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werezmastarbucks · 7 days ago

Text

cat. pt1

incarnations masterlist

cat. masterlist

cat!yoongi + f!reader

in which you can't walk past a little black cat, crying for help from inside a carton box, drowning in the rain. months later, after the two of you have adjusted to each other well, the cat disappears. but? not completely.

word count: 10067

music

warnings / tags: cat!yoongi displaying cat!sentient behaviour. lots of scratches but make them weird. i am... very honest about my kinks. no smut. mostly fluff. couldn't stop myself from bringing rabid ot7. lots of cursing. reader in this one has a bathtub because i said so

The alley is tilted, so the rain, when it pours, always slides down in cascades. You often remove your shoes in monsoon season because it's useless trying to jump over puddles. Splashing on water, trying not to slip, you hold your sneakers in one hand, the pointless umbrella in the other; your tote bag hanging from your arm, the contents of it completely soaked... at some point the rain stops being an inconvenience and becomes the real element, and you spiritually give up. It's only water, after all. Not like it can harm you.

Unlike the littlest creatures in the corners of the streets.

Beyond an almost monstrous hiss of the pour, you think you hallucinate the thin, shrill sound; at first you thought it's someone's tires screeching, but, as you walk on, in the direction of your house, it grows louder.

You then locate the sourse of it; a basketball-sized carton box, turning into mush, grey and soaked, pushed against the wall. And inside, it. Him. Or her. The pink mouth opening wider as emerald eyes spot you. The cat raises its head in hope once it registers human presence. Gone are the days when humanity believed animals were dumb, unreceptive, just NPCs. Seeing this little guy (or gal) hunched over, curled inside the slowly sinking box, wet all over, screaming for help, your heart is clenched in a painful spasm.

To shit with it. The timing is never good, is it? First, you're in college, so you don't have your own place. Then, you're searching for a job, so you don't have time. Then, the job is bad, so you don't have enough money. When you overintellectualize it, getting a pet is never a good time.

But this one has no job, no time and no warmth. You pull the bag onto your shoulder and quickly, hurriedly close the umbrella serving no purpose anyway; shove it into the bag as well, and then, shivering in your damp clothes, walk over to the box. The cat presses itself deeper out of instinct. Black, wet fur, it's shaking with cold as well. The month's June, but when it rains, it gets very chilly. Especially for small things with spine sticking out like that.

The emerald eyes study you with concern, but its mouth keeps asking for something, meowing loudly. You pull it out of the box, and the cat doesn't struggle, only presses its thin paws into your chest as you try to shove it under your hoodie.

"Cold?" you ask, "god, you're so cold".

Worry strikes you. You put your palm over its head to hide it from the rain, but you still soak together, as you pace on, towards home.

The way lay through the alley and past the little light shop where grandma Malsoon watches the weather from the inside. You turn your head to her little place every time you pass the spot. She is always inside, and the warm, golden light always mesmerizes you, especially when the outside is wretched or windy.

Grandma Malsoon cocks her head when she sees you with a cat. She nods her chin, and you nod back, without slowing down. Even forget to bow, so concerned with the cat's wellbeing. You must have seen it before; there's a possibility it lives in the alley, occasionally rubbing against people's legs. Right. You can check at home, you think. If it's the cat you're thinking about, it will have a torn left ear, from a street fight perhaps. You vaguely remember it being accompanied by other cats; there's a grey one, and a ginger one for sure. Who knows why today they hid away from the rain and left the black one alone.

The electric lock is broken again because of the downpour, so you need to open the door manually. You drop the keys, of course, sleek wet fingers numb with cold. The cat protrudes claws and drives them into your shoulder as you bend down to pick them up, and you hiss with pain. The small, barely living body in your arms.

Finally inside the apartment, you let it down on the floor, and it immediately shakes the water off, and raises its tail (a boy), looking around. You throw everything down: the bag, the shoes, the clothes. Get some towels from the wardrobe and rub him furiously, until he opens his pink mouth again, showing impeccably sharp little fangs, and hisses at you.

Emerald eyes observe you as you carry it into the bathroom, and then he tries to claw his way out of being washed.

"You just soaked all through", you mutter, trying to wrestle with the cat, "it's just a little more water, and it's warm!"

You carefully take his head and check the ear. Triangle-shaped wound indicates a bite, maybe even from a dog. The cat slips inside the bathtub, trying to get out, as you stress yourself out. It doesn't help that the boy just doesn't shut up, yelling his cat obscenities, or calling for help - from you now.

In the evening, you are both so exhausted from this fight - with the nature, and with each other - that you barely move. You crash on the couch, pulling your cold feet up and cuddling with a blanket. The cat walks around in the kitchen connected with the tiny space you call living room; drying in the warm air, elegant creature of four paws and exquisitly sensitive tail, jerking the tip here and there as he sniffs around. Walks between the chair legs, rubs himself against the surfaces to leave the scent. Then looks at you again.

"You're wet", you say, and the cat sits up and tilts the head. It's been a hot minute since you lived with a pet, and it's super exciting. All the chores ahead: buying food, taking care, choosing bowls, thinking where to place his litterbox - are happy now. It doesn't get better than a cat, objectively. He has been here for three hours, and you are already attached.

"And glossy", you continue. The cat starts grooming himself, sharp tongue on the little paw.

"I'll name you Yoongi".

The cat doesn't care. He's licking himself all over; then, with fur all groomed and flattened, walks over to the couch and sniffs your knees before crawling onto your lap.

🐾⋆ 🐾⋆ 🐾⋆

"Does the cat have a name?" the vet asks, pointing the pen at the little notebook.

"Yoongi".

"That's rare", the guy smiles.

Yoongi is staring at you from the carrier bag like he's about to choke you. Even when he is sitting on all fours, because otherwise he is black as night, you can still see the pale of his flesh; had to shave off his belly for an X-ray. Yoongi is pretty scared, so he keeps looking at you like you're the only familiar thing in the world. You remember it was the same with the previous cat. You take all these things too personally: whispering to him while he is spread out on his back under the vet's hands; and petting him between the ears, and wincing while they administer vaccines; and apologizing to him while he is waiting as you pay. You've had him for a week. At this point, you're ready to sacrifice your life for that creature.

"He does look like that one cat from Kiki's Delivery Service".

You grin.

"Yes, but he is very different personality wise. Super chill, actually".

"Hmm, he is about four years old. And indeed very agreeable", the doctor nods and fills out his cat passport. "Did you see the scar on his hip, as well? And the ear?"

"Yes".

"Tough little guy", the vet looks at the carrier affectionately. Yoongi doesn't pay attention.

At home, he jumps out of the carrier and gives you one hurt stare, then lets go of it.

The character of him is, what the vet pointedly noted, quite agreeable. It's actually an accurate word. Yoongi is a yapper but he is quiet when the quiet is needed. He has active hours and gives you enough peace. The cat is curious with his important business of watching the world; he sleeps through the night and doesn't boink-boink-boink around the apartment like younger kittens. He does insist on sleeping on your head though, trying to dominate the bed. He doesn't hold grudges: as you're adjusting to each other, he learns that you don't look down when you walk, and once you step on his tail, he screams, then sulks for a couple of minutes. Then returns.

In the mornings, he runs into the kitchen after you and bumps his head in the inside of your knee. And if it's too early, your knee caves in. He likes fish the most, baking cookies on the floor even when he is chewing, and, like all cats, values the warm touch above all.

Life with a cat is a great life. He's not a dog that would make you feel guilty for leaving him alone all day while you're at work; he isn't overly needy; he warms up your side in the evenings as you watch movies; and doesn't mind being photographed. Soon, your friends learn that your rented place has that beautiful new addition in the shape of a black, flexible cat with a lot of dignity when it comes to licking his own balls with people around.

"He is a little like you", one friend points, "cool and quiet".

"What breed is he?" Chaewon asks.

"The vet said he's either Bombay or domestic shorthair".

"I say he's a fucking cutie", Soyoon coos, reaching for Yoongi and petting his head. The cat stands up, leaning into the touch. His exterior is a perfect blend of stunning and endearing. His fur is good; got rid of the street fleas pretty quickly; ears are getting better from the cold he had after the rain. And the little dent on the left one makes him look badass.

You kiss it every day in delusional hopes it might heal purely out of your own volition.

He's a cat. Just a good, cool cat. He eats a lot and digs into the sand in his litterbox, and throws it around, and claws into your lap, purring loudly, when you scratch his belly. Yoongi likes the belly rubs the most: stretches his whole body like a rabbit, sticking out all his little toes, and protests when you stop, then usually falls asleep under your touch.

🐾⋆ 🐾⋆ 🐾⋆

Grandma Malsoon steps out of the shop in her funny grey slippers and holds the door with her shoulder. The woman must be around seventy; has been when you moved in here a year ago, and still is. Will forever be.

"I saw you brought one of the street gang in?" she asks playfully. You nod and stop. Look at the wristwatch. Bow to her.

"The other cats will miss him", she grins.

"Where do the others live?"

She shrugs,

"Here and there. I sometimes feed them when they come. Very independent fellas".

"I named him Yoongi", you say proudly, "couldn't watch him drown in the rain. He was yelling so loudly".

Grandma Malsoon nods with understanding.

"You like animals?"

"I do".

"Live alone?"

"Uh-huh, grandma".

She always lets you know when she's done talking: her oval-shaped chin dribbles a little as she gives a sharp nod.

"Have a good day, y/n-chan".

Your brows crawl up.

"You're Japanese, Malsoon-grandma?"

She grins crookedly, kind of with mischief. She is one of those women who, if you shed her old skin, will step out of it a young girl again. She says nothing, because the convo has been over. Just glares at you with her slightly cloudy old eye. You go back to your business.

Yoongi likes to fuck the poor Disney World Stitch plush toy.

You look at it sometimes, as he ambushes the blue alien, and think whether it's too late to chop his balls off. Sometimes you try to yank the toy away from him. Sometimes you just leave him be, looking through your schedule to see a spot to call the vet again. Once Yoongi is done, he returns to the window sill to "ya-ah-ah-ah" at the birds that mock him from the outside. He gets on his back feet and scratches the window glass furiously, trying to get to the fuckers. It's clear they have beef.

Emerald eyes and the sharp tongue often wake you up in the morning, soft sides rubbing against your face. Seven months in, Yoongi has gained all the healthy weight and lives up to his glossy name. You often look at him when he is just soaking in the sun, loafing on the floor in between the couch and the dinner counter, sharp, green eyes blinking lazily. What a life. Sleep, eat, pee, fuck Stitch, demand scratches, repeat.

"You want one of your buddies at home? I think..." you scroll through your bank account, ruminating. Yoongi turns his head to you as he hears your voice, and the inner lids slide back from his eyes.

"I think I can pull another cat. Should we steal one of your friends from the alley?"

Yoongi couldn't care less. He lies on his side on the floor, gloriously shimmering black fur gleaming in the evening sun. You click your tongue and say,

"I'll get going. I will get really drunk tonight, so I'll be back late".

You get on your knees above him, as usual, because the cat is the owner of your ass, and kiss his wounded ear. Yoongi doesn't even open his eyes, just flicks the ear instinctively, then again, when you blow on it to annoy him.

"Bye", you rub his side, then leave. He has water and food in the cool corner of the kitchen. The door clicks electronically behind you.

As you pass the light shop, grandma Malsoon is sitting on a little chair, smoking the most hilarious cyan-coloured cigarette you've seen in your life.

"Good evening, grandma", you chuckle and bow. She waves her hand at you.

"How's Yunki?"

"Chewed on monstera and vomited yesterday", you nod. She is quite satisfied, then looks over your fit critically.

"Turn around, girl".

You twirl for her.

"You going out?"

"Uh-huh", you check your phone and see the messages from your friends with instructions.

"You need a man, looking like that", Malsoon says without a grudge, "after the darkfall, pretty little girl".

It looks like she's talking from experience. Your eyes crawl up above her head and onto her small, gleaming shop. As the evening comes, Wang Light Shop becomes the star of the neighbourhood, golden, cosy, Ghibli-looking.

"I have Yoongi", you smile, and she chuckles, then dismisses you, and you hop away.

🐾⋆ 🐾⋆ 🐾⋆

You stay the night at Chaewon's because the girls get you so drunk you can barely walk towards the taxi.

You'd sleep way past one o'clock, but you suddenly recall you have a cat waiting at home, probably hungry as fuck. As you check your wristwatch, you slide out of your friend's bed and get dressed, still swaying a little.

"Hungover?" Chaewon mumbles from under the pillow. The girl doesn't need to breathe; she covers her own head with a pillow and a blanket at night and sleeps like that without any trouble.

"Gonna vomit in the cab, probably", you confess.

"Eat some kimchi in the kitchen".

You nod, grateful, limp there, one foot in your jeans, then in twenty minutes you feel a little human again, and leave her place to ride through the city, and home.

Morning Seoul is glistening with moist. Air is thick; May is coming with heatwaves and wilting fruit trees. You do not vomit in the taxi but feel properly miserable, especially with the constant notifications beeping, when Chaewon wakes up and starts sending you pictures from last night.

You crawl down the alley home and wave at the surprised grandma Malsoon who walks out of the shop and pops the hip, a hand on her side, watching your walk of shame, limping, squinting in the sun.

Once you enter the apartment, the first thing you expect is to see the black cat running angrily towards you, like he always does, tail up, mouth open, demanding.

Your eyes drop to your feet to spot him out of habit, but nothing is there.

Instead, there's some dude sitting on the couch in your fucking living room, with the Stitch toy on his lap, squeezing the neck with a big hand.

You're not drunk anymore; hangover isn't so bad that it would debiliate your movements.

Your fight or flight response is quick; a year ago it would've been first. But now life is better, so it's the second. Yes, the connection between those factors is frail. But you dart inside the kitchen that's just two steps away from the front door, once you see him get up.

A full ass male stranger in your apartment, looking unhappy and dishevelled - like you aren't the only one who drank last night.

As you grab the knife from the stand, you produce a yell.

"What the fuck?!"

He drops the blue toy on the couch and puts his hands on his sides, and you realize with horror, the true, animalistic horror, that you can't see Yoongi.

"Where is my fucking cat?"

The words start falling out of your mouth like pebbles.

"Don't approach me! Where is my cat?! Yoongi! YOONGI! How did you get in here?!"

The man frowns, then winces, hearing your shrieks.

"Shut... I am..."

The knife starts shaking in your hand. You press yourself against the wall, sliding slowly towards the bedroom door. Maybe Yoongi is just asleep. Maybe he just doesn't care about the strangers in the house. He's a street cat after all, and he is also used to seeing your friends. Maybe he is just napping.

You try to assess him: if he jumps you, you're cooked. Shoulders too wide. Arms with more or less defined musles. Wide frame. About sixteen centimeters taller than you. No chances. You need to stab, or scream, or run.

But you can't run until you know what happened to your cat. It's your responsibility. Your child. Your own.

"What did you do with my cat?? Who are you?"

"Stop screaming, for fuck's sake!"

As he raises his voice, your instincts kick in harder. Your elbow shakes. You push the bedroom door open and look inside, trying not to lose him from your field of vision. It's weird that he doesn't attack. Weird that he is trying to say something. Maybe he's a neighbourhood drug addict, or an alcoholic, or someone's psycho relative who wandered into your place.

"Yoongi!" you call again, your eyes scanning the room. Your gut sinks with a thud: it's empty. Panic makes your voice even louder:

"Where is my fucking cat?"

"It's here!" he yells back. The dude has the audacity to be annoyed. "I'm here!"

You look around to spot him again. Your mind is trying to bargain, but no. Yoongi can't blend in with furniture, or the floor. He is striking black. He is very spottable.

"I am Yoongi!"

"Shut the fuck up, idiot! There was a cat here! Did it run away?" you realize, looking at the door, "when you broke in? What do you want? Did you see my cat?"

He falls silent for a moment, cutting the tension. It makes you pause, too. His hands drop at his sides helplessly, as his mouth droops open. It gives you a second to study him again: and it dawns on you, in another coil of terror, that the man is wearing your own clothes. That oversize shirt you've had forever, in which you sometimes sleep, with the crusty print falling off in small chunks: Bladerunner merch. And the sweatpants you never wore because the legs were too long for you. They end at his ankles; the man stands next to the couch barefooted, coal-black hair framing his oval, doll-like face, like he was crafted to be an idol. Shame such a pretty-looking individual has chosen the life of delinquency.

Then you actually start hearing him:

"It's me, y/n. I am Yoongi. I am the cat".

The tip of the knife stabs the air. There's about seven steps between you, and he doesn't approach, staring at the weapon.

"Shut up", you pant again, you don't know what else to say, "you sick asshole. If you did something to him..."

He rolls his eyes and then falls back on the couch, spreading the legs on the floor.

"I am hungry".

"You on drugs?"

He scratches the side of his face, then looks at his own hand, then, at you, wide-eyed.

Yes, if you look closely, he does possess some cat-like features. The dizziness hits you, together with the wave of nausea. The knife shakes so much in your hand that you find it hard to keep pointing it. The vomit crawls up to your throat, and the panic hits you again. You breathe deep through your nose.

"Why the fuck have I been waiting when I have hands now".

He stands up slowly from the couch and drags his feet around the table.

He walks, moving his hips to the sides. The lazy-smooth stride is too elegant for a guy. He raises his eyes up to the top shelves of the cupboard. His eyes. Sharp and angular, but then again, everybody in this city has eyes like these. He opens the cupboard where you keep Yoongi's wet food, and pulls a pack out. Then tears it open and disappears behind the counter. You are forced to step up, still numb with shock and who knows what else - panic still sitting firmly on your shoulders. Against all logic, all common sense, you keep watching him, because - in some distant, separate plane of existence, his words keep ringing in your head.

"Argh! Eough!" he spits on the floor, gags, throws the package away.

"It's expired, y/n".

"It's cat food".

He lifts up his face, and you shudder.

That's how Yoongi looks at you when he hears your voice. Not necessarily with expression, but with focus in his eyes. You see his pink mouth slightly ajar, wrist slightly bent at the corner, wiping away the food.

"And you're a dude".

You gulp with realization.

"Have you, uh, have you come from the hospital?" you coo, trying to sound gentle. Knife not in the air anymore, but at your side, still clutched. "The hospital on the corner, yes? Have you gone for a walk and got lost?"

The man looks to the side, mouth still open. If he has convinced himself he's a cat, that's the only explanation for how he manages to look like one. So incredibly close. Eyes move left and right, feet tucked under him. As he closes his mouth, his lips form a line, and there are small dimples on his round cheeks.

"You're still drunk huh? Had fun? I've been waiting all night, and it's", he points to the small clock in the shape of the moon, perched on the window sill, "almost three in the afternoon".

You have no idea why he sounds so damning.

"Why are you in my home", you whisper, almost begging. You hold yourself up on the corner of the table, then step away when he lifts himself up off the floor and looks at the fridge.

"Because I fucking live here?"

"No, you don't. Listen, I don't know what-"

"I woke up like this, okay?"

He turns, and you lose balance. The left ear peeks through the thick black hair, and you see the triangle dent. The guy ignores the handle of the fridge, instead trying to open it with the tips of his fingers, pulling on the side.

You're mute for the best part of it, watching him struggle silently. He finally has mercy on you only when he succeeds in opening the fridge. He shoves his head inside, eyes running up and down, his face lit up like he's had an epiphany:

"Yesterday everything was okay. But I woke up this morning - and someone shaved all my fur off. I even had to dress up", he looks at you for a moment, "I don't know what happened either, so can you stop overreacting, huh?"

He takes a pack of sausages and tears it open with his teeth, then sniffs carefully.

"Oh-kaay".

You drop on a stool next to you. The knife finally goes on the counter. Then you touch the side of your face: numb.

"Oh, Jesus, I am still drunk", you realize, "or someone laced my drink. I am fucking hallucinating".

"I wish", he says grumpily, then bites into the sausage. His eyes wander back into the fridge immediately.

You tilt your head. Given, it's the most flabbergastingly stupid thing that's ever happened, you see it. You see it. The way he cocks his head as he looks around, is not just cat-like; it's Yoongi. He rolls the meat from the right to the left side of his mouth as he chews, like Yoongi. He sniffs quietly through his nose when he finishes it, like Yoongi. That's one detail you found individualistic and adorable about the cat. Each one is different. Animals have their own unreplicable features, too. Your cat sniffs when he eats, like he is evaluating.

"Yoongi?" you say weakly, finally.

He immediately turns his head, eyes darting to you.

You see the kitchen swirl, then spin, as you slide down from the stool and onto the floor. It's a good thing you don't faint completely: he doesn't rush to catch you, just watches at first. Then steps towards you, and his hand touches your shoulder. Testing; your body is limp, brain in overdrive. Almost incapacitated. Rebooting. You can get stabbed now and you won't be able to fight, but he ignores the knife. His jaws still chewing something, he is curiously touching your shoulder with the tips of his fingers, then with full palm. Then his hand gets under your chin, and... tickles.

You flinch, looking up. The... Yoongi frowns, but smirks at the same time. You try to get away from his hand, shivers down your back with unease.

"Uncomfortable, huh?" he tickles harder, "how's that feel?"

He kneels next to you and starts tickling you with both hands. Your body sends the waves of shock, cold goosebumps of fever, in an attempt to get the muscles to work. Yoongi's hands get to your ribs and tickle hard, and you yelp.

"Stop it!"

"Not nice, huh nonconsensual touching? You do it allll the time".

He finally lets go and stands up again, then bows above the sink and opens the tap.

"Don't drink it!" you shout. Yoongi flinches and turns.

"What?"

"What are you, nuts? You can't drink tap water".

He winces,

"I do it all the time".

"You..." you suck the air in between dry lips, "humans can't".

You pull yourself up and elbow him away from the sink. Then get a glass and fill it with filtered water. He watches you over the shoulder, fixated, focused, totally consumed by it. Then accepts the glass from you. Now, you stare. He blinks at the water, then sniffs. Dammit, he acts like a cat. The tip of his tongue lowers into the glass and touches the water.

"Drink normally, goddammit", you whisper, and his eyes bore into yours.

"Like I know how!"

You cover your mouth with your hand. Then the impulse takes you: your grab his head, tilt it back to get a good look at him. It's impossible to say. You think about the small black cat and his habits. The mannerisms. The emerald eyes. These eyes, that look back at you, are dark-brown, almost black, but they lack human expression. They are - mechanically - focused, observing. Yoongi jerks his head away, but you grab again. Your fingers slide over his torn ear.

"Where did you get this?" you demand, like he has stolen the injury.

"Fought with Jiminie", he says shortly, then attempts to drink again, more successfully this time. Half of the water drips down his chin and onto your Bladerunner shirt, and he dips his head to look.

"This body is so..." he hisses.

"How the fuck is that possible, huh?" you breathe out, "cats don't just randomly turn into people. You're human. Human male".

"Uh-huh", he places the glass on the table and immediately gets distracted by it. His finger pushes it back and forth. All attention there.

"Are you sure you're not schizophrenic?"

He bites the lower lip, long eyelashes moving. The face of full concentration as he is toying with the half-full glass, pushing it dangerously close to the edge.

"What is that".

"It's when..."

Your hands fall to your sides and you look at his hips.

"What other scars do you have?"

He reaches for the hem of your never worn sweatpants and pulls it down a little. Pale flesh, very similar to the shade you remember from the X-ray some time ago. His hip bone is stricken through by a dark-pink hard line:

"That bastard from the sweatshop threw a stone at me when I was little", he says without expression.

"Kim Minho?"

He shrugs, then loses all interest in the glass and steps away, stretching. He is as surprised by his own body as you are: his eyes crawl up curiously as he moves his arms; he observes his own forearms, sticks the fingers apart, and then walks around the counter again.

Total inability to accept something that you deem impossible is making you sound like an idiot. At least internally. He is too chill about this; but then again, Yoongi has always been chill. Your finger pokes at your lip as you watch him open the window; slowly at first, carefully. Then he suddenly takes the monstera pot and - before you can say anything - flings it outside.

"The f- Yoongi?!"

He plops on the couch.

"Fucking poison. I nearly died yesterday because of it".

Now that is something nobody except for you or your cat could know. And grandma Malsoon, of course...

You pace towards the window and lean out into the street. Good thing it's empty and narrow. Good thing you live on the first floor.

Monstera lies on the asphalt, ceramic pot cracked and in pieces. Black soil scattered around the broken stems and leaves.

"Yoongi, you can't throw plants out of the window".

"You should thank me. What if you ate it as well?"

"I don't eat plants", you hammer.

He blinks at you from the couch. Then his palm closes, only index finger sticking out, and he says,

"Come on".

"What?"

"Pet me".

You try to imagine ears on his head. Now they are on the sides, like with all humans. The imaginary tail growing from his butt. He sighs, crossing his arms.

"Maybe you should take a nap, skinwalker".

"You really are a cat, aren't you?"

He nods. His teeth nibbling on his lip. He tilts his head sharply and scratches the side of it, then rests against the couch. Looks around the kitchen, the living room.

"Everything is suddenly... elevated. I walk on two paws. And the air smells different, everything is muted", he sounds almost sad. Preoccupied. His wide black eyebrows frown as he looks at you, then thinks of something and gets up. You're pressed against the window sill and can do nothing as he towers above you. Your cat. Now weighs seventy kilograms, maybe. He puts his lean face very-very close, studying you curiously, speaking in pout:

"You smell different, too".

This velvet-deep voice is nothing like the high meow you are used to.

"I haven't had a shower yet".

"No, from the usual. I guess my sense of smell is weaker, I heard you humans can't smell each other like we do".

He puts the tip of his nose against your cheek and sniffs quickly, several times.

"It's still recognizable, but very, very weak. At first I thought I was dying because everything went blank, and vivid at the same time. Thought I was having a stroke. Colours are too... bright".

He stabs the air behind his back with his thumb:

"You can go take a shower".

You widen your eyes.

"I can? Well thanks, shit".

He shrugs.

"You said you didn't shower?"

You realize he still has the cat mindset. You realize. He thinks he is the owner of this household. Of you.

The catfood is still on the floor, drying on the linoleum, and the cupboard door is open. Half-finished glass of water on the table. Yoongi walks across the living room and opens the bathroom door.

"Let's go?"

You try to click out of this paralysis, you truly do, but all that comes out of your mouth is,

"Huh?"

He sighs, like you're really difficult to deal with.

"S h o w e r?" he says clearly.

"You're... not going with me".

"Why's that?" he seems worried. True. The cat Yoongi always went to the shower with you. Cat instincts. Watched you soap and rinse yourself. Also observed you going to the toilet; god forbid an enemy attacks while you're vulnerable.

"Wait", you shake your head, "okay, okay. You were a cat. Now you're a dude".

He nods, distracted again. He pulls all his weight agains the door handle, leaning on it.

"But why do you look Korean?"

"I was born here", he deadpans, "all my family was Korean, what's your point?"

"And how did you... learn human language?"

Trying to poke a hole in this legend. In this absurdity.

"Ugh. I lived among you all my life. It's not a hard language to learn".

You walk around the kitchen slowly. Motion helps you think. You tear off a sheet of paper towels and start cleaning the floor from the food he spat out.

"But you still speak cat?"

"Mmm, I don't think so".

Yoongi crooks his neck to see what you're doing. When he observes, his mouth pouts involuntarily, like he is impressed and surprised at the same time.

"How do you not fall over without a tail?"

He shakes his head as you talk. With the corner of your eye you see: he is looking at the last fur spot he has on his body, hands touching the long locks, brushing through them. The hair covers his face as he studies it.

"I try not to turn too sharply".

As if to demonstrate, he moves his hips, bare human feet sliding soundlessly on the floor.

"But it is weird without it. I feel its absence".

"You have a different tail now", you grumble. The elephant in the room. The weird, uncomfortable something hanging. The reason it's so visceral, so uneasy to have him too close to you.

"It's a dick, y/n. How do you not know?"

A pause. You huff, cleaning the floor, then look at him darkly.

"Oh, sorry. You get no action at all", he says sympathetically. It flares you up.

"You", you point to the couch, where the Stitch toy is lying on its side, "get action with a plushie".

Yoongi cocks his eyebrow judgingly, tucking his hair away behind the ears.

"Let's not talk about that".

🐾⋆ 🐾⋆ 🐾⋆

"Why do you always do that?" he asks. Then imitates your motion: brings his hand to his mouth and shows how you tug on your upper lip.

"Stress".

He rolls his eyes with no expression, then turns again. Cats are known for their endless curiosity for their own dwellings even if they have been through each and every drawer numerous times. Now Yoongi, who has seen, sniffed and touched pretty much everything in the apartment, goes through it again. From the new perspective. He walks around the bedroom, sucking on the inside of his cheek, demonstrating you an impeccably cat-like profile of his face. Pointed and animalistic eyes, open wide but so prettily-angular. And the snout. As a cat, his nose was an okay nose. All cats have pretty much similar noses. Now, in the human shape, it's like a button nose. Smooth slide down. And the round tip. It's boopable. Or maybe you're violently spiralling. After a night out like that, with the hangover, you want a nap fiercely. You'd take a nap after the shower (Yoongi, fuck him, sat on the floor hugging his knees, and guarded you while you tried to curl into yourself and wash as quickly as possible behind the blue curtain). But now with this dude in your house you still feel alert even though you are... 76% sure he is, in fact, your cat turned human.

That happens. Right. Just a normal Saturday. Yesterday he was a cute black cat. Today he is a dude with a wolf cut and attitude. And you're supposed to just move on with it.

He doesn't radiate threat. He moves around, going through all the objects on the wall shelf, taking each little figurine, glass cube and photo frame, touching for texture, looking at it from all sides. The treasured forbidden shelf he wasn't allowed to crawl on.

He is adjusting his sight, his tactile perception, and the hearing, as well. When the noise comes from the street, he walks over to the window and looks out, pressing his nose against the glass, then returns to his intel collecting business.

You shoot questions from time to time. Weak, tired, half-awake, clutching the blanket. Yoongi said the smell of shower gel masks your natural scent and demanded that you stop using it. You told him to suck it up.

"So, you know some complicated words", you hum. The brainwork you're putting into this probably makes you more exhausted.

"Indubitably", he says.

"How?"

He sighs, like it's you who's acting irrationally. Like you're stupid for it.

"I watched about nine hundred movies with you. Plus, I used to like to crawl up under the roof of the Buncheong market, you know?" he looks at you, expecting an answer. You nod.

"Listened to humans yap", he pulls the sweatpants up, then, when he moves his foot to quickly, he bumps one ankle into the other and ouches with pain. You recall sleeping with the cat. Little warm paws you struggled with, that insisted on always touching your face while in bed. Like he was too sick of being alone and without contact.

"We mainly listened for some food spots. But guess I picked up some lingo, too".

"You have... human sentience. You realize you are alive, right?"

"Obviously".

He gets to the bookcase, and it's clear how scattered his attention becomes: human vision allows bright, vivid colours. Yoongi yawns immediately, crunching his nose. His eyes move up and down, looking through the books. Then he smirks and, not without a struggle, pulls one out. Then shows it to you, with a weirdly endearing smile. It's devastating; he looks absolutely adorable as he pulls his mouth to the sides, showing pink gums. It's the smile that only appeared on him in the cat form when he sneezed.

You realize you started thinking about 'cat form' and 'human form'. Like you've accepted this lunacy.

"I am a cat", he says, tilting the book. That's the title. By a Japanese author Soseki Natsume, with a cat on the cover. The cat looks nothing like Yoongi: the book one was a plump, grey kitten.

"Can you read?"

He nods, opens the book and reads out loud:

"Let me introduce myself: I am a cat. Simply a cat, and I do not possess a name yet. Well, I do", he finishes, quite pleased. Your hand still tries to groom you, keep you calm. It scratches the side of your head. You fall back on the pillow and stare at the ceiling.

"So... have you always had... this consciousness?"

"No. Yesterday I was a cat. Having cat thoughts".

Yoongi loses interest in books. He doesn't put the one he's holding back: he drops it right on the floor and walks over to the bed.

"What do cats think about?"

"You know", he begins, then pauses. "Actually, I can't formulate it. I know I was ruminating about something. But I can't tell you what".

"Like, mice? Birds? Food?"

He clicks his tongue. Yoongi sits on the bed and then does something that obviously doesn't seem strange to him. He gets under the blanket, and you twitch at the weight of his body.

"Yeah I am a cat, not dumb. I thought about life a lot. I think I thought about my friends from time to time, but I can't remember now".

Your arms go stiff. Then you shake yourself awake: Yoongi slithers his head onto your chest like it's the most normal thing in the world. Using his functional fingers, he lifts your hand and places it on his split ear. His skull is so much heavier now; it's clear he has no idea how to position this huge body with long legs; he kicks against you, then kicks the blanket down, purrs unhappily, pressing into you, tries to curl into a ball out of habit and then, exasperated, huffs.

"What the fuck is this piece of bare meat", he grumbles. It hits you: it's your kitten. Four year-old kitten, now five. And the wave of familiarity makes your fingers curl in his hair. The sensation of it is actually the same. That's exactly the same fur he used to have on his head, but longer. He purrs, and it's low. Human deep voice, working through the cords in his throat, comes out in a vibrating hum. His knee is kicking you in the rib, you have to push it down.

"Are you really..." you give up slowly. The world tilting off the normal orbit, floating into the territory of uncanny. "The cat I fished out of the box during the monsoon?"

"Yeah".

He is caught in between the halves of a displeased groan, still trying to stick his arms somewhere. Must be discovering that humans can't curl limbs however they want, that the joints go numb. He ends up putting one hand under his ear and the other, grabbing your side. At first you flinch again. Not used to being touched by human males while lying down. Yoongi is right about that, the way only a roommate can know. You get no action, you want none.

Then he starts pinching your side and releasing it; pinching and releasing.

You realize he is baking cookies.

It feels so morally wrong to scratch his head through the hair and then slide your finger along the ear with the triangular dent. He also produces these sounds of pleasure that make you question everything you're doing.

As your fingers tickle the side of his cheek, helping you think, Yoongi throws his head back and opens the neck, like he always does. With cats, it's pretty automatic. You scratch the head, he leans in, then signals you to scratch under the chin and then on and on to the belly.

This guy has Adam's apple that vibrates under your palm, prickling you with short, sharp heads of stubble. He purrs again:

"Oh, that feels like fucking heaven. When you cut your nails for Christmas I thought I'd prick your eyes out. Never do it again".

"You turned five already, right?" you mutter. Hand exists separately from you. Brain trying to normalize it all. Yoongi sounds drunk as he hums, eyes closed.

"That is what... around thirty-four in human years. But you've physically existed for five years on this earth", you pause. You could as well be talking to yourself; Yoongi is out, low grunts breaking only when he takes a breath. Habit of purring stayed. The anatomy changed.

"By the way, do you know when your birthday is?"

"Mmm, why would I know that", he mutters, moving his head left and right, showing you where to scratch.

"Humans celebrate birthdays".

"That's stupid. What is that? I always wondered?"

His eyes flap open and he stares at your wrist above his eyes as you move your hand up. He is looking at your skin. You check it.

"A birth mark. You have one on your belly, I remember", you say. Then you can't help but observe his throat and collarbones:

"And several on your neck. Why this body? Like, how, who..." you gasp with helplessness, "you sure you don't remember what happened exactly? You just woke up like this?"

"Uh-huh. The only good thing about this ugly costume is you can understand me now. Oh, you're so annoying I swear. I am trying to speak to you and you reply something like, you're the cutest boy in the world. Like I know that".

You frown. His hair is spread on the pillow.

"I know it's not your fault you don't speak my language, but it was still stupid as hell. Scratch my belly".

"I won't scratch your belly", you say. Then fall back on the second pillow, absolutely powerless. "That's too much".

"Why the fuck not?"

"You're still a yapper. You yap all the time".

"Yeah I have things to say. Scratch my belly now".

You tuck your hands to yourself and lie on your side. You need to either sleep or vomit. The thick spring air fills the room, the window Yoongi opened in the kitchen letting the smells of the street in.

"There are certain boundaries now, I'm afraid", you mumble. Yoongi's face is composed of frustration and confusion.

"It's not that disgusting, even without fur".

"It's not about bare skin, it's just... uh, you're human now".

"So? I am still your cat. And you will pet me when I tell you to".

And he bumps his head into your face. It leaves you wide eyed and mute.

It's all really funny when it's about cats. "It's his house now", "it's his cup now", "it's his bed now". Yeah. Funny, all those cartoons about how cats actually control people, and own them, and not the other way around. His rather large, although pretty, palm next to your face on the sheets. Fingers half-curled because he's done with the cat pleasure ritual. Yoongi huffs, irritated.

"Fine. Whatever. You're such a bitch sometimes".

"Hey".

"I mean prioritizing everything over me, when you've promised to dedicate your life to me, you know. Work, friends, your own feeding time, or when I fall asleep and you start fucking thrashing around".

He makes another attempt to curl, and this time it's a little more successful: the top of his head pressing into your ribs. He crouches, looking at your hands and then repeating the gesture, pressing them to himself. He's too big, so you have to move back to let him rest.

"You curse so much", you notice.

"Picked it all up for you. I live in isolation now, remember? You caged me here. And now refuse to fulfill your basic function".

His hand pulls the blanket over him and covers his own head.

"Yoongi..."

"Whatever".

"I am not your slave".

He produces a curious, hollow and shrieky chuckle from under there. It's probably the first time he laughs, ever. So it's not tuned yet. He is, himself, surprised. There's a questioning hum.

"What was that?"

"Laughter".

You think of Chaewon who sleeps like that, covered, cut from air flow. You worry about him, try to pull the blanket away a little, and he clutches on it, sore.

What will your friends say if you let them know? Hey, uhhh, so my cat turned into a dude. Ever happened to y'all?

Most probably, the majority of people will laugh it off. It's so absurd, too otherworldly. This thought makes you concerned again, for a moment. Makes you return to your initial panic. What if he is sick? What if he is a human who pretends to be an animal? Killed Yoongi. Threw his body out. Will rape you once you fall asleep, and then cannibalise you. That is much easier to imagine than a normal fucking street cat randomly, magically transforming into a full, functioning, sentient, anatomically correct Korean male.

Yeah no, there is no way adequate people would believe that. Only, your friends will get concerned. Say they visit one evening.

Scenario: Chaewon and Soyoon enter the apartment. Yoongi is sitting on the couch with a bowl of chopped sausages and watching a movie, in your sweatpants. They say, hey, why didn't you tell us you got a boyfriend? He says, I am her cat. They laugh, and keep questioning it, until either he, or you, snap and get rude. The rest of the evening grows gloomy and awkward, they think you're being mean with them. Or drunk. Until they realize Yoongi, the black cat, is nowhere to be seen. So, they question: where's the cat? Verdict: they think you either killed or lost Yoongi, then brought a weirdo into your house to cope.

Scenario: you tell them the weirdo is Yoongi the cat. They realize you're serious and call the hospital. Yoongi ends up at the police station: he has no documents, except for his cat passport, and the picture doesn't really match anymore. He will inevitably be sent to the same hospital as you, if he claims he is a cat. Acute delusional psychosis, they will say. You'll be together at least.

Scenario: you tell Chaewon and Soyoon your cat turned into a human, and they say: Oh finally you're in on it. Don't you know? This year all house cats start to randomly turn human. Maybe it's coronavirus. You shoot yourself in the face.

You drift off to sleep while thinking it all through. There's not a single realistic scenario in which it goes well. There's no way to accept what happened. Only, you kind of already did. You feel his breathing against yourself, and now it takes effort to convince yourself it's not your cat.

You shove your hand under the blanket and poke him in the side. Yoongi is already asleep and he moves a little like he always does.

You lift yourself off the bed and, in the last spark of energy, crawl around the apartment looking for his tiny dead body. The shock of what happened has flattened the potential trauma of your pet being killed. But Yoongi's small, black corpse is nowhere to be found. You search thouroughly; behind the shelves; between the couch cushions; under the desk; inside the wardrobe; in all the cupboards; even under the bath tub. The only creature is sleeping in your bed curled in a tight ball, and, when you return, his arms start flinching violently. It is positively horrifying: Yoongi always sleeps like that. The first four years of his life he had spent in the street: fighting with who you assume is another cat, Jiminie; and with people; maybe running away from kids; being hit with stones; surviving the mellow indifference of Seoul suburbia. Of course he has traumatic dreams. You always wondered what the cat dreams about, when he starts beating his hind legs in his sleep, as if running away.

"Hey", you pull the blanket off him and touch his shoulder. "Yoongi".

It takes another rub to wake him up. He sniffs sharply, then opens his eyes. For the first two seconds, he stares at you blankly, dark eyes instead of emerald. Mute and unblinking. And this - here - is the last hammer strike. You know it's true now, because you see the animal simplicity of his stare slowly recalibrating into the heavy human sentience again. The first several moments he forgets he's not a cat anymore. Then it returns. He frowns and nibbles on his lip busily.

"What?"

"What were you dreaming about?"

"I don't remember", he grumbles, cranky. He grabs your forearms and rubs his forehead on it, then lets go. Marking his territory. You lie down next to him, and then the knuckles poke you in the side: little paws, striving for connection, always having to touch when he's asleep.

You fall into it quickly, too, exhausted, dizzy and light in the head.

🐾⋆ 🐾⋆ 🐾⋆

You put your slippers on your feet, and Yoongi emerges from the bathroom slowly. He isn't a helpless baby; it's an indescribable relief to see he knows how to use human toilet. Given, he has watched you do it before, which... anyway, this is all quite testing.

"You washed your hands?"

"Yes", he frowns like he does now every time when you try to teach him.

"Where are you going?"

"Market. You've eaten all meat".

You stop in your tracks, as another layer of implications gets downloaded into your brain.

Providing for a cat is one thing. Cat food is bought in bulk. Cats don't need clothes, you realize, watching him approach you in smooth stride. Now you have a jobless dude in your house.

"You're planning, uh, on staying like this long?"

His face expresses questioning openness.

"Like what? Vertical? Bare? Ugly?"

"You're not ugly", you mutter.

"I don't know. I hope not".

"Where are you going?"

"With you?" he echoes, trying to push past you with the passionately characteristic hatred for a locked door.

"You don't even have shoes".

Means nothing to him. You try to stop him: he unlocks the door because he knows how you do it. Because for a human, it's quite instinctive. You're afraid he'll dart once he sniffs the air of freedom. You put your arm across his chest, but here's the problem: he is so much bigger than you now. Yoongi has no idea of his own size and strength now, and he pushes back against you, almost crushing you into the shoe rack. Then looks curiously, observing, hopefully, making conclusions.

"I want out".

"I'll go at least buy you slippers and return", you say, getting up. He doesn't offer you a hand, just watches.

"You can't push me like that, you're not small anymore".

"Why are you so light? It's cause you're female?"

"And because you're adult".

He dimples his chin in pondering. You made him shave this morning, and it weirdly resembled the first ever wash in this apartment. He almost yelled. It's bad enough he is bald almost everywhere; he thought that someone had shaved him while he slept, and that treacherous act revealed the bare skin and made him so weird; in other words, Yoongi thought if he lets the fur grow on his face, he will go back to normal. You realized it; the existential crisis didn't happen with him because he hadn't really grasped it fully. "Human" and "Cat" are both vague to him. He is - essentially and firstly - Yoongi. He hadn't understood the tremendous, possibly irreversible change he had undergone.

Anyways, you made him shave because the face stubble doesn't go with his hair and the angelic appearance. Again, he displayed the grudge, for about ten minutes, then you offered him breakfast, and he forgave everything.

"You wait here. Ten minutes. I am not against getting you out", you muse, "maybe we will even meet your friends and you can ask them about what happened to you".

He looks at you still, thinking about something else, then steps back.

"Okay. Yeah, my paws are so sensitive now".

You run to the closest kiosk and buy him a pair of big human rubber slippers. You reckon 260 or 270 will be good for him; he has big hands. The shirt he fished out and put on is of the size L: for home you usually buy oversize to be comfortable. He is lucky it's the century where oversize is so popular and widely accepted; otherwise he'd have nothing to wear.

Yoongi is standing on his knees on the window sill. You're enraged to see he has knocked down the moon clock, the other plant pot and a book, to get there.

"Hey, cat!" you yell.

He turns his head.

"Those fucking dipshit cunts", he hisses, then looks back again. You throw one slipper on the floor.

"Why the fuck did you knock the pot again?! You have hands now, move it!"

He just clicks his tongue, ignoring you. You walk to him, then place a slipper against his foot sticking out in the air, to see if you've guessed the size right.

He is looking at a flock of birds on the ground beyond the window. Thank God he forgot he can open it; otherwise he'd be outside.

"You still understand what they're saying?" you wonder.

His eyes are narrowed.

"No, but I remember very clearly what they used to say", he says, his teeth gritted.

"Why do you hate birds so much?"

Sparrows hop around. The monstera pot is gone, the remnants of the plant in the tall glass in water on your kitchen counter. Sparrows do not peck anything from the asphalt but instead seemingly target Yoongi. They turn towards the window like they actually register him, and chirp.

"Cause they fucking bastards".

"Right", you pull him off the sill and make him look away.

"Put it on".

He pushes one foot into one slipper, then limps to the door and puts on the other. You get your bag and your phone, keys and cards from the counter, and check yourself in the mirror. Yoongi has nothing to grab. You wrap your palm around his wrist tightly.

"You can't chase them once we're out".

"Can't promise anything", he grunts. With the other hand, you rub his chin to see if it will work. Yoongi frowns at first, then blinks rapidly. Cat brain overpowers him, and he closes his eyes as your fingers tickle his throat.

"Don't run away, okay? You've seen the street before".

He nods quietly, eyes still closed. They open wide once you leave the building.

You give him a minute. His small pink mouth drops open as he turns his head. Buildings are much smaller now; he stares at the ground like he doesn't recognize it. His shoulder twitches when he hears the cars honk beyond the block of flats. His lean, cheeky face looks like a dumpling: lips parted, eyes darting here and there. He actually wraps his fingers around yours like he is uncomfortable at first. Then watches the street.

"I remember the way it smelt when you brought me home", he mutters, "now it smells different".

"You said your perception changed".

"I feel completely dumb. I can't detect anything at all", he whispers, "how do you live like this? What if there's danger?"

It makes you sad when you think about it.

"Humans live in a less dangerous world. You don't have to be aware all the time. There's not threat on the street".

He doesn't believe you. Brows together, one higher than the other, he walks too close to you as you pull him after yourself. Disoriented. Suspicious. He follows a passerby with his eyes, and the guy looks back at him, slightly annoyed. When you pass grandma Malsoon's shop, she is there as usual; sitting on her small chair, but now drinking coffee. She raises her head and looks at you both.

"Oh, she fed me sometimes", Yoongi says loudly, staring at her. Grandma looks at Yoongi blank, then, at you. You bow.

"Good morning, grandma", you hope she will ignore it. Yoongi pulls on your hand, trying to approach her, but you pull him back.

"Found a man?" she asks, quite unbothered, considering how he looks. Worn Bladerunner shirt (refuses to change); sweatpants. Light-green rubber slippers, and a needy look with which he is trying to touch her. You dig your nails into his wrist.

"Well..."

"How is Yunki?"

Yoongi says,

"Me?"

"This... his name is also Yoongi", you explain. "But the cat is okay, as well".

Grandma chuckles and nods her chin. You're relieved. You pull him away.

"So..." you throw one last look at the old woman, "baby, you can't do that with people".

"Huhmm?"

"We don't normally sniff each other, okay? Also, you shouldn't tell... anybody, that you're a cat".

"Why?"

He looks up, where a couple of crows sit (quietly) on the electric lines above your heads. The motion makes him lose balance, and he sways, and you have to grab him by the shoulders.

"Because people will think either you or I is crazy, and we might get separated, and-"

"No!" he shouts.

The crows are spooked and fly away. Yoongi grabs both your forearms.

"You're everything I have!"

You nod furiously.

"Yes, yes, exactly. So, don't speak to anybody. Try to keep quiet, okay?" your voice drops to a whisper, "I don't think cats turn into people regularly. Humans will not understand".

He gulps heavily. Looks at you with suspicion. Like you threatened to abandon him. Like that, nobody could mistake him for anything but a cat; nose crunched, chin dimpled, eyes pointed.

"Okay. No speaking. But grandma was nice though. She fed all of us each winter".

"She feeds me, sometimes, too".

His face smoothens up,

"What? Are you dumb or something? You have food at home".

"It's... ugh", you let it go. You spend the rest of the way to the market explaining the concept of tea and candy to him.

taglist: @mar-lo-pap

#yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine #yoongi x y/n #bts imagine

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filurig · 8 months ago

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a new little spingle... info about him under the cut

a disciple of glaris in sartrill's priesthood, despite his holy position - isn't too enthusiastic about it. truthfully, he was forced into his current study by his parents as he was born as a "curlwing". "curlwings" in sartrillan culture are considered the closest to "true" children of glaris, having been born with her "blessing" of flightlessness and therefore are believed to be more strongly attuned to her, so the natural course for any young curlwing is to enter priesthood training at an early age. despite that, however, karu never excelled in his priestly studies - not that he was necessarily bad or couldn't carry out the duties he were assigned, but his superiors keep worrying that he doesn't put enough heart in it, so he has never really risen considerably in the ranks of the priesthood.

somewhat lethargic, karu accepted his "fate" - while he has faith, he also longs for being able to have his own life as life in the priesthood is relatively restricted to the holy grounds and the districts in sartill closest to it. there is a small, adventurous spirit inside of him that wishes to see more of the world, having never left sartrill in his entire life, but at this point he's sort of given up on it. he is somewhat ruled over by his fear of sticking out and not conforming and betraying the expectations of the priesthood, his family and Glaris herself.

karu can come off as quite cold and tired as he feels sort of detached from the people and circumstances around him. when brought out of his shell, however, he brightens up considerably - but can be a bit cynical still. he isn't actually as serious as he comes across as, and actually enjoys being around people who don't take things too seriously either. he tries to self-correct though and therefore that part of him is rarely seen by anyone. because of his alienation from other harpies, partly due to his upbringing and role, he's a bit socially inept, but has learned to deal with that by hiding behind his stoic and unconcerned facade. a bit of a double edged sword because it only reinforces the idea people have of him around him as this "serious, no-fun wholly dedicated priest disciple who doesn't want to mingle with the commoners"

while he wishes he had more freedom to do stuff, karu does enjoy some parts of his priestly duties - most especially the craftsmanship he gets to engage in. sartrillan priests will actually be responsible for most of the settlement's craftsmanship especially ones concerning fabric and clothing, but also other crafts (former are just the biggest categories)

flightlessness is relevant in some satrtillan mythology and in the biggest story (the one involving glaris) is a noteworthy sacrifice some crakam made to grant them the ability to hide from humans using illusory magic. that ofc creates a sort of weird relationship with crakam society and crakam born with flightless conditions. in sartrill its especially pronounced as glaris is the settlement's "patron deity" and while care is taken to accomodate to the flightless, there is also a social schism between them and other crakam bcs of their connotations and also the fact that most flightless crakam are "strongly encouraged" and often forced to live in the priesthood.

craftsmanship is strongly associated with holiness/the priesthood in sartrill because the body alterations flighted harpies undergo to render themselves flightless permanently actually increases arm flexibility a little, and historically being unable to fly it was a natural direction for many priests to head in to contribute to the community which might be why it became such a strong practice

there are several different conditions that can make a harpy not be flighted - curlfeather is one of them. any condition which does such is treated similarly - it doesn't really matter which, but curlfeather is probably the most common/well known one.

#harpy #fantasy #oc #original character #spec bio #spec evo #speculative biology #speculative evolution #speculative fantasy #speculative zoology #art #artists on tumblr #pareidolia tag #oc: karu #worldbuilding #obv here hes not in his priestly garb #actually sort of a revamp of an old old old oc and doesnt even look anything like it but whatever LOL

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bombiikki · 22 days ago

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𝖈ross 𝖙he 𝖑ine ⸝⸝ 𓂃₊ ⊹

⋆˙⟡ — non idol!minji x fem!reader

♯ 𝖘ynopsis : you and minji were always just friends—the kind who held hands without thinking, who shared beds without question. but when feelings begin to stir beneath the surface, you’re forced to face the one line you swore you’d never cross.

𝖈ontains : friends to lovers, theyre both oblivious, and also lwk in denial, just a whole lotta fluff with like the smallest smidge of angst (but its only cuz theyre—again—in denial), hanni is in the middle of everything

𝖜ord 𝖈ount : 5.0k

𝖆uthor's 𝖓ote : requested by anon here! when anon requested a minji fic to “feelings” by lauv i fear they cooked with the idea… i tried my best bringing this idea to life and i kinda tweaked like a few things… 😓the ending is also lwk a LILL rushed

. ♬ ݁˖ 𝖓ow 𝖕laying — feelings by lauv

the day started like all the others did, with sunlight spilling lazily through the blinds and minji’s voice in your ear. she was talking about something—maybe breakfast, maybe the dream she had about being chased by a giant toast—but you weren't really listening. not because you didn’t care, but because you knew this version of peace only came with her. it was in the way her laughter curled into the air like steam off morning coffee. it was in the way she reached out, absentmindedly fixing your sleeve like she always did.

you’d been friends for years now, and in that time, you’d become something like a rhythm—so in sync, people hardly bothered asking if you’d show up together anymore. where minji was, you were. it wasn’t planned or forced. it just happened, like gravity.

your friends joked about it constantly. hanni, especially, would nudge minji with a grin and say, “you’re basically married, you know that?” and minji would laugh, the kind that always made your chest feel warm.

“nah,” she’d reply, ruffling your hair. “we’re just close.”

close.

you’d memorised that word by now. tucked it into your heart and let it sit there, heavy and quiet.

some days it was enough. most days, it wasn’t.

like when she called you late at night, her voice soft from sleep, asking if you could come over because her room felt too quiet. and you did, of course you did, every time. and she’d curl up next to you like she belonged there, like your shoulder was made just for her to rest her head on.

or when she texted you just to say she missed you—even if you’d seen her that morning. your heart would skip, flutter, fall. but then she’d send another message right after: “also can u bring snacks i’m starving.” and you’d laugh and tell yourself to get a grip.

because she didn’t mean it like that. she couldn’t.

still, there were moments—tiny, trembling things—that made you wonder.

like the time she fell asleep with her hand in yours on the train, and even after she woke, she didn’t let go. or how she always waited for your reactions first, before anyone else’s, like your opinion meant more. like it mattered most.

and it did, didn’t it?

minji meant everything to you. in the quietest way possible, she’d become the center of your world. and you… you were just doing your best not to drown in the ache of it all.

“hey,” her voice pulled you back. you blinked, looking up at her. she had that look again—gentle, concerned. “where’d you go just now?”

you smiled, shaking your head. “nowhere. just thinking.”

she leaned closer, propping her chin on your shoulder. “thinking about what?”

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. instead, you reached for your drink, pretending not to notice how close her lips were to your cheek.

“you’re weird,” she said, teasing.

“takes one to know one,” you shot back.

she grinned, and your heart did that stupid fluttering thing again. you wished it would stop or at least stop hurting so much.

later that evening, as the sky turned the color of old peach skins, you sat side by side on her bedroom floor, folding laundry while music played low in the background. she hummed along to the melody, not quite in tune but beautiful all the same.

“can i ask you something?” she said suddenly.

“sure.”

“do you think i’m… clingy?”

you looked at her, startled. “what? no. why would you think that?”

“just wondering. hanni said we’re always together. made it sound like i’m too attached.”

you laughed, though something stung beneath it. “we are always together.”

she shrugged. “yeah, but… it doesn’t bother you, right?”

you paused. your hands stilled over a pair of her socks. you looked at her—really looked—and saw that tiny furrow in her brow, the one she got when she was unsure.

“min,” you said softly, “i like being with you. it doesn’t bother me.”

her smile then was slow, sweet. “me too.”

and maybe it didn’t mean anything. maybe it was just a simple exchange between best friends. maybe she’d forget it by tomorrow.

but you wouldn’t. you never did. because every time she said “me too,” it felt like a promise.

and every time, you wished she meant it in the way you did.

the sky outside was painted in soft watercolors—clouds trailing lazy streaks of white over a pale blue canvas. minji sat by the window of your favorite coffee shop, the same one with the peeling brick walls and mismatched mugs, her fingers wrapped around the warmth of her cup.

hanni sat across from her, scrolling through her phone, legs crossed, eyes occasionally flicking up with something suspiciously close to amusement.

“you’re fidgeting,” hanni said eventually, not looking up.

“am not.”

“you are,” she said again, sing-song. “like a nervous wreck waiting for their crush.”

minji rolled her eyes. “you’re being ridiculous.”

“and right.” hanni leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm. “so… what’s the deal with you and y/n?”

minji blinked. “what?”

“don’t play dumb.” hanni gave her a look. “you’re always together. like, always. people joke about it. you're basically conjoined. you do everything together, talk in code, wear each other's clothes—min, come on. if i didn’t know you, i’d think you were dating.”

minji laughed, but there was something off about it—too quick, too sharp. “we’re just close. that’s it. i don’t like her like that.”

hanni’s brow lifted. “you don’t?”

“not in a romantic sense.”

“mhm.”

“and she doesn’t like me like that either,” minji added, as if to make it clearer. “we’re just… we’re good friends. we just get each other.”

hanni tilted her head, unconvinced. “right. so you’re telling me you share your fries, your hoodie, your bed, and your deepest thoughts—but there’s nothing going on?”

minji fidgeted with the sleeve of her sweater. “yes.”

hanni sighed. “minji.”

“what?”

hanni sighed, leaning forward with her chin in her hand. “i love you, but you’re in denial.”

minji scoffed. “you’re reaching.”

“you’re repressing.”

minji scoffed. “i am not.”

“you are,” hanni said gently. “and that’s okay. it’s scary. love always is. but you don’t get to tell me you don’t feel something when it’s all over your face every time y/n’s name comes up.”

minji looked away, lips pressed into a thin line. her coffee had gone cold.

“even if i did,” she murmured, “what’s the point? she doesn’t feel the same. and i’d rather have her in my life like this than lose her completely because i was dumb enough to say something.”

hanni’s expression softened. “have you ever actually asked her?”

minji didn’t answer.

before hanni could push further, the bell above the door chimed, and minji’s head turned instinctively.

you walked in, hair a little wind-blown, hoodie sleeves too long, eyes scanning the café until they landed on her.

“hey,” you said, making your way over. “sorry i’m late. i had to chase down a bus, then realised it wasn’t even the right one.”

minji grinned. “sounds like you.”

“i’m lucky i didn’t get kidnapped,” you added, sliding into the seat beside her.

“you’d probably befriend the kidnapper,” minji teased.

“and ask for snacks,” hanni chimed in, laughing.

you rolled your eyes and leaned on the table, your arm brushing minji’s. she didn’t move away. she never did.

a few minutes passed as they settled into the warmth of each other’s presence.

then a barista approached with their drinks—a new girl, unfamiliar, with a practiced smile. she placed each order down carefully, but when she set minji’s down, she lingered.

“hope you like it,” she said, gaze fixed on minji. “it’s my favorite.”

“oh?” minji blinked, smiling politely. “thanks!”

the girl smiled wider. “you’ve got great taste.”

with one last glance, she turned and walked away.

hanni raised a brow. “well that wasn’t subtle.”

“what?” minji blinked. “she was just being nice.”

“min,” hanni deadpanned.

you snorted into your cup. “she was basically batting her lashes at you.”

“she was just being nice,” minji said, entirely genuine.

hanni shook her head. “min, you’re hopeless.”

“tell me about it…” you mumbled under your breath, eyes fixed on the foam in your drink.

minji didn’t hear it. but hanni did.

her eyes darted between the two of you. her lips curved into something knowing, something quiet.

the conversation shifted then—something light, something forgettable—but the weight of those earlier words lingered, tucked between sips of coffee and the spaces your fingers nearly touched.

and minji, who didn’t think you looked at her like that—never once noticed the way your eyes refused to look anywhere else.

the sky outside was still bright, though the air had cooled into something gentler. you and hanni stood just outside the coffee shop, the door shutting behind you with a soft chime as minji slipped back inside to grab a pastry for the road.

you hadn’t said anything yet. not really. just shared a long look, the kind that passed between people who both knew what wasn't being said.

hanni was the one who broke the silence first.

“so,” she said, sipping her drink, “how long have you been in love with her?”

you choked on your straw. “hanni.”

“what?” she shrugged, lips twitching. “someone had to say it.”

you looked away, your fingers tightening around the cold plastic of your cup. the words came out without much thought, raw and slow and aching.

“she gives me whiplash,” you said, voice low. “she’ll hold my hand like it’s nothing. she’ll fall asleep on me like i’m the safest place in the world. and then she flirts with someone else like it’s just air.”

hanni didn’t look surprised. she just leaned back against the wall and stared at you like she was finally seeing what had been obvious all along.

“she’s clearly into you,” she said.

you scoffed, but it sounded more bitter than amused. “if she is, she’s got a funny way of showing it.”

“you don’t see it, but she’s always looking at you,” hanni said, matter-of-fact. “like she wants something but doesn’t think she deserves it.”

you blinked. your chest felt too tight. “she told me she doesn’t believe in love. that it always ends in a mess.”

“what if she’s scared?”

“then why does she keep holding me like she’s not?”

hanni didn’t answer. instead, she reached into her bag, pulled out a pen, and started doodling on a napkin she’d saved. something small, a flower maybe. a heart cracked down the middle.

then she asked, voice soft and sure:

“do you love her?”

you froze.

you hadn’t said that word yet. not even to yourself.

“i don’t know,” you whispered. “maybe. probably. it feels like—like it’s in my bones already. like it’s been there for a while and i’m only just now realising it.”

hanni didn’t tease. didn’t grin or poke fun. she just nodded, slow and understanding. it was like she knew the feeling too well.

“you should tell her.”

you shook your head. “she’ll run. she’ll say we’re better off as friends. and then i’ll lose her.”

“but aren’t you already kind of losing her, every time she looks at someone else?”

your eyes dropped to your cup, where condensation had pooled like tiny rivers. you hated how true it felt.

the thing was, you could’ve lived with the friendship. you really could’ve.

but only if the lines were clearer. if she didn’t brush your hair back like she was memorising your face. if she didn’t text you goodnight with little hearts when she was tipsy. if she didn’t make you feel like maybe—just maybe—there was something unsaid between every touch, every lingering glance.

you didn’t mind loving her quietly. you just didn’t know how long you could survive the confusion.

“you think she really feels the same?” you asked, almost a whisper.

“i think she’s trying really hard not to,” hanni said. “but feelings are like fog. you can’t run from them forever.”

you sighed. the ache in your chest felt old and familiar by now.

“you think she’ll ever see it?”

“she already does,” hanni said. “she’s just scared to say it out loud.”

you stood in silence after that. not a heavy one, but soft and slow. a silence that wrapped around the both of you like a blanket.

then the door creaked open, and minji stepped out with a grin and a paper bag in hand. the top was folded neatly, and on it, scrawled in thick black marker, was a phone number.

hanni squinted. “is that a number?”

minji looked down, and her smile widened, sheepish and amused. “yeah. the barista. she, uh… she gave it to me.”

you blinked, words catching in your throat.

“so she was flirting,” hanni said, elbowing her. “what happened to ‘she’s just being nice’?”

“okay, okay,” minji laughed, lifting the bag in defense. “i didn’t know at the time! i’m just—i don’t know. i’m oblivious, apparently.”

hanni arched a brow, clearly holding something back. her eyes flicked to you briefly before returning to minji.

minji met her gaze, then shot her a look—playful but pointed. like she was saying see? i don’t like y/n without having to say it out loud.

“you’re hopeless,” hanni muttered under her breath.

minji slung an arm over your shoulder casually, like she always did, like it was second nature.

“come on,” she said. “let’s go eat this before it gets cold.”

you forced a smile and nudged her side. “wow, getting phone numbers and pastries. who even are you?”

“minji the irresistible,” she said, with a grin that made your heart twist.

and as the three of you walked down the street together, you couldn’t help but wonder how much longer you could pretend the ache inside you was just part of being friends.

minji arrived at your door like she always did—without warning, without needing to ask.

“i bring gifts,” she announced, holding up a plastic bag full of snacks like some wandering hero returning from battle.

“behold. ramen, choco pies, your favorite seaweed chips, and,” she paused for dramatic effect, “one overpriced convenience store cheesecake.”

you leaned against the doorframe and raised an eyebrow. “you trying to win my heart or rot my teeth?”

“both,” she said easily, brushing past you with a smug grin. “multitasking.”

you closed the door behind her and watched her kick her shoes off like she lived there, like this was just her other home. she knew where everything was—where you kept the extra pillows, the charger cable tangled behind the couch, the specific mug you used when drinking tea.

and it never stopped being strange, how something so ordinary could feel so intimate.

“pick a movie,” you said as she dropped onto the couch, legs sprawled out like a cat basking in the last bit of daylight. “but no crying tonight, please. my heart’s too tired to carry your emotional baggage through another sad indie flick.”

minji gasped dramatically. “i’ll have you know my taste is refined. cultured, even.”

“traumatic,” you muttered, grabbing the remote and handing it to her anyway.

she stuck her tongue out at you, then began scrolling. “fine. something light. maybe that dumb rom-com with the guy who keeps falling over everything?”

you smirked. “so, you mean the story of your life? got it.”

she swatted your arm, giggling. “rude.”

you made popcorn in the kitchen while she set up the film, the scent buttery and warm and almost enough to distract you from the way your heart clenched every time she laughed like that—freely, without walls.

when you returned, she was already nestled into your couch, blanket pulled over her lap and a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

“your spot’s waiting,” she said, patting the cushion beside her.

you sat down, close enough that your knees touched.

“you know,” she said, not looking at you, “if people saw us like this, they’d probably think we were together.”

your heart did a somersault. but you didn’t let it show.

“yeah,” you said softly. “they’d be wrong though… right?”

minji turned to you, eyes unreadable in the dim light. “yeah,” she echoed. “very wrong.”

but she didn’t move away.

and when the movie started, her head found your shoulder, slow and gentle, like maybe it was exactly where it wanted to be.

“you comfy?” you asked.

she hummed. “too comfy. might fall asleep and drool on your hoodie.”

“it’s your hoodie,” you said.

“borrowed. indefinitely.”

you didn’t reply. your hand moved on its own, fingers brushing through her hair like a habit you’d picked up from another life.

and minji didn’t stop you.

halfway through the film, you looked down at her, her cheek pressed against your arm, her lips parted slightly, eyes fluttering with sleep.

she looked so small in that moment. so breakable.

you wondered if she ever looked at you the way you looked at her—like she was some kind of miracle.

your chest ached with the weight of everything you couldn’t say.

“you okay?” she murmured, half-asleep.

you forced a smile. “yeah.”

she blinked slowly. “you’re quiet.”

“just thinking.”

“dangerous.”

you chuckled softly. “probably.”

the movie played on, but you couldn’t focus. not with the warmth of her pressed beside you, not with the way she sighed in her sleep like she belonged here, in this exact moment, with you.

and when it ended, you stayed there, neither of you moving, the silence stretching between you like a secret.

eventually, she stood and stretched, yawning. “sleepover?”

you nodded. “duh.”

“you say that like it’s not a privilege.”

“it’s not. you’ve basically moved in.”

“you love it.”

you didn’t deny it.

minji changed into one of your old t-shirts and a pair of shorts she left in your drawer weeks ago. you brushed your teeth side by side, bumping shoulders, laughing when you accidentally spit toothpaste on your own shirt.

and then, just like always, you ended up in bed—her on one side, you on the other, back to back but close enough that your feet touched beneath the blanket.

“goodnight,” she whispered.

“night, min.”

but neither of you slept. not right away.

you could feel her breathing. you could feel the warmth of her skin, the steady beat of her heart.

and somewhere in the silence, her fingers reached for yours under the blanket—just a brush, a moment, a whisper.

you didn’t pull away. you never did.

you closed your eyes and let yourself pretend, just for tonight, that she was yours.

and she let you.

the morning light slipped in soft and golden, brushing across the bed like a quiet apology for interrupting the peace.

you woke before her.

you always did when she stayed over.

minji was still curled beneath the blankets, one arm flung across your pillow, her hair messy and tangled like the petals of a dream left half-bloomed. her face was calm, softer than she ever let the world see. her lips parted slightly, breaths falling slow and even.

you propped yourself up on one elbow and watched her, heart caught somewhere between awe and ache.

how was it possible that someone could look like this—so warm, so close—and not know what they did to you?

her presence filled the room like music with no lyrics. and you? you listened.

you thought about how easy it was, this rhythm you shared. the laughter, the sleepovers, the way her clothes hung in your closet like they belonged. the way she stole your hoodies and your blankets and, without meaning to, your heart.

she shifted in her sleep, brow furrowing slightly as if something troubled her even in dreams. instinctively, you reached forward and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, fingers light, careful.

your chest tightened.

god, you wanted her to wake up and see you. really see you.

you slipped out of bed gently, as quietly as you could, but the moment your feet touched the floor—

“don’t go,” she mumbled.

you froze.

minji’s voice was thick with sleep, eyes still closed as she reached out blindly and caught your wrist.

“stay,” she said, tugging you back toward the bed.

you turned, heart stuttering. “minji, i was just gonna—”

“five more minutes,” she whispered.

you hesitated. “we’ll waste the whole day.”

“then let’s waste it together.”

you didn’t argue after that.

you let her pull you back beneath the covers, her arms loosely wrapping around your waist as if this was the most natural thing in the world. her head found your chest, and your hands found her back.

the world outside the window didn’t exist. just this bed, just this moment, just her.

you stayed like that for longer than five minutes. who knows how long.

eventually, the hunger crept in.

you both stretched and stumbled your way out of bed like a pair of old souls in a new morning, brushing teeth in sync, bumping shoulders, sharing sleepy smiles.

minji pulled your sweatshirt over her head. “i’m stealing this again.”

“not stealing if i let you,” you said.

“so you admit you like it.”

“i didn’t say that.”

“but you meant it.”

you rolled your eyes, but your lips betrayed you with a smile.

the kitchen smelled of warmth and the weekend as you flipped pancakes in your old pan, minji perched on the counter like a queen in her kingdom, watching you.

“you know,” she said slowly, swinging her legs, “i agreed to go on a date next week.”

the spatula paused in your hand.

you turned, heart dropping like a stone.

“what?”

“mm.” she nodded. “you remember the barista? she asked me out yesterday and i figured… why not?”

you tried to keep your face still, tried not to let the hurt show in your eyes.

“but,” you said quietly, “weren’t you the one who said love always ended in a mess?”

she shrugged, looking away. “maybe i just said that to sound smart. maybe i was scared.”

you forced a laugh, but it came out flat. “so what changed?”

minji smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“i guess i thought it was time to try. open myself up a little. and i needed to prove hanni wrong”

the pancakes were starting to burn. you didn’t care.

“prove her wrong on what?” you questioned.

minji shrugged as she muttered a “nevermind” and picked up her phone from the edge of the counter.

you turned back to the stove, trying to hide the way your hands trembled.

you wanted to ask her—why not me? why not us? but you didn’t. you just flipped the pancake and said nothing at all.

behind you, minji swung her legs and stared at the floor. her voice was quiet when she said, “you’re not mad, right?”

“mad at you?” you smiled softly like your heart wasn’t shattering.

“never.”

you got there just after noon, letting yourself in with the spare key minji gave you months ago. her place was warm with the scent of citrus shampoo and fabric softener, a quiet kind of chaos unfolding in every corner—clothes thrown across the bed, curling iron plugged in, a half-bitten apple forgotten on the counter. it looked like her. it felt like her.

and in the middle of it all stood minji, hair half-dried and shirtless save for the sports bra she always wore when she was trying on outfits. she turned to you like you were her last hope.

“thank god,” she said. “i was two seconds away from cancelling just out of wardrobe-related stress.”

you laughed, not quite because it was funny, but because it was her. “you’re the one who wanted to give dating a shot.”

“yeah, yeah,” she grumbled, rifling through a pile of neatly folded shirts and then promptly unfolding them. “remind me again why i thought that was a good idea?”

you stepped in and gently swatted her hand away from the shirts, holding up a few options yourself. “because you said it was time to be open. and that you wanted to ‘prove hanni wrong’ or whatever. ”

she groaned. “ugh. me and my big ideas.”

but she took the shirt you held out—a dark navy button-up that brought out the depth of her eyes—and disappeared into her closet to change.

you stood in the center of her room, surrounded by the familiar. her polaroids pinned to the wall. a hair tie left on her nightstand. the book she was halfway through with your bookmark inside it.

“okay,” she said, stepping out, “how’s this?”

you turned—and felt your heart skip.

she looked beautiful. not done-up or overly fancy. just her, in that natural, easy way that always knocked the air out of your lungs.

“you look good,” you said.

“just good?”

you smiled. “you always look good.”

she smiled back, that soft, pleased kind of smile, the one that made her eyes crinkle slightly at the corners. you wished it meant more than it did.

she sat down on the edge of the bed, tugging on socks, and you knelt beside her to tie her laces. she didn’t ask you to—you just always did. it was one of those little things. one of a hundred tiny acts that built a life together without either of you saying so.

“you’re too good to me,” she said, watching you double-knot the shoes.

you didn’t answer. just looked up at her and gave a lopsided smile. “i know.”

she laughed and nudged your shoulder. “cocky.”

you stood up, brushing your hands on your jeans. “you nervous?”

“terrified,” she admitted. “but… kind of excited too. she seemed nice at the coffee shop. funny.”

“that’s good,” you said, voice steady though your stomach twisted.

you didn’t know why this moment felt like a countdown. like something irreversible was about to happen.

she walked over to the mirror and started fussing with her hair. “do you think she’ll like me?”

you shrugged, fingers playing with the edge of her pillowcase. “what’s not to like?”

and you meant it. but it hurt, saying those words like you weren’t the one holding every soft piece of her in your hands.

you wanted to be the one she was getting ready for.

you watched her in the mirror. the way she tucked her hair behind her ear. the way she adjusted her necklace and tilted her head to the side to check her angles.

and something in your chest clicked. or cracked. or maybe it had been cracked for a while now, and you were just now noticing the pieces.

you didn’t want her to go.

you wanted to be the one she dressed up for. the one she texted when she got home safe. the one who’d sit beside her on the subway ride back, legs pressed close and hands brushing just barely in the dark.

you wanted to tell her.

she turned around with a grin. “okay. i’m almost ready.”

you nodded slowly.

and maybe it was time for you to be ready too. ready to cross that line you both danced around.

minji stood before the mirror, fingers lightly tugging at the collar of her navy shirt, smoothing down wrinkles she wasn’t sure were even there. through the glass, her eyes caught yours—eyes that didn’t look quite like themselves tonight. they were distant, caught in a quiet storm you hadn’t seen before.

you sat on the edge of her bed, hands folded loosely in your lap, the weight of something unspoken pulling your gaze away from her reflection. when minji turned, her smile was quick and easy, but there was an undercurrent of concern hidden beneath.

“hey,” she said softly, ruffling your hair with that familiar, teasing touch, “are you missing me already? what’s up with the look?”

you tried for a smile, one that might reach the corners of your eyes, but it faltered, a fragile flicker in the dim light. “me? miss you? in your dreams.”

minji didn’t brush it off. she tilted her head, eyes narrowing playfully but with a seriousness you couldn’t ignore.

“you okay?” she pressed gently.

“i’m okay,” you whispered, voice steady but quiet, like you were afraid to break the fragile moment.

minji shrugged, a small, uncertain movement. “if you say so.”

she stepped back toward the door, ready to leave for her date. the air hung thick with all the words you didn’t say.

but then you moved. slipping from the bed, your hand found her wrist, holding it softly but firmly—an unspoken question, an invitation. your grip was gentle, offering freedom and restraint all at once.

minji didn’t pull away.

she turned back to you, a nervous grin curling her lips. “hey, what’s this? you know, if you want food from my fridge while i’m gone, you don’t have to ask. just take care of my place.”

her joke floated between you, but it landed nowhere.

you met her eyes, vulnerability laid bare in your own. “minji... stay.”

the words were soft, fragile, like a whispered prayer.

“stay,” you repeated, voice breaking just a little, “don’t go on that date.”

minji’s brow furrowed, confusion and something deeper flickering in her gaze. “why?”

you took a breath, heart pounding loud enough to fill the silent room.

“because i can’t keep pretending this isn’t love. because i’m tired of waiting for maybe’s and almosts. because i want to be the one you look at like you’re home. and if that scares you, i’ll wait. but i don’t want to lose you tonight.”

her eyes softened, and the walls she built around herself started to crumble like morning mist.

“then,” she said quietly, “maybe we don’t have to go anywhere.”

you exhaled a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding.

and with a small, shy smile, she stepped closer—closing the space between almost and forever.

there, in the quiet flicker of her bedroom light, love was no longer a question or a fear. it was simply everything.

#bombikki 彡☆#newjeans #newjeans x reader #newjeans minji #kim minji x reader #minji x reader

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thicctails · 11 months ago

Note

I need more info on the get better children au, especially about when Bill shows up.

*rubs hands together* I finally got some extra time to draw up some new art for this AU, so let's give it some substance >:3 Long post below the read more with extra art :D

Before Euclydia was destroyed, Euclid and Scalene Cipher were some of its most powerful members. Bill saying that everyone loved him as a baby was true for a time; children aren't born very often, and the Ciphers are considered to almost be royalty. It wasn't until Bill's mutation became apparent that people began to shun him. If he had been born to any other family, he likely would have been abandoned.

Though neither Euclid nor Scalene could really comprehend the concept of something being "up", let alone what "stars" could possibly be, both of them used their status to try and find any scrap of forbidden information, hoping that they could find an answer, could find some confirmation that their son wasn't crazy, and didn't need to be blinded by his "medicine."

It was this research that eventually saved their lives. Having the knowledge that it was possible for things to, hypothetically, exist in a three dimensional plane allowed them to pool their powers and create 3D forms for themselves when Euclydia began to burn, pulling themselves off the 2D plane like a sticker being peeled off a page. It wasn't a smooth transition in the slightest, and the flames managed to damage parts of their bodies before they managed to fully free themselves. The rest of their power went into escaping their collapsing reality, and when all was said and done, they were left near catatonic and floating in the space between time and space for many, many years.

They don't really start to recover until a certain frilly guy upstairs nudges them into a new, stable dimension. This one is almost entirely 3D, and inhabited by creatures that look completely alien to the Euclydians. Creatures called humans.

They meet Dipper and Mabel not long after, and the two triangles attach themselves to the babies, doing their best to care for them in their weakened states when their young, unprepared parents fail to be adequate caretakers. Being 2D is far easier for them, so they stick to the walls like shadows and find ways to speak to the twins, slipping into videos and pictures, music and books, their forms changing slightly to match whatever media they slipped into. They teach Dipper and Mabel their colours, shapes, ABC's, ect, comfort them when they get sad or scared, and once they're old enough, how to do basic things like getting themselves food and water when they get left alone too long.

Neither Pines parent really notices their children making grabby hands and babbling at open air at first, though they do become a bit concerned when years pass and they still stare at walls and empty corners like there's something there.

Eventually, as we all know, the Pines twins get shipped off to a sleepy town in Oregon, and Euclid and Scalene are, of course, coming along to watch over their little stars. However, they become deeply uncomfortable when they start to see visages of their son carved into every room of the twin's temporary home.

It doesn't take long for the show's antics to start, but Grunkle Stan gets involved in the twins adventures far earlier because during The Inconveniecing, Euclid uses his ability to manipulate televisions to play one of those old PSA's on loop until he gets spooked enough to actually check on the twins, only to find them missing.

Eventually, through the help of Scalene using a radio to drag up an old advert for the Dusk 2 Dawn, he figures out where they are and arrives just in time to see the tail end of their ghostly encounter. Unable to deny his knowledge of Gravity Falls' weirdness, he and the twins have their Season 1 finale talk that night, and Dipper shows Stan Journal 3, which leads to all three of them searching for Journal 2 (Stan doesn't reveal the portal yet)

Bill gets summoned by Gideon like in Canon, but things veer wildly off course when, upon entering Stan's mind, Mabel asks him if he knows Euclid or Scalene. He freezes up upon hearing the names of his parents, and he immediately calls off the deal with Gideon, ripping himself out of Stan's Dreamscape. Before he can process what happened, he comes face to face with someone he's only seen in daymares for the past trillion years

Bill dips the fuck out once he realizes he's not hallucinating, disappearing to Axolotl knows where to do fun, productive things such as: scream, cry, break shit, sob on the floor, drink until the teeth in his eye ache, stare at the space between stars for days on end, and interrogate every single one of his henchmaniacs to see if they spiked his drink.

Mans has absolutely zero clue on how to navigate this situation, eventually settling on stalking the Pines because he genuinely cannot think of any possible way to approach his (apparently alive????) parents. How do you go about atoning for the extinction of your entire species?

Bill Cipher has never been one to do things for others for any other reason than to get something back, but he figures the best place to start is by protecting these fleshy human young that his parents seem so attached to.

Wait, would that make them siblings? Axolotl, he sure hopes not.

#the book of bill #the book of bill spoilers #gravity falls #bill cipher #gravity falls au #dipper pines #mabel pines #grunkle stan #stanley pines #euclid cipher #scalene cipher #get better children au

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revelboo · 8 months ago

Text

A Lifeless Ordinary

IDW Scavengers x Reader

18+ 🌶️

• “Found a thing.” Well, that’s not concerning at all, especially with the amount of screeching coming from whatever it is dangling from Spinister’s servos. Lifting his head, Krok vents because what even is that thing? “It’s loud,” Spinister adds in a tone that makes it hard to tell what if anything the big mech thinks about that, lifting it higher as it kicks tiny legs. Some kind of organic unlike anything he’s ever seen before and loud really is an understatement. Pity making him sit up straighter, because whatever it was to begin with, the poor thing’s life expectancy just dropped significantly in Spinister’s less than capable servos.

• Everything hurts, sliding into a confused nightmare that just won’t end. The facts just keep slipping through your fingers. You’d been at work, pain sudden and sharp, a feeling of being pulled apart. And then waking up on giant, metal monster world. Trying to run from a giant abomination, getting caught and then screaming yourself hoarse in its bruising grip. Struggling because you can barely breathe as you’re held up like the monster that caught you is showing you off to his giant buddies. There’s five of them? Six? It’s hard to tell when he’s swinging you around. You think they’re speaking, but none of it makes any sense, strange alien gibberish that terrifies you even more, because you can’t even reason with them. If you can’t understand them, they probably can’t understand you.

• “What is that noise?” Misfire asks and Krok swallows back a groan, because getting the thing away from Spinister likely just went from being difficult, to impossible as the rest of the Scavengers gather around, drawn by the sound. “This,” Spinister proudly lifts the little organic higher and its screaming breaks off into frantic sounds as Krok just shakes his head. “Thought about stepping on it,” Spinister adds.

• Maybe big and scary will drop you if you hurl on him, because if he keeps swinging you around to keep the other one from grabbing you, it’s happening. You’ll probably break your neck from the fall, but that might be marginally better than getting pulled in two by them fighting over you like a shiny, new toy. The rest are just watching, talking to each in that weird, alien language. Maybe taking bets on how long you’ll survive. Or on who gets to murder you. Sobbing, you struggle against the huge hand gripping you.

• “Let it go,” Krok tries as Misfire reaches for it to make Spinister growl a warning. And he knows Spinister well enough to know that if Misfire wants it, the other’s going to double down on keeping it. Shooting the tiny organic a pitying look, he gives up. It’s not like it has that long a life expectancy out here in this wasteland to begin with, but between Misfire and Spinister? It’s not going to last a rotation, but he tried. The little thing is still jabbering nonsense and struggling, nearly getting dropped and then caught again with a shriek. Oh, it’s definitely not going to survive and it’s not his problem. At all. Even telling himself that, he can’t help but watch it finally slump against Spinster’s servos, big eyes darting around at them as if looking for help. Meeting his optics with uncanny intelligence as its wide eyes start leaking. Frag him.

#transformers x reader #idw scavengers #IDW scavengers x reader #idw misfire #IDW spinister #idw krok #IDW crankcase #idw fulcrum

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skeletonh0e · 4 months ago

Note

A little request relating to the weather I’m dealing with the rn.

The boys reacting to their first thunderstorm/tornado. Especially with a Y/N who is just used to them. Sleeps through loud ass storms and goes through the protocol for a tornado yawning. Not ignoring the boy’s distress(if they have any) but just very used to it themselves. 🌪️⛈️

Heard about the crazy ass weather, thankfully I'm on the other side of it. Ya'll stay safe out there.

Some of these boys are gonna be IN for it considering the underground does uh, not have tornados lol. Gender neutral reader

The boys vs the Weather

Classic Sans:

He's heard of storms yeah and even made his own little tiny tornado, but uh-

The weather in the underline hardly changes and everything here is so chaotic what in the god damn

He's composed but definitely a sense of worry there

The fact you remain so chill is extremely off putting to him at first but it helps as it can show him this isn't anything to panic over

Plus also probably a good idea one of you knows what to do

Asks for advice on how you manage to sleep so peacefully through them, he'd like to do too but he'll settle for snuggling up to while you sleep waiting for it to pass

Underswap Sans:

P A N I C

The magnificent Sans isn't ready for this! What gods have the humans offended to deserve this!?

You'll have to talk him down, but thankfully it won't take him too long to recover. Though he'll be a bit jump

Listens to you explain the precautions intensely, definitely having a game plan for next time

Probably starts an epic speech about you two being the ultimate power couple going through this then yelps when something hits the window

He'll just uh....stay close to you for now

Underfell Sans:

"What the fuck is this bullshit!?"

Honestly though less anger and more genuinely being flabbergasted

And you're used to this!? Really!? You're so weird what the fuck (you will have to deal with him bitching and complaining the entire time)

Grumpily takes some safety protocols and keeps a close on the progression of the storm as if trying to determine his own right move

He can handle it and learn to adjust the best probably but still grouchy a bit

Might use it as an excuse to day drink after its over (you could both probably use it depending on the storm tbh)

Underlust Sans:

Oh he doesn't like this at all

Not shitting his pants with fear or anything but he definitely is more on edge during the whole thing

Cool that you're used to this, but he's not. Don't mind him, just idly hovering close to you constantly double checking about everything.

He'll be kinda noisy and ask how you manage to stay calm, how many times have you been through these, blah, blah

Honestly keeping him distracted with conversation will help

Maybe listen to some music with him to block out the noise while you snuggle up, he might just be able to fall asleep with you

Horrortale Sans:

The fuck? Doesn't know whether to be impressed, concerned or just annoyed by the inconvenience of it all.

Whatever he's definitely sticking near you, protective primal instincts have been activated

Won't ask for it but probably also give him some reassurance, tell him things will be fine. He naturally has come to expect the worst outcome due to trauma.

Type to stare out the window with a blank expression, just watching the harsh wind tearing everything to shreds....it's a little concerning....

Silent for the most part but does occasionally ask questions and ask if you're okay

Glad you're calm but also wants be there for you too

Fresh Sans:

Here comes the hurricane bitch(tm) starts playing

Okay there's A LITTLE concern, less on his end and more for your own but the fact that you're just chill about it kinda puts him at ease

But ya know....he can dimension jump, you really don't gotta deal with it.

You don't wanna end up in Oz (though he'll happily be the wizard while you're dorothy or...the scarecrow?....or something idk the reference joke got away from him)

Might wanna keep an eye on him though as he gonna skateboard in a tornado if you ain't looking but also he like nearly completely indestructible so

Might hover over you while you sleep through an particularly extreme storm, a rare protective moment from him

Killer Sans:

Pretty.....

Like actually low key fascinated by storm and the sheer amount of destruction they cause, the type to watch the forecast of the outcomes the same way ppl might watch a light show

Maybe if you freaked out he'd be a bit worried but for the most part you seem to know what you're doing so-

As long as you aren't in any active harm or visible distress

He's content to just watch the storms and the panic they cause

Though of course he can always use his short cuts to get you out of there if worst comes to worst

Dust Sans:

Nooooope

Too much anxiety for this, the two of you are LEAVING

You're uh, kinda not given much of the choice in the matter.

If you insist on staying anyway, he might just let you with a huffy "have fun dying" before he storms off

Uh lil reminder none of the bad sanses are 100% healthy partners

He will actually come to your rescue if the storm is extremely severe to the point you might be in legit danger, but even ignoring that he'll do something to apologize non verbally. What kind of depends on how salty you are about it.

Nightmare Sans:

Also in the camp of "not dealing with this" and instantly drags you to his realm

If you try to stay, well here's the thing-

He's not asking

Also not the healthiest partner out there but this is all coming from a good place. Besides he's not wrong in that this is the easiest option

Stay in his castle, everything is handled.

Admittedly a little.....impressed? (For lack of a better word) by your abilitt to stay calm even during such extreme storms though even if he doesn't experience this side of you fully

#💀 the boys (group post)#sans x reader #underfell sans x reader #underswap sans x reader #horrorfell sans x reader #fresh sans x reader #underlust sans x reader #killer sans x reader #nightmare sans x reader #dust sans x reader #asks #requests

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fandom-imagines-stories · 5 months ago

Text

Tell Me a Lie

Matt Murdock x Reader

Words: 4617

Summary: Months of hell lead you to one moment- finding out your boyfriend is really alive. After figuring out where he’s been hiding, you concoct a plan- a very stupid, very dangerous plan- to draw him out.

Notes: This is a terrible summary, but whatever. I finally started season three and I thought putting the reader in this situation would be really interesting. Obviously, his relationship with Elektra wasn’t the same, but the whole self-destructive Matthew is here and ready for angst. I’m imagining this kinda between the episodes where Matt goes to the hotel and the prison, but doesn’t really follow the plot of the episodes, just my own. This is also just a mess, but oh well. (And I know this is kind of what Bella does in New Moon, but I kind of dig it so I won’t apologize haha)

Warnings: Attempted assault, violence, abandonment, alcoholism literally looking for danger (obviously, spoilers for season three)

More Matt Imagines: HERE

It didn’t smell like him anymore. Such a weird, stupid complaint, but it made you sick to your stomach to breathe in the musty air of the apartment.

You sat up, nursing your head in your hand, still pounding from the night before. Not that you’d slept, but hangovers still found a way to bite you in the ass. It was getting pathetic. Not that you cared. And not that your friends had actually used that word.

‘Concerning’ was Foggy’s favorite.

He could have his concern.

You chased the numb.

Anything was better than remembering he wasn’t here and the apartment you’d just started to share didn’t smell like him anymore.

You got out of bed on shaking limbs, feeling the nausea roll over you. You swayed, wondering if you’d throw up again. You didn’t.

You went to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee to pull you out of the haze. Karen and Foggy were coming by today to talk about rent. You had to seem at least somewhat put together or they would try and talk you into getting help. Getting help meant moving on. Moving on meant giving up. Giving up meant lying to yourself. Admitting that he was dead and he wasn’t coming back.

But Matt Murdock wasn’t dead.

You could feel it.

The pounding at the door felt like knocking on your skull. You groaned.

Foggy stepped inside.

“Morning,” he greeted with his usual chipper smile.

You didn’t understand it. How he could still seem so happy after everything that happened. Then again, things went rather well for him after…

You shook the thoughts from your head. This wasn’t Foggy’s fault.

“Hey,” you croaked. You took a long, burning drink from your caffeinated cup and let its effects wash over you. “I thought you two were coming together?”

“Karen had… other stuff.” Foggy peaked around the corner, plastering a smile across his face. He figured he’d ease into the news. Especially because you looked- well- you looked the way you usually did these past few weeks. “But she says hi.”

You nodded and took another drink. “Coffee?”

“I already had some, thanks.”

He stood silently.

You stood silently. You raised a brow. “You can sit down, Foggy.”

“Right. Thanks.” He nodded awkwardly and took a seat on the couch. So much for playing it cool.

You set your mug to the side and leaned on the counter, fingers gripping the edge like a lifeline.

“What happened, Foggy?” You stared at the back of his head and felt that familiar squeezing, wrenching breathlessness in your chest. The same feeling when Claire dragged you out of Midland Circle. The same feeling when you watched the building fall. The same feeling when Matt didn’t walk out. “Is it… is it Matt? Did they find him?”

“No, it’s not about-” He blew out a sigh. “God, you haven’t seen the news then?”

You hurried around to stand in front of him, panic still evident in your exhausted eyes.

Foggy had to look away.

“Why, what’s on the news?”

He gulped. “Maybe you should sit down.”

“Just tell me what happened,” you scoffed. The sound came out as a nervous laugh, but on the inside, you were screaming.

His blue eyes met yours.

“Wilson Fisk made a deal with the feds. He’s out of prison.”

You blinked. The crushing in your chest was replaced by your heart stopping.

“What?” You choked out. Of all the things you were expected to hear, Fisk’s name wasn’t one of them.

“Well, not out exactly. He’s apparently giving them information that’s made him a target in his old prison so they’re keeping him in a cushy penthouse for ‘safety purposes.’” He spat each word out.

You put a hand on the back of the chair for support. “Fisk is free?”

“Like I said, he isn’t free, but-”

You held up a hand to stop him.“Where’s this hotel?”

The courtyard was absolute mayhem. Reporters scurried in every direction, each harassing a different agent for information they wouldn’t get. Matt dodged in between them. The noise made his still recovering head pound, but he could still pick out enough to get through. He ducked his head when he heard Karen’s voice, a small moment of panic almost making him turn around.

He kept moving.

The crowds didn’t surprise you. And neither did seeing the familiar blonde head weaving through the groups with determined strides. You hurried after her, almost bumping into the man in front of you, but he stepped out of the way just in time.

“Karen!” You called.

Gold strands whipped around. Her clear blue stare cut through the crowd.

“Y/N?” She said, pushing through to you. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“So it’s true.” You tilted your head to the top of the building, its windows reflecting the sun in blinding brightness. “Wilson Fisk is up there?”

She sighed. “Foggy told you then?”

“If you’re planning on an ‘it isn’t safe for you to be here’ speech, save it,” you snapped. “I could tell you the same thing.”

She bit her cheek, looked you over, and determined you looked sober enough. “Alright, follow me.”

Matt couldn’t move. He tried to force his feet forward, but the heavy beating of his heart filled his ears and made it impossible to navigate the space around him.

Your voice. Your scent. Even your heartbeat stood out amongst the dozens of people there. And for a moment, just a moment, he wanted to turn around.

“Promise me we’ll go on that trip we talked about, yeah?” You laughed, though the air was salty with your tears and your voice shook. He kissed your lips for the last time.

“I promise.”

But that wasn’t what haunted Matt for the last few months. Your sweet words of promise and hope stung, but they weren’t what kept him from going to you. Your screams were.

“Let me go! Matt! No! Matty! I won’t leave him! Matt!” Even with countless floors between, Matt could hear your gut-wrenching screams as the others dragged you out of the building just before it blew. “Matt! Please! Matt!”

“Matt?”

It took him a moment to realize that your voice now wasn’t from his memory. It was now.

You’d seen him. But judging by the direction, there was a chance you hadn’t seen his face. He could ignore you and chances were, you’d think you were crazy. Just another offense he’d committed against you.

He wanted to turn around, to hold you and kiss your lips again and tell you he was okay and everything was going to be okay. That he was still your Matt.

But the man you fell in love with was gone. He was buried under Midland Circle.

Matt kept walking.

You’d seen him. As crazy as it was, you knew it was him. He’d heard you. He must have because he stopped- just for a second, but he stopped. Karen may not have believed you, though you could tell she wanted to, but it didn’t matter.

It was Matt.

Somehow, it didn’t make any sense but it all made sense at the same time. He was going after Fisk. Of course, he was. Not even the grave couldn't stop your Matt from protecting his city. From protecting you.

What you didn’t understand is why he kept walking. He acted like you weren’t there, but he of all people couldn’t have simply not noticed you. He’d left you there on purpose.

He’d left you.

You paced the apartment with your hands raking through your hair with one question on your mind.

Why?

Sure, Matt would always use the excuse of protecting you before, but this time felt different. Had you done something? Had you not done enough at Midland Circle? What happened to him?

Was it your fault?

The explosion was your idea and it buried him. Did he blame you as much as you blamed yourself?

Your feet halted in front of the closet door. Behind the door was a box. Inside the box was the emptiness that haunted your every waking moment for the past you didn’t even know how many days anymore. Your fingers clutched at the neck of the bottle on the table. The drink burned.

None of it mattered. ‘Why’ didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was out there and he left you and as the burn raced down your throat you knew what you needed to do.

And you knew where he might be.

The gentleness of your touch eased the sting of the disinfectant as you dabbed it on his wounds. It wasn’t the first night he’d come back cut and beaten, but you didn’t let your worry deter your movements. He came back. That’s what mattered.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, your voice as soft as your motions. You touched a particularly sore spot and he winced. As you went to draw your hand away, he caught it in his, fingers grasping at yours, still clenched around the towel.

“Can we just… sit for a while?” He breathed.

You nodded. He wiped away any blood remaining on his skin and set the towel aside. His arms wrapped around you as he pulled you to his chest. He listened to your heartbeat. You listened to his.

Matt remembered the woman he’d come across earlier that night. Two men had jumped her. They were going to take what they wanted and leave her for dead. He’d taken his time beating them senseless while she got away. But her screams still echoed through his head.

He tensed beneath you and you looked up at him through your lashes.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

You sat up. “Matt.”

“It’s nothing,” he managed a laugh. “Really. Just come here.” He coaxed you back to him, but the tension was still there. He breathed in your presence and let out a low sigh. His arms tightened around you. “I’d never let anything happen to you.” His tone was different. Almost afraid.

You drew lines on his chest. “I know.”

“And I’d never hurt you, or at least mean to, anyway, but I know that I have and I’m-”

“Matty.” You crawled up so you were beside him, taking his face in your hands. “All I ask is that you come home at the end of the night.” You kissed his cheek. “In one piece, preferably.” He chuckled and you pressed your lips to his. You whispered in between kisses. “Just come home.”

He talked about this place sometimes. Not often. Getting Matt to open up about his childhood was like pulling teeth, but in those last few months together, he’d started to trust you enough to let you in.

This felt like a betrayal of that. Using your knowledge to expose him. To confront him for leaving you behind. A sober you might have thought of that. But the whiskey-fueled your anger, the rum your despair, and everything else blocked out any logical thought.

What was the word Foggy used?

Right.

Concerning.

“Alright, Matthew,” you called out. Your voice was barely more than a hoarse whisper as you tried to hold back sobs. The wind stung the streaks of tears on your cheeks, but the more you tried to wipe them away, the more they fell. You took a drink. “This is it. Now or never.”

You waited. You gave him a chance to stop you.

“You always said you would never let anything happen to me, right? That you’d never hurt me.” You held your arms out at your sides. “Well, here we are, you goddamn liar!” Your voice echoed through the street. He would have been able to hear you for blocks, but standing just outside his damn door had to be good enough. “Come out, Matt!”

“Dude, check out this crazy bitch,” a voice said from behind you.

Your stomach flipped. You swallowed the nervous bile in your throat. This was part of the plan. Sure, you thought you’d have to do a little more seeking, but this worked even better. There was only one way your tangled-up mind could figure that would get Daredevil to come out to play. You just hoped he would bring your Matt with him.

You turned around. Two men stood in front of you, both of them with eyes scanning your body and lips forming smirks. Oh yeah. They were perfect.

“What did you just say to me?” You tried to make your voice sound more confident than you actually felt. You wanted their anger, not their pity.

“Hey, no need to be like that, I was just kidding,” the taller one said, holding his hands up in mock innocence. “I was just about to tell my buddy that you look a little lost.”

“Yeah, maybe she could use our help,” his friend agreed. “Do you want our help?” From the sound of his tone ‘help’ was the last thing he was offering.

They both stepped towards you.

And then a thought broke through your intoxicated, reckless mind.

What if Matt really was dead?

It made you freeze. It almost made you sober.

What if you just saw some guy that looked like him? What if you’d imagined it all together? What if all this time you’d been hoping- hell, even praying- that he would come back and he was still down there, at the bottom of Midland Circle, crushed and bloody and… gone?

The men took another step forward, looking equally confused as they were intrigued.

What if there was no one around to save you?

You held your head high.

You hoped they’d kill you.

Either way, at least you would know.

“You alright there, sweetheart?” The tall one asked. Sweetheart. The word stung. It belonged to someone else.

You didn’t say anything and just started swinging. Fist to teeth, then foot against knee, you actually managed to do some damage before the friend grabbed your arms from behind. You stomped on his foot as hard as you could. Just because this was part of your plan didn’t mean you were going to make it easy for them. It had to at least look like you tried. For Foggy and Karen.

The thought of the two of them threw you off. It made you blink, which allowed the lead prick to get a hold of your hair and use it to throw you to the ground.

“You wanna play it that way, fine,” he growled.

“Hair pulling?” You sneered up at him. “What, did your little sister teach you that move?”

“Mouthy little bitch.” He brought his heel down on your head. Hard. It probably should have knocked you out, but you could still see through blurred vision with darkness around the edges. They started to walk away.

“W-wait,” you said. The feet at the edge of your vision stopped. “Wait, come here.” You beckoned him to you with your hand. He crouched down. “Is that all you’ve got, pussy?”

The hit came faster than you prepared for, knocking the breath out of your lungs. He kicked. And kicked. And kicked. Blood filled your mouth. You thought you heard a knife click open, but then everything went silent.

And there was only one pair of feet.

A grunt. A thud. A body hitting the pavement.

“What the…” Your main assailant gasped.

You blinked, trying to see what was going on.

“Hey, man, she started it, I swear.” Another grunt. Another thud. Another body hit the pavement.

A masked face appeared over yours.

You smiled through the pain. “I knew it.”

He took off the black band, revealing his panicked face. It was the last thing you saw before the darkness in your head took over.

Matt carried you downstairs, every sense tuned into the creaking of your broken ribs, the smell of the blood leaking from your lips, your head, your nose. He focused on the sound of your heart. It was still beating.

It was still beating.

“Sister!” He called.

Sister Maggie, in all her wise-cracking wisdom, had known to be there. Matt didn’t know how, but not for the first time he was grateful for her presence. She helped without him having to ask.

“Is she breathing?” She asked.

“Barely. Her ribs are broken. I-I can’t tell how hard she hit her head.” He laid you on the bed, still listening to the semi-steady thump thump, thump thump.

“Who is she?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, his hands roamed your features, the gentle curve of your cheek now split with a bleeding gash. He ran a finger over your lips. As if to confirm it was really you. He had to feel, had to know. Know that this was his fault. Your words echoed in his head.

You’d never hurt me.

You goddamn liar.

You were here for him. The reckoning for his sins these past weeks.

“Matthew, who is she?” Margaret pressed again.

“It doesn’t matter,” he snapped. “Just help her.” Matt’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Please.”

Sister Maggie frowned, fingers clenched around the cloth she’d used to clean some of the blood. “You need to take her to a hospital.”

“Don’t.” Your voice rasped between them. “Don’t you dare.” You started to sit up, using shaking arms to push yourself upright even as your insides felt like they wanted to rip out of you just from breathing.

“Stay down,” Matt said. He sat on the edge of the bed, easing you back to a lying position. “Try not to move.”

“I knew it.”

“Y/N-”

“I fucking knew it.” You pushed back. He was stronger. Matt kept you down as gently as he could.

“Sister, will you give us a minute?”

You turned to the woman you hadn’t noticed. She seemed glad to leave.

Matt didn’t face you. He stood up from the bed and paced along the concrete floor, keeping a distance away that made you want to scream. You wanted to touch him. To make sure he was really there. But he hovered away from you like a ghost.

“Those guys really did a number, huh?” You managed to sit up and this time, he didn’t stop you. Your head, however, wanted to bash itself in. Between the trauma and the liquor, you weren’t sure which made you more nauseous. “But the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is always around to save the day.”

“You did it on purpose,” Matt said, shoulders stiff. “You provoked them. They could have killed you and you-” He sucked in a breath. “Why?”

“I’m an adrenaline junkie. I drink, I look for trouble. It’s becoming quite the hobby.” You were lying. You knew he could tell.

He stood still, head tilting slightly. “You knew I’d come.”

“Ding ding ding.” You fell back on the bed and let the ceiling spin.

Matt couldn’t speak. The panic he’d felt was slowly being engulfed by anger, though it was hard to tell at who. You were looking for a fight, that much he gathered was true. You were drunk, though the fight sobered you up some. Everything he’d ever told you, everything he’d done to try and keep you safe, would have been thrown away tonight. You would have let those men kill you if it meant he wasn’t there.

And it was all his fault.

He did the one thing he promised he wouldn't. He left. You’d never judged him, never questioned his need to put on the suit. All you ever asked was that he come back to you and this time, he didn’t. By choice, he didn’t. Just like everyone in both of your pasts, he abandoned you. This was your choice to get back at him, whether or not you believed he was alive.

“I saw you,” you said quietly. “Today, at the hotel. I knew it was you.” The sure, stubbornness in your voice was gone, replaced by a cracking, wrenching sadness. “I had to know.”

Matt didn’t say anything. He just reached for the lamp and switched off the light.

“Get some rest.”

When you woke up, you were in the hospital, bandages on your cuts, and more hungover than you’d felt in a long time.

Matt was gone.

They didn’t discharge you, but you left anyway. If they looked too closely at your emergency contacts, they’d find someone who was supposed to be dead and Karen. The latter was not someone you wanted to face right now.

So, with a couple of busted ribs and one hell of a concussion, you went back to the apartment. His apartment. The place where he first kissed you, first touched you, first-

Now it was just yours. He didn’t want it anymore.

You half debated going back to the church and demanding he talk to you. You’d like to see the brilliant lawyer try to talk his way out of this one. But in the end, everything hurt too much to face him. You wanted a drink.

Unlocking the door, the click hit your chest harder than any of that creep’s kicks.

You knew.

You may not have had his abilities, but you knew.

Walking in, you didn’t dare turn around and look at the stairs. You didn’t have to.

“I’m all better now if that’s what you wanted to see,” you said. You threw your jacket on the floor and kicked off your boots.

Matt didn’t move from his place by the roof entrance. He stood over you like a judgemental god and you wanted to hit him for it. You might have if he didn’t already look like hell itself spat him back out.

“You wanted them to kill you,” he whispered just loud enough for you to hear. Not an accusation. An acknowledgment.

“I wasn’t going to stop them if they tried.” You shrugged. You moved to the kitchen. “Beer?”

“You shouldn’t drink with the amount of pain medication they gave you.” He said it so matter-of-factly. Like he was just your boyfriend and looking out for you. But he wasn’t and you didn’t know what he was to you anymore.

“Yeah, well, it’s going to wear off at some point so I might as well get ahead of the curve here.”

“Y/N-” He stepped. The steps creaked.

“Don’t.” You held up a hand. “Don’t come anywhere near me, Matt Murdock.”

He flinched at the sound of his name like it was a blade you held against his throat.

“Stay where you are,” you said and twisted off the bottle top, grasping so hard the rigid edge dug into your palm. “Shit.” It sliced your skin and your blood dripped onto the wooden floor.

You didn’t watch him descend the stairs or cross the space between you. You closed your eyes so you wouldn’t see his hand grab yours, wrapping the small but deep cut with gauze he carried with him. You yanked away the moment his hold lightened.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Y/N-” He said again, your name hurting more than his own.

“You’re dead!” Your scream filled the apartment. You knew it filled his head. Everything always did. Good. Let it.

Matt didn’t step away, but he did let his hand fall back to his side.

“I know.”

You tried your best not to shake, not to cry and show the weakness you’d felt for the last weeks. Then again, you wanted him to know. You wanted him to feel everything you’d felt.

“Tell me you were trapped somewhere. Tell me you tried everything you could to get back to us and you just broke free,” you pleaded. “Tell me a lie, Matt, because I’d rather hear that than whatever bullshit reason you can give me.”

He opened his mouth, but you didn’t let him speak, reading his face before he could say it.

“I swear, if you say something about ‘protecting me’, then you should have just left me to those creeps because that would have been better than listening to that broken record again.” You turned your back and for that second, you let yourself crumple, but only for a second and completely silent.

“It wasn’t about you.”

You straightened up again. “It never was.”

Now, with you facing away, it was his turn to break. Matt sucked in a sharp breath to keep himself together as you continued.

“It was always about you, Matt. About your insisted martyrdom.” You didn’t try to stop your tears now, tasting their salt as they flowed past your lips. “Your city. The rest of us just live here, right?” You turned around, stepping towards him. “But at least we live.” With your hands on his chest, you pushed him back. “Which is a hell of a lot harder than hiding.”

You pushed again and again and again and he just stood there and took it. Your flattened hands turned to fists, hitting harder and harder until you were sure you’d leave bruises on his chest.

It was when you collapsed that he finally moved, throwing his arms around you before you could hit the floor, your legs giving out under the weight of your utter, complete agony. Your sobs choked you and rattled through Matt like gunfire. You kept fighting him, even as he held you, the pain of your injuries was nothing compared to what you felt in your soul. Like the shattered pieces were being forced back together, but didn’t fit anymore.

Matt wanted to make it stop. He wanted more than anything to take all of the pain away and tell you it was going to be okay. He was here now. But he was the cause of it all and there was nothing he could do to change it.

And while there was still a dark part of him that wanted to leave you here, to shield you from him entirely, Matt knew if he tried to walk away now, he wouldn't survive it. Daredevil or Matt Murdock, it didn’t matter. He was yours.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair.

“You were dead,” you said again, this time with broken words blending together with your sobs. “I tried to go back. I tried to get into Midland Circle, but they dragged me out. I tried, Matt, I-”

He cut you off with a kiss on the forehead and held you closer.

“I know.” He could still hear your screams, your pleas to give up your life to try and save him. He’d thrown it away, everything you’d tried to make of him. Of the two of you, together.

You’ll get her killed too. Fisk’s voice in his head pierced his skull like a blade. I will crush her. I’ll tear her apart piece by piece, Matthew, and there is nothing you can do to stop me.

“She’ll put up a hell of a fight first,” Matt muttered.

“What?” You pulled back to look up at him.

He shook his head and held you closer still until the lines between you blurred together.

“Nothing.”

Even though every part of him now screamed to get away, he couldn’t move. Even as you knelt in front of him, pulling his lips down to yours, he didn’t fight it. A shock worse than any punch went through his system the moment you kissed him. Like every nerve was finally waking up.

Maybe he wasn’t dead after all.

Matt cupped your cheek with one hand and slipped the other to the small of your back, urging you to stand and walk with him to the bed neither of you had slept in in weeks.

He’d decide in the morning.

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #daredevil #daredevil season three #daredevil imagines #foggy nelson #karen page #charlie cox #matt murdock imagine #angst

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thegoldencontracts · 1 year ago

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Hey! Can I suggest a tired & flustered Azul or Leona? Both are personal favorites

Hihi I gotchuu anon thank you for the requestt <3

also a bit off-topic but im indian-american (not native, like the asian country) and im the same shade as as leona which is why i hate hate hate when people talk about him blushing it'd be vy hard to see and i know its so weird and theyre good writers blah blah blah just a little pet peeve

Leona Kingscholar

You were currently being pulled into the arms of none other than the Prince of Afterglow, Leona Kingscholar. That wasn't particularly new - ever since you two started dating, Leona seemed to have a newfound love of cuddling you. It was pretty cute, actually. He really did act like a big cat sometimes.

Today, though, he seemed especially tired. He was always a bit tired - you knew why, and it wasn't a pretty story, but you had to digress - today, he seemed even more tired than usual.

It made sense. He had to pull an all-nighter yesterday catching up on paperwork for the Spelldrive club, something you still couldn't believe he'd actually done instead of just throwing the job onto Ruggie.

Still, he looked just about ready to collapse. You were getting pretty concerned.

"Wanna go to bed?" You asked, taking the opportunity to card your fingers through his hair. For once, he didn't try to hide the way he leaned into the touch. He pouted, though, and at that moment, you thought your heart was going to explode.

Leona, calm, always composed Leona was pouting at you. He looked almost like a kid right now.

You couldn't help the hearty laugh that escaped you. Leona huffed at you, angling his face in a way that made his dark circles much too prominent.

"Really, though," you said. "Get some sleep. I'll be here in the morning."

Leona mumbled something.

"What was that?"

"Come with me, herbivore," he said, more mumbled, and though it wasn't visible, you could tell he was blushing. The way he couldn't meet your eyes said it all.

He was surprisingly honest today.

He probably took your silence for teasing or the like, because he turned away with a huff.

"You can," he said. "I don't really care either way."

You smiled. It was genuine, not an ounce of teasing. You weren't going to do that, now when it was already so hard for him to be more vulnerable with you. It was overjoying just to know he was being honest.

"I'll take you up on that offer," you said, and that poorly hidden smile made every moment you'd have to spend listening to him snore worth it.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul was working this evening. That was fine - he'd literally taken you out on a date so custom-tailored to you it made you wonder how exactly he knew you so well yesterday, you weren't going to complain about his performance as your beloved.

But he seemed tired. No, no, that was an understatement. He seemed like he was about to pass out any moment now. And yet, by some miracle, he was still working.

You had to perform well has his beloved, too. And that meant taking care of him when he was ill - or in this case, so tired he might as well have been.

"Azul?" you called out, and the thirty seconds it took him to process your voice and turn to look at you said it all. "Don't you think you should go to bed?"

After a few seconds, he shook his head blearily.

"'Can't," he mumbled, his words slurred. "Work."

You vaguely understood what he was trying to say. He couldn't sleep, he had work to do.

But it didn't seem like he was going to get much done in his current state other than pass out.

"Sleep, please," you said, and you were honestly shocked at how gentle your voice sounded. Being in love with Azul really did things to you, huh?

"But the money!" he whined, and you couldn't help but laugh. The money? That's what he cared about right now? How much money did he actually think he'd lose from sleeping? "'Want money."

This was the love of your life. This man.

Seeing you laugh, he huffed, cheeks bright red.

"Stop laughing," he said, pouting. "Ugh. 'S why you have no money."

Cold, Azul. Cold. Even in his current state, he had to remind you of your painfully broke reality.

"Then you'll have to help me make some, then." You said, trying to appeal to his love of rambling about finance. "Why don't you teach me? We can go to your room while we're at it, more privacy that way."

He nodded shakily, cheeks still a bit pink.

"I'm very-" he cut himself off, trying to pronounce somthing. "'Nevolent. Be-ne-vo-lent. I'll help you."

"Thank you so much," you said, and he followed you to his room.

You couldn't wait to see how embarrassed he'd get in the morning.

Bonus (Of sorts):

"I said what?"

"Yeah, and your face was so red! You kept slurring over your words, too. You couldn't even say 'benevolent'! Isn't that, like, your signature word?"

"Stop teasing me already!"

#azul ashengrotto #twisted wonderland #leona kingscholar #twst x reader #azul x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #leona x reader #leona kingsholar x reader #azul ashengrotto x you #fluff #twst azul #twst #azul x you #leona x you #leona kingscholar x you #twst leona

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writteninlunarlight-years · 1 year ago

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Sorry this request might be a little weird; Im gonna try and word it best I can. Can you do something with Alastor and the reader, who very slowly and maybe unintentionally became friends; where Alastor confesses his feelings and how much he cares for the reader... But the reader doesnt take him seriously? The reader basically doesnt think he is actually interested in dating them. The reader thinks its a joke, he is just trying to use them, or otherwise just trying to get something out of them. Not in like a distrustful way either. The reader has the attitude of 'oh yeah. The great radio demon who has girls falling at his feet and can get ANYONE he wants is interested in me? Right, good one.' Like its a self-esteem/self-worth thing stopping them from believing him. Oh and this is for Hazbin Hotel obviously, but just in case I had to say it.

Please Please Please~

(This honestly was me projecting because this is me anytime someone shows interest in me. I have horrible self-esteem issues lol)

When you woke in hell, you thought nothing of it, really. You did some good, and you sure did some bad, so maybe this was exactly where you were always supposed to be. You had no anger or frustration about your placement because you simply couldn’t care enough. Heaven or hell, you probably would still be fighting for something. If anything, you hoped you would just fall asleep in death, but where would the fun in that be?

Upon your arrival, a few things became quite clear: 1. It was a dog-eat-dog world here in hell, so be prepared for anything. 2. The more souls you own, the more powerful you are, so start making some friends to make just as many enemies. 3. You will always be less powerful and popular than the TV head and the Radio Demon.

The only downside is you never got to meet this Radio Demon. He had been missing for seven years, according to the streets, and long gone, but still, he was the talk of countless women and men, especially Vox. This wasn’t a surprise, though; how people explained his rise to power was even more impressive and unique to you. He would one day be a formidable foe if you crossed him, or would he? The last extermination was killer. Half your souls had been killed off, and you were left a lot weaker from an injury caused by angelic steel. A slash was going straight across your back from a poorly-timed dodge. You weren’t bad at fighting; you weren't good at it either. Usually, during exterminations, you would hide at the Vee’s tower or another notable place. However, unsurprisingly, you were kicked out after your loud denial of working with the Vees.

Seeking refuge at the next best place, you stumbled upon the Hazbin Hotel. Delirious and in pain, it was indeed just a stumble into the lobby. Upon entering, you saw an excited and concerned blonde chick, someone with a spear, and then all that was left was just red—beautiful crimson red.

Some days had to have passed; you only know this because your wounds were wrapped up, and the calendar in the room you were placed in had days since the extermination marked off. Five days you spent asleep resting and recouping. Though your body was mainly healed, the scar you saw on your back when you stood was anything but attractive. Sighing, you sat on the cold bathroom floor.

You were never much of a beauty in your mind. You were just simply good enough. Sometimes, you could seduce a soul into your clutches, win a soul gambling, and sometimes gain one from fighting—a jack of all trades, master of none. Yet now, your value has significantly decreased with a giant scare running across the expanse of your back. Sighing, you stood once more and decided you would figure out where the hell you were and who was stupidly kind enough to help you.

With your top half fully bandaged, you didn’t think about putting on a shirt. The idea of anything rubbing on your wound annoyed you greatly. So, being mindful of potential others, you walked around carefully, ensuring your bandages were tight. Looking around, it was a reasonably average hotel. Nothing was too crazy about it; it just had some eerie decor at the most.

Rounding the last corner, you found stairs that opened up to the lobby, and dear lord, above did you wish you stayed in your room. A loud, cheerful presence came bombarding you, shouting a hundred questions about your health, your name, and what happened. You almost wanted to retreat into the shadows at how brightly she shone when you agreed to stay at her hotel and take a shot at redemption.

You met the residents quickly after that. It's not like you had much of a choice anyway. Surprisingly, the one you clicked with the most was the famed Alastor, the Radio Demon. How you two clicked was beyond everyone, besides the fact you were cunning and a silver tongue speaker like the man himself. Maybe that is why he found you amusing and watched you work your magic on lulling Husk even into a secure enough place to talk to you.

His lack of asking for your soul surprised you more than anything. Though you knew Charlie had her rules in the hotel, that didn’t dissuade the Deer from making his own choices. You commended him for his poise and regality; you understood why he was the talk of the town even when Vox was trying so hard to be the new it boy. Alastor was handsome in a nonconventional way; he was refined, elegant, and poised. He treated women like a gentlemen and men like they were just one step below him.

You wouldn’t lie to yourself and say you weren't enamored; you liked him a lot from just the first handful of conversations. However, one late night really sealed the nail in your coffin of love for the affamed Overlord. You two were sitting on the lobby chair, the long-forgotten bar, and a nursed bottle of Whiskey between you two. Each new glass only brought you two closer, having a lot of similarities.

You also killed upon your time on earth as a means to protect the ones you cared about and end those who acted foolishly like them. You also died an untimely death at the hands of something out of your control. You were both quick-witted and capable of compelling those around you with your voice and words. The only significant difference was he was an Overlord, a beautiful, attractive overlord. At the same time, you were just a sinner with a few damned souls that saw potential in you.

After that night, you and Alastor grew a lot closer. You would even dare to call him your best friend, knowing that nothing more would ever come of your two relationship past that. Not only was Alastor continuously turning women and men down left and right, but Angel was convinced the man didn’t know what romance or sex was. You couldn’t help but agree with him as every beautiful person who crossed his path was quickly shooed away or disposed of.

As the Adam-led extermination approached, you noticed Alastor took a particular interest in your training. You were opting for him to train you and approve your placement on the battlefield. Your heart soared at his kindness, but you didn’t want to get your hopes up. He didn’t want to lose a like-minded friend, which was all this was. As you all prepared for the event, his sudden and lingering hug was just him being worried about a friend.

You would do and say anything to convince yourself he just saw you as a friend, even as he scolded you for your injuries after the battle. He just cared a lot about his best friend. You were nothing comparative in power and prestige as Alastor was, so he would never see you as more. This was all just a fond kindness he used with Niffty, Roise, and Mimzy. You wouldn’t allow yourself to be a fool and believe anything more would happen.

As your affection grew for the Radio Demon, so did your self-doubt and negative self-esteem. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself like Mimzy, pining after a demon that would never love you. Your nights at the bar became more and more apparent enough that Husk took to talking to you and trying to help you out. This didn’t go unnoticed by the boss of said man. No, instead, jealousy was brewing inside of him, watching you grow closer to the cat demon. Jealousy that was soon to reach a head.

Alastor was utterly infatuated with you. You were a perfect mix of normalcy and insanity, something he admired dearly. You were not overbearing or clingy like Mimzy, not psychotic and wild like Niffty, and not motherly and borderline insane like Rosie. No, you were a perfect combination of what he loved in all his dear friends. That’s all you were right, a dear friend. It didn’t help that you stopped spending time with him and hanging around Husk; he grew irate.

He needed help and fast; who better to turn to than his motherly companion, Rosie? Wanting to get you out of Husk's grasp, though he invited you along on the trip. It was pleasant. You wrapped around his arm as he led you through the streets, up until cannibal town people cowering at your feet. Once in cannibal town, though, the women came flocking. He was used to this, declining, pushing people away, and even allowing his shadows a meal or two. However, the frown on your face was the least of his expectations. He hadn’t long to question it before you two arrived at Rosie’s Emporium.

As you two entered, you were immediately enamored with all of the goods Rosie had sold. Once quick introductions were out of the way, Alastor approached the side table to speak with his friend while you looked around more. His worries and fears were confirmed, though; he was, in fact, in love with you. Alastor wasn’t one to skimp on charm; he was a gentleman who would court you properly.

After your visit to Rosies, you noticed a new change in Alastor. He was quite literally everywhere you were. You couldn’t get far without him complimenting you, giving you a gift, or asking you to accompany him on errands. You figured that your time secluding and hanging out with Husk might have made him think you didn’t want to be friends anymore. So, with a smile, you welcomed this change and stuck through it. Why not accept his doting behavior before he finally broke your heart and said he didn’t like dating or got a partner?

This went on for months. The lingering touches, longer hugs, late-night talks, gifts galore, and, most importantly, him letting his guard down around you made you feel special. According to Husk, he hasn't done this with any of his other close friends. This made you almost hope that there was something more. Alastor had countless options, though, so of course, he would never choose you. Why would you allow him to embarrass you like that?

After six months of pursuing you, Alastor believed he had amply courted you. He had enlisted the help of Charlie and Vaggie to set up the lobby so he could ask you to be his officially. The room was perfect: low lighting, candles, your favorite flowers, and food placed out. All that was missing was you there on his arm. He knew it was perfect for you, everything to your heart's desire.

You were in shock as you entered the lobby after an impromptu errand Charlie needed to be done. You couldn’t even begin to understand what was going on. As you walked in, you saw Alastor sitting at the table before you, a large smile on his face. You looked at him quizically. “Uh, Al, what is all this?” He looked around awkwardly—that was the first time you saw that expression. “Well, Y/N, what does it look like? Of course, it's a date for us, in the hotel's safety.” You scrunched up your eyebrows, trying to process his words. “A date?” He seemed to be growing more tense by the moment; he expected you to be happy and excited, and you seemed to like his courting so much. “Yes, dear, we have been courting for some time now, which leads me to believe you were ready for a date. Was I mistaken?” You were taken aback. Are you courting? When did that happen? You looked at Alastor, trying to piece together the puzzles. Could he have liked you all this time? No, there is no way; he had so many options, so many better, less disfigured options. “Al, are you waiting for a different girl? Is this some like practice run for a person you want to date? You shouldn’t play with me like this. It’s not nice.” Alastor looked genuinely upset, only momentarily before his signature smile returned. “No, Y/N. This is for you. I have been courting you. Did you not realize my advances towards you? I have been avidly seeking you and you alone out.” You started to tear up. You wanted to believe him; you did, but it was hard. You weren’t the best; you weren’t the strongest. You had nothing going for you than surviving hell each day. “What, no? What do you mean? You can’t mean me. I am nothing, Alastor. I am nothing; I would just be embarrassing you. You are a powerful Overlord—a handsome, sought-after man. I am nothing. I am just here a sinner designed to fight through hell, that is all.” Alastor began to realize what you were getting at. You didn’t see yourself as being good enough for him. He never learned the toll you put yourself through watching person after person fall to his feet. You were watching him turn them all away and go about his day. You thought he was going to do the same to you. You thought you would never be good enough for him when you have always been what he wanted all along.

“Oh, Y/N, no.” He rushed over to you, holding you close. Even as you fought to push him away, he stayed holding you close until you calmed. “Y/N, it has always been you. Yes, I am rough around the edges and have high expectations, but you meet them, Y/N. Can you not see how close and compatible we are since the day you moved in?” You stilled and listened. Could it be true that he liked you too this whole time? What if this was some sick prank to torture you? You looked up at Alastor, a genuine smile replacing his normal, calculated one. “Alastor, if I agree with this, you won't hurt me, right?” He sighed and held you close. “I can’t promise not to hurt you; I am an overlord and a selfish creature. However, I promise never to lie, cheat, or steal from you. I choose to love you and you alone, Y/N.” You smiled brightly and reached up, kissing his lips softly. His arms snaked around your waist as he deepened the kiss, and both of you closed your eyes. You could easily get used to being the top overlord's girl.

Just please, please, please let him prove you wrong…

#x reader #lunarwritings #moons #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x reader fluff #alastor x you fluff #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor imagine #alastor fluff #alastor #alastor the radio demon #the radio demon

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justalittlelilac · 2 months ago

Text

One Day

One day (and a half) until Qiu left Golden Grove and you just admitted to being in love with them.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 Word Count: 7,211

AN: Hiii, sorry I have been gone for so long. I had some crazy family things happen that are still going on, and it really killed my motivation for this story. However, I really hope you like it!

I recommend listening to "it's ok!" by corook and "Ready Now" by Dodie for this, especially at the end. Also, very loosely "Look To Winward" by Sleep Token, but only the part about cycles in the beginning, haha.

Your bright headlights cut through the winter darkness, sweeping over the front of your house as you rounded the cul-de-sac to park. The white illuminated the shrouded figures resting on your front porch chairs. Qiu and Tamarack. Your stomach twisted and tangled in tight knots, half in guilt and relief, and it pulled tighter with every passing second.

The neighborhood steeped in silence was interrupted by your car door opening and shutting. Snow had coated everything in a soft quilt of white. It muffled every sound, save for the blood rushing in your ears and the way every footfall sounded like glass shattering in the quiet.

Slowly, you approached the front gate to portray some casualness like you had. You winced as it betrayed your arrival with a piercing squeak.

Tamarack lifted her eyes from the blanket wrapped around her shoulders and offered you a quiet smile with eyes that held a cautious hope. On the other hand, Qiu's gaze had been glued on you since your headlights fell over their face. They both reflected an uneasy tension, stiff shoulders, and faces that carried the weight of exhausted relief and lingering hurt.

You came to a standstill in front of the two, nervously picking at your coat sleeve like you'd once done when you were caught doing something you shouldn't

"I didn't do anything." Your whispered voice sounded too loud in the silent, snowy night. You witnessed both of their shoulders relax, even if their faces were intense with concern that caused your guilt to settle in the base of your throat like a dry pill.

"I—I couldn't…" The words died on your lips, getting caught on that too large a pill; truths that were too hard to swallow.

What you said was true.

As you had weaved through the empty streets of Golden Grove earlier that night, your brain was vibrating with the goal of forgetting, escaping, and avoiding. The familiar gnawing ache of self-destruction had coursed through your veins like a welcome poison, your body remembering the feeling like an old addiction. You knew your destination well. Could drive it blindfolded.

The abandoned lumber mill outside town held hundreds of memories of reckless nights and even poorer decisions in its rotting beams and graffiti-tagged walls. The ground there would greet you like an old friend. You could hear the thumping music as you parked your car at the back of the lot, keeping yourself out of the way.

People gathered outside, smoking, their faces lit by the cherry-red glow of cigarettes. Some faces were familiar, while others were new and younger, but they wore the same expressions of practiced indifference you once perfected. It all blurred together—background noise to the growing hollowness inside you.

You sat motionless in your car, hands still gripping the steering wheel to anchor yourself to reality. The static in your head had grown deafening, but beneath it lurked a weird calmness, like the eye of a storm.

You numbly flipped down your visor to double-check your appearance, wanting to utilize the mirror for practicing your smile and getting your armor in place. As you did, a rectangular piece of paper fluttered down like a helicopter seed onto your lap. You paused when you turned it over.

The glossy strip of pictures showed you, Qiu, and Tamarack crammed into a mall photo booth last May. It had been one of the rare moments where everything felt like it used to—laughing so hard your faces hurt, Tamarack reluctantly joining your "Senior Skip Day" antics. In the last frame, Qiu had stuck out their tongue, Tamarack was mid-laugh, and you… You were smiling so brightly it felt like another person entirely.

Your hands returned to the steering wheel, gripping it tighter, steadying yourself as you observed the scene before you. Nothing about this place had changed over the years you'd been coming here. The same broken windows, the same rust-eaten metal. The same faces that had been there for years. The same people engaging in the same behaviors.

The same people who would likely be doing these same things five years from now. Never growing or changing.

But you had changed.

Sitting there, gripping the steering wheel, watching people stumble and laugh their way inside, you couldn’t help but think:

Was this what you wanted?

Something inside you whispered that you didn’t belong even here anymore. It wasn’t the kind of change that came with a snap of fingers, but a slow, dawning realization.

For a long time, you believed this was to be your fate. Running from so many things that you got caught in thick sludge and began to sink. The only rope that kept your head above the surface was the safety in sameness. If too many things changed, what if you sank lower?

What if your head went under and you were left behind? What if you tried, only to drown because you were no longer capable of pulling yourself out?

Someone stumbled past your car, laughing too loudly. The sound jarred you from your thoughts, making you jump slightly in your seat. Blinking away the wetness in your eyes, you watched the person throw their arm around their companion, stumbling away towards the building.

What did you want?

Why did it feel like your only two options were to hide in obscurity in your bedroom, fading into nothing because you felt like it, or to be here because you felt the same? When had living become this binary choice between isolation and self-destruction?

"When did this all get so hard? Why is this so hard?" you whispered to your steering wheel, your voice cracking under the pressure of questions you avoided for years.

You knew with assurance that it had been when Tamarack and Qiu left. You'd convinced yourself that your loneliness was too heavy to share. To divulge your fears and how you were miserable and didn't know how to not be. And the longer you hid in obscurity, the more your mind told you they wouldn't want to hear at all.

And with that burden and hearing how their lives were without you, the more it solidified, the better it would be to be alone.

You didn't know how to be you, but different. You didn't know how to change without the fear of drowning. You were so scared of drowning that it felt like you forgot how to breathe altogether. You didn't know how to be better anymore, without it feeling like you were lying.

This was all you knew. Ending up on the shore, choking on water in a never-ending cycle of avoidance and sinking. Coming back up for air to descend again. A stubborn pattern that was causing slow decay.

And that made your chest burn hot, tears threatening to fall. Because you had to wonder if this was what you wanted, why did you keep glancing at your phone in the cupholder?

Why were you dreading that there'd be a text from your mom, Tamarack, or Qiu, but also desperately hoping there would be one? Why, after everything, did you still want to tell Qiu how much they meant to you?

Staring blankly, eyes red at the steering wheel, you understood. It wasn't the change that scared you so much as failure.

If you tried and failed, things would be too different to return to how they were. But you were already failing—failing Qiu, failing Tamarack, failing yourself. Staying here, sinking into old habits, wouldn’t save you. It would only solidify the loneliness you were so desperate to escape.

Even if it was a losing battle, even if Qiu still decided to forget Golden Grove and you, along with it, you still wanted to reach for this one thing that mattered when nothing else did anymore. Because they were worth it.

They were worth everything. And a part of you whispered that you were worth it too.

You knew you needed to jump that gap. You had to tell them. To say sorry for how you treated them. They may not listen, but it was this thing that you would reach for. It may be the last chance you get.

You wanted to change. You wanted to try.

With shaky hands, you turned the key in the ignition. The headlights flared to life, slicing through the night, and you pulled away from the lumber mill. You oddly felt like you were leaving a piece of yourself behind as the lumber mill faded in the dark. Like leaving a piece that no longer fit, even if there was an empty space now and you weren't sure how to fill it.

The road back felt longer than it should have. You took the back streets, giving yourself time to breathe, to gather the crumbs of courage before you faced the two people who mattered most.

That brought you here, standing in front of the most important people in your life, who you've hurt time and time again. Qiu rose from their chair, their arms crossed protectively over their chest, before they reached out, their hand coming to rest gently on your shoulder. Their gaze had no anger, just a sad understanding that made your guilt even heavier.

"Maybe we should move where we can talk more?" Tamarack suggested in a hushed tone.

Her gaze had drifted up, where you could see the warm light from your mother's bedroom window peeking through her curtains. Qiu and you subtly nodded in agreement and stepped off the porch to find a more private place for the three of you.

Qiu's fort loomed ahead as your boots crunched through the snow. Somehow, in the dim light of the moon, the structure looked even more weathered and tired, not unlike yourself. Despite the storms it had gone through, it was still standing.

The three of you halted at the base, knowing you all wouldn't fit in the space anymore. This would be the scene dressing for your confession. Qiu's backyard sat in delicate silence, the kind that only comes about with the soundproofing of snow.

The wind wisped through the evergreen branches surrounding the yard. Your exhaled breaths produced white clouds in front of you. The moon now hung heavily in the sky, making everything shine.

Tamarack and Qiu waited expectantly, and you let out a shaky breath. With trembling hands clenched at your sides and a rolling stomach, you opened your mouth.

"I'm sorry," you began, the words feeling inadequate. You had no idea where to go from there. You felt sick, and everything else seemed trapped in your throat.

"You don't have to apologize," Qiu said quietly. "We're just worried about you."

The words made you tense. You had no idea what they must think of you — how pathetic and childish you must seem. But you knew you would regret it if you didn't speak your truth now, maybe for the rest of your life.

"I know, but I need to. And you both deserve to know why." You swallowed hard. You could feel your heart pounding in your ears. "I–" you paused, taking a breath. "Things got bad again after you both left," you explained. Tamarack and Qui's shoulders fell with concern.

They understood exactly what you meant.

"And I just…I've been having a really hard time with everything. That shouldn't be an excuse to be mean to you guys, though. You're my best friends, and you just want to help."

The words spilled out, and you stopped yourself before you started rambling. "I guess I just miss you both a ton and didn't want things to change. So I was kind acting like an ass. I'm really sorry…"

Your voice trailed off. It may not be a grade-A apology, but it was what you had to offer to both of them. It was genuine and as vulnerable as you could be right now. Suddenly, Tamarack's arms were hugging you tightly.

"I'm sorry, too!" she exclaimed, tears thick in her voice. Looking over her shoulder, you found Qiu's wide eyes, just as surprised as you felt.

"For what?" you both asked in unison. Tamarack released her grip on you to wipe her tears. The moonlight made her red, glassy eyes glisten like rubies.

"I lied to you both," she muttered, not meeting your gazes. My dad didn't actually have an academic convention. I told Granny that so she wouldn't guilt me into staying in Florida," she sniffled. Your expression softened on her. "I just wanted to come home because I really missed you, too."

The admittance made your eyes water just the same, and you found yourself leaning into give her another hug. Qiu joined the embrace with an amused but tender smile, completing the circle that had been the three of you against the world for so long. After a few moments of quiet comfort, you separated, each taking a step back to right yourselves.

"Can we do my sleepover now and forget about all the drama for now? I'm cold and tired." Tamarack admitted with a watery laugh. It was everything you loved about her — her resiliency (except when faced with the cold) and her ability to move on.

You and Qiu laughed and agreed, grateful for the change in atmosphere. Tamarack promptly turned on her heel and marched onwards, leaving new trail boot prints in the snow.

Suddenly, it was just you and Qiu. The moment you'd been craving and dreading. The wind rustled through the trees as you met each other's eyes. Qiu opened their mouth to say something, but closed it with uncertainty written on their face as their brows furrowed.

"Sorry–" you both said simultaneously.

"No, you don't have to be. You–" you tried to start, needing to spit the words out before you lost your spine.

"No, no, I completely get it. I was–" Qiu interrupted, overlapping your words.

You stepped closer, trying to explain, heart in your throat. "You don't understand, Qiu. I—"

"I do though, I was such an asshole and you–" They were still talking, still trying to take responsibility for something that was never their fault. It was just like them. You clenched your fists in subtle frustration, squeezed your eyes shut, and—

"I love you!"

The words burst from you like confetti in a popped balloon. Heavy silence cloaked before you. One could hear a pin drop in the fresh snow if they listened. The words were thrown down like a weight.

You swallowed, unable to keep the fresh tears from gathering in your eyes. Qiu stood motionless, their breath fogged in the cold air between you, mingling with yours in the space.

"I-I'm in love with you," you reaffirmed in a shaky tone. "I love you, Qiu, and it hurts so much because I know I can't keep you. You're so smart and bright. You're going to be something, and I'm not." You sniffed and forced yourself to meet their gaze, even if your words caught in the admission. The fear that had been your constant companion was finally spoken aloud. The words started to come out steadier, though, like a river flowing. You continued on.

"We'll look back at this moment, at all the moments, and we won't be able to sit in this fort anymore, watch movies till 3am, gaze at the stars together. We both know you're bigger than any of that." You paused, trying to rein in your racing thoughts.

"My stupid, pathetic love for this town, because of you being in it, could never and should never hold you here." Qiu stared at you, not moving to interrupt now. You took the opportunity to continue.

"But I'm…so scared," you murmured with a cracked voice. The more profound truth of it all flowed from your lips.

Not because you didn't want to be honest with Tamarack, but because Qiu of all people needed to hear this. You needed to hear it spoken aloud.

"So scared of the future and if this is all I'll ever be, and even more scared of the reality that I've accepted it. That everyone will have moved on and forgotten. That I don't have dreams, and if I did, I'm not even sure I have the strength to go after them."

Qiu's image blurred in your vision as stubborn tears grew in your eyes for the third time that night.

"But…what scares me the most is that one day, I'll look up into the night sky, and it'll mean nothing to me, because the one person who made it mean something, any of this, isn't around," you sniffed, wiping your nose with a bitter laugh at yourself.

"The worst of all is that it's all been my doing. My stupid nonchalance and indifference. My naïve expectation that the world will wait for me." You took a shuddering breath, trying not to think about what came next and to just run head-on into it. "So…if I'm to move on even a centimeter…I have to start here."

Qiu's expression was hard to read, but they gave you a nod of encouragement. Your hands balled at your sides to stop them from trembling. You stood on a thinning line of your current life and everything after. It was time to jump.

"Qiu, I love you. I've loved you forever. I'll likely love you forever." The words began to fall like an avalanche that had been long overdue.

"When you leave and go back to Baxter and all your new friends and new life, I will still love you. When you are so happy being there and you don't even think about me, I will still love you. And ten years from now, when you are telling a co-worker about an old friend you haven't talked to in a decade, I will still love you," your voice broke, unable to hide it now. You squeezed your eyes shut as if to shield yourself.

"I love you…I love you."

Your throat clenched as you repeated those three damning words like mantra. The backyard was silent. You cracked open an eye to find Qiu staring at you with a tender surprise.

"Do you… Do you really think I'm that happy? That I'm happier without you?" Qiu's voice was soft, as if they were making their own confession.

"I'm miserable."

They let out a sad laugh, like that was a joke. "You know that saying, 'The grass is always greener on the other side'? That's what it's been like. I was always chasing that, thinking I'd find what I was looking for if I just was able to get out of Golden Grove."

Qiu paused, and their face became serious, revealing rare uncertainty. "Go somewhere completely different, where no one knew who I was and I could be anyone I want." Qiu looked away, their jaw clenching. "But I got down there and got exactly what I wanted. No one knew who I was, and I ended up falling back into how I used to be — Trying to be what everyone else wanted, just so I wouldn't feel alone."

They fell silent, as if embarrassed by this confession. The realization that Qiu was struggling just as much as you were seemed impossible, yet the truth was written in how they looked at you with such exhaustion that they were trying to hide.

"Then, I'd talk with you and Tamarack on FaceTime and feel more like myself than I did in days. But when the call ended, all that stuff would come back into sharp focus, and I'd just be left feeling alone. I'd end up just thinking about you and home for hours." They looked sheepish, as if revealing this was admitting a great weakness.

"So, I dug my heels in, told myself I was being a baby. That's why I was always so busy…Why I agreed to stay during Christmas break, because they needed me, and I didn't know how to say no again." Qiu closed their eyes with a grimace in self-recrimination.

They'd never spoken so openly about their own feelings in front of you, and you could tell it was just as difficult for them to talk as it was for you. It struck you then that maybe you weren't the only one hiding behind a carefully constructed façade this whole time.

"I know I've been an awful friend." They shrugged, not meeting your gaze. "But part of me figured you were busy with your own stuff and the other part…" they hesitated.

"The other part knew if I hung onto you like that, I would have been on the first flight back home last month for fall break and wouldn't have gone back."

Your eyebrows rose at their words. Your breath caught like the wind around you seemed to have. The small flare of hope lit in your chest needed to be tamped down, lest it burn rampant.

"But?" You asked tentatively.

The air stilled between you two. Qiu looked at you, and suddenly they were moving towards you, their footsteps in the snow purposeful, determined, and so very. And then, in a split second, they had crossed that distance, that gap, their eyes searching yours, their breath mixing with yours in the cold winter air.

Your heart was racing, your mind was screaming for you to move, run, or do something, but you were frozen. Qiu's hand grabbed yours, their touch gentle and grounding.

"But…" they sighed. "What I really want to do, I can't do here." Qiu's face grew determined. "I can't stay here in Golden Grove. I have to do this, and that's going to be hard, but I'd rather do this and know that maybe…," they trailed off again. Qiu lifted their free hand to brush away a tear sliding down your cheek. The touch sent a shiver through you.

"Maybe what?" You asked in a shaky breath.

"Maybe…maybe you can be by my side…even if we're a part. Maybe I can have one of the only things that made me love Golden Grove…"

They gave a self-deprecating laugh, showing a more vulnerable Qiu you were familiar with. "I'm not very good at this. I've never been as great with my words as you have…not for this kind of stuff." Qiu said quietly, dipping their head and shaking it. After a moment, they raised their eyes back to yours, warm as melted chocolate.

"Do you remember when we sat one night and tried to count all the stars?" Qiu suddenly asked. The change of subject made you pause.

"Yeah," you answered quietly. "I said that for every ten we counted, we got a universe point that we could use for something to go right. You said it was dumb," you gave a short smile. Qiu chuckled in response to the memory.

"Yeah…well...I lied," they admitted. You couldn't help but laugh.

"I guess we're all a bunch of liars," you jested. Qiu nodded with their own laugh, brushing a thumb over your knuckle. Only then did you realize you were still holding hands.

"I count them all the time now…I've always counted them," they shrugged, trying to appear casual, but failed miserably.

Qiu took a deep breath before speaking. "I don't know how many points I have now, but when I was younger, I wanted to use them on us always being together. Then, I decided I'd want my 'universe luck points' to be used so that you liked me as much as I had liked you."

They spoke the words with a heavy, weighted tone, but their eyes shone. You could feel your heart stop, thoughts stuttering. You both had been young when you made up the game.

Something to do at night outside or on car rides when bored. You never knew Qiu took it so seriously.

"It was kind of stupid. I hadn't done anything for you to like me or for you to stay my friend. Being able to count wouldn't help…but still, I kept counting as the years went by and…" they trailed once more off before speaking again. "As I got older and we were with each other through everything, I changed how I wanted to cash in on my points."

A soft chuckle escaped them, self-conscious but genuine. "I hoped that changing the wording wouldn't break some universal law, and then it would never happen."

Qiu's hand squeezed yours like that contact gave them the confidence they needed.

"But I started counting, hoping you loved me as much as I loved you. Love me as much as I love you." You couldn't breathe, the world spun as the words settled. Their eyes were so warm, so sincere to you.

Qiu Lin loved you back.

They took another shaky breath before continuing, "I couldn't tell you, though, because at a certain point, I knew I was leaving, that I had to, and I knew you loved Golden Grove more than anything. I'd never be so selfish to ask or so arrogant to assume you would follow me."

Qiu's words were rushed and earnest, tumbling from their lips in a very Qiu-like way. They spoke as if they were afraid that if they stopped, they would never get the chance to say these things again, just like you.

Your heart was in your throat, your eyes wide and hopeful. You wanted to speak and say something, but the words wouldn't come. All you could do was listen and hope that Qiu understood.

"Then, I was gone. I was with Baxter. Everything was a whirlwind. I met Micah and the rest, and they were great. At first, honestly, it felt good to be somewhere where no one knew who I was." Qiu's brow furrowed, their gaze dropping momentarily to the snow between you.

"But then on those lonely nights, I would look up at the same night sky that I knew you probably were, but I couldn't see any of the stars. I never wanted to sit and count more stars in my entire life, and I couldn't anymore. So…" They squeezed your hand.

"I hope I have enough universal points now, because I know it'll cost a lot." They laughed softly. Qiu was then finally quiet, their words exhausted.

The two of you just stared at each other for what felt like a lifetime. Your mouth opened and closed multiple times, trying to find the right response.

"So…what now?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper. The question held your uncertainty. All your hope you could muster.

Qiu's gaze softened. "I–I don't know…I guess we figure out what we want, what we really, really want," they said gently.

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh at their words, at the absurdity of this moment. Here you were, standing in the snow, under the same moon that had shone down on you all those years ago when you began counting stars, and somehow, impossibly, your deepest wish had come true.

"God, we're dumb, aren't we?" you said, shaking your head. "Here I thought I was losing my best friend and the person I love most."

"You're not the only one," Qiu admitted. They squeezed your hand in theirs, their warmth seeping into your skin.

"I thought I had too, and I think I would have if you didn't come here and tell me how you felt." They gave you a soft smile. "You're always braver than me in that regard, y'know." Qiu's eyes danced with amusement, with a fondness that made your heart skip a beat.

"I don't feel very brave," you admitted. The world around you was silent, as if giving you this moment of perfect understanding.

Qiu pulled you into a hug, wrapping their arms around you and holding you close like they had done so many times before, but now held a new significance. You breathed in their scent, the warmth of their body enveloping you.

This felt right, you thought as your body relaxed into the embrace. You didn't want to let go, you didn't want to lose this feeling ever.

"You're so much braver than you think," They murmured before pulling back to look at you. "I don't know what happens now. I don't know what's next, and I don't think any choices should be made tonight. But I know I want to figure it out with you."

They leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering momentarily before pulling away. The world around you remained quiet, continuing as if you both weren't just changed in the best way. Funny how that works.

"I know that I'm in love with you, and I have been since before I could really understand what that meant," Qiu whispered, their eyes locked onto yours, full of a deep and true love. "As long as we have that, we can figure out the rest, yeah?"

You nodded, unable to speak past the emotion tightening your throat. They released you with apparent reluctance, stepping back with a soft smile.

"We should probably get back to Tamarack before she comes looking for us."

"Yeah," you agreed, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.

The weight of everything that had happened in the past few hours settled heavily on your shoulders, but you felt lighter than you had in months, years even. A weight that hadn't crushed you, but had released you, in a sense.

You and Qiu turned back towards the Tamarack's house, walking side by side, your steps in the snow in sync. You could see the warm lighting illuminating from her home, knowing she was waiting for the two of you. For some reason, it filled you with a complete contentedness.

It wasn't perfect. It wasn't dramatic declarations of following each other to the ends of the earth. Of never, ever being a part. No Hollywood clichés of grand gestures and swelling music.

You hadn't needed any of that. Not really. You just wanted your best friend beside you, however they could be. To know you loved them and that they loved you. It was far more valuable than any romantic fantasy.

You would figure it out, everything. You would count the stars and fight for a future you wanted. Moving forward, despite the fear of failure, as long as you were trying and had your people who made trying worth it. It wouldn't be easy or quick, but it would be worth it.

As you glanced at Qiu, whose eyes met yours with pinkened cheeks, you knew it was enough.

It was more than enough.

Epilogue: Four Months Later

The warm air that greeted you was stark as you stepped out of the Prism Vista International Airport. Your jacket already felt too heavy under the California spring sun.

It was still winter when you'd left Golden Grove, but in the 'everything is brown, dead, muddy, and waiting for spring' way. The hustle and bustle of arriving and departing travelers and the chaotic symphony of car horns made you feel suddenly out of place.

But then you heard your name called over the crowd of moving people. You squinted, shielding your eyes from the sun to see Qiu waving their arm to make themselves known. Their face broke into that smile that still made your heart flutter. Seeing them made you feel silly for being so emotional over a simple change of scenery.

As you crossed the lanes, weaving between idling cars, the nervousness building during your flight disappeared. Qiu greeted you with a hug, and you returned with equal fervor, breathing in their familiar scent and letting out a sigh of contentment.

The two of you had started dating after your confessions, which was surprising to exactly no one. Still in that new relationship, figuring it out kind of way. The progression of your romantic relationship slowed slightly due to the long distance.

That's what made this spring break trip so special. You were coming to see their world for the first time, leaving the confines and safety of Golden Grove.

As the two of you separated, you finally noticed the man who'd been standing next to Qiu. He was tall, wearing a tailored purple suit jacket and dark hair, and his face was vaguely familiar despite the years that had passed.

"Long time no see," they nodded, using a smooth voice that sounded like a dog whistle, though it was deeper now.

"Woah! Baxter?" You exclaimed in surprise. He gave a casual smile that had you smiling back.

"In the flesh." He confirmed with a smirk, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Qiu mentioned they needed assistance picking up a friend today, and I was more than happy to oblige them. I'm glad I did."

His eyes held a glint that made you wonder how much Qiu had been telling the former Boy's Club co-member about you. Your eyes bounced between the two, your smile growing wider.

"I'm glad you did too," you replied sincerely.

The rest of the day was a blur as Baxter chauffeured the two of you to Qiu's dorm, which they shared with three other students. Tomorrow, Tamarack would be joining you, but for now, you had time to settle in with your partner.

Meeting Micah had been nerve-wracking, but afterwards, you could see why Qiu had grown fast friends with them. Their kindness and comradery was infectious. Hard to dislike someone who was just so likable and you were thankful that Qiu had someone in Prism Vista they could depend on.

The ragtag group of friends dragged you all over Prism Vista, showing you the campus and city highlights and their favorite food spots. The city was very different than Golden Grove. It was louder, more vibrant, and filled with a diversity of people and experiences that made your hometown seem even smaller in comparison.

However, rather than feeling intimidated, you found yourself curious and interested in the world Qiu wanted to introduce you to.

By evening, the group had brought you to the beach. The sun was just beginning to set over the far-off horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. While the others were hanging out, looking for shells, you found a quiet spot to sit in the sand.

Digging your toes into cool grains, you let the setting sun warm your face. With your eyes closed, you focused on the sensations around you – the gentle crash of waves, the distant calls of seagulls, Qiu's friends laughing down the shoreline, and the salty air filling your lungs.

Even with eyes closed, you still knew it was Qiu as they sat beside you.

"Doing your mindful practice?" Qiu asked, breaking pleasantly through the meditation. Your eyes opened slowly, and you leaned your head on their shoulder.

"Yeah, my goal is to do it once a day while I'm here," you explained with a relaxed hum.

"I'm happy you're clicking with this therapist more than the last," they commented, their tone free of judgment.

"Yeah, me too," You agreed contentedly. You shut your eyes again, letting the feeling of the setting sun on your skin and the sand beneath your feet ground you. You listened to the waves lapping against the shore, the seagulls calling in the distance.

The last four months have surprised you. Finding the right therapist took time, with two false starts before landing on someone who truly understood your struggles. Qiu had been undertaking their own therapeutic journey as well. Together, you worked to understand yourselves better, communicate more openly, and stop hiding behind the masks you'd worn for so long.

It had not been pretty in some instances, and the road was far from done being traversed. There had been difficult conversations, moments of backsliding into old patterns, times when the distance between you felt insurmountable.

Qiu had stayed at Prism Vista for Christmas break, though they'd come home for Christmas Eve and Day, a compromise that had felt like progress for both of you. They were learning to say no and prioritize their needs rather than constantly bending to please others.

You were learning to reach out when the darkness crept in, to take small steps toward a future rather than remaining paralyzed by fear of failure. Now the idea of a future where you weren't hiding behind the safety net of being nonchalant and aloof, and where Qiu didn't feel the need to bend backwards for everyone, wasn't so daunting.

You'd even begun taking a few classes in person this semester, a choice that had allowed you to start making tentative friendships. Small steps, but significant nonetheless. You didn't feel so alone for the first time in a long time.

"I missed you," Qiu's voice broke the silence, their tone gentle and nostalgic.

"Missed you more," you admitted readily with a hum. "Long distance isn't so bad but…okay it really sucks, but at least we get to do stuff like this." You lifted your head from their shoulder to meet their gaze.

The waves lapped at the sand, and the warm air held the promise of summer. Golden hour had cast everything in a warm glow, including Qiu, their eyes sparkling affectionately.

"Yeah," Qiu agreed, their voice wistful.

Their hand reached down and tentatively grasped yours. The weight of it was familiar now and always comforting. You smiled softly, squeezing theirs in response. "I can't believe you and Tam are going to be here all week," they added.

"Right? Mom practically shoved me out the door this morning," you laughed, recalling the memory. "I'm pretty sure she's excited to have the house to herself for a little bit." Qiu chuckled along with you.

Your mom had been more than supportive of your decision to visit. In fact, she'd been your biggest cheerleader, helping you with the logistics and even offering to drive you to the airport. You'd been surprised by her enthusiasm, but grateful nonetheless.

It was a far cry from how things had been before and showed you how relationships could be repaired. The ocean breeze rustled through your hair as you both watched a surfer ride a wave off in the distance.

It felt surreal to you, like a movie scene. The colors were vibrant, the sun reflecting off the water like glitter under a spotlight. You felt Qiu's gaze on you, and your traitorous cheeks blushed.

"What?" you asked, feeling a little self-conscious. They shook their head, a soft smile pulling at the corners of their lips.

"Just happy you're here. And…really proud of you." You felt a swell of emotion in your chest, a mixture of happiness and pride.

Some days were still hard, but you reminded yourself that you had something and someone to fight for. When you messed up, you knew you'd be back on track in no time with the support of Qiu and Tamarack, but especially Qiu.

This person, this wonderful, amazing person who had stuck by you through it all, who loved you. It was almost dizzying. Sometimes you felt so much love for them and couldn't quite understand why you were so lucky.

Someone from behind shouted, pulling you out of your thoughts. Qiu's eyes were still on you, the warmth in their brown irises making your stomach flutter. Their cheeks held the slightest of dustings of a rosy tint.

At that moment, you knew that you wanted Qiu Lin beside you, no matter where you went or how your life looked in 20 or 50 years. The last sun's rays had sunk beneath the horizon, casting everything in a dusky pink glow. The sky was painted in vibrant pinks, purples, and blues, a breathtaking backdrop to the moment.

"Can I kiss you?" Qiu's words sent a shiver down your spine. This was still new and rare.

The two of you shared your first kiss under a snowy sky and a lam post outside their home on the night of Christmas. You were so nervous you thought you were going to throw up. However, seeing how red Qiu's face was gave you reassurance that they were feeling just the same then.

Now under a sun-kissed sky, you nodded, unable to suppress your smile. Qiu leaned in, their lips pressing against yours, gentle and tentative. It sent a spark of electricity through your body. You couldn't help but smile against their mouth, happiness impossible to contain.

You'd missed them, but to be here now, in California, under a watercolor sky— it felt right in a way you hadn't thought possible.

A teasing whistle and a chorus of "ooohs" erupted from behind you, causing you both to jump apart. Micah and Qiu's other friends stood watching the scene unfold, a few recording the moment.

"I'm gonna kill them," Qiu muttered under their breath, but the smirk told you they didn't mean it. Your cheeks burned, but you couldn't stop smiling, your joy too big to be ruined by a little embarrassment.

"Get a room! Not the public beach," a joking voice you knew to be Micah's voice rang out over the beach.

"You guys suck." You called out. It didn't have much bite to it.

"We'll be at the car waiting," another called out before their head of dark red disappeared from view down the beach path leading to the parking lot.

You sighed, knowing you needed to join, but not before stealing one more quick kiss from Qiu.

"Okay, we should go now," you said reluctantly.

"Yeah, let's head over to them," Qiu agreed, though their lingering gaze suggested they wanted to do anything but.

With a final glance at the breathtaking sunset and a warm smile, you both rose to your feet. You reached down to scoop a handful of sand. The grains fell between your fingers, and you watched, mesmerized as they fell back to the beach. It was another memory to tuck away and cherish, even though it was over.

Qiu stood at the top of the slope to the path, hand extended to you, their face relaxed and gazing at you fondly. You took their hand, squeezing tightly, not caring if your palm was sweaty, or maybe it was Qiu's. It was impossible to know.

Things still weren't perfect. Nothing ever is. You were all a bunch of dummies still, trying your best. Tamarack still worried too much, Qiu was too giving, and you were still stubbornly avoidant sometimes, but you'd learned so much in the months since that snowy night.

Grown in ways you hadn't thought possible in the short time. There would be hard days, mistakes, miscommunications, and things would not work out how you had wanted.

Still, in that moment, with the sunset painting a portrait and the sand between your toes, it didn't matter. What mattered was that you would work it out. You would try, and you would work with the rolling waves as best as you could.

And with people like Qiu in your life — people who saw you at your worst and still chose to love you and created spaces where you could always come home to yourself — you knew you could do it. You could face whatever came next.

Counting stars and collecting universe points along the way.

Big thanks to everyone who stuck around to read my first fully finished fanfic! I can't tell you how much your support and encouragement kept me going to complete this. It's been a very hard five months, so to be done had been a relief. I really hope you enjoyed this story and that I did it justice even with the huge gap in posting. Now on to other things in the Our Life fandom!

#i'm so tired after this lol #our life #fanfic #olnf #our life: now & forever #our life now and forever #qiu lin #tamarack baumann #writing #oc #qiu lin x reader #angst #angst with a happy ending

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