of legs under the table, you make your way over to dk

he grins and rubs the spot behind your ears, and you lick his palm before someone grabs you around the middle and cuddles you

you hear dk telling the boys to be careful and it warms your heart a little that he's still looking out for you

he doesn't need to be worried, though

dk's friends are as sweet as he is

you sit with the boys for the rest of the evening

they all leave eventually, trickling out in ones and twos

the last one left is the one they call cheol - he seems to be the protector of the group, and he makes sure dk is alright and helps him clear up a little before he leaves too

once he's out of the door, dk crouches down in front of you

'you okay?'

you blink twice and he grins

'they can be pretty overwhelming and noisy at first, but they're my best friends.'

there's pride shining in his eyes, and you can't help but agree with him - despite their banter, you could tell that they care so much for each other, and for him

'i didn't know whether you wanted them to know you were a hybrid or not, i hope you don't mind that,'

you blink twice again, meowing and padding forward to rub against his shins

you're not quite sure what makes you do that, what primal part of you tells you to put your scent on him, but he chuckles, smile as bright as the sun as always

he scratches at the spot behind your ear and you purr, leaning your head into his touch

'oh - '

you look up, the wonder on his face making it seem like he just made you sprout wings and flash neon

it's cute that he's so proud that he's made you purr

it's been a few months since you first started staying with dk, long enough for the two of you to have a little routine

you cook and clean and generally try to make yourself as helpful as you can around his house while he's at work

he'll write a message for you on the whiteboard every morning, and you'll write your reply during the day

you always come out to greet him at the front door, no matter what

then he'll eat the dinner you made and answer your whiteboard message

from then on, you'll watch a movie with him or just chat

your communication has become easier - sometimes, he'll get his laptop out and you'll type what you're saying, but recently he's gotten scarily good at reading your body language

and no, you still have not worked up the courage to shift into human form yet

you're studiously ignoring the fact that the longer you leave it, the harder it gets

you're also ignoring your previously stated intentions of not staying

you know that this can't go on forever, and even if dk can understand you to an extent, that's not enough and you cost him extra water bills and food

you know he's too kind to bring it up but it eats away at you inside

you're happy to remain blind to the fact that you can't have a proper conversation with him until you shift into human form for now

you tell yourself that you'll deal with it later, whenever later is

another thing that you refuse to acknowledge is your feelings

your fear that you won't be good enough if or when you show him your human form, your fear that you're a dead weight, and worst of all, the growing realisation that he's stupidly fucking handsome

you'd realised but you hadn't realised until one day, after he got back from the gym

his skin had been covered in a light sheen of sweat, and he told you he was going to shower before eating

you'd kind of just blinked at him, too entranced by the amount of skin his tank top was showing

like, what does this guy not have?

he took a little longer than normal in the shower - you heard him absolutely belting out the lyrics to some ballad you'd never heard before, so you trotted down the hallway to listen more closely

and then the door to the bathroom popped open, along with a billow of steam and a delicious lee dokyeom

there was a towel around his hips, low enough to make your stomach twist, and the water rolled down the planes of his chest in a way that made you want to shift into your human form right then and there, just to wrestle that towel off him and kiss him until you ran out of breath

instead, you yowled and jumped about a foot in the air

he just laughed, running a hand through his wet hair to push it out of his eyes before crouching down, telling you he didn't mean to scare you

you meowed and kept your eyes on his face, not on the gap that had opened in the towel due to his bent knees, and definitely not on the wonderful sliver of tanned thigh that showed

the image of dk, damp and glorious under the tinny light of his bathroom, cloaked in steam, often circles around your mind to this day

and it's not just that either - he's also funny and kind and sweet and you feel yourself drowning in his eyes when you look at him too long

just as a reminder: cats do not like water

let alone drowning

the sound of footsteps on the pavement outside dk's front door shake you from your thoughts

there's clearly two people, and you hear dk's voice as the key scrapes in the lock

he's speaking in a tone you've never heard before, low and emotionally charged, like he's angry

you peek into the hallway as the front door opens

dk steps in, followed by a girl you've never seen before, but her scent matches that flowery scent you've smelt on dk a few times before

something sinks inside you

you didn't think he had a girlfriend, which now, in hindsight, seems like a really, really stupid assumption

he's handsome and kind and considerate with a smile brighter than the sun

but then you notice something else - the obvious frown on dk's face

there's a sort of tension in the air, crackling and heavy, like a storm's brewing and there are dark clouds swarming above

she ignores it, instead spotting you and immediately crouching and patting her thighs to try and entice you over as dk shucks off his shoes, face like thunder

she says something to him in an airy voice about him not telling her he had a cat

he shrugs, not mentioning that you're a hybrid and staying silent, which kind of alarms you, because the dk you know is friendly, warm - even when he's angry, it's always firey, nothing like the frigid detachedness in his eyes right now

cautiously, you approach, not really sure what to expect - you're sure she's his girlfriend; now you think about it, you did hear dk's friends discuss it briefly, you just didn't understand at the time

she reaches out to stroke your back, but it brings the cuff of her oversized leather coat near your face

you get a smothering whiff of heavy, masculine cologne that you know is not hers and is definitely not dk's

there's no hint of aftershave, no smell of fresh laundry, and not even a trace of that scent on him that makes you feel warm and comfy

and if this isn't her coat, and it's not dk's, then who's is it?

cheater

hissing, you recoil, your hackles up as you swipe at her hand with your claws out before she can lay a finger on you

you're kind of taken aback by the violence of your own reaction - the tension in the air must be getting to you, too

'oh. it doesn't like me much, you're sure it's not one of those hybrids, right?'

dk's frown deepens into a scowl you've never even seen a hint of on his face, his eyes flashing, filled with something absolutely livid

'let's talk in the kitchen.'

he doesn't even look at her when he says it, and as he turns to go, you can see how hard he's clenching his jaw

you head to the guest room to give them privacy while dk's girlfriend slinks after him

even across the apartment, you can hear too well

it's partly your enhanced cat hearing and partly that new timbre in dk's voice - he's not yelling, nowhere close, but his words carry through the walls

it's the angriest you've ever heard him

you've seen him angry before; frustrated, annoyed, down right incensed, but it always passes quickly, the sun breaking through the clouds with ease - dk doesn't hold grudges

you catch 'cheating' from his sentence, and then suddenly, his girlfriend raises her voice, like she's the one who should be angry, screaming that she doesn't get why he's so worked up over this

that's the exact moment where you want to march into the kitchen and fucking injure her, somehow

punching her in human form would be preferable but you'd be down to claw her eyes out in cat form too

who is she, to cheat on dk, the kindest man alive, then tell him it's nothing? tell him she doesn't know why he's worried?

she doesn't know what she's taking for granted, and she's a fool for that

plus, from what you can hear, he's being half as angry as he really deserves to be, anyway

you sit there in a tense, seething ball of rage, protective and furious on dk's behalf until he puts his foot down

his voice is quieter, more subdued, but he's moved to the kitchen door and you hear him clearly

'get out.'

mentally, you pump your fist in triumph - he should have kicked her out the moment she had the audacity to tell him he shouldn't be getting so worked up about her cheating

in fact, he should have never have let her in in the first place

you hear her screech something over her shoulder about breaking up, as if that wasn't already obvious

honestly, you're kind of embarrassed on her behalf

she should be winning awards for how far her head is up her own ass

dk shuts the door behind her

he doesn't even slam it, just eases it closed like he always does and plods to his room

you hear the rustle of the blankets as he slumps down on the bed, hear the shaky sigh he lets out, and then the heavy silence

you get up and go to his room - the door is ajar, so you peek in

you don't go in; he has every reason to want to be alone, so you hover in the doorway

he lifts his head up and gives you a valiant smile

he looks exhausted

you hop up onto the bed and wait, not wanting to crowd him if he doesn't want contact, but he picks you up and sets you on his chest

you can tell he's fighting with his words as he formulates something to say to you

he stares up at the ceiling, avoiding your eyes until he covers his own with his arm, hiding the upper half of his face in the crook of his elbow

'i found out she was cheating this morning, but i'd suspected it for a while before. i wanted to talk it through with her, give her a chance, you know?'

he squirms and you realise your claws are coming out and poking his chest so you withdraw them and attempt to relax

'she told me i was overreacting, and... yeah. i guess i should have listened to my mum. she's always right.'

he laughs, but it's a loose, raw sound that echoes weakly around the room, and he still won't look at you or uncover his eyes

there's a moment of silence, thick and suffocating with heartache

a sob wrenches from his chest

it's a sharp, painful sound, like he's been holding it in for hours

the floodgates open

dk covers his face with trembling hands, tears leaking out from under his palms

you never thought seeing someone else cry would hurt this much

nudging his hand with your nose, you let him hold you close, rubbing your cheek against his and gently lapping the tears off his face, even as they soak your fur

you feel helpless, like the pieces of his heart are in your hands and you don't know how to fit them back together

he just clings to you, eyes tight shut as his sobs begin to subside

you stay there with him, wishing you could do more as he hides his face in your fur and hugs you close to him

you don't know what that girl was thinking when she decided to cheat on dk

actually, she probably wasn't thinking at all

you kind of want to tell him he's too kind and trusting for his own good, but you know that even if dk was capable of not being like that, he would choose to be the way he is

his hand strokes down your back, and you watch him from where you rest your head on his collarbone

he's staring at the ceiling, and although his eyes are red and a bit puffy and he's sniffling, his crying has subsided a little

dk props himself up on his elbows and gives you a sad smile

'sorry about that. and thanks, too, i - i needed that.'

you huff, tail flicking and smacking against his abdomen - as if he needs to be sorry

nuzzling into the hand he brings up to rub your head, you lick his palm, nudging it with your nose

then you hop off the bed and wait for him to follow you into the kitchen so he eats his dinner

you don't take your eyes off him, not even when he goes to sleep

you curl up in the corner, happy to sleep on the carpet, but he pats the mattress next to him and you can't refuse

it's nice, to sleep beside dk, his body warm and near as he reaches across the bed to run his hand down the fur of your spine and beckon you closer

over the next months, you watch dk heal

you help him heal, too

at least, you hope you do

you make sure to stick close to him

you've slept curled up at the foot of his bed every night since the day of the break up

he calls his mum the day after, and a few of his friends too

he stays strong and determinedly brave in front of the boys, not shedding a tear, but he cries on the phone to his mum

he also cries over a few emotionally fraught kdramas during the first week before you sit on the remote and refuse to move until he chooses another genre

truth be told, you were getting kind of sick of the same plot with different characters, and the pile of tissues on the coffee table in front of the sofa was growing frighteningly large

exactly a month has passed since the break up when, over his dinner, dk announces to you that he's finally installing cat flaps for you

he also mentions that he wants to introduce you to his friends properly, as who you are

the latter comment kind of makes you nervous

his friends are some of the most welcoming, commendable men you've ever interacted with, but a niggling part of your brain wonders if they'll be more sceptical than dk

what if they tell him you're taking advantage of him?

or that you're just a hybrid and don't deserve the kindness he's giving you?

because after all these months with dk, you realised you're not just staying for the roof over your head or the warm meals

you're staying because of dk

you care about him

a lot

not just because you're sort of a little bit hopelessly in love with him, but also because he's kind of... your best friend

he's so sweet and silly and and considerate and funny it makes you want to punch a wall sometimes

you'd protect him with your life

you don't really know how to say it to him, though

there's nothing more you can do in the house, and the words don't seem right on the whiteboard

you wait out the hours until he gets back from work, doing chores around the house or out exploring the neighbourhood through the newly installed cat flap in the back door

or singing in the shower, like you are now

dk's bathroom has very good acoustics

it means you can belt your heart out, happily knowing that dk won't be home for another few hours

you're singing one of the songs dk's friends had been singing the other night

it's kind of sad but also kind of a hoe anthem and the chorus has something about not understanding something - you don't remember the rest of the lyrics

it has a good tune, though, and your own singing combined with the splashing of the shower seals you off from the outside world

which means that when dk gets home early, you don't hear

originally, the only explanation for a female voice coming from his bathroom that he can think of is his ex, but that's dumb because she never had a key in the first place

also, her voice can't even compare to yours

because it is you, he realises

it's you in the shower right now, oblivious to the fact he's home early and is hearing your voice for the first time ever

a little bolt of nervous energy shoots through him, and he panics

what's he supposed to do? should he shout that he's home?

he decides he doesn't want to scare you just in case you panic, so he approaches slowly, hoping to knock on the door and let you know

he soaks up the sound of your voice, a smile playing on his lips, because of course you sound amazing

he's about to knock on the door when the handle turns

wait is all he gets out before suddenly, there you are, right in front of him, wrapped in a towel, cat ears peaking out from your hair that's dripping onto the tiled floor

his brain freezes

shit, you're pretty

you gape at dk

you didn't even hear him come in, let alone him walking down the hallway

this is probably karma from that one time you saw him fresh out of the shower

you'd known that it was inevitable for him to see you in human form at some point, whether it was intentional or not

you just didn't expect it to be so soon, and definitely not like this

oh no

he didn't hear your singing, did he?

instinctively, your hand comes up to make sure the towel around your chest is secure

you're seconds away from shifting and running, but you're rooted to the spot, paralysed by his eyes on you

he blinks a little, as if he's coming to his senses

'...hey,'

that's all he says, his voice soft and wondrous, his eyes sparkling the way they always do, sweet and inviting as the smile pulling at his lips

'hi,'

unfortunately for you, it comes out half strangled and breathy, but a grin immediately appears on his face, his eyes scrunching with happiness

he hasn't looked away once, gaze roving over your face as if he's committing you to memory, and you feel a hot blush begin to creep over you

'i, uh, let me go change.'

you scurry back into the bathroom, almost tripping over the bathmat as you shuck on a shirt and trousers, small tremors going through your hands

you tell yourself it's fine

because it is fine - you're not scared of dk, you trust him, it' just... you should have shifted for him ages ago

placing your hand on the door handle, you take a deep breath

turning back to the mirror, you hastily fix your hair before biting the bullet and opening the door

dk waits outside, leaning against the wall, still smiling

when you peek out, half hiding behind the door, his grin widens, and he opens his arms

you barely need to think, your body just moves, and then he's got you tight in his embrace, your nose pressed into his chest: just like that, any semblance of unease or self consciousness you were feeling evaporates like the space between you

slowly, you breathe in, then out

he smells like he always does - laundry, aftershave, and the scent that you've begun to associate with home

you sigh, resting your forehead on his chest so you don't have to look at him when you speak

'well, that wasn't so hard for me, was it?'

he laughs, eyes dancing, and with that, everything is back to normal

it doesn't matter which form you're in, it's still dk, and it's still you

you talk to him for ages - first over dinner, and then the two of you move to the couch, losing track of time as you fill him in, answering every question he fires your way

his sincerity makes your heart flutter: he clings onto your every word as if it's precious

in the end, you wind up telling him how you got to the situation you were in before

you lay yourself bare, letting your walls down for him to see the scars on your soul

you're not sure when the tears pricking at your eyes spill over, but dk wipes them away gently, spreading his arms for the second time tonight, letting you soak the front of his hoodie with your tears

he tucks your head against his shoulder, his hand rubbing up and down your back the way he always does

his heartbeat is comforting under your ear

you fall asleep like that, held safely in dk's embrace

things continue as normal, even with your human form revealed

you realise how stupid you were for worrying so much about things changing when you shifted into your human form

you talked to dk about how you feel like a burden, how although he doesn't mind, you don't like relying on him to pay the bills, and how you want to get a job

he reassured you that it was fine but after seeing the look of determination on your face, he realised there was no point in opposing you

so he pulls some strings (more like cheol pulls some strings) to get you a part time job in the local library

it's just three days a week, but the important thing is that you get paid and treated the same as any human would

your boss is a little old lady with very thick reading glasses

she bakes you cakes sometimes, and once she's fed you a slice or two, she forces you to take the rest home

it's not anything like your old job, but neither would you want it to be

it doesn't pay your bills either, but it's a happy compromise

dk claims that coming home every day to a meal that you cooked is worth the money of those bills a hundred times over, anyway

you also officially meet his friends

they're sweet, a bit noisy and chaotic at first, but they make sure to keep you included in the conversation despite all the private jokes that they seem to have

they act a bit like a huge family unit (they bicker like brothers)

despite their closeness with each other, it doesn't push you away

they didn't even care that you were a hybrid

you caught a knowing look pass between the one called joshua and the one called jeonghan when dk introduced you, but you're not really sure what it could have been about

you were probably just imagining it, to be honest

anyways, aside from occasionally attending their boys nights (on demand, they always clamour for you to join them), the little routine you and dk made is still very much the same

you still cook for him, except now you wait and eat dinner with him

there's never a dull moment with dk, and he makes you laugh until you can't breathe

he's made it his personal goal over dinner to make you laugh so hard you snort food up your nose again

you talk about everything and anything to him

he'll tell you about a funny thing at work and you'll tell him about a customer at the library and somehow that will bring you to a debate on hogwarts houses

today he sits across from you, the food on his plate already all long gone and eaten while you're just finishing up with yours

'you know, i'm allergic to cats.'

you gape

because he's what now?

'you're what now?'

'well, not to you, i guess. maybe you're hypoallergenic?'

now you think of it, you do remember one of his friends almost saying something about that the first time you ever saw them

it might have been jun, you can't quite remember

'you know, when you first sat next to me on the sofa, i was panicking because i didn't know what to do with cats.'

you snort

you address him as you get up, dumping your plate in the sink before proceeding to dive onto the sofa

'you didn't know what to do with cats? you just stroke us, dk.'

he follows suit, and you're propelled upwards due to the force that he lands on the sofa cushions with

'yeah, but it's different from how you stroke dogs. it doesn't matter, anyways, because i still got you to purr.'

he crosses his arms and smiles smugly

you throw back your head and laugh, realising why he looked so proud when he found the spot behind your ear

actually, you laugh so hard your stomach hurts, and it's only egged on by the small indignant noise that leaves him at your reaction

eventually, you need to catch your breath, and as you wipe the tears from your eyes, you glance over at dk

your heart lurches

he's staring

there's this look on his face, in his eyes, that burns

his lips are slightly parted, and suddenly the air between the two of you is charged in a way that makes your heartbeat pound loud in your ears

his gaze flicks down from your eyes, down to your mouth, then back up, and all of a sudden, you can't breathe

you can't even think as he leans closer, his breath ghosting over your lips

your head spins, fear and elation fighting for control

is he... is he going to kiss you?

his hand comes up to cup your cheek, his slender fingers warm and so undoubtedly right

like it's meant to be

'can i kiss you?'

his words come out so softly that you could almost believe you imagined them, if not for that look in his eyes

it's deep and immense, full of want, full of longing

it sweeps you up in its arms, promising you the love you only dare to dream of

it's beautiful

it's everything

also, it's fucking terrifying

panic grips your swelling heart and crushes it

he can't want you, he shouldn't - you're a hybrid, he's a human, it will never work, you'll just get hurt when he realises you're not good enough, when he realises how much harder it is to be associated with your kind, you can't disappoint him -

leaping off the sofa, you shift into cat form and sprint for the back door

you shoot right through the cat flap and run, legging it to the end of the garden and launching yourself over the fence

despite your speed, you still spare dk a backward glance

he sits, frozen on the sofa, his head turned towards you, eyes wide and bewildered

they're brimming with regret and what you'd like to imagine is sorrow

you never thought the ache of yearning in your chest would be returned, so you let it carve out a space for him in your heart

you didn't think he'd try to fill it, you didn't think he'd be dumb enough to want a hybrid like you

that night, you try to leave

you try to walk down the road, away from dk's house, away from dk and his comforting scent and warm hands

you can't

your soul seems tethered to his, and you can't bring yourself to cut the strings

you spend the night sitting in the garden next to his, tail curled around your paws, bathed in the glow of his kitchen lights that don't turn off until around three am in the morning

you shiver in the dark, fighting with yourself until you decide to go back, to talk it out with him because that's what he deserves

you hate to slink back to him after being such a coward, but you need him to know that you do want him, that if you were a human, if you were good enough for him, you would have kissed him in a heartbeat

quietly, you slip through the cat flap make your way into the guest room

it's changed so much since the first night you spent in it - dk moved most of the boxes out of it, making it your room, even though you sleep in his most of the time

there's a selfie of you and dk, wrapped up in blankets for movie night, and a group photo of you and the boys halfway through the most chaotic game of cards you've ever participated in

you're determined not to lose this, lose them

you're determined not to fuck this up more than you already have

quickly, you shift and change into your clothes, just to stand in the middle of the room, not entirely sure what to do with yourself

you remain there, silently fretting, until there's a soft tap on the door

your breath catches in your throat but you manage to wheeze out a somewhat convincing 'come in'

dk peeks in and leaves the door open - you're aware that he's left it that way to give you a clear escape route

he chews on his lip, running a hand through his hair, and you notice that he looks tired, as if he hasn't slept all night

'i heard you come in, and i just wanted to say that i... i'm sorry. i didn't mean to overstep the boundaries. i just - you're... i'm sorry i messed up. asking to, um, you know, wasn't a good idea on my part, i don't - i didn't know what i was doing, i kind of just...'

he sighs, looking at you sheepishly once he realises he was rambling

'please don't go?'

that's the moment you give in

you let go of it, of everything, and let yourself fly into freefall

stepping forward, you hook an arm around his neck, sinking your other hand into his hair, bringing his face down to yours to fit your lips to his

he makes a soft, awed noise, his fingers curling around your waist to press you closer to him

he tastes divine, like heaven, like the best kind of destiny

the feel of his lips against yours becomes everything you'll ever need

hesitantly, you begin to pull away, words already forming on your tongue, but then he darts forward to steal another sweet, sweet kiss from you, and then you're drowning in him again

he tangles his hands in your hair, his fingertips brushing over your ears, tracing their shape as if to show you that he doesn't care what you are

when he eventually breaks the kiss off, he presses a finger to your lips before you can draw a breath

'don't tell me i don't know what i'm getting into. i thought i lost you, i thought you were leaving, and i couldn't... please, just let me love you.'

he immediately cringes at his own words, and you let your head fall forward until your forehead rests against his chest, huffing out a laugh

'i'm sorry i freaked out before, i - i got scared. then i didn't know what to do so i just kind of ran. i didn't mean to scare you.'

he pouts cutely, in a way that makes you want to poke his cheeks

'well, you did. i - '

you cut him off with a kiss, just to taste him again if not to shut him up

his hands find your hips, drawing you closer to him

'i think i love you.'

the confession slips out of you, mumbled onto his lips before you can stop it, but all he does is smile into the kiss

'i think i love you too.'

when the boys find out, they tease dk mercilessly while somehow also hyping him up

seungcheol, jeonghan and hoshi all claim to have known about it from the start, although everyone knows hoshi is just saying that

jeonghan purposefully sits next to you just to quietly tell you about how he managed to get dk drunk enough one time for him to confess that he was in love with a cat

dk gets pouty about it later, so you kiss his face all over until he smiles again

in fact, he pretends to sulk a lot to get kisses from you

sometimes, you'll catch him just staring at you with a huge grin on his face

he makes a point to hold your hand in public, telling you that he's proud of having you

his sweet words make it easy for you to brush off the stares of the people on the bus, easy for you to ignore the way they whisper

sometimes dk kisses you and loudly calls you disgustingly sappy pet names in front of them, just out of spite

you realise now that they don't really bother you, not when dk doesn't care about them and not when he loves you the way he does - unconditionally

he shows it in the way he hangs onto your every word, in the way he cooks your favourite dishes for you, in the way he holds you, in the way he kisses you as if you're the most precious thing in the universe

you take every opportunity to show him how much you love him, too

hence why you're up early, cooking breakfast for dk

it's a saturday, and the sun leaking through the curtains woke you, even though it didn't even affect dk - he remained snoring beside you, his legs tangled with yours and his arms locked around your waist

you'd eased your way out of his grip and replaced yourself with a pillow, pressing a light kiss onto his forehead before shifting into your human form and pulling one of his t-shirts over your head

most nights, you sleep in your human form, but he'd been hogging the blankets so you'd shifted into your cat form in a desperate effort to make it easier for you to squirm into his blanket burrito

'what're you smiling about, huh?'

you almost drop the pancake you were transferring to a plate already heaped high and steaming with others

his arms wrap around your waist, and you sigh as he kisses your neck

'actually, i was thinking about how rude it was of you to steal the blankets last night, you sneaky little bastard.'

'hmm, my bad.'

he nips at your neck before his tongue flicks out to brush over the same spot

his hands wrap around your hips, and you sigh noncommittally as he sneaks his fingers under the hem of your - his - t-shirt

'babe, the pancakes will get cold - '

'don't care.'

you don't even try to shake him off as he continues to kiss at your neck from behind, nudging the collar of your shirt to the side so he can suck a hickey onto your shoulder

the air of the kitchen is cold on your bare legs, but he's nice and warm and solid, and you lean back into him, eyes closing as he laves his tongue over your skin

a low purr emnates from deep in your chest, and you feel him pause at your back

'that's never happened before,'

'and?'

'it was kind of hot.'

you huff out a laugh, but it's cut off as he spins you around, gripping your chin so he can kiss you

dk kisses you passionately, like he woke up with the one desire to taste every inch of your mouth, his teeth grazing dizzyingly over your lower lip

he grins against you when you moan at the feel of his tongue against yours

hooking your arms over his shoulders, you draw him closer

picking you up, he deposits you on the island, not breaking the kiss

he slots himself between your legs, his fingers skimming over the tops of your thighs, pushing the hem of your shirt a little higher

hooking an ankle around his hip, you nestle your heel in the small of his back, nudging him closer

something in your stomach pulls wonderfully tight when you feel the grind of his hardening cock against your clothed cunt

he chuckles at the involuntary noise that leaves you, one of his hands coming up to cup your breasts as he leans down, palms dragging down the length of your thighs as he hooks them over his shoulders

he helps you shimmy out of your underwear, chucking them carelessly over his shoulder

and then, just like that, he's got his mouth between your legs, spreading your pussy with his fingers, his eyes disarmingly guileless

his tongue is divinely velvet as he sweeps it through your folds

he tastes you as if your essence is the nectar of the gods, teasing the pleasure out of your body, holding your trembling thighs up with his big hands

as you come, convulsing around his tongue, he looks up at you with stars in his eyes, as if you're a goddess

it's ridiculous, the way he can make your heart flutter while fucking eating you out like a man starved

he straightens, kisses you with honey drenched lips that bear a virtuous smile, and lifts you up in his arms so he can make love to you on the sofa

he makes your eyes roll, makes your toes curl, makes you cry his name, sets you alight with his touch

and when he sends you over the edge, coming with you, when he scoops you up in his arms, sets you on the bathroom sink to clean you up, when he kisses you in the shower, you know one thing

you are willingly trapped in his gravity; you orbit him as if he is the star at the centre of the universe, yet somehow he looks at you with a light in his eyes, like you are the sun, the warmth on his skin, the reason for life

you love this man, irrevocably so, and somehow, miraculously, he loves you back

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