#The Four Dream Deities | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

crsssie · 4 months ago

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gentle are the hands that hold you

word count: 6.1k || banner art by @chesue00

summary: the mind may forget, but the soul will not

Leon has a set routine that he has grown used to. He wakes up, and he prepares fruit from the garden for the small temple his family has passed down to him, four peaches placed at the altar before he goes back to prepare his own breakfast. When he cooks, the sun early in the sky, and the morning dew is still present. He's certain that the sound of animals is the sound of the peaches getting eaten, and when he cleans up his plate and looks for that of the temple, the fruits are gone, including the pits, and the herbs around the altar have returned to their natural health.

He cuts three of them — one of each color.

His family has passed down the art of worshipping a forgotten deity— one whose marble statue has chipped and grown covered in vines. The marble carvings of the title of the deity only retain the words "health" and "herb", and the herbs that can be used for illness grow around the altar and are seldom cut. Leon learned it from a long time ago as a child, and he never stopped. Some might consider the routine to be a nuisance, but Leon enjoys the routine, singing hymns in the temple at noon, brushing out the lion's mane on the god's head after his singing, tending and snipping the herbs that grow beautifully around the marble, blue eyes stuck to the beauty of the forgotten god that only his family tended to, relishing in the statue's beauty.

How lonely they must be.

At sunset, he lights the four candles at the foot of the statue by the altar, lowering himself onto his knees, whispering a prayer passed down for centuries in his house, eyes closed and heart still as he chants. The words are to come from the heart, he recalls. So, he reads them

Typically, he finishes the prayer and the four candles go out on their own.

This time, however, he finishes and the candles stay lit.

He wonders if he should try again to pray, but as he opens his mouth to start again, two snakes slither from both sides, curling up the body of the statue as a comet passes in the sky, and Leon is startled to the ground. He falls backward, watching as a glow of gold erupts from the statue as the snakes turn into the same marble, and the altar cracks, tablet of the title in the front sliding down as a shadow is revealed.

The body.

A body.

Someone opens their eyes from the inside of the altar.

You open your eyes from the inside of the altar.

"Where... am I?"

Leon would recognize that face anywhere, and at that moment, all he can do is thank the skies above for what he is about to be graced with.

"Oh, sweet heavens of health." He whispers. "Do forgive this mere human for what he is about to do."

He takes a step closer, offering his hand to you, his veil sliding down his hair.

"Welcome to earth, dearest deity. This mere worshipper greets you."

You blink down at Leon slowly, tilting your head.

"The heavens greet you, kind mortal. Pray tell, what you wished to receive from a minor god of healing?"

"Nothing." He breathes.

God, if he could keep worshipping you for the rest of his life, then he would be fine.

"Nothing at all, dearest deity."

You blink at him slowly once more, looking around the temple as you stare at the herbs. Leon notices the otherwordly glow that seems to emit from your body, and the color never seems to leave your skin. You glow the same shade as your complexion, crown of yellow on your head as you observe your surroundings, staring at Leon.

Leon does not know what you think. He can not know. How could he? He was not more than a mere worshipper who was taught to care for you eternally. Eternally to be your servant, never to dream of meeting you. You, who seemed to appear out of nowhere and cry gold and green, skin naked to the eye and touch. Touching you is out of the question, yet he holds his hand out to you. You seem to lack a reaction, still taking in your surroundings as Leon breathes. Breathing heavily. Heavy is his chest as he stares at you — it feels like a violation to be able to see you so up close.

"If I may?" He offers.

You take his hand, and Leon's heart lunges into his throat at your touch.

"Thank you."

Your voice flutters along with the wind as he pulls you out of the altar, and you stare around at the opened scenery.

"My temple has deteriorated."

"Yes." Leon whispers. "It is only my family left, you see."

"The blood of the temple's knights." You mumble. "I am grateful that your blood has stayed. I do not know what I would do had you not."

Leon nods slowly. "Do you... wish to do something?"

You glance at the garden that Leon tends to and the produce, blinking ever so slowly as you smile.

"Will you teach me to tend to the plants?"

"Do you wish for it?"

"I miss my roots." You blink slowly. "The plants miss me. My mortal body has lost itself."

"Then, if I may, I shall tend to them with you again?" Leon tilts his head.

You blink at him, staring into his eyes, past his soul and straight to his heart as he holds his breath. You tilt your head, and your eyes gloss over with a distant look, almost as though you were reminiscing of something. Instead, you nod slowly, blinking as you nod, eyes clearing up as you nod again. This time, you seem sure of it.

"Thank you."

"The pleasure is all mine." Leon mumbles.

Goodness, you're not good for the heart.

You let Leon guide you, his questions lingering in the air when you ask him of everything, needing to be guided and taught how to take care of certain things, and Leon wonders if he could truly do a good job. To worship you, he finds, is to treat you as glass is. When you ask him what to do, he tells you. You are clueless of certain things yet you know much more than he does. He does not understand this dynamic that he has gotten himself into. Teaching a god how to listen to human responses, how works work, and how gardening does.

When the sun rises in the morning, he places a singular peach onto the altar for the wildlife, and he offers you a peach that you have grown used to eating. You thank him with a slow nod, biting into it as he makes a breakfast in a larger than usual portion. He offers you an egg from his pan, but you shake your head, content with the peach in your hands. The juice sticks to your hands as you bite into it, and the fruit gets all over your chin, but you are happy, and even as Leon watches you eat, nearly missing his mouth with the fork, you seem content. Leon finishes his food only after you stare at the peach core left in your hand.

"Will this grow into a tree?"

"It will take a handful of years, but yes." He hums. "We can plant it with the rest of the peach trees in the garden."

You nod slowly.

"I shall go change. Please make yourself comfortable while I do, dearest deity."

You nod, looking around at the wildlife from the window, climbing out as your feet land in the grass, much more comfortable to you. The snakes in the garden slither around your calves, sitting there as you continue walking through the garden to find your temple, the medicinal herbs surrounding the altar looking dimmer than usual as you press your hand to them, the same golden glow restoring the herbs to their colors. You would have to bring a second peach to the altar in the morning from the trees.

"Will you be alright in these clothes?" Leon's changed into something easier to move in, finding you as you stare at the fallen tablet from the night before.

"It will be fine." You smooth your hand over the marble, blinking slowly as you frown. "Do you know what words were once written here?"

"I am afraid not." Leon's heart races in his chest, and you sigh.

"I have lost part of me." You glance at the eroded stone on certain words.

"If I may, I shall help you find it once more."

Leon teaches you the ropes of managing the farm, showing you the equipment and what meant fresh and not fresh. The herbs, you are familiar with, stopping Leon from pulling the rosemary because it was not at its prime, and nodding when Leon shows you how to ripen tomatoes despite them being orange. He shows you how to hide the strawberries from the birds and the indications that the blackberries were ready for harvest. The olive trees are shown to you with the peaches, and you snack on one as Leon hands you another.

In the afternoon, he shows you how to harvest the wheat and store the grain, showing you how to bake bread as you grind the grain into flour with Leon, pushing the till as you heave, falling to your knees once you have made enough for the bread of that night. You lay on the dirty stone for a minute, groaning as Leon packages the flour, holding a hand out for you as you gasp. You hold your hand up for a minute, catching your breath as you take it to get up.

"Do gods not labor?"

"What is there to labor over when the worshippers send you food?"

"Do gods disappear once they are forgotten?"

"Yes." You dust off your clothes, humming. "I have only lived this long because of the care of your blood."

You help Leon season, not much help when it comes to cooking or preparing dishes, and Leon tries to have you keep your hands off of the majority of things, only letting you tend to the herbs and spices, the olives prepared with the oil as you dip the bread in it to try it. You have not much of a reaction, sitting down at the table as Leon serves you the salad, a smaller fish prepared for him.

You settle with the salad, another peach given to you for dessert, biting on it as Leon washes up, cleaning and drying the silver with a rag as you stare at the peach in hand. The green is a little jarring, and you appreciate that Leon picks the riper ones for your temple. Yet, when you bite down, it's sweet, nectar staining your chin as Leon disposes of the peach peels, offering you a cup of water alongside some honey.

You accept it, thanking him with a nod as you go back to the peach, hands stained with sugar.

"Dearest deity." Leon starts. "If I may?"

"Feel free to." You nod, licking your fingers.

"Do you know why you have returned to being human?"

"I'm not quite sure." You look out past the windows, eyes distant.

Leon wonders if he's struck a nerve, but he doesn't have much time to think over it.

For the first time, Leon dreams and remembers.

He's in a field of grass, your head in his lap, closed eyes and blissed smile on your face as he runs his hands through your hair. He's bigger than he is in reality, lion's skin on his head, his fingers rough from what he assumes to be the blade. He pushes your hair out of your face, blinking down at you slowly. The green of the grass creases under your body, and Leon thinks there is a strange sense of domesticity with the way that you trust him so much.

His mouth moves on its own. "Dearest, are you not uncomfortable?"

"Surely not while in your lap." You peek up at him, smile on your face as you beam. "You are comfortable, beloved."

The daffodils in the field are pulled, Leon's fingers clumsy with the stems as he tries to make you a crown, weaving in the green into the braid as you let the breeze tickle your nose. He feels his hands are rough from some sort of labor, and his body feels weary. Yet, there is a fullness in his chest as he finishes the crown, placing it on your head as you open an eye to stare up at him.

"How do I look?"

"Dazzling, darling." He hums, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. "You look dazzling."

Leon wakes from the dream in his bed, sitting up and gasping as one does, and he stares at the rising sun and the calling rooster. He rests his head in his palms, groaning at the way his heart refuses to slow down. He hears the sound of the door opening in the back, and he assumes that you've gone off to the well to wash up for the day. He assumes it's a routine for you much like the four peaches he places at the altar, so he gets up, bed covers kicked off as he makes his bed. The peaches have ripened after being left out for the night, and he takes the basket with him, offering you one on the way before taking the other three.

You bite on the peach and follow him to the altar, watching as he leaves the basket. You stare at the peach in your hand and place it back into the basket, teeth marks visible in the one you had placed there, but Leon doesn't mention anything.

Then comes breakfast, eggs for him, an assortment of fruit for you.

Despite your lack of diet, it seems you do not complain. Perhaps your body abides by different rules when compared to his.

He ponders over the idea of insanity when he turns red from eye contact alone. Truly, you are dazzling, and unfortunately, Leon is not immune to such beauty despite staring at your statue each morning. Heavens, he's screwed.

"Is there anything you need, dearest deity?" He offers.

"Not much." You hum. "Do we have other fruit?"

"There is an orchard in the east." Leon hums. "Would you like more fruit?"

You nod.

The orchard is due for some tending. Leon only ever went for olives to have in his meals and peaches for offerings, so it wasn't surprising that the figs were eaten from the inside out alongside the apples and pears. You offer to help, palms held out as you argue that you could technically restore them to their prime. Leon has you rest, pulling out the figs and bad fruit into one basket, tossing the good ones to another.

"Are there any fruits you'd rather not eat?"

You ponder over his words, shaking your head.

Leon finds you familiar. You sit at the corner of the orchard, trailing after him with a basket of your own fruit, and he finds it familiar. You yourself are familiar to him. He has no memory of you, but he can not argue that it is because he has never met you either. He no longer remembers the faces of his own parents. All he knows is the ritual of worship, the routine of faith that he has grown used to. All he remembers about himself is that, now that he thinks about it.

The rest of the night passes in a blur, and Leon has not much of a choice when it comes to resting at night.

When he closes his eyes, he's unsurprised at what he is met with.

It's another dream.

A lion's robe is still on Leon's body this time, and he feels significantly bigger than he is in present. His heart does not beat as harshly as it does in reality, and with each step he takes, he becomes increasingly aware that he is taller than he is in reality. The garden of his home is replaced with a marble home of his own, and he walks through the ruins that have been replaced with a garden in present day. His steps are heavy as he stops in front of the temple, watching as there's a golden hue from the altar — noticeably larger than the one in present.

Leon steps behind you, eyes glued to the words on the tablet that is now restored, frowning.

god of health, herb, home. the lion's beloved

"Are you returning?"

Leon cannot control his mouth, but he stares at the way you tense at his voice.

"My time on earth is short." You turn around to face him, voice quiet as you close your eyes.

Leon's heart rattles in his chest from the way you refuse to look at him. "Can you stay longer?"

"Beloved" You whisper. "I ca—"

"Will you stay longer?" He whispers, voice shaking as he asks. His heart races at being called beloved, but his chest contorts painfully as the man whose body he resides in.

"I cannot." You open your eyes, heart shattering in your ears as you catch his tears. "Oh, beloved, please do not—"

Leon wants to stay, but he watches as the man turns his back, stepping away from the altar as the sound of bells chime to indicate your disappearance.

Instead, when he turns around again, all that remains is a shrunken altar and the temple from the modern day. Leon has what he was holding prior to entering into the past — three peaches in a small basket. You are still behind him, white of your eyes the only visible part of them as your irises cloud over and Leon stares at you. A flash from the past for him, a flash from your life for you. He wonders just who that might have been.

He looks around, catching the fact that you are behind him.

When you return, you stare into nothing, pupils wide as the black of your eyes engulf the entirety of the color of your eye, and Leon stands there, unsure of what to do, blinking slowly as you close your eyes and open them again and again. You blink again, and again, and again, and again. You try to break yourself from the trance— from what Leon can tell.

"Dearest deity." Leon whispers. "Are you alright?"

You blink at Leon again, exhaling as you grimace.

"I will be. Let us drop off the fruit for my herbs first." You take the basket from him, fruit placed on the altar as you bless the peaches.

"How does it work?"

"They live off of the water and juice." You squeeze the fruit, Leon watching as the liquid trickles down your fist onto the plants, the red herbs brightening up nearly immediately. The yellow follows, and the green last. You take the scissors to cut three of the herbs, two of each herb, juice-stained fingers sticking to the plants as you place them into the basket.

Leon nods as you hand him the herbs, thanking you.

Food is simple today. It is typically a loaf and some legumes, occasionally fish if the two of you decide to head out to fish at the lake. Leon has grown used to a life like this, and you make do without eating fish, so Leon goes out less and less, growing legumes with you as you learn from him, forming an appetite for fruit as well, snacking on blackberries as he picks at the strawberries that he hides from the birds. You bite down on certain ones, slipping a piece past Leon's lips as he places a cucumber in your basket, thanking you quietly as he checks out the lettuce.

"What do you want for dinner?"

You glance at the lettuce and the berries, tilting your head.

"...salad?"

"Fruit salad? I should retrieve some olives as well, then." Leon holds his hand out for the basket, and you give him your hand instead.

Leon does a double take, blinking at your hand and then at you, and you offer him a shy smile.

"If this is alright?"

"More than alright, dearest deity." Leon smiles. "I am honored you would initiate it."

Leon finds that you are much more affectionate now that time has passed. He does not keep track of the days, time something he no longer holds, sharing dishes and bites with you when he can, showing you the rest of the garden that he leaves to tend on its own. Leon understands something. Whoever he is in his dreams, you left. Whoever you are in the dream, you did not wish to leave. He understands not much from it. The heart of whose body he was in his dreams was scarred when you left.

It hurt him to think about it, so he busies himself with the sand between his toes.

"We had a beach?"

"We have a sea." Leon stares out at the horizon. "I wonder if the lobsters are ready for harvest."

"You can eat those?"

Leon nods slowly, laughing as you furrow your brows.

"How does... that work." You pause. "You crack the head?"

"You pop the head off, and you pull out the meat from the whole tail."

You blink twice.

"May I... watch you prepare it?"

"With pleasure." He smiles. "Shall we go catch one?"

You watch Leon ditch the top, skin out for the world to see, and Leon feels a little embarrassed being so bare before you, but you don't seem to mind, watching as he takes a trident.

"You pierce them?"

"They don't move as fast. Perhaps I have grown used to the water."

The blue of the ocean is pretty. Leon still isn't over the beauty of it, and it always surprises him when he dives for crustaceans, trident heavy against his arm as he pierces through the shells, three tucked into the bag net he carries, paddling back to the surface as he wonders how he had been able to hold his breath for so long. The question fades just as quickly, eyes meeting yours as you blink, doe-eyed, eyes wide as you seem to drink in every part of his skin.

"Dearest deity?"

"Apologies." You hide your face, sinking into the ground with embarassment as Leon laughs, letting the net fall into the sand as he crouches in front of you, hair pushed back, saltwater still dripping from his hair and skin. He watches as your eyes dart to his chest and then abdomen, thoughts written all over your face as you hide again.

"I shall dress again."

"There's no need." You manage, still hiding your face. "I... prefer the way you are."

Leon feels an arrow pierce his heart, ears ringing as he processes what you've just said. He's sure he's turned red like the tomatoes once ripe, and he hides his face in his knees, shaking slightly as he processes your bluntness. Dare he say it, he liked it.

Though, it would be his grace if you were to fall for him. It was only a given that he would worship you.

He doesn't feel as though he is in a position where he could truly get to profess his love to you first.

At night, you request of him to tuck you into bed, pout on your lips as he sits by your bed, letting you squeeze his hand with a gentle grab, watching as you drift off to sleep.

He wonders if you need sleep truly — considering you are a deity and all.

Though, Leon does.

The third time Leon dreams, he is no longer in a lion's skin.

He feels younger, white on his body, blue brooch around his neck and blouse on his skin. There is a veil on his head, and it seems as though he is in the temple of yours once more. He does not understand this quite that much. It seems as though he is being offered up for some kind of ritual. It is some sort of marriage, he assumes. Blue eyes and golden hair, cerulean brooch and white blouse, ruffled bow and laced veil, Leon truly feels that he is being offered up as a groom rather than a servant. He wonders if the person he has possessed is aware of it.

His body moves on its own, veil over his head shifting as he looks down, standing before what he assumes as the head priest. The priest places a crown of... herbs on his head, and he is placed on the altar, some sort of glow occurring around him as he forces his eyes open. The veil sticks to his head as he notices the priest and all their followers are gone when he opens his eyes. Instead, he catches a glance of you above him, head tilted as you blink down at him.

"You're quite young, sacrifice." You grin, teeth visible. "What might your name be?"

Nevermind the fact that Leon's heart is racing a thousand pes an hour, his heart is about to leap out of his chest. Yet, Leon is curious of the man's name, but he finds it surprising that he chokes out his own name.

"Leon, dearest deity." He whispers. "I am your... groom."

"How rare that they would send a groom rather than a servant." You tilt your head at him. "Well, do make yourself at home. We've got plenty of plants and fruit."

Leon steps down from the altar, stepping on a piece of marble before taking a tumble, the tablet breaking under his foot as he blinks.

"I'm sorry." He gapes.

You raise a brow, mumbling to yourself as you tap your chin.

"Oh, dear." You laugh. "I'll restore it sometime. Please take care of the garden while I do."

Leon's dream is far longer than he is comfortable. He wonders how much time has passed in reality in the dream, and he learns to take care of the garden that resembles the one he tends to each night. There is a lake in the back where he fishes, and he learns to cook meals for the two of you, typically baking bread and making soup. He learns that you prefer the best harvest of peaches, but you share them with him, teaching him how to make crisp and how to cook the oats until they are crispy. You adore peaches with or without honey and spices. It is why the peach tree was so large in the orchard.

During the time, he learns that gods do in fact visit the earth outside of their domains. You return in time for dinner every single day, and you tell him of what has happened recently with the temple over his meals. He likes this life. At one point, the worshippers send him the very lion skin he wore in his previous dream. The connection between your domain and reality is created through prayer. Not faithfulness, number.

You complete a number of miracles, and in return, your worshippers increase in number, which, in turn, grants you access back home.

When Leon wakes, his heart is racing in his chest for no reason, blinking at the knife in hand and cutting board on the counter and then at the tomatoes.

"Kind mortal?"

"My apologies." Leon sighs, going back to cutting the veggies. "It seems I had gotten lost in myself."

Not reality. Leon is not in reality. Instead, he has been stuck in an endless cycle of immortality, and without you around, the age had worn him down until all he remembered was to worship you. If your temple was run down in your domain, he can not imagine how ruined your temple in reality was. Leon has become immortal from partaking of the food of the gods. The peaches he offered to the gods was for you, and the herbs he cut was granting him immortality in return.

Leon Kennedy had lived for so long that he forgot this was not his home, it was yours.

The immortality from the herbs had been eating his mind from the inside out.

He wonders if you remember, but he doesn't ask.

Instead, he asks you if you would like to go fishing with him, fishing rod in hand.

You tilt your head at the rod, nodding as he takes everything. The pond spawns all sorts of fish, now that he thinks about it. The expensive fish he used to dream of owning back when he was in reality, the fish that he had when his family had a nice harvest, just about everything. It feels strange to remember that this is your home and not his, but he doesn't dwell too much on it. Instead, he sits at the dock, holding out the fishing rod as you sit next to him, basket of strawberries in your lap as you eat them.

"Do you eat fish?" The answer is no, yet Leon finds himself asking anyway.

"No." You hum. "I can live off of produce."

You take a bite of the strawberries almost as if to make a point, pointing at the fishing line with a kick of your legs as Leon reels in the fish, pulling it out of the water with a ceremonious thud.

"Good job." You hum. "I didn't know we had catfish."

Leon raises a brow at you. "What else do we have?"

You shrug. "I don't know much. My followers only ever send me peaches now. Not that I do not appreciate it."

Leon finds it strange that there happens to be both a lake and an ocean, the two connected by a small river, a waterfall that collapses into the ocean, and the sea leads into nothing. It seems that you knew, but you never mentioned it in any way. If this domain was yours, then he found it intriguing that you had been offered enough fish that there would form an ocean. The offerings given seem to not expire, and the ecosystem seems to reproduce and go on as it would in reality.

He wonders if reality is the right word to describe his world, though. Perhaps earth would have made for a better word. He wonders what is happening on earth. Maybe this was some sort of Mount Olympus... or whatnot. He doubts it is. He would have recognized living on an actual mountain.

Well, at the very least, fishing is quite fun.

When he pulls in the second catch of the day, he decides that it's enough.

"What do you want for dinner?"

Leon wonders if he should try making pie in one of the vessels.

You tap your chin. "Something baked sounds good."

"Oh, I'm sure it does." Leon mumbles. "Pie?"

You nod. "Shall I help?"

He shakes his head.

The more Leon thinks of it, the more he realizes that he's always been making portions for two. It was embedded into his soul. When he had leftovers, it was much easier to feed it to the poultry in the back and the pigs. Now, that second portion had a reason. He had always found it bizzare. It was because he used to cook with his mother for his father, not the fact that he had been cooking for the two of you for such a long time.

When Leon sends you to bed at night, he watches you for a few moments longer, wondering if this was something he had done in the past.

He does not dream this time.

So, when he wakes in the morning and you have a pear in hand with a knife in the other, he blinks at you.

"Dearest?"

"Teach me how to cut fruit?"

Leon wonders if you were the one to teach him first, but the more he thinks back on the dream, the more he wonders just whether or not you had been eating in the time that you lacked a sacrifice. Would sacrifice be the correct word? The more he considers it, the more he thinks of himself as a gift from the priest rather than a sacrifice. Is that egoistical? Perhaps it is. It is more of a blessing on his end to be able to stay with you for so long. The herbs he had each morning must have been keeping him nice and healthy despite his time in your realm.

He may have forgotten, but it seems that his body had remembered.

He teaches you how to hold the knife, cut by cut showing you how to peel the fruit, and you decide that peeling half of it and then eating the other half after spitting out the core was the better decision. He finds that that ties into what he remembers about you as well.

It seems he remembers now.

Leon understands that you expect a singular peach and then three more at the altar, but he does not do so this fateful day. There is something he must check, and someone he must attempt to understand. There was no way you did not know. You were not as foolish as to not. It had been in the way you looked at him. He knew, from the very beginning. You knew perhaps, as well, that when you had opened your eyes from the inside of the altar, you had been observing him and not your surroundings.

You had been observing your lover who had forgotten you, not the home you resided in.

"You are home, dearest deity." Leon offers. "You need not the peaches anymore."

You blink at Leon, hesitation bleeding through you as you pause to breathe.

"Since when have you recalled?"

"A while back." Leon mumbles. "I was not certain if you wished for me to bring it up."

You blink at Leon, sitting yourself back on the altar, the lack of glowing visible now that everyone has forgotten about you. You will no longer be able to return to the world that you had left to. You would be stuck tending to the garden that you had started long before Leon joined you here. At the very least, he would be able to stay forever with you, only needing to tend to the herbs and grow them. Yet, he wonders where all of the maidens you had been offered so long ago ended up.

You stare at the broken tablet, laughing embarrassingly as you smile at Leon.

"Truly reminds you the first time we met, huh?"

"Yes." He rests the empty basket on the altar, taking it from your hand as he smooths the rusted words over. "God of health, herbs, home."

"The lion's beloved." You whisper back. "I missed you."

"I know." He mumbles, setting it to the side as he lets you sob into his chest.

"I missed you." You gasp. "You... you forgot me. I expected it, but I had been in the fabric between reality and my realm that I was sure you would stop building my way home, but you remembered the prayers. You recalled the words you had grown used to prior to your sacrifice, and I... you found my way home."

"I'm sorry, dearest." He whispers. "I had forgotten. I have been around for far too long. I am sorry I had forgotten to welcome you home."

There is a certain beauty that comes with remembering, Leon finds. In the centuries that he had forgotten all about you, his heart had somehow remembered, adorning you in the lion's mane until he forgot it was his first, singing hymns he knew you cherished from the time he had spent with you, leaving you peaches because you had always shared the best harvest of them with him, sneaking in that you adored the taste of the nectar on your tongue. His mind had forgotten, but his heart had not, burying you into the depths of his consciousness until he would remember you again one day.

His hands have grown rough with a different kind of labor over the years, and he has lost much of the large muscle he had arrived with from his way of living, but the feeling of your skin is still familiar to his touch.

Right.

His mind could forget, but his soul could never.

"You're making me a crisp later." You huff.

"Of course." He laughs. "Anything else?"

"And I want a kiss for all the years you forgot about me for."

"That can be made up with the life ahead."

And to seal the promise, Leon kisses you, hands gentle on your skin, clarity restored.

#leon kennedy x reader #☾.dearest deity #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #reader insert #resident evil #☾.fics

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daengtokki · 3 months ago

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part four // serial killer!Kim Seungmin/afab reader

WC: 10.6k

RATING: mature/explicit/mdni—contains: angst, sex, self harm mention, abuse mention, medication usage, hallucinations

SYNOPSIS: Seungmin floats through life alone, haunted by his memories—keeping himself under control, and quieting his mind the only way he knows how…killing and watching the life leave his victims eyes. When you cross his path on a morning hunt, something new (something forgotten) starts to move inside of him, leading both of you on a path to confront the unspeakable past.

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[ ML — DEITY MASTERLIST ]

seungmin-ah! mo! haha…come here, you know you’re in trouble!

whyyy? I didn’t do anything umma

are you sure? let’s go look at what you didn’t do…let’s go look at that empty plate, sweetheart

I didn’t eat those cakes

oh? did daengmo eat them? I know he has a sweet tooth, just like you…

His eyes open slowly. Everything is a blur as Seungmin tries to look around him, but it’s so dark. He blinks, and a tear runs to the corner of his eye. The first thing he latches onto, the closest thing, is your arm. His fingers close gently around your wrist as he finds himself.

Min?

He lets go and pulls at the collar of his shirt in an attempt to wipe his face dry.

“Seungmin…it’s okay.” You grab his hand and wait for him to look at you. Eyes still wet with tears, he lays back down and stares at the ceiling. “Just a nightmare, you’re okay now.”

“Not a nightmare.” Seungmin breathes deep, and his eyes dart back and forth in the dark as he remembers. “Just a memory, I think.”

The bedroom is cold. Outside, it’s abnormally cold. You feel a shiver move through him as you run your hand up and down his forearm—there’s another blanket in the chest, but first, you have to brave the icy floor to get it. “Be right back.” You slide out from under the covers and wince when your feet hit the hardwood and tiptoe the rest of the way there.

“What are you doing out there?”

You swing the creaky lid open and dig around for the heaviest one you can find. “I want that flannel blanket…oh, this one.” The lid comes down faster and heavier than you intend, and the sound feels unimaginably loud cutting through the middle-of-the-night silence. “Sorry…” The music box lets a note free, and then another. You look up at it, and the lid is propped open. Seungmin must have been in there, you think. There are a few dried flowers scattered inside and around it when you gently close it.

“It’s okay,” Seungmin says, and you can see his smile as your eyes adjust to the darkness. When you jump back in, he holds the covers open to show you exactly where he wants you. His body is warm, but the goosebumps are still all over his arms.

“January is awful”

“You told me you liked winter”

“I like this,” you squeeze him and push your face into his chest. “Tell me about your dream.”

The soft sounds of a guitar wake you. G chord, C, G, D—whatever it is, it’s simple…and it’s nice. You wait and listen for a few minutes as the music builds, hoping you might finally hear him sing. Seungmin keeps you on edge, though. He stops, so you roll over and look at him.

“Finally,” he sets the guitar back on its stand.

“Finally what?”

“You looked so comfortable over there, I was getting jealous”

“Oh, you couldn’t get back to sleep?”

Seungmin stands and stretches. His sweatpants hang low on his hips, and his sweatshirt is pulled up just enough for you to catch his belly button, until he tugs at the hem, “I did for a little while.”

You pull the covers down, “so get back in.”

“It’s noon”

“Then sing something for me, don’t you think I’ve suffered enough?”

A month living under his roof, and making him laugh is still a treat. It’s not quite as rare as it used to be, but Seungmin still has his days, his nights, and his moments of uneasiness and agitation in your shared space.

“How long have you lived in this big apartment all by yourself?” You asked him a few weeks ago. There never seems to be a good time for most of these little questions, so you force them in whenever you can, and whenever you remember. Whenever you think he might answer them.

“Almost five years, I was nineteen when I moved in”

“That answers another burning question.” Do you tell him now that you’re older than him, or wait until he asks? You doubt he’ll care. “All alone, no other roommates?”

He gives you a look and raises an eyebrow. “Is that what you are? My roommate?”

“I’m not not your roommate”

“Do I make you feel like my roommate?”

It’s a sweet, introspective question for him. Seungmin doesn’t talk very much, but when you get him going, he’s good at keeping up. Sometimes, you do feel like his roommate, because some nights he falls asleep on the couch, and sometimes you do the same, depending on where his head has been that day. There have been days when Seungmin hasn’t spoken a single word to you.

“Is that a no?” His face says a lot, but it doesn’t answer your question, “no song for me?”

The bottom of his sweatshirt is suddenly very interesting. He pulls it more and squeezes the fabric in his fist as he tries to avoid your gaze. “Uhm…I’ve never sung for anyone before. I wouldn’t know what to sing anyway. I don’t know what you’d want to hear.”

The shyness might be an act, but it’s cute, and you like it. “You can sing me the alphabet, I don’t care. A nursery rhyme. Your favorite song.” Seungmin’s face turns so red, that you almost change the subject completely. Pushing him has gotten easier, but you’re still careful. You resist the urge to ask if his mother sang him anything as a child, considering last night's dream, and the tears he tried to hide.

“I’ll think about it, my favorite…and maybe I will tonight”

“Really?”

He nods, and his phone starts to vibrate somewhere on the bed. You can feel it, and just as you shove your hand beneath his pillow, Seungmin’s slips under, too, and he gets there first.

Annyeonghaseyo, he says quietly and walks toward the balcony window.

You’ve continued your language classes because you have no job and nothing else to fill your time. Any reason to get out of the house and give him his space is welcome, even if it is only three days a week. You’re no good yet, but the point is, you notice he answered formally, and very unlike how he typically sounds, and you’re curious. He very rarely speaks to anyone on the phone.

When he hangs up, he keeps his gaze down toward his phone and types something, and then he sighs one of his sighs—a little exaggerated, and very him. You love his sighs because it’s one of the few signals he gives you when something is bothering him.

“Did you eat breakfast, are you hungry?” Seungmin never asks anything of you; he likes to cook, and he seems to be naturally tidy. He never makes messes…well, usually. “I can make us something…American.” You head toward his keyboard and run a finger over it. It’s off, so you press one of the keys.

“American? Steak and eggs and potatoes?” He’s still distracted by something on his phone, but he must be hungry. He knows what he wants.

“Yeah, I just need to go get some steak”

“Can you? I have to…uh,” he scratches his head. “I have something I need to do.” He sees your face change. “Not that, something else.”

“Yeah, of course.” Something to do with his phone call, and whatever he’s been doing on the phone, you assume. You'll find out later, hopefully.

The bus is crowded, but he braves it. Sometimes he likes to be a little more anonymous, and this is the best way to do that. The office building is only a dozen or so blocks away from his building, but it’s too cold for a long walk.

“Do you have an appointment?” The woman behind the desk doesn’t pay much attention to Seungmin until his soft yes, I do hits her ears. The look she gives him turns bashful and flirtatious, but it doesn’t do much for him. “Your name?”

“Kim Seung Min”

“Date of birth?”

“September twenty-second…two-thousand”

“Oh here you are, it was just added…Dr…oh, Dr. Mun”

There’s only one doctor in this building who specializes in what Seungmin needs, and the receptionist has no tact when she realizes it. She avoids his gaze as she finishes typing and granting him access. “Ninth—“

“I know where it is”

/ / /

“Seungmin, how have you been?” Her heels click as she walks across the dark wood floor, and it’s a little hypnotizing. “Can I still call you Seungmin, or should we go back to formal? It’s been quite a while.”

The click click stops when she sits, but returns with the slightly more annoying sound of the pen. It’s weird being back in this room, but it feels familiar still—the smell, the lights, the colors. “Seungmin is fine. I don’t like being spoken to formally.”

“Yes, I do remember that now. Please, tell me how things have been. I know I’m not your usual therapist, but you haven’t gone to a session with him in over a year, so…”

“It wasn’t helping”

“I know you feel-“

“It wasn’t. Every session made me feel worse, and he had no sympathy for anything I managed to dig up.”

“Okay. Have you been back home lately?”

His heart races, and it’s too warm in here. Seungmin slides out of his jacket and pulls at the sleeves of his sweatshirt. “Last month.”

“How was it, did you…want to talk about any of that? Was she there for you still?”

He manages a nod. She’s always there. She’s everywhere, but there…that’s where she truly is.

“Not to switch subjects so quickly, but…” she says as her eyes travel over him, “what happened here?” Dr. Mun taps her pen to her neck, “I only ask because it looks very painful.”

The bruise you gave him two nights ago; the one he begged you for, even as you squeezed to the point of him nearly passing out. It’s probably at its worst right now. You’re stronger than you look. He sets his hand over it, pushes a little, and savors the pain still there.

“And because I know you’ve hurt yourself in the past. Is that was this is?”

It might be easier to lie and tell her he did it to himself, because talking about you wasn’t supposed to be part of this today. He’s only here because she threatened to hold the medication he actually uses. Seungmin shakes his head, though.

“Someone else did it?”

He nods.

“Because you asked them to, I assume? Do you trust this person?”

Does he trust you? He must. You share a bed, and you’re feet away from his knife. He took you home with him and let you listen in as he spoke to someone you couldn’t see, and you haven’t questioned him about it. Seungmin begs you to bite and cut and choke him, which you do, and all of your time in between is spent waiting and longing for something more. He knows that.

“Yes, I do”

“As long as I’ve been your doctor, three years, you’ve been by yourself…single. Is that no longer the case?” She tries to read his facial cues and his fidgeting hands. “Maybe it’s nothing serious, hm? Just casual? That’s also good, because you’re letting someone in, even in some small way. You trust someone besides yourself. That’s great, considering you haven’t been keeping up with your medication.”

“So I don’t need it”

“One good step doesn’t make everything better. I’m glad you came and saw me at such short notice, and I know you want the lorazepam to help you sleep, but I would also like your word that you’ll try the Haldol. I’ll write your new prescription, but please…just give it some time.

Hopefully, the smell of a very late breakfast brightens him up, because Seungmin didn’t seem happy when he left earlier. One thing he seems to respond to when nothing else works is food.

He walks in wordlessly, takes off his jacket, and tosses it on the couch. There’s no change in his facial expression. It’s as if he left, and then walked right back in. But he doesn’t look more upset, thankfully; just blank. He’s feeling nothing, or trying his best to look like he’s feeling nothing.

“Hey…Min.” You look at the paper bag clutched in his hand, and it’s easy to figure out what could be inside. You came back a little bit ago with the same one. “Foods all ready.”

The smile isn’t forced, “okay,” but it’s not easy, either. “I’ll be right back out.”

Seungmin doesn’t close the door, so you try to peek in from where you stand. All you can see is the bed, but you do hear the rustle of his bag, and the subtle sound of full pill bottles as he sets them on his table. So if you have any deduction skills at all—the phone call was from his doctor, or his therapist, or something along those lines. The hour and a half he was gone was spent with one of them, and then he stopped at the pharmacy a block down the street for his prescriptions. Easy enough. You hope he’ll feel comfortable enough to tell you all of this on his own.

Before he comes out, you hear the pop of a lid, and the shake of one of the bottles against his hand. When he comes back out, he takes the coffee you hold out for him and swallows one, or both, of his pills.

“It smells good,” he says, and he stays there. Seungmin stares at you.

“Good. Are you alright?” You try not to stare back, but each time you look up, he’s still looking. “Did you do what you had to do?”

“I did”

“Did I do that?” The bruise on the side of his neck pops out at you. It’s big and dark against the white of his shirt collar. Seungmin doesn’t move when you reach out and touch it. “Does it still hurt?”

“Yes, and yes.” He sets his hand over yours and rubs it against the spot. “It feels good.”

“Seungmin?”

He stops but keeps his hand on yours. The doctor’s words are ringing through his head as he watches your eyes dart back and forth between his. How much does he actually trust you? How far has he let you in, and how much has he given of himself? Too much? Enough to keep you here? “Yeah?” You don’t ask him a lot of personal questions.

What if you did ask him about his appointment? Would it be that bad? If he took his medication like you assume he just did a moment ago, broaching the subject should be even easier. That’s not the only subject you need to broach with him, though.

“Did you have a doctor’s appointment?

His eyes answer you before you hear the soft mhm.

“How did it go?” At any moment you expect him to let go of your hand and retreat, but he doesn’t.

“It was okay. Uhm…that medicine makes me very tired, so if I fall asleep, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, you can sleep all day if you need to. But eat something first.”

/ / /

The space between wakefulness and sleep is much too big. Seungmin is stuck in it—he knows that...he feels it. Like twilight in the backyard after a hot summer day. You turned the heat up a little, but you also laid the blanket over him and pulled it up past his bruised neck.

It feels good; the soft warmth of the couch, and the silky pillow under his head. And he can see you from here, moving back and forth in his vision, disappearing and reappearing as you…well, he’s not sure what you’re doing. He likes watching you, though.

“Hey, you’ve been out for a while”

Your voice floats to him, and it takes an extra moment before he grasps what you say. Seungmin nods.

“There’s some water here if you need it”

He opens his eyes fully and looks at your smiling face. Why are you so happy? No, not happy. Smiling, yes, but your eyes give you away. “Thank you.” Seungmin feels your lips on his temple, then on his cheek. Why? There’s nothing here worth loving. He’s just an empty shell. “Thank you.”

“You’ll feel better soon. Close your eyes and sleep a little more.”

Thankfully, he does.

It’s completely dark when he wakes again, and so quiet that it puts him into a sudden panic. He’s still asleep, and he’s back in his nightmare. His heart races, and he can practically smell the dirt…until he realizes he’s not alone. Seungmin moves his leg, and his foot slides over your thigh. You’re here…asleep, curled up in the small space he left at the end of the couch. He moves his foot over you again, hoping to wake you, and it works.

You close your hand around his ankle, “hey sleepyhead…”

“What time is it?”

“Good question,” you tap your phone screen and squint at it. “Just after midnight.”

“Fuck, I slept all day?”

He did, and while he slept, you checked to see if he was still on the same medication, the same dosage. Haldol and Xanax. Seungmin took one of each earlier, and his body never stood a chance against it. You also took care of your own problems while he was out, and finally getting it out of the way calmed you a little.

“You just have to adjust, that’s all…yeah?”

Seungmin still feels like he’s floating. He sits up more, and looks at you. It's too dark, and he can't see you very well, so he moves closer. “It won’t fix me.”

“No, you’re not broken." You don't know if Seungmin knows you know exactly what he's taking, but he's smart enough to realize you're going to look around any chance you get, because he did it to you with your backpack. Both of you, quiet, tiptoeing around each other to find answers instead of asking.

"No?" He moves closer still, and practically puts himself in your lap.

/ / /

Something sweet…you said, walking to each corner of the kitchen and collecting things. He needs something sweet to eat, that will make him feel better. The smell of cinnamon and apples made it to him as he showered, and that alone did make him feel a little better.

“It hasn’t been back lately, but…” he looks at the perfect baked apple in front of him and cuts it in half.

“What hasn’t?”

“The noise, the itch. It’s been a while.”

“Is that bad?” You noticed, of course, that he hasn’t left the house lately with the urge to find someone. He hasn’t come home with anyone. The idea that you somehow changed something in him hasn’t crossed your mind, because it’s silly—what you have done, maybe, is filled up those spaces in his mind that were once left to their own devices. Seungmin has already told you he’s been here, alone, for years, and that the company he’s kept has never lasted beyond the hour they arrived. "Or is that good?"

“I’m worried it’ll come back, and be worse”

“Has that happened before? Has it gone away, and built up to something bigger?”

Seungmin takes a big bite of his apple, and the taste hitting his tongue makes him smile. Yes, it has happened, but he was a teenager then, and he lacked self-control. It’s not something he wants to think about, or talk about right now. But he nods. “This is very good, thank you.”

“We’ll deal with it when the time comes, if it does”

Will you? It seemed sincere, the way you said it, and the way you looked at him.

we’ll deal with it

we?

Too much sleep is weighing on him now. Seungmin felt so tired as he ate the dessert you made for dinner, and while he struggled to brush his teeth. Now the sleep eludes him—but he’s comfortable, at least. You bought new flannel sheets, and new pillows, so the bed hasn’t felt this soft and warm in a long time. And you, you’re sound asleep a few inches away, content. Seungmin likes to stare, discreetly if he can manage, and so often he’s spent far too long watching you. He doesn’t do it while you sleep. This morning, he got right up and went about his day, not concerning himself with how late you stayed in bed. Not until he got bored. You’re usually up before him, so he missed a perfect opportunity to look at you without worrying about getting caught and making you uncomfortable.

The first time he saw you on the street, he did think you were pretty. He doesn’t typically interact with foreigners, or tourists, despite speaking English fluently, but seeing you changed that. Seungmin still can’t figure out why. Maybe if he bothered to ask a single thing about you, he could figure something out. Where are you from, and why are you still here after weeks of sometimes being paid attention to? Today, despite him sleeping for nearly all of it, was probably good for you.

Seungmin drops his gaze when you shift. Your hand slides up the sheet and stops just short of his. He watches it for a moment…and his pinky twitches. You never have trouble sleeping next to him, even though he nearly killed you. That night still lives at the front of his memory, and it replays over and over sometimes. It’s replaying for him right now, because you looked just like this—like you were sleeping.

He moves a little closer, and his hand slides over yours. You groan, but your eyes remain closed. Seungmin says your name, softly, because he isn’t sure he wants you to hear, but…he wants you awake with him. One more whisper, and he sees your lashes shift as your eyes start to move.

“Seungmin?” Before you even look around, you call for him. “Did you say my name?”

“Maybe”

“Maybe?”

Your sleepy laugh makes his stomach flutter, and he almost turns away. He has to force himself to stay put.

“What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

The warmth of your hand on his cheek sets his stomach in motion again, and he doesn’t like the feeling. It’s too much. Seungmin closes his eyes when you don’t take yours off of him. Touching comes easy for you, but you don’t do it often—Seungmin wonders if that's his fault...if his distance keeps you away. You mean it when you do touch him, though, like right now. Like when you wake up tangled together, as if your unconscious bodies can’t stay separated.

“Can’t sleep? That makes sense. What time is it?”

“Four o’clock”

“We could go for a walk”

“It’s freezing out”

“We could… go to that all-night cafe and try all the cakes”

“That’s tempting, but…” the flutter in his stomach turns to butterflies as he reaches out for you. “The bed is nice and warm,” he moves closer, close enough to tuck himself against you and fill himself up with your scent. You still smell the same as you did before; that deep, dark floral scent—flowers that only bloom when the sun goes down. Moonflowers, and night phlox. He wants to tell you that. Seungmin wants to tell you he gave you the wrong flowers, and that he needs to find you the right ones.

“We can stay up. I’ll stay awake with you.”

“You will?”

“I’ll try my best”

Seungmin looks up at you, and his eyes make you feel like you’re melting. He pulls back just enough to still share your pillow. “Do you really not want to go back home?” He knows it’s a heavy question, but how else can he start?

“Do you want me to?”

He watches as the color drains from your face. “No…did I word that wrong? No, I don’t want that.”

“Then no, I don’t want to go back home. I promise you, I don't.”

“Where is home? Was…where was home?”

“A town called Point Pleasant”

“Pleasant?” He smiles. “Point Pleasant.”

“Yeah, Uljin reminded me of it, a little. The woods, and the feeling it gave me.”

“Why did you leave? I know you told me before, when we had lunch…is that the only reason?” You close your eyes and think, and Seungmin watches every tiny movement of your face. “Maybe it is, I’m sorry.”

“No, it wasn’t”

“We don’t have to talk about it”

“There was no ex, but I was trying to get away from...uhm, everyone else. I lied to you."

“Why did you lie?” Seungmin whispers, because he can feel something change in the way you speak. You sound on the brink of tears, but you’re also hiding from him. "You can tell me, it's okay."

“I lied about my job, and about needing help getting home. I lied about how long I've been in Seoul. I wanted to seem more interesting, more helpless than I was. You seemed hard to impress, and I didn’t know why someone as good-looking as you was even talking to me. I still don’t.”

“You don’t?”

You shake your head.

“I should be the only one wondering that.” He can’t bring himself to ask why you had to run from everyone, and why running to him turned into your solution. He doesn't care about your lies, though. His whole life is built on lying to himself and to everyone else. “Close your eyes. Sleep."

“No, I’ll stay up”

“Close your eyes, I’ll be right behind you.”

/ / /

he is right behind you. and he’s fast, so much faster. the unbearable sound of mud underfoot as you slip and try desperately to gain some purchase, but you don’t know this ground like he does…and it’s dark but it’s midday, you think. you don’t dare look behind you, though, because he’ll be there when you do. free of the pine trees, at least, and there’s some light trying desperately to get through the clouds. the only thing standing is the shed. barely standing. it’s quiet. he stopped. maybe he turned back. but you have to hide. the shed is the only place.

the inside is somehow worse. everything is visible through the cracks in the wooden slats, so you watch the woods. the mud grabs your boots, and you’re pulled in even more as you try to move. a twig snaps, a cloud of warm breath sneaks past your ear. you can smell it.

seungmin? your voice is shaky. he likes how scared you are.

another breath tickles your ear, so you decide to look. you should at least face him when he jumps, right?

you turn, slowly, and move your eyes up a long white snout until you find them…two black eyes, shiny and sad, ready to swallow you up. a growl from his chest, and then every sharp tooth is out.

no, you promised

“Hey…hey, relax”

The voice comes from the big white dog, or seems to.

“Please, it’s me…open your eyes”

Something wet on your neck, your throat. Breath? No, warm lips. Why hasn’t he ripped you apart, what is he waiting for?

“I know, you’re stuck…it’s okay”

Finally, something shifts and you finally open your eyes. Two big black ones stare back at you, unblinking.

“No! Don’t touch me!”

Seungmin releases his grip on your wrist and backs away. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry. You’re okay now. You were dreaming.”

You pull yourself up against the pillows, bringing the blankets with you as you fold yourself up. The collar of your shirt is soaked through with sweat, and you swear you can smell the fear coming off of you. Seungmin keeps his distance, but his eyes never leave you—they take in every movement as you fidget and pull yourself even tighter together.

“…just a bad dream. Really bad. You were, uh—“

“I was what?” You look around the room, and try to gauge the time by the amount of light coming in. It’s still early in the morning, you think. A few hours ago you were awake and talking with him.

“You said my name, and you were crying. Did I hurt you?”

“No.” But he was going to. “I’m not sure.”

“Maybe you can tell me about it later, when it doesn’t feel so real anymore”

“Yeah”

Seungmin wants to assure you that he won’t hurt you, but he’s not certain how to tell you again. He doesn’t blame you for being afraid, though, even after everything. “You said…no, you promised. Were you saying that to me?”

You don’t answer.

“I’ll go make coffee”

He pulls the door closed and leaves you alone with your thoughts, but you don’t want this quiet, either. Maybe he’ll come back if you call for him. No, he’ll absolutely come back if you call for him.

But you don’t. You look around the sun-filled room like you’re searching for a clue. Everything is the same as it’s been for weeks, and he’s the same, so why is your head suddenly betraying you? You stand on sore, shaky legs and feel yourself floating toward the door. Seungmin’s back is to you at the kitchen counter, white tshirt hanging loosely on his shoulders. The sun is bright in here, too, and you can practically see through him as he moves around like water. He stretches and rolls his neck, lifts his shirt, and you’re hypnotized by the sight of his back, the paleness of his winter skin as he pulls it over his head. Seungmin shakes the hair from his face as he turns, and he catches you there, peeking from the open doorway.

“Hi.” He holds his shirt against his torso as you examine him, as if he has something to hide. His faded orange bangs fall right back in his face. The dark roots have grown out significantly in such a short time, but he hasn’t been out much, and he hasn’t had a reason to change anything.

“I can trim your hair for you, if you’d like”

/ / /

It’s a little awkward at first, setting him down and running your fingers through his damp hair, both of you staring at each other in the bathroom mirror. You insisted on the conditioning treatment, mostly so you could wet him down in the bathtub, run it through his hair, and touch him a little more than you have lately. He smirked the entire time, probably feeling overwhelmed by the intimacy.

“Are you feeling better?” He asks the mirrored version of you. “I know how dreams can mess with your head.”

“A little.” You snip a few times, comb through it, snip again. “I’ll be okay.”

“Have you done this before?”

“I used to cut my own, and my sisters. It’s been a while, though.”

“Why did you do your own hair?”

“Haircuts were expensive”

He nods, not needing any more explanation than that, and he lets you continue cutting. “It was me, in your dream?”

“I think so. I mean, my dream self thought it was you.” Seungmin is confused, you can see that. “I’m sorry, I don’t know how to explain it.”

“That’s okay, I doubt I could explain mine either.” He watches his hair fall on the white tile, piece by piece. “Even though they’re always the same.”

“Mine are never quite the same, except for the…except for the shed. And the mud. The smell.”

Seungmin looks up at you before your next cut. “The what?”

You think as you tousle his hair, and find a few more spots to trim in the back.

“The smell. Do you smell things in your dreams? It’s always wet and gross, like decay. Sometimes it stays stuck in my nose even after I wake up.”

“Shed?”

“Yeah, yeah…I think so. It was this time, for sure. I’m usually already inside when the dream starts, looking out. This time I ran inside to hide.”

“From me?”

“Sort of”

“Sort of? Either it was me or it wasn’t.”

His words come out sharp, and it goes right through you. It reminds you of the big, impatient voice he used on his last victim.

“I’m finished”

You toss the scissors in the sink and leave him there. Seungmin doesn’t speak up again before you gently close the door, and he doesn’t come out right away. Cleaning up, you assume, and then you hear him in the shower. He takes his time.

The television isn’t typically on, but this morning, you need the noise to drown out the leftover scenes playing in your head. It’s still too vivid. You turn on the news, and pretend you can understand what they’re saying. The isolated feeling doesn’t always bother you—sometimes it creeps up, and you remember everything here is foreign except for a few of your classmates, and Seungmin. If you think about it too much…

The story on the news changes, and you focus on it. Korean or not, you can figure out what’s going on; what they’re talking about, and what the footage appears to be showing. It’s a crime scene. A body was found.

Seungmin finally emerges from the bathroom, and when you glance up at him, he looks a little dejected. He combs his fingers through his damp hair, and his bangs hit just above his eyebrows. Maybe you cut it a little too short.

He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

“Is that your body?”

“My what?”

“On the news. Is that where you dumped it?”

Seungmin turns and looks at the screen, but you can’t tell by his reaction if it’s a yes or a no. He just stares quietly, listening to every word. Eventually, he looks at you. “It’s fine. This has happened before.”

Your stomach drops. “It has? What if someone saw you?“

“Nobody saw me. You don’t have to worry, I promise.”

But you will worry. "I should dye your hair back to black." What if something happens, and you lose him? After all you’ve been through in the last few weeks…how much closer you’ve managed to get—which isn't very close, you admit. You can’t. “And I will worry. I’m not losing you.”

“Lose me?”

“I can’t”

He plays with his hair again, messes it up, and then takes a few steps toward the couch. It feels short, but it looked nice in the mirror. He’s not really worried about it. He still hasn’t felt any urges to go out and find someone, so he has no reason to look good for anyone, anyway—just you. The subject on the news changes, and you seem to relax. You look up at him and force a smile.

Seungmin sits, leaving some space between you, and he keeps his hands tucked between his thighs. “I didn't mean to snap at you.”

“Why did you? We were only talking about my dream.”

Because I’m an asshole he thinks. An impatient, insensitive pick who doesn’t deserve your kindness. Because I have has one true setting, and it’s self-sabotage. “They’re the same as mine.” He shuts his mind up and says. “Parts of them, at least. We’re dreaming of the same place, I think.”

“The shed?”

“Yes, the shed. The one next to the greenhouse.”

How did you fail to notice that? How did you not put that together? You saw it with your own eyes after seeing it several times in your head. You ran to it this morning, and looked out through the cracks in the wood. The smell. The mud you sunk into. That was the first time you were there—when you were dead on Seungmin’s bed.

“The nightmares you always have, it’s the shed?”

“Sometimes. Depends on which part of the nightmare I’m on. It replays in my mind like a movie; I’ll get some pieces one night, and then another piece the next, or a few nights later.”

“It’s always the same?”

“Little details change. And it’s not always in order, because my memory isn’t perfect, I guess.”

You see his fingers twitch, and you don’t resist the urge to reach for his hand. Seungmin squeezes yours back.

“You’re reliving a memory?”

“Yes, over and over. The worst memory. It always feels new in my head.” Saying it loud feels like a dream in itself. Having someone actually listen, and seem concerned. Having someone share in the dread that place gives him.

Do you just not remember him telling you about the shed before? He’s mentioned his nightmares, but you don’t remember him giving out any details, and when he talks in his sleep, you don’t understand him. Try as you might, you can’t actually read Seungmin’s mind.

“But it never comes together”

Do you change the subject, or assume he wants to talk about it? He looks on the verge of tears—angry ones, and you don’t want him walking through his nightmare while he’s awake. "Can I have a kiss?”

It’s been a while. Seungmin isn’t a goodnight or good morning kisser. He doesn’t sneak up behind you and peck your cheek (though sometimes, he does it when he thinks you're asleep). You have to wait for sex to get his needy, vehement mouth. That, or you have to take them yourself. You’ve only done that twice, and the first time, you had a knife to his throat.

He leans in and stops short, licks his lips…his eyes still shine with what he’s holding back…and gives you one long kiss before pulling back enough to look at you. “Just one?”

You take the second one, and Seungmin touches you. He pulls you closer, leans back against the couch, and gives you space to straddle his thighs. A kiss will almost always turn into this if you let it. Usually you do, because you want it, but not making another move right now is taking all of your energy. Still, you touch his stomach and side until his muscles twitch and tighten.

“What’s wrong?” He whispers.

“Wrong? Nothing…nothing is wrong.”

Seungmin holds you steady as he sits up again, and he places another soft kiss on your lips. “I should go take my pill.”

/ / /

The Haldol hits him again, and just like yesterday, he’s stuck and wandering around his head. You’ll adjust, you told him. He hopes you’re right because he’s never done this more than two days in a row. This isn’t how he wants to feel. But you’re here now, leaning against his shoulder, talking softly about something. What if he just told you how much having you with him right now means to him? It would get stuck in his throat, no doubt, but he could at least try.

He stops thinking for a moment, and listens.

Is there a dog in your dreams? Was there ever?

No he thinks he says… no, there was never a dog

A big white dog

No, no…he wouldn’t let me have a dog

Something runs across the room, but he only catches it in his peripheral vision. Just a shadow, bouncing on four legs…

What was that? he tries to stand, but he only makes it to the edge of the couch. Seungmin looks down at his bare feet against the gray carpet…scrunches his toes, and moves his feet against the soft fibers.

What is it? Do you want me to get you something…sweetheart

Sweetheart? Me? He sees it again. It moves slowly across the room, stops, and looks at him down its long black nose. Where did you come from?

Who? Who are you talking to? Seungmin…

He follows it around the kitchen counter, but there’s nothing there. Nothing beneath the bar. Seungmin opens the counter and looks inside, pulls out the trash can and sends it to floor.

“Seungmin, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He presses his palm to his forehead and sighs, “I don’t know.” He turns and looks at the mess he made, and kneels to clean it.

“I can clean that up, go sit down”

“I’m fine, I’m—“ You hear him sigh again. “What is this?” He reaches for something you can’t see, and then slowly gets back to his feet.

“What?” Your heart beats wildly as he turns, and you can see what he has in his hand. It was stupid of you to not tell him about it before, and you know that—you tried to wait for a good time, and the time never came. “I was going to talk to you about it…I should have told you.”

“Are you?” He looks at you, then back down to the little pink box in his hands. "Are you pregnant?"

“No, it was negative. I would have told you right away if it came back positive.”

“Negative? Why did you think you were?”

“I felt off." Tired, sick, sad...even when you open your eyes and see him in front of you. "I didn‘t know what else it could have been.”

“Do you still feel…off?”

You do, but you don’t want him to have that on his mind. Realizing you’ve been sharing dreams, one of his bodies being found, and now Seungmin seeing things in the kitchen is already too much for one day. “I’m alright...just tired.”

He’s still staring at the crumpled box in his hands, and you can tell he’s thinking, wondering, forming a question. His face gives him away—another one of his few tells. “When did you take it?”

“Yesterday, while you were asleep”

“Maybe you should take another, just to be sure”

The second test is negative. You knew it would be, because you’re starting to realize the off feeling started when you went home with him, driving through the woods, stepping foot on the ground where the shed and the greenhouse sit. You can’t explain why, and it doesn’t make logical sense, but it’s all you have for now. And the shared dreams. You’re starting to wonder exactly what happens in Seungmin’s dream. His worst memory.

He’s been standing just inside the bathroom door, watching you sit on the edge of the bathtub. You hope he doesn’t think you’re lying to him about the first result, but why else would he hover like this? Seungmin doesn’t seem the type to wait breathlessly for a different outcome. Nothing about him makes you think he wants to be a father.

But you don’t know, and you can’t assume there isn’t something inside of him that wants that. You doubt yourself more than anything. Not just doubt, you know you have no business being a mother.

You walk to the edge of the sink, but he gets there first.

“It’s negative?”

“Yes, this one is negative, too.”

He picks it up and looks at the little window, and the single pink vertical line inside.

“Are you upset? You seem…down.”

Seungmin stares for another few moments, then shakes his head. “Upset? No. We should be more careful.” He drops it into the trash can, and he’s gone before you can speak again.

“Can you please tell me what you’re feeling?” He has no business keeping quiet about something that would affect you both so massively. “Or thinking about, at least.”

“I’m not thinking about anything”

“You don’t have to hide everything from me. I know I’m still new here, but I think I deserve a little bit more of you.”

“You do...you think that?"

The silence is horrible. His stare is empty, you hope it’s just him trying to get out of this conversation, or maybe his medicine still hanging over him.

“Yes”

“You get so much of me, don’t you see that? More than I've given anyone, ever. And more than you’ve given me.”

“I wasn’t sure if you cared about what I had to give.” Your voice shakes, your throat collapses, and your attempt at a deep breath comes out as a pathetic whimper. The tears are already starting, so trying to hide them seems pointless. "But I'll tell you anything you wanna know. I'll give you anything you want."

Still, he stares, but his face changes when he sees the tears falling, and hears the tightness in your chest.

“Please, don’t cry,” he says, and it sounds so exasperated, so over everything.

Your mind reaches desperately for something good: the kiss he gave you; waking you from your nightmare; the questions he did ask last night as he cuddled up next you.

“Please…” Seungmin moves toward you, and this time, he treads a little more cautiously. “Don’t cry, please.” His hands land gently on your shoulders, and he pulls you closer. “I don’t like seeing you cry.”

You push your face into his chest, mostly to hide yourself from him, but his arms close around you.

“I’m used to hiding, and pushing back. It’s a hard habit to break.”

“I’m sorry”

“No, don’t apologize to me." He pulls you even closer. “You do deserve more.” Cereus—that sweet honey smell. That's the scent he's getting now. Tomorrow, he thinks, he'll find the flowers he needs for you.

“I was so scared to take that test, and now I’m confused. You seemed upset that it was negative, were you?”

His grip on you loosens, and he makes you look at him. “I don’t have a good answer to give you.” Or he can’t put it into words properly. Something inside of Seungmin stirred when he saw that box, and then again when you told him it was a false alarm. Whatever moves inside of him when he takes a life, it moved a little bit for this, just in the opposite direction. “Did you want it to be negative? When I saw the box, I figured the result was your reason for staying. Like you were trapped here now.”

“I wanted it to be negative because I don’t think I’d make a very good mother. And because I was afraid you’d be angry."

“Angry? No. Do I still scare you?” He pulls his shirt up and wipes at your cheeks, and he cups your face in his hands. “Don’t ever let me push you around, or treat you like you’re less. If I do, leave—go home, and leave me to rot here by myself, like I deserve.”

“Seungmin”

“I can’t turn into that person. I won’t.”

You look at him questioningly, and he notices. He sees you wanting more. After this conversation, Seungmin knows he can’t always walk away from the memories he keeps digging up. He certainly can’t do it right now, not today.

“Who treated you like that? Who pushed you around?”

A memory jumps to the front of his mind; stopping at the top of the porch steps to fix his coat zipper, yelling to his friend to wait up. Seungmin felt a hand press against his shoulder, and it pushed. He remembers the pain in his wrists from almost catching himself, and tasting blood from his busted lip…but not why he did it. Maybe Seungmin was being too loud, or just standing in his way.

“My stepfather. He was, well…he didn’t like me.”

Seungmin squeezes when you grab for him again, and he keeps you close as he tries to stop the sting of tears.

“He hurt you?”

His chest aches from remembering. More memories pop into his head, and he needs to stop them. A pill, maybe. No, if he does that, either he’ll sleep the rest of the day, or he’ll have to watch the strange black dog slink around the apartment again.

“I’m sorry, we don’t have to talk about it...unless you need to”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“My what?” You wipe your cheeks with the back of your hand.

“Your favorite color. I had a friend when I was a kid, my only friend…he always asked everyone what their favorite color was. It seemed important.”

“Blue…dark blue. Like the color of your old bedspread.”

“That fits you"

“I would guess yours is purple, unless that’s too obvious.”

“No, you’re right. Is that a good start?”

“It is, I’ll take it. Where is your old friend? Still in Uljin?”

“No, he moved away before things got really bad. I’m not sure where he ended up.”

Since Seungmin is giving, maybe you should, too. “I do know what it’s like.” Even though it's hard. “It stays forever. The mean words…the screaming, and the beating, and all the locks on all the doors. It doesn’t go away.”

“No, it doesn’t”

/ / /

Who hurt you? Seungmin wonders as he watches you hunt for all of the white puzzle pieces. His mind is numb from half of a Xanax he took, so he’s not participating. He really is enjoying watching you, though—he’s catching some of your subtle habits, and hoping he still remembers them tomorrow. You squint your eyes when you think, and absently rub your hands along different parts of your body; your forearms, your neck, when you’re still for too long. Seungmin has seen you do it before, during the long car ride, but not this much. And his favorite; your finger slowly tracing the outline of your lips, pulling and picking at them. If you keep it up, you’ll make them bleed, and he might come down there in his daze and start kissing them clean.

”Hmm?”

Your eyes flit up to him. Why, what now?

“You’re sighing so loudly up there. Get down here on the floor with me.”

“I’ll get in your way.” Of course, You’re always wanting, Seungmin thinks. Always itching for closeness.

“I want you in my way”

Itching for touch. Who put that tenderness back after it was beat out of you? He watches your hand as it leaves your mouth and pushes a stray puzzle piece back in its place. Where does your patience come from?

“…get down here and help me find the green pieces”

He laughs at that, and it must be loud enough for you to hear. Your head turns his way, and you scowl at him, but you can’t keep up an act…it turns into a smile as you look away.

Those things make a good mother, right? Seungmin remembers that, sometimes. The patience, and the tenderness. Soft words. Soft hands. Why wouldn’t you?

“Why wouldn’t I what?”

Oh he said that part out loud. “Nothing. I’m coming.” He slides from the couch and onto his knees, drops to all fours, and starts toward you.

“Cute…oh, you’re not gonna help at all”

Seungmin climbs into your lap and goes straight for your neck. He kisses once, stops, and inhales deeply.

“Are you smelling me?”

His mhm comes deep from his chest, full of your sweet scent. He kisses again, coaxing you to your back as your shirt is lifted from you. “Oh, this is nice.”

The air is cold against your bare skin, but you relax when his warm hands graze over your nipples, hard and pushing against the mesh of your bra.

“Is this new?” He puts his mouth around one and bites until you make a sound for him. “A matching set?” He pulls the waistband of your leggings down, “it is,” and brings them down the rest of the way. “Cute.”

“Cute?”

You can hear his soft laugh as he disappears between your thighs. He touches, squeezes, bites when his mouth gets to work. “Are you cold? We can get into bed.”

“Yeah, take me to bed”

/ / /

It’s warm under the sheets, but your teeth chatter anyway. In anticipation of him, maybe. Should you ask him to use a condom? Will he, if you ask? He would. Do you want him to? You can’t imagine yourself as a mother; or pregnant, for that matter. What a strange home to bring a child into.

He heads for his drawer, and reaches for the knob, but stops himself. Seungmin turns and heads for his dresser, where he slides one of the top drawers open. As far as you know, from your innocent snooping a few weeks ago, there’s nothing in there except his jewelry, watches, extra glasses. He put something new in there. He comes back with a condom between his fingers, and a questioning look in his eyes.

You give him the same look right back.

He points to the bedside table, “not ours.” And then to the drawer he just came from, “ours.”

“That’s sweet”

“Is it? I just thought it made sense.”

“Yeah, it’s sweet to me”

The room warms. You swear you can feel the cold get pushed away as he crawls to you…onto you…pulls the covers back up as you disappear beneath him. Seungmin touches and kisses everywhere he can get to—down your body, where he tugs at the matching panties he seemed to like so much, and back up to focus elsewhere. He opens the clasp of your bra and lets you fall out, and his smile as he watches is sickly sweet. You feel a blush move up your neck and face, and your reflexes force your arms around you. There’s no reason to be shy, but he’s making you feel seen again. Too seen. Seungmin looks at you, and into you in a way nobody else has before.

He gently grabs your wrists and pushes them onto the bed, “you’re mine…no hiding.”

“I’m yours”

“All mine…you won’t leave me”

It’s just a mumble against your skin, but you hear every word. He told you to leave if he did something to deserve it, but despite the dream, you're starting to believe he's incapable of scaring you away. He might think he is, but he doesn’t see all of himself. Seungmin isn't the nightmare that looks back at him in the mirror.

You still remember every word he said in the greenhouse; okay, I guess...sometimes it’s tough to tell from the inside. You didn’t hear the question, but you assume it was “how are you?”

He talked about you; I know, I’m not alone this time, isn’t that strange? It feels so strange.

I’m trying really hard, I promise

Trying to what, exactly? To get better? To keep you around? If only you had heard what he heard, and knew both sides of the conversation. But you know who it was now, and it took too long to figure out. Seungmin was catching up with his mother, telling her he is okay, and that he is no longer alone, and that he's trying so hard to...well, you're not sure exactly what—keep everything from falling apart, maybe. The dream that had him in tears, and unable to get back to sleep, was her.

“No, I won't leave you alone”

His teeth sink into your neck as he works his way in. It’s easy, and so smooth, and so satisfying—Seungmin knows his way around your body now. He pushes his cock inside of you, pulls out slowly, slides back in. Warming you up, making you comfortable, and maybe testing out how this feels. Seungmin feels good, he always does…and this, you could do this with him all night, but it’s not quite right. You’re used to nothing between you and him, so what you’re thinking is irresponsible and stupid.

The slow, steady strokes are him; the painful stretch, and the careful movements are all him. But it’s not the same. Your hands slide up his back and you pull him closer, and he bites again, softly—he’s become gentle with you in every way when you fuck…he doesn’t leave you with the same marks he begs for.

“Min,” you whisper, and run your hands across the scratches you left. Healed, but still rough against the rest of his soft skin. He moans quietly, and you hate to say his name again and stop him, but, “hey.”

“What’s wrong?” He slows his thrusts and looks at you, “it hurts?”

“No, it doesn’t hurt”

He kisses sweetly, and you can feel him crack a smile before he pulls away.

“What are you smiling about?”

This time he laughs as he goes for another kiss. “What is it, why’d you stop me?” and another.

“I…uhm—nothing, I'm fine”

“Nothing?” He stops completely and stares. Trying to read your mind, probably. Seungmin moves again, slowly.

“Please…baby.” Why did you say that? Your face heats up, and you know he sees it. That’s the second time you've done that today.

“Jagi?” The grin won’t drop from his face, so you wonder what has him feeling so relaxed, and so at ease. It can’t just be the pill he took. “Sweetheart?”

“Don’t tease me"

"No...I'm not, I like it. You can call me sweet little nicknames."

"Take the condom off”

Seungmin’s eyes grow, “oh, is that the problem?” He kisses more, and you can feel him reach between you and remove it. “Anything for you.”

"Anything?"

"Mhm...tell me what else you want"

"Don't be so gentle this time"

He grips your wrists again, puts all of his weight down, and fucks you slowly, gently. "Are you sure? You want it a little rough?"

"Yes, Min...please"

"Call me Minnie"

"Minnie," You can't help but smirk at that. It's almost too cute for him, "can we switch positions?'

Seungmin mhm's and slides his hands from your wrists, and groans as his cock is released from your tight squeeze again. "How would you like to—" he laughs under his breath as you turn your body, get on your knees, and lay your head on the pillow, "...be fucked?"

His eyes eat you up, and his hands follow. Seungmin wonders why you haven’t switched things up before now, but he knows why he never does—he likes looking at you, and kissing you and he likes watching you on top of him (and pulling you down). Seungmin never realized how much he liked to kiss until he kissed your breathless lips, and again when he had a knife to his throat. That isn’t the type of treatment his victims get unless it seems absolutely necessary. Seungmin only wants to kiss you.

Considering how shy you were before, he’s surprised at what he’s getting now. Ass up, thighs spread. He resists the urge to use his mouth, only because his cock is aching for you again. He moves his head between your lips, gathering up your warm arousal, mixing it with his pre-cum. The thought of filling you up again makes him ache even more, and he pushes in without warning.

But you said you wanted it rough. You gasp and flinch, and your shaky breath actually makes him pause for a moment. No, you said you want it rough, and he’s giving it to you.

“Stop me if you need to.” Seungmin runs a hand up your back and squeezes your shoulder as he starts to move. In and out, deep and slow at first. “Okay?” He thinks he sees you nod, so he lets go, and the sound as your body meets his is so sweet; the grip on his cock, how much deeper he hits. And he knows he’s hurting you, despite your persistence. Face down in the pillow, fist clenching the sheets—your free hand reaches for his, and Seungmin thinks you want to hold it, but instead you wrap his fingers around your neck.

“Are you sure?” He can barely get it out before you push back into him. “Oh fuck…okay.” Seungmin squeezes, gently, and it seems to satisfy you for now, but he doesn’t want to tighten his grip. He can’t do that, because he hasn’t done this to anyone unless he was ending it. The control might not be there. Maybe it will be, for you, but he doesn’t know for sure, and he’s not willing to risk it.

“More”

“No.” It slips out. He was only thinking it, but he says it again. “No, I can’t.”

“Minnie…”

“I might hurt you.” He leans forward and places a kiss on your back, and keeps moving up, “I can’t,” wraps his arms around you and holds you tight against his chest. “I love you, I can’t.” And he hopes you’ll turn your head and look at him…

You do. “What did you say?”

Seungmin kisses you sweetly and fucks you as gently as possible, because he wants this to last a little longer, but he’s so close. The kissing—the confession…he told you he feels too much sometimes, and he knows you remember.

A little bit of regret swirls in his head, only because you don’t say it right back, but he pushes it away when you twist yourself to kiss him even deeper. Seungmin comes, and his satisfied moan fills your ears and mouth and chest. You feel him shaking as he slows himself and pulls out, and then he’s up, and you need him back, but it’s only for a moment as he helps you roll back to face him.

Now what? He’s staring at you, silent, eyes full of all of those feelings he holds onto so tightly. You could answer him—you could say it right back to cut through this quiet, but you want him to say it again. Instead, he touches. His warm hand closes over your cunt, and his fingers slide up and over your still-sensitive clit. He gives you exactly what you need, and when his mouth start exploring you again, your orgasm already starts to rise.

“Kiss me”

He jumps up to your chest, and your neck, and finally lands on your lips as you come for him.

/ / /

Not getting a positive result on either test was a strange surprise, you have to admit. Every time you’ve had sex, save the first time, it’s ended the same way; you laying here, staring at him, filled with him. Right now, you’re comfortable and curled up in his arms, and you can feel the slow trickle of cum on your thigh. You like it.

“I’ll start birth control, so we won’t have to worry”

You’re not sure he’s still awake until he moves his hand up your back, and laughs under his breath. “I’m not worried. But you don’t want a baby, so we will be careful.”

You don’t want one, not we. Every time he talks on the subject, you move closer to the conclusion that a very big part of him wants a child. You have to find out for sure, and you need to know why, if that is the case. This is a strange home to bring a baby into, you think again. Two damaged parents can’t make a happy, well-adjusted child, can they? No. It doesn't even matter how you feel, or how he feels, because neither of you are there yet. You might never be.

"Minnie?" Not smiling when you say it seems impossible, Minnie. It's cute, and it doesn't seem to match him, or it didn't when you first met...it does now. You see a Minnie in there; sweet, loving, overflowing with heartache and nowhere to put it.

“Hmm?” Of course he expects you to bring it up, his three stupid little words he couldn’t keep to himself; his sudden outpouring of emotions, because he finally boiled over in the moment. Seungmin wonders if that’s how it usually feels—like you’re going to explode from the pain. That’s how it feels when he’s kneeling in the dirt with his flowers, and that’s how he feels when he remembers too much all at once. But this was a different type of pain.

“Minnie,” you say it again, whisper it, feel it leave your mouth and reach his ears. His eyes grow, and you can see them reflect every little light in the room. Why didn’t you tell him first, and what if Seungmin is wondering that, too? You feel it, and you have felt it far too long in your short time knowing him. He knows that. He knows you’re the one bursting with love for him, he has to know that. “I should have told you.”

There’s so much he doesn’t know, and now you’re going to tell him something that will change whatever this is. “Told me what?”

You hope it changes things for the better. “How I feel." It could always complicate things, or scare him, even though he opened his mouth first.

"Told me how you feel?"

"How I feel when I look at you. How much I love you."

168 notes · View notes

charmedreincarnation · 1 year ago

Note

My sucess story

Trigger Warning: Abusive, homophobia, mentions of suicide

Hey there, Maya! I just had to take a moment and express my appreciation for all the fantastic posts you put out. I can now confirm, without a shadow of a doubt, that shifting is real, manifesting is real, and so is the void. Our desires and ambitions aren't in vain.

I've been part of the shifting community since 2020 when it exploded on TikTok. It might not matter much, but as a gay man, I rarely saw other guys in the community (though Reddit and Amino have a more diverse crowd). I've always felt more comfortable in women-centric spaces because they tend to be less judgmental.

I never saw success stories from guys, especially the kind I wanted to see - like waking up in a new world, not just manifesting money or a girlfriend (or boyfriend in my case >.<). I've always been spiritual and interested in witchcraft, voodoo, deities, and now manifesting and shifting. But it felt like nothing would let me shift.

Growing up with homophobic and physically abusive parents, struggling with poverty, depression, homelessness, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, and more, I began to feel like you could only manifest and shift if your life was okay. I didn't have the luxury of time or safety to practice methods, constantly dealing with noise, verbal abuse, or physical violence.

Then, I read this post

https://www.reddit.com/r/shiftingrealities/comments/14v4lw3/how_to_shift_the_next_time_you_go_to_sleep/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=ioscss&utm_content=2&utm_term=1

It led me to your Tumblr because OP used some of your old posts and talked about the concept of the void. All searched lead to tumblr. A couple of months ago (2.5 ish) after one of the worst days of my life, I went to bed sobbing, trying to block out the noise around me, praying and crying for anything - death, shifting, a new identity...

Everything around me started to fade - it was as if I was being engulfed by a white, serene blanket of nothingness. It was completely silent, and I couldn't see or feel anything. The only thing that seemed to persist was my awareness.

Now, I've read about the void before, but mostly in the context of it being a black, empty space. So, I'm not entirely sure if what I experienced was indeed the void or something altogether different. The concept still baffles me a bit, but I'm learning and growing through these experiences.

Regardless of where I was, my heart was set on reaching my dr.I kept praying and hoping, to wake up in my DR.

I woke up in my Twitch streamer DR! I found myself in a completely unfamiliar yet perfect place. My room was equipped with a high-end PC, top-notch gaming gear, and quaint decor items. Milo, my dog, was there too. I was sharing a mansion in LA with my boyfriend and four other streamers. The house was beyond my imagination, and streaming here was a dream come true. As night fell, my friends and I explored the vibrant LA nightlife, creating lasting memories.

After a week, i can’t lie I almost forgot I had shifted here. Then, I set an intention to shift back into this reality but where I had moved out, lived with my best friend and their supportive parents, mastered shifting and manifesting, had my desired looks, and money came easily to me. And it worked!

Since then, I've been living my best boujee gay life, and I shift all the time. I even created a waiting room where I'm immortal and use it whenever I need a break. I wish I could offer better advice, but like everyone says, there isn't a key to shifting. It's different for everyone. But you can and will shift. You can manifest your dream life. You can and deserve to be happy

Oh my god, I'm so happy for you, love 💕💕. I also completely related to what you felt. I know it can seem like your circumstances are holding you back, but believe me when I say this - that couldn't be further from the truth.

It's that same resilience, and your ability to persist despite the odds, that paved the way to your dream life. There’s nothing, I mean nothing that can stop you. Not wavering, crying, or doubt. Nothing. If you want it, it’s yours.

#law of assumption #manifesation #manifesting #void state #reality shifting #shiftblr #void success

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thiniceofeternalyouth · 1 month ago

Text

MISLEADIN' ME SERIES: CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

"I CARRY YOUR HEART IN MINE"

⊳ Gojo Satoru x f!reader

series masterlist

Genre: angst, fluff, sci-fi, cosmology, smut.

Words count: ~13.3k

tw1: jujutsu kaisen 0 mild spoilers

tw2: unprotected sex, creampie

⊲ previous

There was no questioning of your conscience, no rage pressed upon you - you sat in the black office chair, still dressed in your hospital pajamas, and stared blankly at the desk. You didn't know or feel whether an hour had passed or twenty-four hours - you mourned in the dark office, the windows of which were always covered with dark gray curtains.

The dead, unlike the living, don't repay debts - you couldn't understand what you were paying for. Yes, you were a thief. Yes, you were a killer. But there were creatures on Earth who were far worse than you, and they got away with it - otherwise, if punishment came to them, it took the face of death. They didn't suffer long, they had no time to grieve, nor did their souls boil in attempts to make things right.

You were confused. You came to the deity half asleep, guilt-ridden, hundreds of thoughts and memories swirling in your head, knocking you off balance, unable to distinguish reality from dream. Slowly, you put your elbows on the table and almost knocked over the clear glass, and held your head, hiding your inhuman face from the faces that flashed before your eyes. Were they payment for your stubbornness, or were they taken away because you had allowed yourself to be happy for a moment? A haunting thought was killing you with its grief - it could have been a necessary course of events, and you should have retreated, leaving your loved ones behind, without changing anything.

If you only knew the moment it all went wrong, the day your sister was taken from you, maybe things would have been a lot easier. The slightest mistake, and your only chance to get rid of the demons could slip away. You couldn't just jump around in time because of the guilt and loneliness that fell on your shoulders - that's what common sense told you, but you couldn't recognize its voice.

In the corridor there was the distinctive sharp sound of heels on parquet, which grew louder and louder. As soon as they stopped right in front of the door, someone turned the key and, pulling the doorknob, entered the office.

"Y/N, long time no see," Laitta greeted you cheerfully, turning on the light in the room - you couldn't even hear the surprise in her voice, and you got a sense of deja vu.

She didn't pay attention to your appearance or your condition - Laitta walked smoothly to the table, and you stood up to make room for her. You turned cautiously and locked gazes with each other as the goddess sat down, and you exhaled, stepping around the table to stand across from her.

She flipped back her dark curls, sighed contentedly, pushed her laptop to her side, and opened one of the folders on the table, pouring whiskey from a crystal decanter into a clear glass. The goddess didn't care about you - you were a ghost to her.

"Give them back to me," you commanded, clawing your hands into the table, trying to draw attention to yourself. Your tone was strikingly different - just a little while ago you'd been begging Rei for it, but now you were spitting out orders.

"Give you who?" the goddess asked idly, staring at the laptop and sipping whiskey from a glass. The quiet clinking of fingernails against glass was enough to make you snap.

"My family!" you yelled, sweeping everything off the table, Laitta's eyebrows raised in confusion and she glared at you squeamishly. Her graphite table began to be covered in the darkness that your dark lines carried with them, spreading beyond your body.

"Why would I?" she asked mockingly - she wanted to chop your hands off her desk so they'd stop making it dirty. "You have nothing to give in return," she reminded smugly, leaning forward.

The creature gave an order - you obeyed. You grabbed Laitta by the neck and slammed her against the wall, the impact so strong that the shelves collapsed to the floor with their contents. Open books, broken statuettes, plants, and scattered earth sprawled around you as you pressed the goddess's neck into the wall with your forearm, tears of rage streamed from your dark eyes.

You groped Laitta - your hope was fading more and more with each empty pocket as the goddess laughed hoarsely. "Talking to you taught me a useful lesson," she chuckled huskily, clinging to your forearm with her hands. "Keep anything of value away," the woman hissed, jerking away, but your grip was firm - you only pressed her harder into the wall. Your grin and the dagger edge pressed against her throat amused the goddess more. "So what are you going to do?" she asked with contrived pity in her voice. "Kill me?"

The goddess didn't seem it, but she was on the verge of passing out - she couldn't breathe. The mirth and irony had been replaced by coldness and arrogance. "Are you seriously threatening death to someone who has lived for more than a thousand years?" she wheezed indifferently, sensing your desperation - instead of trying to offer the goddess other jewels, to find a compromise, you were immediately ready to tear her to pieces. That was your mistake, and she should have put you in your place. "The only reason I helped you that time was because you had Atlas," she said proudly, despite her position - your grip was weakening with every word she said. "You can kill me for all I care," Laitta said calmly. "No one will notice the extra few drops on your already bloody arms."

You whimpered and staggered backward in horror and denial - not a mockery, but a reminder. It seemed that your fear had come to life, and you should have stopped being afraid - you had fallen down where there were no ladders or ropes, and you had become someone who not only lived off human blood, but also enjoyed human suffering. You could not justify yourself even before the reflection in the mirror - it didn't expect explanations and reasons from you, it was blind to your suffering and attempts to return everything back to normal. It still wanted to live at any cost, but you had nothing to pay for it.

Not to return, not to fix, but to hold on to the last opportunity for which you came into this world to be who you were. No one will pull you out of the abyss, no one will pull you deeper into it – just the balance and eternal peace you have learned since you were a child. Fill deaths with meaning, justify your deeds before the silent human wrath, and, if you were lucky, see them all again - if that side existed, maybe you would meet again.

You stood before the goddess who had lived a long time and looked at all the sins of humans, and you wanted to ask her if she had ever seen anyone worse. Laitta didn't judge you, didn't blame you, but she didn't want to help you either; resigned to the fact that you couldn't bring anyone back, you turned and walked out of her office on weak legs.

[October 23, 2023, 04:39pm; USA, State of Alaska, Utqiagvik]

At the edge of the world, a white mist rose slowly the town over, spreading between the small houses that stood on stilts. Red spears pierced the chill haze as the sun retreated, illuminating the snow-covered roofs one last time. The few people wandered leisurely through the streets, wrapping themselves in jackets and exhaling clouds of steam.

The North, as always, was serene and calm. Beyond the Arctic Circle, the cold dispelled people's fears about the future, there was no room for worries among the snow and ice, the gusty wind didn't drive home, on the contrary - it made get up and look around, freeze in place, feel the searing tide that flowed coldly through lungs with every breath. The feeling of frozen earth underfoot, blue colors in the sky, and a measured beating heart under the supervision of the harsh polar region mercilessly smothered any anxiety, and every tear froze in the eyes, never rolling down the cheek.

You could no longer see the shore because of the fog, but you could feel that the boat was taking you farther and farther away from it in pursuit of the white whale. You huddled as tightly as you could against the bridge, fidgeting with your orange lifejacket as you were tossed by the waves. Motorboats whizzed by, men's excited exclamations were heard, and you squinted every now and then - you should have stayed home today and not gone along with Jordan. The man standing on the bow was trying to see the escaped whale in the dark waters - white small ice floes in the distance, brazenly impersonating its tail, gave false hope.

You grabbed the side of the boat as it shook again, and looked at Jordan, who wasn't going to turn around at all, just clutching the harpoon tighter in his hand. "Jordan, the storm's coming, we have to go back!" you yelled, trying to shout over the roar of the engine and the wind.

"Quiet!" the man hissed, waving you away. He adjusted his black hat and stepped forward easily, still searching with his eyes for a hunted victim. You realized you were taking someone's place. To be more precise, you were standing where his son should have been standing - that was never an excuse for his gratuitous rudeness, but deep down you understood the man. It's hard to seal emotions inside forever - everyone coped as best they could. He chose to be rude.

Jordan wasn't a bad man - when you'd come to this town and wandered the streets as a homeless girl, he'd been the first to notice you. He'd brought you into his house, fed you, warmed you, and then, when you came to your senses, he'd let you live in his son's house for a nominal rent. Jordan had no sense of tact - he bombarded you with questions, and you had to make up a story about the tyrant father from whom you'd fled. You consoled yourself that it was partly true - you kept thinking of Rei as you told the fictional story.

The faces of those you had left behind flashed before your eyes, most vividly Gojo's face when he found out you had run away again. You couldn't see him, but your mind drew out his painful features, and in a voice that wasn't yours asked why you'd done it. You lost all sleep again, and at night, when the town was asleep and it hurt the most, you'd show up at Jordan's house - you'd always be greeted by a sleepy, disgruntled, unshaven face, but he never sent you away. You drank whiskey, played cards and did it mostly for money - when you realized that the man had a passion for gambling and a complete lack of gambling skills, you had to give in, lest he lose his small fortune and the house. But there's a silver lining - you did win yourself a few months of free accommodation.

Today was your second whale hunt - Jordan unceremoniously showed up at your house, tossed you a lifejacket, and dragged you to the dock. You tried to get through to him, talking about the forecast, but as you approached the shore, you saw people as desperate as he was - hunters crowding in, talking excitedly and getting into boats, and now you were here, in the middle of a restless ocean in a thick white fog.

Everything went smoothly on the first hunt, except for Jordan's perpetual nagging. It was the moment you realized why his son had fled to the big land, to the university - most people wouldn't want to witness a poor animal being harpooned and dragged ashore by its tail while dead blood washed over the blue waves. Even your body organized a protest at that moment, pushing nausea down your throat, but you were only laughed at - whale hunting was a tradition in these lands, a tribute to the past.

You almost flew overboard when an ice floe brought in by a swift wave crashed into your boat. The boats that were circling near you began to turn around - there was a whistling sound in the air, and that's when Jordan came out of his prostration. "Hey!" yelled the man from the other boat. "We have to turn around or we won't find shore!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Jordan spat, and turned unwillingly to throw the harpoon, heading for the bridge. "There's a reason they say a woman on a ship brings misfortune," he muttered as he passed you.

"Ya the one who brought me here!" you exclaimed, stepping onto the bridge with him. It wasn't any warmer, but the wind was no longer whipping at your face.

"Missed the white whale," he continued to lament, turning the boat toward the shore. You saw other boats whizzing past you, and they weren't even floating - they were riding the waves. Soon faint glow showed on the horizon - lights in the windows of houses called you home.

The hum of the engine died down, and the angry voices grew louder. When your boat was moored to the shore, Jordan hastily threw off his lifejacket on the deck, and then, adjusting his hat and taking off his gloves, he jumped to the ground. You followed the man, hesitating a moment.

As you stepped ashore, your head snapped up, and you looked around anxiously, feeling the stare, but there was no one you knew, only disgruntled men who were ready to blame anyone and everyone for the disruption of the hunt, even though it was the fault of the coming storm. As they stomped, shaking off the mud and sticky snow, you took a slow step back, trying to get away as fast as you could to avoid the swearing, but Jordan, sensing your cowardice, grabbed you by the shoulder. "Hey," he huffed, patting you on the shoulder. "Get us a beer while we get the boats secured on the ropes. There's got to be some use of you."

"No wonder why your son ran away from ya," you muttered, holding out your hand - you weren't going to pay for them all with your money.

"No wonder why your daddy tyrannized you," he muttered back, but put the money in your palm. "Hurry up. The storm won't wait, and we all have to go home," he said, shoving you toward the store, which wasn't far away, and even its friendly streetlight was hard to see.

The blustery wind made the snow rise and wander clumsily across the road - you tried to look at your feet, but you were surprised to realize you could barely see your shoes. Your eyelashes and eyebrows were frosting, and you threw your fur hood over your head, hugged yourself, trying to keep warm, and quickened your pace. The road seemed longer through the snow flakes than it had in the sunlight, and the light of the store was still far away.

It was getting darker. It seemed to you that behind the creak of your footsteps you heard another one - constantly frantically turning around, you couldn't see anyone in the northern darkness, and the storm, impudent, disturbed and raised the snow, drawing white silhouettes. Out of breath, you ran - climbing the stairs and bursting into the store to the tinkling of door bells, you met the surprised stare of the seller, who had been half asleep only a second ago. "Howdy," you smiled, waving your hand, and the salesman nodded confusedly.

No one came in even after five minutes of wandering between the counters. With a sigh of relief, you stopped at the liquor shelf. You should have hurried to avoid the righteous wrath of a bone-chilling Jordan, but once you were alone again, you were at the mercy of the memories that immobilized you. You'd never tell Jordan that he was the reason you hadn't fallen into inhuman despair, that his every shout and rude remark had kept you moving and thinking less about what had happened.

It's true that you couldn't bring back the dead, but you left the living behind too. You didn't talk to Dany, you didn't see Megumi, you didn't ask Issu how he was feeling or if his brother was okay, you just ran away. Your gaze mindlessly wandered over labels you couldn't read - you'd already forgotten exactly what you'd been sent here for. No matter how much you thought it was for their safety, you couldn't justify yourself - there was always a selfish purpose behind the noble one. Your possible death sounded like a quick song - until then you wanted to live like a normal person, shielding yourself from loss and sorrow. A dull life filled with peace on a far corner of the Earth - an unattainable treasure you couldn't steal, and even holding it in your hands, you knew that eventually it would be taken away by force.

In the north, the creature was silent, though hungry - you wrinkled your nose at the thought of having to go out sooner or later. There was a hospital in this town, but it was so small that there was no storage for a blood bank, which meant you'd have to get sustenance elsewhere. Gritting your teeth, you grabbed the first bottle you could find and went to the checkout counter. "Here," you said, showing the beer to the seller. "Need a six-pack. Got one?"

The salesman nodded and disappeared behind the warehouse door. You spotted a white cat with a bobbing head near the cash register, leaned your elbows on the counter, and jabbed your finger at it; it nodded merrily, hypnotizing you. You must be out of your mind to see Gojo in that cat. You shook your head and straightened up, as a salesman came out of the warehouse and placed a beer in front of you.

The store said goodbye to you with a clink of bells, and the storm greeted you with a gust of wind and snow in your face, tearing off your fur hood. With an annoyed sigh, you pulled the hood back on. As you looked ahead, stepping onto the stairs, you froze - the northern nature had brought with it a guest that looked so much like it. You refused to recognize the white, disheveled hair in the snowy patterns, but there was nowhere to hide from the piercing blue eyes that looked at you with longing and hope.

His voice didn't speak to you at night, nor did he appear in your dreams, nor did he beg you to return in any of your thoughts. You ran away cowardly, looking for a better life for Gojo - unless you were there, there was a monster who always cried out with terrible hunger. You dared not think of the sorcerer, for every bitter impulse to dream of his embrace was overshadowed, chased away by the memories of what he had endured while holding your hand. And as you saw him in front of you, you were trapped by the repressed emotions rushing out - you hadn't realized how much you'd missed him.

You underestimated Gojo. You couldn't believe that he would follow you, and all his students' words about him being the strongest had fallen apart - how could such a man look so miserable when he had won? You wanted to fall at his feet, to beg for forgiveness, but you kept silent, not moving - if you hadn't been born like that, you could have stayed with him, fearing nothing, but in this life your happiness had a countdown that was coming to an end. If it wasn't a demon that was going to kill you, your madness will do it then.

The bag of alcohol fell out of your hands and rolled down the stairs and landed tiredly at Gojo's feet, and you took a step back in disbelief, shaking your head frantically, and jumped over the railing and rushed away.

For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, even if death do you part - Gojo never made vows to you, but he was ready to fulfill them, but you didn't realize it even when he came to the far north for you. He felt your fears as his own - in every word you said, every clumsy decision you made, you wanted to keep him safe, to protect him, to spare him pain, but there was no pain greater than being alone, without you at his side.

The sorcerer was chasing you, barely able to make out your silhouette in the blizzard, barely able to see what was right in front of him. There was only one outcome to the chase - once he found you, he wasn't going to let you go, and you couldn't get away from him by hiding in the snow. Gojo ran so fast that even his anger couldn't catch up with him - it was left behind, left to the cold wind. In his imagination your reunion looked different - amidst the apologies and promises he could hear the ringing laughter, but the dreams were shattered by the blizzard and he continued to pursue you relentlessly. You were as small in comparison to him as you were nimble - the faster he chased you, the more the cold burned his lungs.

Gojo caught up with you at the corner - you were trying to escape by ducking into a small alley between the houses. He didn't realize it, so he grabbed the first thing he could reach. Miscalculating his strength, he yanked at your hood, and you fell awkwardly into the snow. "Where are you going?" he whined, trying to get you to answer where you were going and why you were running away, but you crawled helplessly away from him, disturbing the soft snow beneath you. You could barely make out Gojo's voice through the whistling of the storm. "I asked where are you going?" he echoed painfully, and you, with your back against the pile of the house, could run no farther. He collapsed exhaustedly in front of you and raked you into his arms, despite the fact that you tried with all your might to shove him away. "No," he shook his head stubbornly, sobbing and hiding his face in your hood, his ragged breath turned into wet droplets on your neck. "I'll never let you go," the sorcerer gibbered in a broken whisper, pressing his lips to your cheek - his strong hands were freezing, but his fragile soul was burning. Your body went limp, and you lost all ability to resist. "Never, did you hear me?" you nodded weakly, pressing your nose against his wet cheek.

You led Gojo by the hand into your house, and he followed obediently. When you got to the front door, you were embarrassed for a moment for you couldn't remember the last time you'd cleaned the porch - all around the house was covered with snowdrifts, and there was only the thin path you'd made before. As you came up the stairs, you fumbled in your pocket for your keys - you pulled them out and with trembling hands got them into the keyhole. You were afraid to look back at Gojo, so you glanced over your shoulder, smiling awkwardly before you saw him.

You frowned wistfully, opening the door and inviting him in. It was cold and almost deserted, there was no entertainment, and after a week the familiar faces were starting to get annoying. You, taking off your jacket, threw it on a shabby, old chair at the entrance. The sorcerer, looking around and not noticing the hooks, looked confused and repeated after you. "Ya cold?" you quietly interrupted the silence. He didn't answer out loud, but slowly shook his head. "I'll... um, I'll make something for us to eat then, and you... look around for a while," you mumbled haltingly, realizing that there wasn't much to look around - the little house up north wasn't a mansion.

You went into the kitchen, and Gojo remained standing in the living room. He shuffled from foot to foot, staring at the couch and the TV in front of him, unable to distinguish lie from truth and truth from dream. How many nights did you spend here while he was desperately searching for you? The sorcerer took a step forward and opened the left door where your clothes hung - behind it was a cramped bedroom. Glancing at the bed, he immediately realized that you hadn't slept on it once. He walked over to it, and after a moment's hesitation, sat down - the old, laundered sheets were too cold under his hands. Still not believing what was happening, he sighed convulsively, wiping his burning face with his hands. All this time he had dreamed of being as close to you as possible, but when he found you, the sorcerer couldn't stand to be near you - he thought you were about to turn him away. You had settled here, most likely living a quiet, peaceful life, and Gojo was a bitter reminder of what had happened. In his pursuit of you, he was thinking of himself, as he always did.

Gojo flinched when you knocked on the jamb of the open door. "I just wanted to warn ya that dinner won't be hearty," you scratched the back of your head and lowered your gaze to the floor. "I wasn't expecting guests, and I didn't buy any groceries, so I hope... you'll be fine with pasta and marinara," he looked at you like you were a ghost, and your soul turned inside out at his silence. "It's almost ready," you said in a half whisper.

With a nod, the sorcerer stood up and walked past you - you leaned back weakly against the doorjamb, watching him walk away without a word.

Gojo pulled plates from the shelf - some of them had broken, chipped edges, and he had to choose carefully. He set the dishes on the table and sat down without even inviting you in. Your zeal was fading by the second - you couldn't get him to talk. The only thing you could hear in the silence was the clinking of forks against plates. "Ya know," your voice cracked with excitement, and his heart skipped a beat, but you didn't hear it. "When we were messing around, Frank sometimes set the table, and we ate in absolute silence," you said, messing with pasta around your plate with your fork. "So say something already," you pleaded.

"Messing around? Is that what you call it?" snapped Gojo, throwing his fork at his plate - you shut your eyes involuntarily at the sound. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, startled by your reaction - the last thing he wanted right now was for you to run away again. "I don't... No, I understand why you ran away," he hissed, holding back his emotions leaning against the table, hid his face in his hands. "You think you're dangerous. I just don't understand how you could leave... everything like that," between everything, endless and boundless, the word 'me' modestly slipped in, which he didn't dare to utter. "You really never once felt like calling me?" whimpered Gojo. "Or message. Did you even think of me?"

Fear clenched its clinging hands around your neck - you had a hard time talking about everything you felt. Gojo was beautiful in every way, except that he sometimes forgot it. You tugged at the damp sleeves of your sweater, naively hoping he'd forget his question or pretend he hadn't asked it, but your silence only pressed harder on him.

You both jumped as you heard a loud pop - the lights in the house went out instantly. Gojo moved closer to you, peering into the darkness of the hallway, and you realized what was wrong. You walked over to the window, covering the glass with your hands and peering through the storm, and noticed that there were no lights on in the neighboring windows either, though it wasn't too late for sleep. "I think the power plant's having trouble again... It happens a lot around here," you muttered apologetically.

Your breath caught when Gojo came up behind you and put his arm around your waist - not so much from surprise as from the fact that all his clothes were damp and cold. "Oh my God!" you exclaimed, turning around. You cupped his icy cheeks, but it was as if he was bewitched and didn't feel the cold. The sorcerer, feeling you again, covered his eyes and gently rubbed his cheek against your palm, kissing it. "Get in the shower!" you worried. "I'm not gonna sit by your bedside for a week while ya sick with a fever!"

"I don't think so," he grinned playfully, covering your palm with his.

You pinched his side hard, shocked at the insolence of it - at his outraged yelp you broke free, and, panting with anger, you went into the bedroom and stopped by the dresser in front of the bed - a little rummaging through the drawers and you found candles. The locals were always prepared for such conditions. "Here," you muttered grudgingly, tossing the sorcerer a couple candles. "Go take a shower, I'll set up the rest."

Gojo took a moment to kiss you on the forehead and quickly disappeared behind the bathroom door, taking all your irritation and anger with him. You dazedly put your hand to your forehead - not only the place of the kiss was burning, but also your whole face.

You walked around the house with the sound of running water in the bathroom, setting up candles and lighting them as the flames dimly illuminated the rooms. When the last candle was lit and there was nothing left in your hands, you didn't know what to do with yourself. You had left Gojo unanswered to the question that troubled and worried him - he was chasing you, looking for you, and you couldn't even get a word out of yourself. Disappointed in yourself, you walked over to the bed and got down on it, arms out to the sides - even though you were a coward, you were embarrassed to thank the universe that Gojo was braver than you thought he was. Thoughts that he wasn't supposed to be near you drifted away with the muffled sound of water, and your heart stopped for a moment when it did. When you heard the lock click, you jumped up and sat up - you swallowed involuntarily as he came out of the bathroom. Wearing only a towel that hugged his hips. "Wha...," you began, stammering. "Get dressed!"

"Into what?" parried Gojo, raising an eyebrow. "Your robe fit me right here," he pointed to his waist level, and your cheeks flared. "Or do you want me to put on those wet clothes again and get sick after all?" he asked, pursing his lip pitifully.

"My turn!" you exclaimed, flying past him and closing the bathroom door with a loud slam. Gojo laughed softly but heartily - you hadn't realized how much courage it took for him to show himself in that state to you like that, or the embarrassment behind it.

The sorcerer looked around the room, which was lit by flickering lights, and dropped his gaze awkwardly to the floor, smiling sadly. He should have done it, but you beat him to it again. He looked around the room again with a sober gaze. It was empty, uncomfortable - no framed photos stood there; no clothes strewn about. Even when he looked in the dresser, he frowned, realizing it was empty, as if you were ready to flee this town at any moment.

Gojo was still angry, but he could never blame it on you - he blamed fate itself for keeping you away from him, for making you think that you were unworthy, that you were cruel and bloodthirsty and would hurt him sooner or later. Did you remember that you came to him in your unconscious state, silently asking for help and seeking protection? The sorcerer grinned, biting his lip - he didn't know if he'd made it up himself or if he'd read it in the memories of your face, but in the end, lying on that bed without the black orchid running through your veins and without the tourniquets that bound your limbs, you never attacked him.

Gojo looked at himself in the small mirror on the wall above the dresser, embarrassed; he no longer saw the strongest sorcerer. He was still him, but the face that appeared before Gojo was no longer smug and cocky, and the only thing missing was you standing next to him. When he caught a glimpse of you, he decided it was now or never. And never, taking its infinite nature with it, retreated.

The sorcerer glanced timidly at the bathroom door as the sound of water behind it subsided. Slowly walking up to it, he knocked. "Mochi?" he asked. "You done?"

"Yes," you replied muffled.

"May I come in?"

"Why?" he almost laughed, hearing the childish disbelief in your voice.

"I need to brush my teeth."

"Well...," you drawled uncertainly, pursing your lips. "Come on in."

When the sorcerer came in, you stood, tucking your white robe as tightly as you could without looking at him, but the awkward and hurried movement of your hands screamed embarrassment. Pretending he wasn't interested, he walked around you and stood in front of the sink - you, chuckling, repeated after him. The only sounds in the bathroom were the water running from the faucet and the rustle of brushes. You weren't used to someone else standing next to you in the bathroom. Gojo was not used to having someone else standing next to him in general.

But you've learned.

You looked at Gojo through the mirror, and you frowned when he looked back at you, but in person - putting the brush in the glass, you snorted and walked out, trying to brazenly leave him alone with his damn towel on his hips, but the sorcerer, throwing his brush right into the sink, followed you. You squeaked quietly as you were picked up in his arms and placed on the dresser - you shook your head fearfully from side to side like you were afraid you were being watched, but really you were afraid to look directly at Gojo, at his face that was inches from yours. "I can't take it anymore," he confessed in a trembling whisper against your cheek - you shuddered invisibly at his hot breath. "I'm giving up," he exhaled soundlessly. "I lo-"

"No!" you shrieked, clamping your hand over his mouth - Gojo whimpered into your palm, his eyes squeezing shut as the unspoken words throbbed painfully in his chest. "Ya can't," you shook your head desperately, tears were welling up in your eyes.

"Who are you so afraid of?" he asked morbidly, cupping your cheeks, trying to reassure you. Gojo knew you too well, and the fear you were feeling was not for your life at all. "Judges? I don't give a fuck about them," the sorcerer grinned bitterly. No one would drag him away, no one would take him away from you - he could pick out hundreds of words, but in this vulnerable moment, Gojo could only stroke your hair with trembling fingers.

Your wishes and your peace of mind were the undeniable priority, and so be it - his words went unspoken, but the greed inside Gojo grew more and more fiery. If he couldn't tell you that, then he'll show you. "I know what I want for my birthday present," the sorcerer said quietly but firmly, stroking your thighs.

"What?" you asked confusedly, fixing your wet hair with your hands. "But your birthday is in December-"

"I want it now," Gojo resisted hesitantly, but squeezed your hips more stubbornly. "I won't ask for much," he promised, resting his head helplessly on your shoulder - you turned slightly and buried your cheek in his snow-white hair. When he felt that you weren't pushing him away, the sorcerer stirred and rested his forehead against yours. "Take off your mask," he asked. You, frowning, lowered your gaze. "Take it off, please," he pleaded, touching your temple with his lips - you suddenly remembered how he had asked you to take it off long ago - that request had been impertinent, insolent, and now he stood before you, waiting obediently for you to take it off. Gojo had seen you in all your forms, and you thought it would be all right for him to see the last of you.

You wrapped your hands around his tentatively and brought them up to your face - you could feel his warm fingers shaking, and you could barely look him in the eye, but you forced yourself to feel what you had forbidden yourself to even think about before. You pressed his fingers lightly against your chin line, and he bit his lip, breathing feverishly, trying to calm his heart - Gojo realized what he had to do. He led his fingers downward, painfully slowly, along your cheekbones, and you, unable to find the courage, closed your eyes and tears ran down your cheeks. "Shh," he whispered softly, cupping your cheeks - you could almost feel how soft his lips were. "There you are," the sorcerer laughed wetly, stroking your cheeks and kissing every inch of your face.

Gojo pulled away from you a little - the agony was tearing his patience to shreds. He ran his fingers along your chin, your nose, your lips - how could you keep it from him for so long? Your conscience had to get back at you for the sorcerer, for all the days and years he'd lived without seeing your beautiful face fully.

Gojo moved closer and stopped right next to your lips. He breathed raggedly against them, feeling your closeness. How many nights he'd spent with you, how many days he'd been with you - all of them combined wouldn't be enough to describe a second of what he was feeling now.

You clutched at his shoulders and froze - you knew what would follow, but you had no idea how the sorcerer would treat you afterward. You had no experience, no loving hands to caress you, no warmth to give you, and you were alone with the fear of the unknown.

Gojo felt almost cruel - unasked, without permission, he kissed your lips, pulling you to him by the waist, trying to convey all the tenderness he'd been saving up since almost the first day you met, but his movements were curbed by fever. He couldn't resist anymore, he didn't have the strength to live without you.

Closing his eyes as if in pain, Gojo felt uncertain. You were responding to his kiss, albeit clumsily, but whether you were doing it of your own free will or being overwhelmed by his assertiveness, he couldn't answer. His lips, trying to keep up with his feelings, barely moved, and the sorcerer panted. His hands were restless – he stroked your hair, then your soft neck, and those scars that he constantly touched reminded him how you were treated – only then did he feel how hard you were grasping into his chest.

Gojo suddenly pulled away from you and looked at you anxiously, his hands gently cupping your face. Your flaming skin felt icy, your body chilled, and you weren't looking at him - your black, frozen eyes were staring through.

Startled, the sorcerer recoiled a little, but he was still clutching at you. "Baby," he whispered, kissing your temple. "I'm sorry. I didn't...," he mewled, biting his lip painfully. He looked at himself in the mirror that was right behind you and saw himself as an animal, no different from the ones who tortured you when you were weak. With barely suppressed anger, he pulled you against him, burying his nose into the top of your head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to be... like this."

Gojo flinched when your fingers touched his stomach - you drew circles on his skin in soft motions. "It's okay," you murmured into his shoulder. "It's just... Can ya slow down... just a little?"

Gojo looked at you worriedly, surprised. "I...," he began, perplexed - he saw no disappointment in you. "Sure," he laughed softly, and shyness chained him - in the rush, in the greedy passionate kiss it couldn't catch up with him, but now, as he kissed you desperately but tenderly, he realized that the dream had come true. You were here with him, real and alive, responding to his kiss, stroking his cheeks, digging your fingers into his hair, pulling him closer to you. Gojo could endure anything as long as you were by his side. A thrill ran through him, unsparing his heated soul, and he grasped at you shamelessly, his hands digging into your thighs then and stroking them as if apologizing for his impatience.

You involuntarily pressed yourself against Gojo, seeking protection - past humiliations, oppressions and torments had tried to catch up with your tenderness, to make you doubt, to push Gojo away and close in on yourself as you had always done, but this time it was different - in the light of the blazing fire your shadows cast gentle movements. Feeling how you fondled, how you pressed into him, he whimpered softly against your lips and, cradling your head, tipped you over a little and covered you with his body from the whole world, wanting to kill the bitterness of memories on your lips. The rush could have ruined everything, but Gojo, unable to resist, wrapped his arms around your waist, the privacy begged to continue. Shrouded in security, you wrapped your legs around his hips, and cowardice left your shores - you chased it away from your night with him.

You touched his towel – Gojo, frowning, pressed his hips deeper into your thighs and, whimpering, grabbed your hand and placed it back to his shoulder. Perplexed, you tried to pull away from him, but the sorcerer, whining resentfully, tried to press his lips to yours again, to feel your warm, tender tongue against his, but you stubbornly recoiled, forcing him to answer your mute question. "I'm a little shy...," Gojo muttered under his breath, embarrassed, and you laughed quietly. He scooped you up into his arms - you squeaked in surprise and clung to the sorcerer, and now it was his turn to laugh, despite the weakness he didn't show you - his legs shook long before he carried you to the bed.

Gojo sat you down on the edge, and he, exhaling, slowly knelt down on the floor in front of you - you awkwardly tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, hiding from his blue eyes, remembering and realizing where things were going. He didn't tear your clothes, he didn't rush you, he didn't threaten you - he was subdued before you, but love wasn't something you two could subdue. Gojo wetly kissed your neck, gently nibbled at your collarbones, and when he faced reality, he clenched his teeth and pulled back. He could shamefully admit that he'd imagined it more than once, but finding himself here now, with you, he was afraid to go any farther. "What's wrong?" you asked worriedly, taking the sorcerer by the chin and forcing him to look at you.

"I'm afraid of scaring you off," he admitted honestly on an exhale, stroking your knee. "I've only just found you, and already I'm doing everything I can to get you to run away again," Gojo swallowed and looked down, and dishonor choked his neck – he was weak before the urge. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"No," at your answer, his heart dropped and he was ready to swallow his own desire despite its sheer size. "I don't want that. I want you," you admitted shyly. "I...," you laughed, trying to hide the brokenness in your voice. "Yeah, I'm a little scared, but it's okay if it's ya."

For another long moment, Gojo stared at you devotedly, and then you felt his warm hands on your neck again - pulling you to him, he deepened your fragile kiss with a gentle flick of his tongue. "Can I take it off?" he dared to ask, rubbing the waistband of the robe - crumpled by your passion, it hid almost nothing, but the sorcerer wasn't going to make any more mistakes. You, closing your eyes, nodded. Covering your forehead with light, almost ethereal kisses, he slowly untied the waistband - the fabric of the old robe slid down your shoulders along with his hands. You tried to wrap your arms around yourself, to hide the scars that the sorcerer hasn't seen yet, to shield him from this picture. Gojo wasn't going to push you anymore - instead of objecting, he nuzzled against your cheek. "Hold me," he pleaded, knowing you couldn't refuse him, and you gave in and wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders.

The walls of the windowless room no longer pressed against you, you didn't feel the dozens of clammy touches, you only wished the Gojo's hands were touching you more - they not only didn't bring any pain, they took the old one with them. He would never kneel down like that in front of anyone, he would never show obedience to anyone but you - you breathed into each other's mouths as he gently, tentatively cupped your exposed breasts, not daring to go any farther - you wrapped your palms around his and squeezed it a little harder with his hands. "My baby," Gojo moaned against your lips, and you felt unbearably hot - despite your open eyes, you couldn't see anything in front of you, but the blazing spots on your skin told you where he was kissing you. You arched your back, whimpering softly as you felt his wet tongue on your breasts - Gojo stifled your doubts, listening to your every moan, pulling you tighter against him. He licked and sucked your nipples - he was maddened by your flushed, hot skin, the way your touch silently begged him for more, unwilling to let go. It wasn't a desire - that disappeared once it was done, but it wasn't an obsession - not to keep you in a cage, not to pull your leash, but to tear it off and follow you everywhere.

Feeling brave, you pulled Gojo to you, your initiative got him confused, and Gojo whimpered into your mouth as you kissed him, responding eagerly to your urging. With his thumbs he continued to stroke your nipples, wet with his saliva, in circular motions, and you, losing your balance and your mind, caressed against him, rubbing your cheek against his in brief pauses. "I'll never hurt you," he whispered into your neck, and you frowned, trying to hide the confusion - wasn't that a necessary part of the process? But his words, unlike the memories, felt more real - you wanted to hear them more and more.

Still sitting in front of you, between your legs, Gojo took hold of your undies and looked at you cautiously - you nodded, biting your lip. He kissed your forehead again and slowly, as if deliberately, began to pull down your underwear. You involuntarily squeezed your legs and looked away, unable to look because of the shame. You sighed in surprise, curling your toes as you felt his lips on your ankles - Gojo was moving higher and higher, kissing your shins and cold knees, and you clenched your teeth and tried to relax, and his promise, dousing you with a soft wave, helped you do it - you closed your eyes and slowly spread your legs apart, making Gojo whimper with anticipation.

You could no longer feel the scars on your thighs - his gentle, unhurried bites burned on them. You could hear the crackling of the candles in the room, your ragged breathing and the way Gojo stroked your skin. The kiss on your lower abdomen was timid but unexpected - you twitched, and he lavished your worries with a kiss of calm and adoration as he rubbed his nose against your thigh. You weren't angelic to him, but you came to him from heaven - his most beautiful creature that Gojo had once mistaken for a monster, and he was ready to pay for it for the rest of his life.

Gojo wanted to revel in every moment, for he couldn't hold back any longer - you felt his fervent breath between your legs, and you moved in impatience, touching his hair. A shy frenzy swept over him, and he responded to your silent request by slowly running his tongue over your clit - you tried to pull away, unaware of yourself because of the unfamiliar sensations, but Gojo whimpered pathetically and pulled you to him obsessively, drowning, eager to take all your vulnerability he felt on his tongue.

Your moans were getting wilder, louder. You tried to muffle them against your hand, biting it painfully - he stubbornly but gently grabbed your palm and put it back in his hair, not letting you take away the melody of your pleasure, the notes he'd been searching for so long. He almost wanted to laugh triumphantly, you had nowhere to run - the sorcerer pressed you closer to his face with his forearms, his palms soothingly stroking your convulsively heaving belly. Gojo kept changing his pace, giving you no time to think, taking all your thoughts from you as he gently, slowly ran his tongue, wet with his saliva and your juices, over your clit, then sucked it greedily, and the sorcerer was dizzy from the closeness - he could only moan helplessly into your pussy as you clutched desperately at his shoulders.

Your legs began to burn, not from the pain, but from his touch - never a fraction of the pleasure you'd felt before, and your eyes widened in fear and your legs trembled as you grabbed the sheets and tried to pull away from the sorcerer again. "Don't you dare," Gojo whimpered between kisses and flicks. The towel, tired of hugging his hips, slowly slid off, falling to the floor. His hard cock throbbed painfully and he felt like his lower abdomen was about to burst, but Gojo didn't dare touch himself - he knew that if he did, it would be over before it had even begun. But he wasn't chasing his orgasm - his pleasure without yours meant nothing to him, though passion had curbed the sorcerer, but it wasn't lust that drove him, and in all his ardent, timid, jagged and sometimes clumsy movements, he tried to convey to you, the blind one, what you meant to him. He wouldn't run away in the morning, he wouldn't avert his eyes after - he would give you pleasure at night, making you laugh and protecting you during the day. "I don't- I think- I-" you stammered, almost out of breath and squirming, and he pressed your trembling legs harder against his face.

"Do it for me," Gojo moaned with you, and you stiffened, arching your back - the orgasm drowned out all cries of consciousness that you were supposed to be in pain, and you collapsed onto the bed, freed by loving hands. You panted in affectionate but insistent oblivion, still stroking Gojo's hair as he kissed your wet, glistening thighs. With a satisfied, self-conscious smile, he climbed higher, deliberately loudly and quickly smacking your belly - you giggled stupidly, hiding your face in your hand. "Nom," Gojo bit your cheek softly, and you laughed, though both of you had tears in your eyes. "How are you feeling?" the sorcerer asked, gazing at you intently and stroking your hair - you snuggled into him, kissing his neck.

"I didn't even know it could be like this," you admitted with an embarrassed laugh, but contrary to that, you didn't hear Gojo laughing - you looked at him worriedly and saw an anxious, wistful look. Your careless compliment reminded him of your agony. "Hey...," you began, but he playfully grabbed you, flopped you onto the pillows and plopped down beside you. "We...," you began perplexed, overcoming the awkwardness. "Um... We're not... gonna... continue?" you asked almost resentfully. Gojo had opened a new world to you, but you didn't realize that he had led you by the hand into his own where you were the only one who belonged.

Gojo raised himself on his elbow and leaned over you, rubbing his nose against yours and lightly touching your lips with his, stroking your belly. "Baby," he whispered, holding on to his vow - he promised to keep you safe. "Is that really what you want?" he couldn't restrain himself - he sought reassurance from you by any means necessary. You frowned and nodded stubbornly, making him chuckle sheepishly. "Then listen to me carefully," Gojo ordered sternly, squeezing your stomach slightly. "If you get scared, hurt, or you just don't feel like it, you have to tell me, okay? At any moment," you absent-mindedly bit your lip and wrinkled your nose, but he took your chin with his fingers and ordered you to answer with one look. "Promise me."

"I promise," you exhaled penitently, mesmerized by the restless blue eyes.

Gojo, already missed your kisses, covered your lips with his again - he nibbled gently, searching for any spot that brought you pleasure, that made you moan into his mouth, driving him crazy. Hovering over you, covering you from the world with his body, he kissed you briefly on the forehead and tilted his head slightly to look down - he almost burned his throat with his own breath when he saw your spread legs. With light touches of his fingers he stroked your lower abdomen, preparing you, but as he looked into your eyes, the sorcerer saw no fear or apprehension in them, only the infinite trust that you entrusted to him. "I'm gonna try to put one finger in, okay?"

"Okay," you sounded flustered, but pressed yourself harder against him, kissing his shoulder. After stroking your wet clit and getting an impatient moan from you, Gojo began to slowly put a finger into you - you shut your eyes and he stopped, seeing your jaw tense. "It's okay," you assured him, and Gojo, hesitating, continued - you were so warm inside, so tight and wet, that he, bashfully hiding his red face in your neck, began to pant.

He increased his pace, gently stroking the soft walls, trying to find the spot, and he nearly came when he heard your feverish whimpering. "Right there?" he asked excitedly, catching your moans with his lips. "Am I making you feel good?"

"Yes," you panted, grabbing his forearm, not to stop him, but to warn him not to stop. Hearing the long-awaited affirmation that flew from your lips, Gojo couldn't resist - he sank into your lips frantically, tasting your pleasure, and it was the sweetest he'd ever tasted in his life. Gojo pressed relentlessly against the spot, making you squirm, shaking you free of the last shackles of protection you'd built up over the years - your eyes darkening again with recklessness.

When you felt a second finger, you immediately grabbed his wrist, stopping him. "Baby, what's wrong?" he asked anxiously, almost panickedly, examining you from head to toe. "Does it hurt?"

"No, no, not at all," you shook your head nervously, and lifted up and began kissing his neck - Gojo gave in without a fight or objection, his head tilted back and his mouth open in pleasure. "I wanna feel ya inside me," you whispered in his ear, taking away what little sanity and self-control he had left. Whimpering painfully, he bit your lip and began to caress your tongue with his - you squeaked as he lifted you up sharply and pulled you against him. Something rustled beneath your ear, but you didn't dare open your eyes as he laid you back on the bed, and you felt something soft under your lower back - groping the pillow beneath it, you eyed him suspiciously.

"Why?" laughed Gojo, kissing your face. "We're not young anymore, I need to watch your back. In every sense," he chuckled, tickling your sides - you squirmed, trying not to laugh, and you both exhaled. "Are you ready?" he asked suddenly, laying on top of you, and you felt his hot, hard cock pressed against your thigh.

"Ready," you smiled, kissing his chin. Gojo put his hand under your head and cupped the back of it, rubbing the tip of his cock against your swollen clit - you let out a ragged breath as he began to enter you slowly. You closed your eyes shut, feeling the stinging sensation that was ready to burn you from the inside out - you realized your mistake as soon as Gojo stopped. Your eyes fluttered open to meet his worried blue eyes with tears in them, and you shook your head frantically, pulling him closer to you, begging him not to stop - he'd promised you wouldn't get hurt, and you believed him.

"Shh," Gojo whispered into your forehead, and he was ready to curse all the nonexistent gods for not bestowing him with the ability to take away other person's pain. "It's okay, baby," he soothed you as you sobbed into his shoulder. "Look at me," he pleaded, stroking your hair - you obediently pulled away. "It's okay. It's me. It's just me. It's your Toru, see?" under the vast blue skies that lurked in his eyes, your pain melted and stewed. You cried out quietly as he put his cock all the way in, sinking your teeth into his shoulder. "Let's stay like this for now," the sorcerer said, giving you time to adjust, stretching you from the inside. He listened to your every breath - at first your breathing was intermittent, wet, but the more he stroked your hips, the more frantically he covered your face and neck with soft kisses, the calmer it became.

"Ya can start moving," Gojo didn't hear the order in your voice, but your wish was his command. He began to penetrate into you slowly, watching you, protecting your pleasure. Your grip on his shoulders grew stronger and you whined and nestled against him, but you didn't even have the strength to kiss him - you moaned against each other's lips, and you leaned back on the pillows, lost, but he didn't want to let you go - he covered you with himself, kissing you uncontrollably, though you could barely respond. Your hips were touching, and he thrust into you gently, but deeply, so that you could feel everything he felt - the arousal was on the surface, and he wanted to reach your depths with his own.

"Toru," you whimpered, afraid of the nature of these feelings, afraid that you were experiencing lust instead of pain, and that it could be taken from you.

You clung to his back, to his show-white disheveled hair, and Gojo grabbed at you, pulling you by his waist, stroked your head, squeezed your breasts gently, pulling away from your lips only to press his lips brazenly into your neck and collarbones. "More," he moaned pathetically. "Say my name more," and you obeyed without orders, repeating his name like a mantra while Gojo went mad - the candles crackled mysteriously, protecting you, and the unfamiliar town, flinging blue smoke, painted your tenderness on the walls with a storm.

Unspeakable words lurked in your intertwined bodies, filled with each other - his life didn't depend on that embrace, but Gojo felt he would die if he let you go, and he clung with all his might to your vulnerability. His name on your lips was like the confession you were so afraid to utter, afraid for his life - the sorcerer was almost incoherent, oblivious to the world he lived in, for you were all that existed to him.

Gojo sucked in air through his teeth as you began to clench around him - he whined and reluctantly stopped, realizing he was on the edge. You, in exhaustion, didn't even realize it before he started stroking your clit with his thumb in feverish, gentle circles - you trembled, and he sobbed as he saw the dark lines begin to form all over your body. "Do you really feel that much for me?" whispered Gojo in your ear, whimpering.

"Yes," you replied tearfully to his question that had tormented his soul for several years - and if the sorcerer had once been convinced that he would spend his life here beside you, cherishing you, now he knew that he would follow you to your lands as well when your time came. "I feel it, Toru, I feel it," you cried, letting go of your essence, and it no longer dared to hurt you in his loving arms.

"My love," your neck was wet with his tears. "You're so beautiful," Gojo whispered, kissing feverishly the patterns the other world had drawn on you. He called your name with desperate, intermittent moans, feeling how close you were - the sorcerer began to penetrate you again, his thrust grew faster and messier, and as you pressed your legs around his hips, unwilling to let him go, he began to shake with you. "Cum with me," he whimpered. "Cum with me, please," Gojo begged, trying to catch your lips with his - he pulled you against him with such force that your ribs nearly crunched, and you both stiffened in the mute scream that froze between you. You danced sensuously with Gojo on the thin edge and fell over the it with him - he pulled you with him on purpose, to a place where no one would ever find you. His whole body shuddered, and he couldn't hold back his tears - Gojo sobbed shamelessly, silently against your neck, confessing his vulnerability while the storm outside the window sang northern songs to you both.

Returning from the heaven first, you stroked Gojo's trembling back, guarding his defencelessness as he left wet sloppy kisses on your neck. Your bodies were so close that you mistook the frantic pounding of the sorcerer's heartbeat for your own - it spread across your skin in desperate beats, making you snuggle against Gojo harder and feel more. "When did ya become a crybaby?" you asked softly, kissing his temple.

"I don't know," he exhaled convulsively, sniffing his nose. Gojo lifted himself up, brushing his nose against the tip of yours. "It's just that you're so beautiful," he said, covering your lips with gentle kisses.

"Mm-mm," you drawled playfully, giggling. "You said that a few minutes ago, when-" you shrieked as he started tickling you - an attempt to hide embarrassment lurked behind the sweet, little revenge. Returning to you, a wave of realization came over the sorcerer. He finally did it. You finally did it. You allowed him to get as close as you'd never allowed anyone else - thinking about it, he sniffed his nose again and burrowed into your neck. "I don't wanna ruin the moment, but can ya...," you started, and Gojo instantly lifted his head, blushing shyly - you were still involuntarily clenched around him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he apologized frantically, slowly pulled his cock out - you cringed a little, for the sensitivity reminded you of itself with an unpleasant burning. "Sorry," he repeated more quietly, kissing your forehead. "How are you?" he asked suddenly restless, nuzzling your cheek. "Everything okay? Doesn't hurt anywhere?"

Your quiet, sincere laughter awakened your shared happiness. "I feel wonderful."

"Really?" Gojo chirped softly but happily, kissing your face shamelessly and laughing with you. "Then lie here for a second," the sorcerer said, standing up - you glanced at him, but when you saw his naked ass, you looked away at the shabby wallpaper with interest. You frowned, sitting up and cradling your knees against your chest as you heard him fidgeting about, digging and rattling dishes in the kitchen, turning on the water in the bathroom, and in the intervals of silence you heard him humming to himself. "Here I am!" he exclaimed, coming back. "Miss me already?" Gojo cooed, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to you. As he handed you glasses of water, you realized how thirsty you were.

"Ya brought... water?" you asked perplexed, dumbfounded.

"And a towel and clean panties," he announced cheekily, twirling your underwear on his finger. You looked away in confusion, sipping from your glass, but he moved closer to you and kissed the tip of your nose. "I just wanna take care of you," Gojo whispered, dispelling your doubts - even though no one had ever done this for you before, he was glad to be the first. "Here you go," he boasted proudly as you finished your water and set the glass aside. "Now...," he mumbled embarrassedly, rubbing the back of his head. "Can you spread your legs?"

You widened your eyes in surprise, feeling your cheeks burn - it didn't feel so sharp in the embrace of arousal. But you trusted Gojo, and with shame, but without question, you slowly spread your legs apart, hiding your face in your hands. He didn't laugh at you, didn't mock you, but slowly and gently wiped your wet thighs with a damp, warm towel. You hissed involuntarily as he tried to wipe your pussy clean of your shared mess - your clit was still too sensitive. "I know, baby. Just be patient for a little while," he whispered, encouraging you. When he finished cleaning you, Gojo put your underwear on you as carefully as he had taken it off you.

Wrapping his arms around your waist, he plopped you down on the bed, unceremoniously lay on top of you, and hid you under the covers. "That was... an interesting experience," you chuckled nervously, still in shock.

"Get used to it," Gojo murmured contentedly, making himself comfortable and resting his head on your bare chest, but despite his sleepy state, he remained awake. He was drawn to the spot between your collarbones, kissing it with excessive care, stroking it with his fingers, glancing furtively at you and pressing his lips together in resentment that you didn't understand his hints.

"Do ya want to see it?" you pity him, laughing when the sorcerer gave an overly dramatic sigh.

"I do!" replied Gojo quickly, almost desperately, cocking his head and looking at you expectantly.

The patterns that adorned your skin came to life - they crawled smoothly across your collarbones, reaching for each other, trying to join. When they came together right in the middle, Gojo gave a quiet, amazed gasp, revealing a small, black spot right between your collarbones. "Ya can kill me right now," you whispered, closing your eyes. "I won't be happier."

Despite your words, you weren't expecting a blade between your collarbones, but the kiss on your heart was far more deadly - it killed your doubts forever. "You will," Gojo objected stubbornly, rubbing the tip of his nose gently against the black spot. "And even then, I won't let anyone touch you."

It was caressing Gojo, rising to meet him with its little black tongues. Gojo pulled back a little, and slowly brought his finger to it, stroking it gently, as if the slightest touch could hurt you, but you breathed measuredly, calmly, lulled by the protection. The patterns wrapped around his skin, begging to stay, and the sorcerer could almost hear their desperate cry when he pulled his finger too far away - to where they could no longer reach him. "Mochi...," he began uncertainly, glaring spellbound as he connected with you. "Back then, at the first meeting, you said I killed him first. How did you know?"

"Because I saw it," you answered half honestly. You saw him frown his eyebrows. "Your director and Nathaniel kinda happened to be acquaintances, and Yaga asked for a little backup... Nathaniel told us, so we agreed. For money, of course," you clarified, chuckling awkwardly. "Besides, the director seemed like a man who could keep a secret. So he didn't tell anyone about us, after all."

"What an old geezer-"

You, laughing, pinched Gojo's shoulder softly. "But we didn't even do anything then - you were doing pretty well on your own. We just watched the show. But a deal's a deal, and as soon as it was over, I went back to Tokyo College for the money, and I ran into... you."

"So it was you...," he exhaled, seeing the light and finding himself back in the day where he had stood staring into the darkness after killing his best friend, searching for the enemy.

"Yeah," you said faintly. "It was me."

Gojo couldn't have predicted and laid out the cards of fate - neither of you knew what would have happened if you had shown up then, or if he had been the least bit more considerate. Maybe you would have become sworn enemies, or maybe you'd just lost a whole year - he didn't lament the lost time. All that mattered to him now was that you were together, in a small northern town, lying on a bed, drowning in each other. You were more vulnerable than ever in front of Gojo - as soon as he looked at the black spot, he covered it with his palm, and the black patterns, seeking the same caress, crawled between his fingers, wrapped around his hand. Let those who in bitter resentment or in sticky fear once called you heartless burn with wild fire - henceforth, protecting and defending, caring and cherishing, he will forever carry your heart in his.

[December 24, 2017, 08:34pm; Tokyo, Tokyo Prefecture, Tokyo College]

You strolled leisurely along the towering stone fence, the long wall of one of Tokyo College's temples stretched out on the other side - you stayed as close to it as you could, trying to get away from the purple clouds that littered the evening blue sky under the overhanging roof. You looked around absent-mindedly, trying to find a clue that would lead you to Principal Yaga's office - you'd only been there once, and now you couldn't find your way out of the maze. Driven not by a noble goal, but by money, you continued to walk slowly but stubbornly, searching.

The dry, thin branches of the trees that had been lurking behind the stone fence began to peek out - you cringed as they imprinted themselves as shadows of bony hands on the college wall, trying to reach you. The wind made them rustle - when an unintelligible and mysterious whisper crept up the back of your neck, you thought about insisting on full payment in advance.

Tired after an exhausting day, you found solace in the usual child's play - you spotted a pebble in the road and started kicking it forward. When you could see a turn on the horizon, you left your mute companion and accelerated your steps.

"...trust?" you stopped just before the turn, hearing unfamiliar voices. You should have asked for help, for directions, but your policy was simple: don't show your face to anyone. As it turned out, you were already known to those who shouldn't know, and even though Nathaniel vouched for Principal Yaga as an old acquaintance, the other strangers from the jujutsu world weren't to be trusted.

You looked back - you'd already come a long way, exploring the area, and you had no desire to turn back. You leaned your shoulder against the wall, crossing your arms lazily over your chest, and waited for the strangers to talk.

"...your doing, too?" the second man's voice sounded less surprised than indignant. You could barely make out what they were talking about, but your innate curiosity played its part, and you involuntarily began to listen to the quiet conversation.

"It was," the first one laughed muffledly in response. You, sensing the tension, frowned - never after the raids had you had similar conversations, much less a similar atmosphere.

The more they spoke, the more you had to strain your hearing - the words grew more serious, colder and quieter. "...any last words?" you stared open-mouthed at the stone wall. Your heart was pounding as if this question was addressed to you. If you took a step forward, you could see the strangers, could catch a glimpse of the end of their story, but you were afraid to even take a breath.

"...I hate those monkeys," you squeezed your eyes shut as hard as you could, for the hoarse voice was fading before it reached you, but no matter how many words flew past you, you still couldn't think of them through the prism of sworn enemies. There was no swearing, no breaking of bones, no collapsing of surroundings, all of which reminded you of your quarrels with your sister. "...a heartfelt smile while living in this world."

"Suguru," you stunned when you heard the name - the first time it had come out of Director Yagi's mouth as he was filling you in. Dead silence wrapped around the dry branches, and they stopped rustling. There was only a brief whisper that you couldn't distinguish.

Hot blood rang in your ears, and you missed the last words. The wind picked up the fallen leaves, and they flew away, thudding against the stone walls. There was a sharp, sloppy sound, and that conversation was silenced forever. The man didn't torture his interlocutor, didn't mock him, only gave him a quick and, most likely, painless death as if it weren't a punishment, but a deliverance.

As an unwilling witness, you shifted your fingers awkwardly over your intertwined hands like you were on the field of vigilante justice - the revelations had never been meant for you, but you couldn't just cut them out of your memory. Biting your lip awkwardly, you stepped forward.

They sat across from each other, their backs against the wall - two mutilated men. One of them was limp, covered in blood, his dead face was hidden behind stained black hair and he seemed to have no arm, while the other, hiding his face in his palm, shuddered. Your heart was pierced with sympathy - even the kindest man wouldn't so grieve for an enemy. You were immediately ashamed of your behavior - the other man's sorrow made you retreat a step, and you were dazed when a dry branch crunched beneath you. There was no time to think.

"Shading."

The man was instantly in the place where the sound came from, right in front of you. And you caught your breath. Lies and pretense aside, you admitted it to yourself at once: he was beautiful. You stood mesmerized and breathless, watching him - his blue eyes, still full of sadness, scrutinized the walls of his home, and in the light of the sunset his feelings flashed in wet streaks on his pale cheeks. Everything but him blurred before your eyes - you lowered your hands and watched helplessly as he squatted down and took a broken branch and twirled it between his fingers. Frightened, you took a step back as carefully as you could, but you were still afraid to move, but it wasn't the exposure that you were afraid of. You were suddenly afraid that you would never see him again.

When he pulled himself up and stared at the road that had brought you there, you reached out involuntarily, imagining you were standing right in front of him. Your gaze focused on the way you were fixing the unruly white strands that fell over his eyes, but you frowned disappointedly, almost resentfully, sensing the distance between you. But even if you were destined to stay in different worlds, you couldn't deny yourself the small inner request to look at him one last time.

"Relocate."

***

Standing on the middle tier of the sloping roof with pointed edges, you didn't notice the devastation around you. You didn't see the broken concrete walls and cracks on them, irrevocably destroyed temples, the trees piled on top of each other and the splinters that scattered all over the Tokyo College grounds. You gazed desperately into the pink clouds, but all you could see behind them were twinkling stars, and for the first time you were disgusted by the sight of them. You turned your gaze again to the people below, far away from you, and they were all looking upward as one, their faces shining with hope and something elusive to you. You clenched and unclenched your fists with injustice, seeing how they were all mesmerized by the sight that was invisible to you.

You'd never wanted to be near a stranger, much less one who didn't know you existed, but here you were, trying to see what made the white-haired man smile so brightly, and you couldn't help but be angry with bewilderment as his body still shuddered in pain before your eyes. "Adoptee," Rachel called to you, climbing onto the roof, panting. "Did ya get the money?"

You didn't respond. You didn't care about the reward anymore, it had lost its value. The only thing that mattered to you now was the emotion this man could evoke. "Adoptee," Rachel muttered discontentedly, and walked over and shook you by the shoulder. "Uh-oh," she drawled warily, glancing at your profile - your eyes were completely black. "Come on, let's get out of here before you scare everyone away."

"Rach," you asked with hope in your voice, looking up again. "Do ya see anything?"

"The only thing I'd like to see right now is money," she snorted indignantly, tugging at your collar. "But apparently not today."

While your sister persisted in trying to get you out of there, you wanted to be in his world and see everything through his eyes. You felt like you'd been looking at the man forever, but even that wasn't enough - you needed the revelation that lay in his smile. You were unworthy to let the mystery open its veil and let you in, but you wanted to feel what he felt, and you didn't even realize how close you were to it, for the new emotions were so hot and fervent that they burned your gut for a moment, but even they couldn't answer your question - what was it that made him so happy that was hidden from your eyes?

That invisible blinding light made you want to cry, and you shifted your sparkling gaze from the sky to him one last time.

The answer was simple. The answer was one.

It clicked inside. And if you had been human, if you had held back that impulse, that feeling would have been yours forever, but by sharing a body with a creature that had no place in this small world, you'd exposed your one desire and let others feel it, trapping yourself.

next ⊳

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yandereunsolved · 7 months ago

Note

Hello there I don't know if you take requests or not but what if reader was a yandere instead of the Links

If you do more than one character in one fic or something can I request this with Time, Deity, wild, and four

Obsession Is In The Name - ,, yandere reader w/ (separate) Time, Fierce, Wild, & Four

cw(s): yandere themes, suggestive themes, graphic gore

— Time —

✧ You most likely fell for him after he saved you. You weren't close to him during his journey—well, not physically close, at least. You had stalked him while he was saving Hyrule. You'd do odd jobs and stock up on supplies to conveniently leave near him. You'd patch him up when he was sleeping and cuddle with him as well. It was like both of you were forbidden lovers because he is the hero and you are his devoted stalker.

✧ You are always there to valiantly defend him. After his toughest journey, you make sure to murder all those who question his ways. You read an awful prophecy on the walls of a temple that both of you visited on his journey. Sure, he wasn't aware you were there with him, but you both still visited together. That thought—the thought of him turning into some strange thing with bulky armor—only made you more protective. You became increasingly paranoid and sloppy in your killings.

✧ Which led you to murder Malon, Time's girlfriend. You carved her heart out of her chest and stabbed it until it was nothing more than unidentifiable chunks of flesh. You dumped her body in some deep, murky lake water. She deserved it! That bitch deserved it. You wanted to dig your eyes out of your skull whenever you saw the two of them together. You just couldn't handle it anymore. She must be the reason he turns into the Hero's Shade. She doesn't give him a worthy offspring to teach. She doesn't help him spread the news of his heroic adventures. She doesn't watch over him and protect him when the nights grow long and the cold nips at his figure. You had to save him from her and himself. He didn't really love her. She was just a substitute for you. After all, if the hero is so busy protecting everyone else, who will protect him?

✧ Ganondorf saw that in you. He saw your obsession as something he could use to corrupt you. This wasn't Time's Ganondorf. This was another version of him. One in a dimension that was trying to take over every other time line. You were initially disgusted when he invaded your dreams. He was clearly trying to manipulate you into joining his side. You were livid at the thought of betraying Time. So you killed him! You crossed dimensions just so when he woke up, you could be above him. There was a look that was so crazed in your eyes that it would rival the one seen in Cia's toward Warriors.

You didn't feel bad either. He was simply scum. You were helping this different Hyrule. Their Link would surely be grateful for you. Even if this version of Link didn't know it, it was you who mercilessly slaughtered Ganon. Each of his body parts put on spikes of Hyrule Castle, as a reminder, no version of Ganondorf may touch your Link.

✧ You came back after a while. You aren't sure how long. The whole dimension-hopping thing isn't as easy as it looks. You look for Link, and you can't find him. You call out Time, Link, baby, sweetheart, darling, and no one answers. An acidic, bitter feeling rises in your throat. It feels as if someone shoved a bunch of hot Goron coals down your throat.

You don't sleep that night. You can't.

You run around in a crazed manner for the next few weeks. You threaten anyone you can get your hands on. You make sacrifices for whomever will listen. As long as its name isn't Ganon or Ganondorf, you would align.

You were on your way to some hidden temple to try and sacrifice something to an evil deity when you slipped and fell into a portal. You weren't even able to scream. It was cut short as you ended on top of your Time, your Link, your love until the end of time itself.

✧ You became acquainted with the other versions of him. Awe doesn't even begin to describe how you were feeling or how you continue to feel at this absolute miracle. You found him, and there are other hims. Time was much more concerned than astounded. He was frantically checking over you, worried that a villager he had only spoken to a handful of times got dragged into this mess. So what if he only sees you as a villager right now? He's just pretending. He loves you! He's smothering you in attention and concern.

He even gets the one Link, Hyrule, to give you a health examination. You weren't exactly thrilled to be separated from him for a short period of time, but it was because your Link cares, so it's okay.

✧ You grow closer to Time, and he even allows you to call him Link in private! You get to see him out of his armor, and you aren't even stalking him! It's a gift from the golden three, for sure. He has such well-defined muscles and an athletic body, even after all the hits and illnesses he has been through.

He is protective of you. He doesn't allow monsters to kill you. He doesn't allow the other Links to question or offend you. He even threatened Legend once after Legend got aggressive with you because you broke one of those trinkets of his! You did it on purpose, but Time doesn't have to know that.

✧ That is just one of the ways you keep the other versions of Link away from you. You walk the fine line between polite and rude, caring and vicious, towards all of them except for Time and, oddly enough, Twilight. You enjoy his pleasant company. It almost feels as if he is kin to you. You have the same inclinations around him as you do around your Link, except in a more platonic manner.

You like it.

Getting rid of Malon was worth it. There's no way Time is going to turn into that hideous monster. Learning that Twilight is a descendent of Time only affirms your past agrecious behavior. You must have started a family with him! Twilight may literally be kin to you.

✧ You still threaten anyone outside of The Chain. It is an instinct for you. You had to slip up one of these days. You did, and you regret it. Link found you midway into murdering someone who had flirted with him. You didn't feel any remorse for the person, only remorse that Link now felt conflicted.

It won't stop you from committing these vile acts in the future, even if he asks you to. Sometimes your darling is wrong, and that's okay. That's why you are here—to protect him and save him from when he is wrong.

✧ He chose to confront you about your strange tendencies in private. When he questioned you, you confessed. He recoiled with disgust in his eyes. He thought of you as a child who needed to be guided. You needed to be saved from yourself. Why couldn't you see that?

"I see myself as your guardian. You can't simply throw around the word 'love' to get out of the consequences for your actions."

Throw around the word?

Oh, no, no, no, no.

YOU DIDN'T JUST USE THE WORD! YOU LOVE HIM MORE THAN HE HATES THE MOON. YOU HAVE SEEN HIM AT HIS WORST, AND STILL YOU LOVE HIM. YOU HAVE KILLED AND TORTURED AND DONE UNSPEAKABLE THINGS FOR HIM.

He thinks of you as a child?

If anything, he is the child.

✧ Perhaps Legend could finally be of use after all. You simply stole a few potions, tweaked a few things after learning magical cooking from Wild, and voilà, a love-inducing amnesiac potion was invented. You mixed it in with some Hylian dressing and made sure that he had some on his salad one night.

Look!

The hearts in his eyes—you can practically see them. He now loves you just as you love him! You'll deal with The Chain, do everything, and then go back to your Hyrule. You'll settle down with him, and everything will be perfect. You have your Link. He's your happy ending. Just you and him, until the end of time.

— Fierce —

☾ Fierce has known you since the beginning. So the first time that spark of obsessive love appeared in your eyes, he knew. You are his devoted follower. You are the only one allowed to live and guard their temple. He was indifferent to your existence at first. He has had many mortals fall to their knees and beg him for his seed within them—womb or not. Yet none have stayed with him through their most vulnerable and weakest moments. His indifference slowly changes into something he isn't familiar with. He knows he should have cast you out the first time he saw you cry, but he didn't. They are a deity of war but also protection. They couldn't just cast their little priest(ess) out.

☾ You slay any entity that enters this place of divinity and worship. You find no difference in one of their followers or one of Ganon's monstrosities. They are all threats in need of elimination. A friend could easily turn foe if you aren't cautious enough. There can only be one mortal residing within the walls of their temple, one priest(ess).

☾ He is pleased by your devotion to him. He rewards you with his mask. The one item that no one possesses but you. To adorn his mask is to become one with him. That is a blessing you can never repay him for. You treat it as if it were made of glass, despite it being stronger than any Hylian or Twili armor. You never wear it within the temple. Being graced with the sense of his presence is enough. You only place the mask on when you need to slay many of Ganon's monstrosities at once.

That has only happened twice, and you have little memory of it. The one thing you do remember from both of those times is how invigorated you felt. Unstoppable. Perfectly at peace. It was as if every trouble and doubt you had were simply nonexistent.

Your hands often find their way to the mask. You don't wear it; you simply allow your fingers to graze over the surface of it. You gained the permanent markings of the mask after your first time using it. You always touch the marks on your face and trace over them. It could be the material of the mask or your flesh; you were marked by him. It made you feel a sense of completeness you had never known before. It is so incredibly safe within the temple of the Fierce Deity, for you at least.

☾ They find themself amused by your reverence. It sparks more interest in them. They find themself often teasing you in various ways. He will ghost your body with spiritual touches. He'll leave notes for you around his temple. He'll ask you the most invasive and downright mortifying questions, and you will willingly answer. It only spurs him to be more attentive toward you. They say it a lot. It just does.

Your mortal antics greatly amuse them. They would never willingly admit that you are the priest(ess) he holds most dear to his heart over the several that he has had. It makes them want to move forward in this strange 'relationship' you both are in.

☾ So he leaves you needy. He doesn't pity the way your soul begs for him either. They're purposefully being obtuse. They need you to sink down to your knees once again and pour your heart out. Only then can he give you a fraction of the affection that you desire and then disappear once again.

It is what his entire being craves. They need dominance and control. You cannot protect someone if they have a chance of disobeying you. You have shown that he could kill you and toss you into the deepest depths, and you'd still follow him with a broken mind and body.

☾ As time goes on, he begins to indulge in your mortal needs. He gives you affection and tender love through his blank stare and empty heart. They grace you with their hylian form. They are easily able to manipulate it, but he knows your preferences well by now. He can see your eyes bulge out of your head and your body grow faint.

You worship him in any way you are able when he appears in his hylian form. He is still well over seven feet tall. It's deeply intimidating and slightly arousing if you had to speak the truth.

☾ You are his little pet—wait. That isn't the right term, is it? Non-deities prefer the term partner or spouse. You are his small 'malewife', if he is remembering the definitions correctly. He may be a deity, but he hasn't had the time to keep up with the evolving languages of the other races. Still, you are his, and he is enough of yours.

You are such a submissive thing for him. You're so ready and eager to get your hands on something and slaughter it to get his praise.

☾ He thrives within your bewitched nature. The pure violence that emanates from your soul when something dares question him is arousing, to say the least. You and the deity both grow closer. There is one thing he makes known to you: you can be as impassioned as you'd like, but his word is law. You cannot go against it, as it is an extent of him. Not that you ever would. You love him too much.

— Wild —

ღ Death Moutain, the Hot Springs, where you met your darling Wild. You had come across a side of the mountain covered in malice, with three large, fiery chuchus ambushing you from behind. You had to escape across the malice, and you became drenched in it. Your footsteps were weary and unstable; you fell into the healing springs as your legs gave out.

When breaking the surface of the water after your wall, you were met with a completely nude Wild. Your eyes widened as you sheepishly averted your gaze from his. You would soon learn that his wounds were so extensive that he had to be carried down here by a Goron. Fireblight Ganon was the monster you would soon learn of that he had slayed. He freed Divine Beast Vah Rudania.

This was the hero from those stories? The hero that was asleep for a hundred years. You couldn't take your eyes off of him.

ღ You didn't know much Hylian sign, but you got the essence of what he was saying. You both were lone travelers, so you decided to stick together that day. Wild was naturally overprotective of you, for reasons you could only assume. Your heart slowly inched closer to his, and after waiting for him to free Divine Beast Vah Rutain Zora's Domain, you realized how important he became to you.

You became even more overprotective of him than he was of you. You would be quick to fury at anyone who made any slight toward him. He couldn't even interact with any townsfolk without you hovering, one hand always firmly placed on your weapon. Your attraction to him was quickly spiraling into something far more dangerous.

ღ Wild knows it's toxic, but he still soaks up every last ounce of affection you bestow upon him. He's been starved of affection and love for the last hundred years. Only half of his memories are back, and even those ones seem to be devoid of any type of love. He had the other champions, but they didn't seem to fill his soul with joy, even though he deeply cared for them in a platonic sense.

He practically purrs when you touch him. His body leans into your embrace. He wants to take in your scent and keep you close to him forever. He is just in need, and you are willing to provide it so readily. His eyes water, and tears threaten to escape when you speak such sweet words to him.

You promise to never leave him. That's the one thing that makes him sob.

He always signs back something even sweeter than whatever left your mouth. He feels as if he could conquer any enemy when he sees you learning how to communicate with him. No one has done that for him. Zelda knew some, as he remembers, but she still preferred to just speak and not sign to him. You're getting better every time you do so. He just wants to smother you, but he refrains.

ღ After each day, the two of you cuddle. It doesn't matter where you are—on the ground or in a stable bed. He shyed away from your touch in the beginning. You both consented to cuddle, but the monsters within his mind caused him to retreat back to his internal shrine. He feared that you would be disgusted by the many scars that adorn his body. He was more scarred than unmarred flesh.

You didn't flinch or have an expression of contempt on your features when you saw him without his tunic. You have already seen some of his scars before, at the hot spring, and when you needed to patch him up. You weren't aware they were so extensive. Still, you accepted him and his body the way it is. You lovingly traced his scars that first night, and he has been hooked ever since.

It is the thing he cherishes. Whenever you two needed to sleep, it became his favorite time. He just couldn't believe you were so intrigued by them. You always told him that you'd love him and his body, no matter what. You wanted him to eat more so he could regain fat and muscle. You wanted to find a proper healer so that he could get checked up on. You were somewhat of a healer, but not proficient within the means of the title.

He always has nightmares, and you soothe him. He prefers laying on top of you in a defensive manner, so he can soak up your warmth, but if the two of you have to sleep on the ground or another rough surface, he prefers you laying on top or to his side. He wants to save you from the discomfort. You deserve it.

ღ Not everything with you can be so perfect. You have your flaws, as does he. So he has to do his best to keep you in line. He has to learn how to act like a disappointed parent. That seems to make you rethink any rash decisions you may want to make.

He has a ground rule of 'no killing any non-enemies'. It is the hardest rule for you to follow. It's even harder, considering he's found that you are quite clever about murdering people behind his back. He refuses to give you attention for a little while after you kill someone. He does his best to seem firm in his actions, but he can't deprive himself of you for too long. So it's the blank stare that works the best. You always feel guilty and apologize.

He'll have to find better methods in the future to keep you docile. He just has to stop feeling so honored when you murder someone for him.

ღ When the time comes, you help him through the arduous Hyrule Castle. You let him lead because he somewhat remembers some of the groundwork. You are able to sneak past most of the monsters. They don't seem to pay you any mind. You find Zelda's diary before he does, and you shove it in your bag. You later light it on fire and let it burn. She had some very romantic things to say about Link. You didn't appreciate that.

ღ You weren't allowed to follow him to defeat Calamity Ganon. He expressly forbade you from doing so. So you helped him fight Calamity Ganon anyway. You covered his back and kept Ganon distracted with arrows. Both of you narrowly survived.

It was just something you had to do for him. You couldn't let him die. If he died, you wanted to die right next to him in the glory of battle. After the entire thing, the both of you cried and clung to each other.

Of course Zelda had to come in and ruin this sacred moment between you two.

ღ Zelda was now freed. She said that your services were no longer needed. Her and Wild needed to go rebuild Hyrule. Zelda knew what you were. She had been watching over Link during his entire journey. She sensed what you were and what happened to you. She saw you burn her journal and the pure contempt in your soul whenever his name was mentioned within her inky letters.

It was very intense between you two. Only the Master Sword would be able to cut through the thickened tension rising in the air.

Wild did his best to calm the both of you. He defended you and thought Zelda was just acting jealous. He knows you have your quirks, but you didn't abandon him when he needed you. You can continue to travel with him. That's his decision, and it's final in its making.

ღ You reluctantly travel alongside Zelda with him. You constantly threaten Zelda behind his back. You do it most when Link is sleeping. You will make thinly veiled threats under the guise of passiveness. They are so vague that Zelda has no ground to stand on when trying to convince Wild of your corrupted nature.

Zelda is unable to keep herself safe from your assaults due to her weakened magic. You try to slit her throat, and she cannot put up a barrier to protect herself. She makes it out with a thin cut along her collarbone. You lie, and Wild believes that Zelda got hurt, and it wasn't your doing.

You do it again with poison, then fire, and you even tried to murder her by pushing her over a cliffside.

As abruptly as the attacks had started, they stopped. You stop making attempts at her life. Zelda is even more on edge. She is just waiting for you to strike again. She knows what you are. She would never trust something like you.

ღ Zelda gets so paranoid that she allows the two of you to venture on your own. She needs to come up with a plan since Wild won't listen to her. You move into his home in Hateno Village. It's lovely that you both are able to settle in for a while. Your romantic relationship is official! You are able to keep him to yourself most days. You make him stay home more and more. He is content with it. He gets overwhelmed when he has to walk into the village and be bombarded by everyone's questions and praises. Some even try to degrade him for his first failure. That villager or villagers who insulted him always go missing the next day. Wild doesn't mind it so much now.

ღ He has to begin to take care of you. You come down with a strange illness. It isn't deadly, from what you are able to tell. Your skin becomes more red, with a strange tint to it. Your irises change to so dark a color that people feel as if they are looking at death when met with your eyes. You become easily exhausted, so you only leave the house at night. You become more violent and unhinged. You nearly kill Wild.

ღ You thought you scared him off, but almost instantly he forgave you. He couldn't blame you for something you couldn't control. Purah diagnosed you with gloom disease, an infection created from malice that spreads throughout one's body and turns them into a puppet for evil. It's impossible that you would have a disease like that. Calamity Ganon has been defeated. It must be an aftereffect from your original time being poisoned by the malice.

ღ He pledges to stay by your side and help you regain your health. He doesn't need the villagers, Sidon, or even Zelda. All he needs is you. Your relationship isn't perfect, but you both still try to make it work. How unfortunate that it will leave him in tears as the kingdom falls once again.

— Four —

ꨄ︎ You first met Four by complete accident; you both had an order of the same forging material, but they didn't have enough, so you ended up splitting the amount of materials until the next shipment of them came in. You thank the goddesses every day for that accident. You believe it was fated. It had to be fated. The two of you were meant to be.

ꨄ︎ After an awkward apology, the two of you began to talk. You connected instantly; well, that's what you tell yourself. You told him about your dreams of becoming a blacksmith. You were just a novice, so Four offered to take you under him as an apprentice. The orders were multiplying by the day, and he did need an extra pair of hands.

ꨄ︎ You became entranced by the way he worked and the complete concentration in his multicolored eyes. His frame may have been small, but it was well built. You have to wipe the drool spilling over your lips multiple times a day. You manage to get so lost in admiring him that you've tuned out the words forming on his chapped lips.

You want to get his lips so wet with your own. So badly. You need to kiss him.

"Ahem—did you get all that?"

You could only nod in embarrassment and end up clumsily executing whatever he had instructed you to do. Four just took this as you being inexperienced. You seemed so focused when he was talking. You must just be a slow learner. That's okay. He can work with that.

ꨄ︎ You always overwork yourself. It is something he has chastised you for before. You still do it over and over and over again just to hear those worried words escape his mouth. You take pride in them. You do it just to see him gently stop you and ask you why you do this to yourself. You could 'you' and go into an extensively in-depth monologue about your never-ending devotion to him, but you just settle for some generic answer. The sore muscles and burnout are always worth it, just because you do it for him and you get rewarded with his attention, which you covet so religiously.

ꨄ︎ The best part of being his apprentice, coupled with the fact that your brain can't admire and listen to him at the same time, is when he guides your movements and teaches you. Him physically touching you, his back pressed against yours, his calloused hands adjusting your movements. It's enough to make you want to beg for him to touch you more. You can't help it. He's so hot, both in the metaphorical and literal sense.

ꨄ︎ It leads you to begin following him to his cottage at the end of the workday. You wouldn't call it stalking per se; you are simply people—person watching. You are observing your mentor and learning from him. That's all. It becomes a routine. Four knows something is off, and it causes him stress. He does his best to figure out who is following him home, but you are clever with your use of stealth potions and noise-suppressant clothing. Four becomes so distressed that, after he comes home one day, he splits.

You were so surprised that you nearly fell off your hiding perch. You leaned in and tried your best to listen to them bickering. You only got bits and pieces of what they were saying. The Red one was mentioning your name a lot. It only seemed to be in a positive way, given the fact that his voice was pitched upward and he was bouncing on the balls of his feet. You may not have known much about this strange split, but you did know that you were going to use it to your advantage.

ꨄ︎ It isn't necessarily a bad thing that you are inflicting anguish on him, right? You are just doing it to learn more about your esteemed mentor. You also just can't stop. It was first when you noticed that his eye colors shifted out of harmony when he was troubled. You soon deduced that each color must correspond with those people that split from him. You did little things to agitate him. You'd make sure he didn't know, of course. It's just that the orders kept arriving late, project plans disappeared, and finished pieces suddenly broke or had chips in them. It was enough to turn his internal, perfected harmony into the dying screeches of an alley cat.

So he split right in front of you by complete accident.

ꨄ︎ All four of them froze up and just stared at you with wide eyes. Your nose began to bleed. There are four of them. You are in love with four people—well, four parts of one person. It was just too much for you. They are all so gorgeous. You nearly fall, and Vio catches you. While he holds you against his muscular frame, they continue to argue about the problems that have been going on. They say they have to get to the bottom of this. Oh. You'd love it if they got to the bottom of it.

ꨄ︎ A routine forms from it. You help them solve the problems you create. You look like a hero to all of them. You are always so caring and soft with them. You help heal any burns he gets from the forge; you are always attentive; and there is never a moment where a compliment doesn't leave your mouth about him and his smithery.

You are slowly integrated into the more intimate aspects of his life. Anytime they split, which is rarely, you help mediate the arguments. You aren't partial to any of the Colors since you love them all. It is a dangerous toxin for you. You learn so much about him and about them that you begin to feel sick when away from his presence. It's a disease that affects both your heart and mind, threatening to drive you into insanity unless you heal it with his time and touch.

ꨄ︎ You cannot handle any competition. Anything that gets within his vicinity ends up dead the next day. You aren't even able to restrain yourself any longer. You'd stop doing it if he asked, maybe. However, that'd require him to know what you are doing for him. You want him to know, but you don't know how hurt he would be if he did.

ꨄ︎ What solution can you find to that? Enchanted items. You gift him small trinkets that have been enchanted. You play it off as something small. You are merely being as good-natured as always. Some have protection enchantments, others ward off bad energy, and even one that will supposedly attract him more to you. You are incredibly careful about making sure none of the enchantments are too strong. It still has to be your little secret. In your defense, you are only working in his best interest.

ꨄ︎ Four asks the Minish to help him figure out what is happening. They tell him the truth. They have known it was you all along. They were just too terrified to tell him. You look so scary.

What?

It shatters his insides. He splits.

Their reactions to your yandere tendencies are mixed.

Red thinks that it is kind of sweet. You may be slightly insane, but you treat them all so well. You deserve a second chance. All Four needs to do is talk it out with you.

Blue wants to have you locked up for what you have done. It is insanity as Red said. You need to be stopped immediately. Who knows how far you will go? They have already dealt with Vaati. They don't need a copy of that situation all over again.

Green does his best to calm the two down. Red and Blue are getting into a heated argument, and more strife in this situation won't solve anything. A part of him agrees with Red, and the other with Blue. You have been so kind, but your actions are unjust. He just feels betrayed.

Vio is impressed. He wants to know the extent of this infatuation you have with Four. He won't lie and say that he isn't attracted to your possessiveness. Something about it just makes him hotter than the heat in the forge.

ꨄ︎ They stay split for the night as none of them can come to an agreement. Any attempt at communication just ends in a screaming match. It's a blessing that this is one of the few nights where you weren't able to stalk him home due to your schedule of killing the people that got too close to him.

It was that night that not only did they learn of your true nature, but it was also the night in which the plan to truly test you was put in place. It was Shadows doing, as always. Shadow popped up next to Vio and convinced him to truly test your limits. Vio was both surprised and relieved to see him again. He thought he was—that he was gone. Shadow has just been watching all of them in the darkness.

Vio could almost chuckle. How typical of him.

ꨄ︎ So in the morrow hours Vio leaves his counterparts and goes to the forge. He sees you there, but acts as if he doesn't. He heavily flirts with one of the customers. He could see your body language shifting to something more rigid and bitter. Shadow snuck up behind the customer and pushed them onto Vio. They both kissed, and since no one else was there but you, they continued. Vio didn't resist making out with the random buyer. He was disgusted at the fact he had to kiss another, but if it meant seeing you snap, then it was worth it.

ꨄ︎ Snap you did. One of the new swords Four had crafted earlier in the week lopped the head of the patron clean off. You didn't stop there. You grabbed Vio by the collar of his tunic and began to drag him towards Four's cottage. He didn't resist; he was more amused than anything. The rest of the Colors didn't have the same reaction.

ꨄ︎ You got on your knees and confessed everything to them. Every little thing in your heart and mind, you spoke. You begged them, begged him, to return your affections. Yet they were in disarray. They rejected you. They rejected you? They rejected you!

You left and didn't return for a few weeks. The Colors were on edge and had a few choice words for Vio, but they reformed into Four. Everything was normal until, after a long day of work, you came up behind Four and knocked him out. You chained him to his bed with an absolutely unhinged expression in dilated pupils.

ꨄ︎ You ignored his panic and resistance. You only cooed and took that kiss you had been so patiently waiting for. You broke. Your sanity was consumed by your devotion to Four. If he denies you his love again, you'll kill him with his Four Sword. It's romantic the more you think about it. You'd be able to keep the Four Sword if you killed him. You could keep his clothes, and he'd always be yours. His body would be yours because you would have taken his life from him. He can love you or die at your hands. It's really his choice. 𖹭𖹭𖹭𖹭

✎ᝰ 𓆉𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 ᝰ.ᐟ

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✎ᝰ 𓆉𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 ᝰ.ᐟ

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