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daistea · 6 months ago

Note

If you ever have the time, would you ever feel like taking a request with mithrun x an elf reader who's been taking care of him for a while? I've been thinking that they'd know of each other pre-demon, but weren't well acquainted (different circles, and reader is more introverted (like misril)) at the time until post-demon where they help nurse him to health and mayhaps join the canaries as a healer/support for the group.

If that's too specific, that's fine! You can take liberties.

If youre like "yeah that plain just won't happen with mithrun/hes not like that", that's fine! You don't need to write it if you don't want to

I don't want to force you or anything; it's just something that's been floating in my mind, recently!

Of course my friend! You asked so nicely <3

I think I’ll use she/her pronouns for the reader with this one if that’s cool!

Sooooo I’m assuming Mithrun was one of the Wardens in his squad. I don’t recall if it ever mentioned if he was in the first squad or the second. If it’s the second, then Milsiril might’ve been the Vice-Captain of his specific squad at the time, and Mithrun was her second in command like Pattadol is to him now. Cus u know Pattadol is second in command because she’s nobility, and Mithrun is nobility.. Yadda yadda. Let’s just go with that for simplicity’s sake. And since there’s only two Wardens to a squad, I’ve taken the liberty of making the reader a criminal, but it’s for something stupid like… jaywalking lol. Jaywalking using black magic. Or uh maybe using black magic to heal. Both? Two criminal charges, you rebel you

anywho..

tw suicide, mental illness, self harm, blood

Dungeon Meshi Spoilers ahead!

4500ish words

"Vignettes of a 40 Year Old Desire" - Mithrun x elf/healer female reader

●・○・●・○・●

Getting started was the hardest part.

You took a deep breath, your hands hovering over the wound. The slice in Mithrun’s arm was clean, with no brutal ridges. It would scar, but it would be a straight, neat white line on his skin when it was over. Even Mithrun’s wounds were perfect.

“Are you okay?” He asked. His voice was soft, and it reminded you of warm blankets on winter days. Your eyes flickered up to meet his and he offered a smile.

“Yeah,” you said. You sat beside him with your legs curled up beneath you. He sat with his legs criss-crossed, casual as if his bicep hadn’t just been nearly sliced open by the sword of a living armor. He had to be in pain, it was a deep wound. You’d managed to stop the excessive bleeding, but the paleness of his cheeks betrayed that he was feeling weak.

Still, starting was the hardest part.

You summoned your stores of mana, connecting to the spirits that made up the world. They were all around you, willing to obey, willing to lay upon Mithrun’s wound and graft his skin back together. A soft light glowed from beneath your palm as you ran your fingers around the edges of the wound. You weren’t sure why getting started was difficult for you, perhaps it was the feeling of magic pulsing through your veins that startled you, or the very fact that you had the ability to defy nature in this way. And there was that little bell that rang in the back of your mind, that urge to go further, deeper, darker.

That damn bell and its ringing had gotten your ears clipped.

You pulled back from Mithrun, letting your hands drop into your lap. “Done,” was all you said.

He blinked in surprise, then lifted his arm to inspect the spot where he’d been sliced. There was a faint scar, but it would probably fade if he got some sun. His lips twitched into a frown at the sight, but that expression immediately died, pushed aside and replaced with a smile. Mithrun didn’t need the sun, actually, he carried enough shine in his smiles…. Is what someone stupid would say.

“Thank you,” his voice was soft, polite. He pushed down the sleeve of his canary uniform and rolled his shoulders. Nearby, the rest of the team was setting up camp for the night. They laughed and passed around a wineskin. There was a spot on the ground between two of your peers, saved for Mithrun. Milsiril was a distance away with her back pressed against the wall and her knees pulled up to her chest. She had a sewing needle that she meticulously threaded through the body of a ragdoll.

You expected Mithrun to stand up and cross the room to join the others. Yet, he didn’t. He stared at you, two silver eyes filled with curiosity. You returned the look and raised a brow as if to silently ask what he needed.

Finally, Mithrun offered a slightly bashful smile, “You don’t really socialize much, do you? Oh,” he perked up, eyes widening, “I don’t mean that in a bad way, of course. I mean, you’re shy, right? I just don’t know that much about you.”

And that drove him mad.

You were entirely too aware of Mithrun’s true nature. The others were too busy basking in his light, caught up in his orbit, trapped in his web. Even Milsiril deigned to notice. She could’ve if she wanted, she simply didn’t want to— it would be like looking in the sun, and once you got past the blinding light and actually looked, you would already be burnt.

You saw the looks on his face when nobody was looking. You didn’t mean to see them, you didn’t mean to stare, but it had become a habit to watch his reactions. There was a flicker of irritation in his eyes sometimes, the hint of a frown when someone didn’t play his game exactly how he planned. There were moments when his shoulders would tense and his smile would turn tight. There were moments he’d avoid answering questions about himself and turn the subject around on the inquirer to keep his history and feelings and thoughts hidden behind a very sturdy, well-guarded wall.

You were more interested in him than you’d like to admit. You’d drawn several conclusions: Mithrun genuinely enjoyed the company of others, but he couldn’t help himself, he couldn’t help but scowl when they weren’t looking and judge their decisions and look down on everything they said and did. He even did it to you.

Which was precisely why you avoided him for the most part. You didn’t want him to know more about you, to provide more ammunition so he could reload his weapon and fire it straight into your back.

So, all you had to say was, “Yeah, we don’t really talk much.” And you smiled as innocently as you could before standing up and wandering to a corner near Milsiril.

Mithrun’s eyes lingered on your back. He was probably making that face he made when displeased that his charm didn’t work; analytical, a hint of darkness, one could practically see the red-inked assumptions scribbling onto parchment in his head, destined to be filed under a wildly critical and exaggerated category and kept there until the end of time.

You only wished you understood why he was like that.

Mithrun disappeared without warning. The squad had been dispatched to the Central Observation Tower because yet another person had disappeared in the area. Mithrun offered to take his friend’s scouting duty into a dark tunnel because she was afraid of spiders and was convinced that there were millions of them in that specific dark tunnel. Milsiril offered to send you along with him, but at that time you were trying to heal a sprained ankle of another squad member. Mithrun waved a dismissive hand and smiled, “It’s no problem. I’ll be fine on my own, but thanks!”

That was the last you saw of him.

Milsiril had someone slumped on her arm. She held them up, breathing heavily and covered in dirt and blood and dirty blood. You rushed toward the scene. The person had silver hair caked with quickly drying streaks of red. His head lolled. But he was breathing. Thank goodness, he was breathing.

Milsiril gently laid Mithrun on the ground. Immediately, you sat beside him, your hands on his cheeks and forcing open his eyes— eye. Singular. The right one was a mess. There was no time to question that, though. You summoned a light spell and opened his eyelid and black irises greeted you. Weren’t his eyes silver before? It was dim, too. Yet, his chest moved up and down and his heart was still beating. You let go of his face and he closed his eyes again, head lolling to the side as he let out a soft exhale.

“So, this is where he’s been?” You asked Milsiril.

She nodded, “He became the dungeon lord. This place…” she glanced up at the twisted walls and long corridors that led to nowhere. There were monster corpses nearby. So many monsters, strong ones, weird ones with horrific teeth and eyes. “It’s a representation of him. I never knew…”

You knew, sort of. You just didn’t think it would get to this level. You didn’t think he’d fall to the demon. You didn’t think—

There was no time for thinking. You had to get started on healing him. For once, getting started wasn’t so hard, not when your heart raced, not when you were desperate for someone to live.

When Mithrun was conscious again, you offered your hand to help him stand.

He didn’t take it.

Of one thing you were certain: Mithrun of the house of Kerensil had no desire to live.

“You should’ve let me die.”

You perked up at the sound of his voice. It was the first time Mithrun had spoken in perhaps a month, and his vocal cords betrayed that fact. His voice was scratchy with disuse, and it was a struggle for him to speak. As you glanced over your shoulder to look at him, he didn’t bother meeting your eyes. His gaze was on the window near his bed, but he wasn’t looking at anything, not really.

“I should’ve let you die?” You echoed. You could hear the anger in your own voice. Mithrun didn’t care, you knew.

He simply nodded. A lock of silver fell over his bony shoulder. His collarbones were too pronounced. The sight made a fire start in your chest.

“Mithrun?” You asked.

He turned his head to look at you. One eye, as black as an endless pit, landed on your face. The other was covered by bandages.

And he waited. He didn’t actually care about what you had to say, you knew. But you had to say it.

“Don’t ever say those words to me again.”

Mithrun only stared, “Alright.”

Then he returned his attention to the window that he was not looking out of.

You don’t know when or why you started to care so much.

You’d always cared about people. You’d always wanted to help. But you didn’t even really like Mithrun before the dungeon incident. Now, his recovery was all you could focus on. And you were absolutely obsessed with the state of things.

“I don’t know what to do,” his brother whispered, desperate, “I’ve hired so many caretakers but they just don’t do anything for him. I mean, they do things, but he’s not getting any better.”

Someone had to break the news to him. “I don’t think anything we do is going to make him any better.”

“I want him to be better,” his brother furrowed his brows and took a deep breath.

You wanted the same. But for now, all you could do was keep Mithrun alive. As long as he ate and slept and breathed, that was good enough for now. That was all he could manage.

You visited the Kerensil family home more often these days. You weren’t sure why, but you cared. When he screamed at night and scratched himself to the point of bleeding, you healed him without a word. When he got ahold of a kitchen knife and put it to his throat, you wrestled it away from him, then helped his brother install locks on all the cabinets and drawers. When Mithrun snuck out at night to go slaughter every goat within a 50 mile radius, you cleaned the blood from his hair and hands.

You’d basically moved in. The captain had given you permission to dedicate time to Mithrun’s healing, since they would’ve liked to have him join again once he was better. To the other Canaries, this was part of your sentence. To you, this was part of your purpose.

You and Mithrun talked a lot. You talked the most. He stayed quiet, so you weren’t sure if you could consider it as actually holding a conversation. You weren’t sure if he was even listening. But once, when you were softly explaining the importance of getting rune shapes exactly right, you stopped and stared at your hands. You’d begun to enter dark territory, the study of black magic that had brought you to this place in life.

The silence stretched on for a minute or two before Mithrun tilted his head. His hair was splayed out on his pillow and his good eye was open, blinking, slightly alert.

“Continue,” he said.

So you continued. And he stared at the ceiling. And you knew that he was listening. He didn’t care, of course, but he was listening.

One night, Mithrun nearly hit a vital organ with a piece of glass from the bathroom mirror that he’d shattered.

You healed it, the light from your hands growing brighter than usual. Your shoulders were tense and you couldn’t help but scowl and growl and mutter.

Mithrun just looked at you, “You know this isn’t what I want.”

“I don’t care,” you answered immediately.

He grit his teeth, “I don’t want to live.”

“I want you to live!” You exploded. He flinched backward, but no emotion passed over his face. He simply stared. You gulped down your feelings and continued healing him.

Maybe that was selfish of you. You didn’t care.

Milsiril was a mother. Milsiril was a caretaker. Milsiril was a toymaker and she knew how to wind them up and set them on the path again.

“I’m ready to go back into the dungeon,” Mithrun said. His voice was still scratchy, but he was sitting up on his bed for once. He’d gained a few pounds and his shoulders weren’t sharp as knives anymore.

Milsiril only shook her head, “Not yet, I’m sorry.”

Mithrun looked at you as if he expected you to ally with him. You knew him the best, you knew what he wanted in life. You even knew what his secret desire was, the one he couldn’t admit to himself.

You shook your head as well, “You’re still underweight and you haven’t quite gotten the hang of taking care of yourself yet.”

Mithrun’s expression only darkened, “Then let’s keep practicing.”

Where Milsiril was more concerned with making Mithrun socially acceptable enough to rejoin society, you were much more concerned about his living conditions, health, and dignity. It was a relief that he’d stopped trying to pick the locks on the knife drawer. It was not a relief that Mithrun was planning for his inevitable death against the demon— not that he’d admit that.

He wanted different things now. No longer was his goal to die from withering away, but rather to die at the hands of the god who once served him. Still, it involved him dying. There was this feeling you had inside, comparable to the feeling you had when you were first being hunted by the Canaries. You knew it was inevitable that they would find you and jail you or make you join them. Anticipation rose in your chest until it finally burst when they tied up your wrists and clipped your ears.

Now, anticipation was rising again. It had been rising for the last twenty or so years that you’d spent at Mithrun’s side. You could only wonder when it would burst, and when you’d end up as scraps on the floor like the shreds of a popped balloon. You could only wonder.

When Mithrun rejoined the Canaries, you went with him. He said nothing about that. You were the one who cut his hair shorter for functionality reasons. You were the one who delivered his new uniform and made sure it fit. You were the one who sat on his back as he did push ups for training�� which was actually the most fun with him you’d had in the last twenty years. It was kind of silly, but it was good to see him willing to do things like exercise and challenge himself, even if his end goal was just to reach the demon.

There was a lot of teasing involved when you two returned to the Canaries.

“Are you in love with him or something?” Helki asked behind his hand. He cast a glance at Mithrun, who was sitting nearby and silently staring out the window.

You made a face, “With Mithrun? No. I love him, but not like that.”

“Are you sure?” He snorted, “You’ve been like his little wife for the last few decades.”

“I don’t think I would consider all that as wife-like,” you retorted.

“Why do you do it, then?”

Was it truly so impossible for someone to comprehend caring for another individual without expecting something in return? Or not having a motive? You supposed there was a motive, but it wasn’t romance. You just… cared. You wanted him to stay alive and get better. And he was relatively better, now. Relatively.

You patted Helki’s shoulder, “Because he’s my friend. Nothing more.”

You didn’t notice, but Mithrun’s head tilted. He always listened to you, even when you didn’t think so.

“Can you help her?” Flamela jutted a thumb toward where you and Mithrun sat. Her voice, louder than everybody else’s in the Canary’s headquarters, caught your attention. Mithrun kept his arms crossed and his gaze on the recruits training outside.

Cithis blinked in surprise. Her eyes landed on you and you returned the look with a hesitant smile.

“It’s a lot to explain,” Flamela continued, “but Captain Mithrun needs help and [name] needs a break.”

Your brows furrowed. You hadn’t expressed needing a break before. You were fine. You liked taking care of Mithrun. Yet before you could protest, Flamela was already walking away. And Cithis stood there with her hands folded and her eyes curious, analyzing.

Dread settled into your chest.

“You’re not some helpless baby, Mithrun,” you didn’t mean to yell, nor pace, nor gesture so wildly with your hands, but you couldn’t help it. “You’re not a dog, not a slave, not someone who can be exploited for entertainment! You’re a person and you deserve respect!”

Mithrun only raised a brow, “So, you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you,” you snapped, sounding quite mad at him. Yet you pulled yourself together and took a deep breath, “No, Mithrun, I’m not mad at you. It’s not your fault. I just wish people saw you as more than what you’re going through. You’re the damn Captain of the Canaries now, you’ve risen above some really tough shit and you’re capable and strong and—”

Lord.

The realization hit you like a slap to the face.

You froze, mouth hanging open, eyes on Mithrun. He only stared, as he tended to do, waiting for you to say something. But you couldn’t. You’d been slapped in the face by reality and now everything ached.

“I’ve got to go,” you managed to squeak out before running toward the door. You left his bedroom behind and darted down the hallway of the Canaries Headquarters. You shared a room with a few other criminals, but they weren’t there when you burst inside and collapsed onto your bed. You were in your late 100’s yet there you were, screaming into your pillow like a 60 year old.

You’re in love.

“I’m in love,” you said out loud, which you immediately regretted because that made things real.

You’re in love. You’re in love. You’re in love and it hurts so much because Mithrun could never love you back. Were you a masochist? Probably. Your heart hurt. You suddenly understood the concept of heartbreak, it felt as if your heart was about to physically fall apart. Realizing that you’re in love should be a happy moment. It shouldn’t hurt so much.

Alright, you decided. You’re going to ignore it like an adult. You’re going to take this secret to the grave.

Captain Mithrun’s team was a mess.

But they were fun.

“Hey,” Lycion elbowed you one night at the dinner table. He leaned down to whisper while you were mid-bite of a piece of chicken. “Do you think the Captain would let me check out the fighting scene on that island? Like, we could put off the whole negotiations thing for a day so I can go see it?”

Mithrun personally wouldn’t care, you knew, but he would refuse Lycion’s request for the sake of getting into the dungeon faster. You swallowed your food and sent him a glance, “Why’re you asking me? Pattadol’s the one that does all the decision stuff with Mithru— the Captain.”

“But you know him best.”

True enough. Still, you were just the healer, still a criminal sentenced to another 40 or so years of Canary service. You sent Lycion an apologetic smile, “Sorry. I don’t think he would.”

“Can you ask him?” Lycion used that purring voice he always utilized on certain targets unwilling to obey.

You remained unaffected, “I don’t see why you think me asking him would make a difference.”

“The Captain would do anything you asked!” He explained, “Within reason, of course. You’re his girl.”

Your heart skipped a beat and you forced the satisfaction down. “I’m not his girl. And he pretty much does whatever anyone tells him to do as long as it doesn’t interfere with his goals, so I’m not any different.”

“You’re blind,” Lycion muttered, “so blind.”

Mithrun had been pulled into the stupid pit thing or whatever with that stupid Kabru guy. You were going to pull your hair out.

When he reunited with the Canaries, he actually looked rather well-taken care of. You begrudgingly admitted that Kabru may not be as stupid as you thought, but you couldn’t let go of your anger at the entire situation. You still wanted to pull your hair out, mostly because you were resisting the urge to wrap your arms around the Captain and squeeze until your bodies melted together.

Mithrun noticed your stress and slowly approached you. He patted your head, “I’m fine,” he said.

He could be shot in the chest and he’d still claim to be fine.

“When this is all over,” you managed to say through the fog of anger and worry and adoration and fury, “we’re taking a holiday. We’ll go to the Eastern Archipelago and we’re sitting on the beach and we’re going to do very safe things like build sandcastles or take naps.”

Mithrun looked down at you. He stared, as was his tendency. Then he raised both brows and you thought that just for a second, there was a hint of a smile on his lips. An affectionate smile. Perhaps it was hopeful thinking, an illusion brought forth by stress. You weren’t sure.

His hand that was on your head slowly ran down the side of your cheek and to your chin, lifting your face so you’d look at him. He didn’t hold you for long, though, letting his arm drop to his side when he had your attention. “When we have time, I will go where you go,” he said.

You wanted to smack him in his stupid beautiful face for being so sweet. What was wrong with him? Was he in a good mood? You could only narrow your eyes in suspicion.

Of course, Mithrun walked away after that, back to the mission at hand. Yet his words echoed. I will go where you go.

That was more like something you would say to him. You’ve made the decision to be at his side for the last 40 years. You would follow him to the ends of the earth.

Surely, he didn’t mean it.

But then again, Mithrun wasn’t in the habit of lying unless it served his purpose. And he wouldn’t lie to you, of all people. Surely not.

The demon was gone and Mithrun had lost his purpose in life.

How scary, you thought. How terrifying to lose your one reason for living. You’d most likely be on the ground, slumped up against a tree and expecting to wither away just like him. But unlike you, Mithrun had people who cared for him, who wouldn’t accept that fate for him, who loved him.

Senshi and Kabru said their pieces. The Canaries all agreed with a chorus of encouragement and opinions and friendship.

You offered your hand, like you always did, like you’d been doing for the last four decades.

He took it.

Mithrun placed his hand in yours. And the anticipation bubble that had been building in your chest for so long finally popped. But you were okay. It was okay. He was okay.

Mithrun pardoned you, surprisingly. You told him that wasn’t necessary and that he should use his pardon on someone else who had a longer sentence. There were only 40 years left for you. Surely they wouldn’t be as long as the last 40 years had been.

“No, it's you I want,” Mithrun said rather casually, “you’re staying with me in Melini.”

He wanted something. He wanted you.

You forced yourself to stay upright, “Alright. If you insist.”

Living with Mithrun in this state was very different. It was fun, heartbreaking, difficult, easy, calm, chaotic. Some days, he laid in bed and stared at the wall. Other days, he made noodles and walked through the forest and sat on the beach with you, doing very safe things like building sandcastles and taking naps. Many people in town assumed you two were married. You always corrected them, Mithrun never did.

He observed monsters and would need healing sometimes. You would push up the sleeve of his tunic and trace your fingers along old scars, none of them perfect. Then, heal him, as you tend to do.

“Are you sure you want this?” Mithrun asked one day.

You looked up to meet his eyes. Ink black, your favorite color. “What?”

“You can spend your life any way you want now,” he explained, his voice flat, “you’re free. I’m not your burden anymore.”

Your heart clenched in your chest. “You have never been a burden to me.”

“I used to hate you for keeping me alive.”

“I know.”

“And you never hated me?”

“I sometimes did,” you admitted softly, fingers tracing over his skin. You recalled this certain scar, from a pair of scissors you wrestled out of his hands at two in the morning years ago. “But it was the kind of hate that only stems from love.”

“You have always treated me like a human,” Mithrun murmured. His free hand went to your chin and lifted your face, “Like someone that deserves to live. You loved me despite my inability to give you anything in return. But I’m able now,” he leaned closer, “so allow me this.”

Damn. That had to be the first time you’d ever heard Mithrun say anything like tha—

He was kissing you.

It took you a moment to realize what was happening. His lips were on yours and your heart felt as if it might explode. Your hands shook as you raised them, eventually finding their way to his hair. That felt right. This was right. He deepened the kiss, slowly pushing forward. It was slow and careful and calm. It held so many words that neither of you were able to say. As he gently ran his hand up your thigh and to your hips, you couldn’t help but shiver.

40 years of longing accumulated into this moment. In a dark house in a new kingdom in a demon-free world, you started something new, and for once it wasn’t difficult at all.

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stayconnecteed · 9 months ago

Text

❪⠀🪐.⠀ethereal roses⠀𓏔⠀hwang hyunjin⠀❫

☆ㅤhwang hyunjin x afab!reader ( valentine's collab oneshots )⠀★⠀3.1k words

synopsys: even before he knew your name, hyunjin already knew your dog's. it had been difficult not to, considering that you shouted it on a daily basis in the park where he walked kkami. but he wasn't complaining: thanks to jisung he had been able to meet you, and and after a slight confusion, being able to see you again, and then again, painting your future in a lovesick red, as pure as the one in the roses that had brought you two together.

note: this is the last part!! with this oneshot our valentine's collab comes to an end. it was a pleasure to work with you, mana! i had so much fun 🤍

Before even learning your name, Hyunjin already knew your dog's. It had been hard not to when you were shouting it on a daily basis in the park next to his building, and even more so because of the name you had decided to give the poor animal. To hear such a pretty girl exclaim "Soju!" while laughing as he walked Kkami was a sight to behold. The little King Shepherd puppy you owned had never approached Hyunjin's dog before, but loved to jump and run around next to you, wagging his tail at an astonishing speed and looking at you as if you were the one who hung the stars in the sky every night. Hyunjin ended up understanding Soju perfectly, as every time he looked at you the sparkle in his eyes was the same.

It had all started when you had moved into the building across the street. Hyunjin lived in a fifth-floor apartment, and the flat he saw from his living-room window had been empty for as long as he could remember, until suddenly it hadn't been. He had seen you one afternoon after work, when he had gone down to Kkami for his evening walk, talking to the truck driver who had just dropped off what looked like a rolled-up mattress on the ground with the help of his co-worker. All he had thought about at the time, apart from the fact that you were going to be a new neighbour, was how beautiful you were, the reflections the sun created in your hair if you turned slightly, and the colours he would have to blend to get all the shades that merged into your strands.

The first time he'd heard you shout your dog's name was two days later, in the same park he was heading for when you'd first arrived in the neighbourhood, when he had just gotten there. You had run past, with your eternal smile plastered on your lips, your flashy yoga tights clinging to your skin, and Soju chasing after you amidst joyful barking. It had been quite an image. The same image he had caught himself trying to sketch that very night, instead of writing in his journal, before turning out the light to go to sleep. It was at that moment that he knew that even though you had not yet been introduced, you were already a part of his life.

And from then on he couldn't stop seeing you everywhere. It was like he had unlocked a new character, like when you noticed the presence of someone you thought was a stranger to you, then suddenly they weren't, and your day-to-day life was totally parallel, your paths coinciding but never crossing. He would come out of his room in the morning ready to make a coffee, and he would see you cooking breakfast in your pyjamas, in your kitchen. When he looked out of the window, on his stumbling way to the bathroom for his morning shower, and you were in the street, Soju hopping around you again, happy to be out for a walk. As he went downstairs to the park for a short walk with Kkami before work, you were again in your front door, Soju watching from your window as you put on your helmet, and Hyunjin watching you ride off on your bicycle.

In the morning, in his office, he couldn't stop thinking about you, neglecting his work as a art director more often than recommended to shut himself away in his personal studio, analysing colours, mixing them in his palette, remembering... All to find the perfect tones for your features. But the frustration of not succeeding could get the better of him and soured his mood, making him highly irritable until the end of the day. Then he would say goodbye to his colleagues and employees with the smile of someone who knew he was going home, when in reality all he wanted was to see you again.

He had just enough time to get to his flat, get Kkami on his leash and go out into the street again, but with a changed mood, heading for the park. And after waiting a few minutes sitting on his favourite bench, he would always see you arrive at your building, pretending to read a book he couldn't even remember the synopsis of, with your hair blowing in the wind. And you'd hurry up the stairs, eager to greet Soju, a few minutes later you'd be back on the street, ready to play with him. Because in the afternoons you never walked Soju. Every second between the trees was spent playing with him, with branches or his little red ball, or even running between passers-by.

But even though it was a habit he had developed, to include your routines in his even if you had never spoken a word to each other, he didn't have the confidence to do anything else. His friends had encouraged him to introduce himself, to strike up a conversation with you, to ask you out on a date, but he couldn't. The awkwardness gripped him, his natural shyness forming a lump in his throat, freezing his muscles as soon as he saw you appear. So he would just admire you from a distance as you played with your dog, as you danced around your living room, as you went to work... While he did nothing about it.

At least until one of his best friends asked him to stop by a florist's to pick up a bouquet of flowers he had ordered for his girlfriend. And when he walked up to, entering that little shop squeezed between two buildings, the one he had spent so many afternoons walking past on his way home, and saw you through the glass, he had to pull back suddenly, hiding from you, his cheeks flushing. He didn't know if Jisung had done it on purpose or not, but he was going to kill him anyway. He considered for a moment not going in. Surely Jisung would have time to come by and pick them up before his date, and he could go back home, regretting that he hadn't seized the moment. But he cared too much about his friend's girlfriend to deny her some nice flowers on Valentine's Day, so he gathered up his courage and secured his hand on the doorknob, opening the door.

our face lit up even before you knew who had entered, welcoming the new customer with a warm smile, but your eyes had a most excited gleam in them as you made eye contact with him, recognising him. And Hyunjin knew. He knew and his heart filled with pride, allowing himself to dream that you could feel the same way he did. And you greeted him, a soft, melodic "hello", and he greeted you back, his words certainly shakier, his curved lips mirroring yours. And for a few moments you watched each other, his eyes roaming over your features for the first time so closely, taking in the details, memorising every mole and wrinkle, those cute ones that formed at the corners of your eyes when you smiled. And he felt your gaze on his face too, his cheeks turning crimson.

"Which flowers are you interested in?" you asked, your swift hands fiddling with a discarded piece of stem from the bouquet you had just prepared.

"I... huh," he closed his eyes in a quick blink, focusing on the reason he had come in the first place, placing his hands on the counter to gain strength, "I'm here to pick up an order. Under the name of Han Jisung.”

"Oh," he could see the moment when your face fell, turning hurriedly, rummaging through the loose papers in a notebook on the cabinet behind you. "Yes, I... Yes, a dozen red roses."

"I thought they were orchids," Hyunjin uttered, before he could contain himself, frowning. "I could have sworn... I know she likes orchids."

"Well, there's a bouquet of red roses ordered under that name," you said, your shoulders still tense, your back to him. He heard you sigh before you turned around again, offering him a smile that was nowhere near as bright as the one you'd flashed when he'd arrived. "I can make you an orchid one, if you wait a while."

"Really?"

"Yeah, sure," but there was a sad tinge in your voice.

You rolled up the sleeves of the thin jumper you were wearing and disappeared into the back room. Hyunjin had not had a chance to observe the place as much as he would have liked, his attention directed entirely towards you, but he had marvelled at the magical place he found himself in. From the outside, the establishment was clean glass and old wood, but inside it was a forest straight out of a fairy tale. There were fake trees, some branches even painted on the wall, and ivy falling from the ceiling, lit in a warm, cosy light. The tables were covered with little ready-made bouquets, vases of flowers of all sizes and colours everywhere, a chaotic myriad of scents that created a soft and enchanting perfume, in a setting that should have felt overwhelming but was actually pleasant.

He was flashing a lovesick smile when you returned, holding a pot in your hands, and followed you with his eyes until you reached the table in the centre of the room, full of ribbons and laces, bits of stems and loose leaves, wrapping paper and various filler plants for the bouquets. You kept your head down, working quickly, and Hyunjin watched in amazement, admiring the way you expertly pulled out the flowers and cut the roots, preparing the stem as you thought it would look best, adding a few fresh leaves to match the white of the flowers with a refreshing green colour. By the time you had finished, laying the bouquet with heart-breaking delicacy on the wooden surface of the table, you simply whispered to him how much he had to pay for the expenses.

Hyunjin left the flower shop with a sad look on his face, your masterpiece resting in his hand as he sent a message to Han, agreeing to drop by his office to leave the bouquet. He was sad to have to give it up, the only piece that tied him to you, and after handing the flowers to his friend, scolding him for not choosing his girl's favourites, he returned home looking pained, defeated by how badly the first 一and probably only一 time you had seen each other had gone. The walk with Kkami lasted less time than usual, releasing him from the leash and letting him run wherever he wanted while he kept his gaze fixed on the entrance to the park, anxiously waiting to see you enter.

But you didn't. And while it was getting dark and he was going back into his flat, ready to pour himself some alcohol and drown himself in the sorrow, or the apparent rejection you had destined him to, you had decided to spend the night in your best friend's place. Hyunjin couldn't see the lights in your apartment on, but he couldn't see Soju either, so he realised that you weren't there, that you didn't want to be there, and that maybe you were the one who had felt rejected. Even if he was head over heels for you, even if he couldn't think of anything else, even if now that he knew what you smelled like, what you looked like up close, he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep until he had you in his arms. He'd seen the way you'd looked at him, how you'd locked eyes, how everything had disappeared around you as soon as he'd entered the shop and you'd recognised him. That connection could not be faked.

So he locked himself in his studio. And instead of mixing the colours he knew would form every shade of your skin, every strand of your hair, the kaleidoscope of your eyes, he let his heart bleed onto the canvas, a chaos of beiges and reds intermingling in the image he had conjured in his mind: the dozen red roses he had seen on the counter when he arrived, the one Han had ordered for his girlfriend. He poured out all his frustration using the brush as a channel, the colours sliding down the canvas of the frame as tears fell down his cheeks, angry, desperate, desperate... And when he finished, the smell of the paint overshadowing the memory of the perfume he remembered in your shop, he tried to grasp every word exchanged, every absence of interaction that had led you to this situation. And he understood.

Because in his eagerness to help his best friend's forgetful heart, he had forgotten to consider yours, and how his words might have been interpreted. He had lost himself in the romanticism he so adored, and had let you think the bouquet was for a date of his. He knew how it had happened, what you had thought. He knew why your smile had faded, and why you had needed to fetch the flowers from the back room when you had more in the shop, why you had put so much effort into his orchids. He knew because he would have done the same 一the sudden sadness, the time alone to avoid crying in front of someone, to give the best of you even if it was hurting like the worst wound... And he smiled, when he realised, in the middle of the night, determination warming his chest like a blanket on the coldest day of winter, that he just needed to explain it to you to start from scratch.

So he waited. The night felt like an eternity, the hours didn't go by fast enough, going to work was a misery. He hadn't seen you yet, and he already missed your silly dances in the kitchen at seven in the morning, the variety of sundresses you wore with tights and a big coat, how adorable you looked on your bike. God, he missed your voice. Even Kkami noticed his nervousness, chasing him around the flat at noon, when he had come back with the excuse to have lunch just because he wanted to find out if you were at home. He'd relaxed slightly at the sight of Soju dozing in the living room, but assumed you'd be working, so the afternoon's work hours went by pretty quickly, the certainty that he'd see you again in the park turning him into a giggling and excited mess.

He was waiting for you, once again, sitting on his bench. He hadn't bothered to bring a book, he couldn't distract himself, he wasn't capable of it anyways. While Kkami wandered around the lawn and amused himself chasing pigeons, he kept his eyes fixed on the entrance to the compound, his heart skipping a beat every time a person entered. But none of them were you, and his mood dropped as the afternoon progressed. Had you been so hurt that the possibility of seeing him made you walk Soju in a completely different place? He had been a fool. Deep down he knew it wasn't his fault, that it was just a few poorly chosen words, but it wasn't your fault either, and you were the one who was suffering the most.

And he couldn't allow it. Not when your heartbreak was avoidable, when he reciprocated your feelings so fiercely. So he got up, a high-pitched whistle spilling from between his lips to call his pet, and when he was sure the dog was following him he made his way to your building. He hooked the leash back on Kkami's harness and looked for your front door, hurrying when he saw that one of your neighbours was leaving at that very moment and racing down the hallway. He knocked on the wrong flat a couple of times once he got to the right floor, until a kindly old lady informed him that the cheerful pretty girl in the fifth lived in apartment E, and after thanking her he stopped, taking a moment to breathe.

He felt that everything was going very fast, but he was not sure if time was running out or if the accelerated rhythm of his heart had something to do with it. He seemed to be trapped in a movie, and couldn't stop smiling, starring in his own k-drama. He walked towards your door, knees trembling, clenching his hand into a fist to release the tension before pressing the doorbell, his chest rising and falling in an accelerated pace. He waited a few moments, listening to his heartbeat in his ears, swallowing saliva in agitation. Until you opened the door, the blue sundress you must have worn to work still hugging your body, Soju's curious figure at the end of the corridor, your face taking on a gesture of confusion.

"Go out with me" he blurted, his eyes wide, surprised at the way he had uttered the words, his eyebrows curving with concern at your possible response.

"I... Huh, what?"

"You, go out with me" he repeated, more confidently, feeling the material of Kkami's leash in his hand like an anchor to reality, "one dinner, one date."

"But..." you protested, looking back at the bouquet of red roses you had in the doorway, the edges of the petals already somewhat ruined, a sorrowful reminder of what had happened, "your bouquet...".

"They weren't for me," he explained, an incredulous laugh breaking through his chest, his face glowing with happiness, "they weren't for me. I was picking them up for a friend".

"They weren't for you" you repeated, looking into his eyes, the world once again disappearing around you.

"They weren't for me" he murmured, nodding, your lips curving into a reflection of the smile Hyunjin had on his lips.

"One dinner, one date" you affirmed, your cheeks taking on a reddish hue, exhaling a pain that seemed to have settled in your chest and that you were finally letting go of.

And in a catharsis of relief, found feelings at the door of your flat, and the joy of a beautiful crush, Hyunjin said goodbye, promising to pick you up the next day around eight o'clock. You closed the door slowly, leaning your back against it and smiling like a teenager. Hyunjin returned to his flat with a heart filled with happiness, and as he looked at the painting of red roses, he no longer thought of what he had felt when he painted it, but of all that was to come.

taglist: ( @hanjsquokka ) · @jazziwritesthings · @rylea08 · @starlostastronaut · @manuosorioh · @kpopmenace143 · @skzms · @atinyniki · @bbybearcubbs · @caitlyn98s

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#﹙ ★ ﹚ mars — writes.#stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fluff #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin fluff

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pospoets · 1 year ago

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AU where javier is related to berkis

(no this is definitely not an excuse to ramble about Dragon Javier x Lloyd /j)

aka half-dragon or quarter-dragon Javier, i was just talking about my friend (Nyan) about this and i'd just throw some headcanons about this AU.

So basically Javier obviously have some dragon features aka slitted eyes and scales hidden by his ruffly hair, he also has some Sharp teeths like a dragon.

This also gives an explanation to how Javier is multi-talented in many things or how strong he is and how quickly he improved with mana-related stuff.

Okay let's get to my fav part, their dragon instincts.

Dragons like shiny stuff right? So Javier would, let's say, give Lloyd some shiny things at some point as a courting gift. But the thing is that none of them realizes it, not even Javier because he thinks that's normal.

One thing i've noticed from the author of Tged is that they usually give the dragons lovers that are suited in taking care of chores, berkis with (obviously) Chung, Berkis's mother with Berkis's father who's babygirl/hj, and - wait let's not count solitas, he doesn't have any. So Javier would probably (and subconsciously) look for a partner that can take care of chores, house stuff, and also he would also look for someone who's strong so they can protect his offsprings. (It is ingrained in his genes)

but then I thought, "Aren't Lloyd's summons basically his children?" And then went "Wait oh my God"

Javier would count Lloyd as a suitable Lover, I'm not even kidding, this guy would accept courting gifts from Javier because he just thinks that's how Javier shows his gratefulness. Lloyd takes care of the summon like his childrens, he's also stronger than average so he could probably protect the summons if needed.

Javier didn't even realize he's fallen for this man and had started courting him dragon-style.

I'm thinking of a scene where Lloyd just speaking with one of his summon and then said: "what? You're asking for a new playmate? Alright then." And then Javier just stares at him as he crosses off one of his list: "can take care of childrens" Subconsciously.

#lloyd frontera #the greatest estate designer #the greatest estate developer #tged #Llojavi #javier asrahan #lloyd x javier

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prime-adeptus · 10 months ago

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ONE LOVE, ONE LIFETIME – YONE X READER

“Well, if you decide to come back here one day,” you said, reaching for his hand. Your skin felt warm against his own. “Just know that I’ll be here waiting for you.” Or, the one where Yone fell first.

CONTENT.⠀female reader; romance, light angst and hurt/comfort, family issues, elitism in the family (yeah), Asshole Father bc I have problems, family member death, very heavily implied that MC was an accident baby, talks about death and the afterlife on yone's end, brief talks of arranged marriage, allusions to misogyny. + Spirit Blossom AU with some changes to fit the narrative. ~11k words

NOTES.⠀I wanted to finish this before I start properly using the break so woe ~20 pages be upon ye. I've had this in my drafts for ages and it took longer than I would've liked but! we made it! this is a gift for my beloved @kakujis, a dear friend and my Shimada Liker in Arms. <3 I hope you enjoy!!

divider by cafekitsune | cross-posted on ao3

Pride and honour stood above all else.

Such a lesson was established in your clan from the moment of its founding, forging ahead generations of noble swordsmen who have never strayed from their paths. Every child born into the family is bound to duty, raised and trained by the elite until they are seen as ready for the battles ahead of them. Pride flowed in your veins and you were taught to believe that what you bleed is your negligence. Honour is engraved in your bones, down to the marrow—strong as the seas, and immovable as the mountains.

Every child of your family knows this by heart, including you, the broken one. The odd one out. The blemish on what would otherwise be a pristine reputation.

Born without the same mana or prowess that all of your brothers possessed, you were deemed a flawed child undeserving of the honour of your family name. Fate restricted you from following the path you wished to take as soon as they decided on where your life began. How was it fair at all to put such a heavy burden on a child’s shoulders? On someone who hadn’t opened their eyes for the first time yet?

You craved to learn the ways of a warrior, to be someone the younger generation could trust and look up to. Instead, you were scorned in your own home by a family that was hellbent on upholding tradition and their position among the elite. All because you were born differently. Anything said about you was always done in contempt, especially from your own flesh and blood—your father, your brothers, and your sisters.

‘You are not my child.’ It was your father’s way of saying he didn’t want himself or his beloved sons associated with you, his flesh and blood. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. So long as he and the oh-so-esteemed council were alive, you would never be seen as a part of the family. So long as he continued to breathe, he would look down on you as much as he could. And yet, even though he so explicitly despised you, you still did everything you could so you could be worth his time.

A fruitless endeavour. He held your weakness over your head, his glare a constant reminder of how he’d always see you as a failure. You would never be enough. You wanted to leave, but where would you go? Without your family name, you had nothing. With your name, all you were was a bastard. You were bound to a home that didn’t welcome you.

‘You are not my child.’ You didn’t want to be.

You wished you had the chance to meet your mother. She abandoned you on the doorstep, they would say whenever you asked about her, your father saved you. It wasn’t until years later that you learned the truth. She never abandoned you—she was threatened, forbidden from stepping foot inside the mansion again. You used to wish she had fought more and taken you with her, but the more you grew, the more you understood. Whatever fury you harboured towards her dwindled like a flame dying on its own.

She didn’t have a choice. You knew firsthand what that felt like. Everything the elders said was law; within these walls, there was no going against them. They saw her as disposable, a lowly commoner who just happened to earn the affection of a nobleman for a night. And dispose of her they did. As the midwife took you away, your mother was sent off to another city in a carriage that never returned. No one spoke of her again. Whether it was by command or a collective agreement, you weren’t sure.

There were times when her name would come up in hushed whispers. Some of them were from your father. You remember being six years old and listening to your father’s drunk mumbling. With a hand on your head, he told you that you looked just like your mother. It was the gentlest he’d ever been with you. But when the inebriation left his system the next morning, your loving father was gone, and the patriarch was back.

His soft tone became harsh once again. His eyes burned with hatred. It was as if everything was just a dream. It might as well have been. You chalked it up to him having a bad day, just like yesterday and the day before that. Surely he’d be kind to you again if he drank.

He wasn’t.

And as if taking your mother away wasn’t already enough of a mockery, you were constantly reminded that this was not your home. That you were here because you belonged to the clan. You’ve always been. You were already their property from the moment you inhaled your first breath.

Your life was theirs, but even that wasn’t enough.

(You don’t think you’ll ever be.)

A child in a loveless family. Your father thought it wasn’t worth trying to train you, having decided that you were beyond help. Your brothers didn’t see you as someone they had to protect. Your sisters didn’t want to be seen with you. All you had were your grandparents.

With them, you were treated as family. It didn’t matter to them that you didn’t have what your siblings did. They loved you.

You spent mornings in the apothecary room with your grandmother, learning all about herbs and medicine from all around the world. In the afternoon, you’d spend time training with your grandfather in the dojo and listening to his stories of ages past. Then, every evening, you’d spend time with both of them at the temple that they cared for. All of your best memories were made there. When your grandparents inevitably passed, you didn’t hesitate to pick up from where they left off.

Your volunteering to maintain its upkeep seemed to satisfy the elders enough. At least you’ll be useful in something, your father said without batting an eye. You liked to think you’d become numb to all the jabs thrown your way, but you were wrong.

The temple was your getaway, somewhere you could hide from the world and feel more at home than you did in the estate. The smell of flowers and herbs inside the temple, alongside the sight of the sunrise or sunset, never failed to lull you into a state of tranquillity. The voices you’d hear from around you weren’t those of disappointment, but those of birds chirping in a joyous tune. It was the only place you’ll ever feel at peace in. Seeing the names of your grandparents engraved on the stone slabs broke your heart whenever you walked by. You might not grieve any more, but you were still alone.

Ionian faith and tradition flowed in your veins. You were taught about grace by your grandmother and what it meant to be dignified, worthy of respect even without noteworthy achievements. Your grandfather taught you strength and combat so you could protect yourself and others from monsters, both human and unknown. You wouldn’t have gotten the chance to learn the blade elsewhere. He was more than enthusiastic to pass on his knowledge to you. He’d grown weak with age, he said, but you’ve always thought he was the greatest swordsman you know. Aside from the temple, the dojo was where you felt the happiest, but as always, good things never lasted long for you.

In your world, secrets were nearly impossible to have. Spies and traitors lurked in the walls, engraving every decision you made and every word you spoke into their memory. It didn’t take long for your father to find out about the lessons his father had been giving you. In fury, he forbade you from entering the dojo or holding a weapon again and told you that you didn’t deserve to carry on his father’s legacy. Forced to leave behind your passion and descend into monotony, the art of the blade eventually left your mind. Had you just fought back—

No. Not everything was under your control. As long as you were in your father’s home, he would continue to treat you however he liked. The cruel words will keep being said, behind your back and to your face, but you won’t give them the satisfaction. You swore not to let anyone see you at your weakest again. You hated the name that you bear, but you would honour it the way you were taught to. The world might be against you, but there is always a light at the end of the tunnel. Staying hopeful in a place like Ionia was all you could do.

Dawn always comes after dusk. The sun always rises for a new day. You didn’t see why it should be any different for you.

—

Your days got busier as the Spirit Blossom festival approached.

More and more people came to honour their loved ones every day, praying and making offerings to their ancestors for protection. You weren’t sure if you ever attended the festival yourself. You knew of the legends and stories behind it, of its reasons and purposes, but you had only been a bystander. You couldn’t see spirits even if you wanted to anyway, you thought bitterly, so there wasn’t a way for you to see your grandparents again.

‘In the Spirit Blossom festival, the dead reunite with their loved ones until the afterlife calls for them again.’

Whether or not it was possible to see said spirits, it was still hard to ignore the longing in your heart. The cycle of life and death was not unknown (you were more familiar with it than you’d like) but you didn’t think anyone could ever get used to it. You loved deeply, and when the ones you love are taken away from you, you’re left alone with yourself. You weren’t a stranger to partaking in as many tasks as possible to stop needlessly thinking, either. You spent your entire morning doing chores and running errands for this reason. You needed to keep yourself busy so you could drift away just for a little while.

With all of your tasks completed, you had nothing left to do. Leaves were swept into neat piles that the farmers always came to pick up later per routine. It took longer than you would’ve liked, though you supposed it was bound to happen when the workload wasn’t meant for one person, but two. The other shrine maiden had an ‘urgent matter to attend to,’ as her messenger informed you and left. You knew right away she paid him to cover for her. You’d like to think you mellowed out with age, having lived for almost three decades, but you were wrong. You were just as easy to irk as you were as a child.

‘It’s not a good thing to harbour negativity in a sacred place,’ your grandmother’s voice rang in your head, ‘it brings bad luck.’ But there you stood, the most irate you’ve ever been as you wished a terrible week upon the both of them.

Thanks to the tedious work done in all your lonesome, the tile flooring within the temple was spotless. The altar was dusted and reorganised, ready to accept the next batch of offerings. The place smelled more like soap than the usual floral incense you were used to. On any other day, you’d return to your quarters after such a productive time, maybe read a book before you go to sleep, but nature had other plans in store.

The wind howled and rain started to pitter-patter against the rooftop while the sun began its descent. Silhouettes of nature and man-made structures were the only company you had as you made your way back into the prayer room. Away from the rain, you idly watched the world go by from inside. You remembered your grandfather telling you about his battles in a storm and how tumultuous it had been. The retellings of his past exploits were your favourite stories to listen to in your childhood. He travelled through the lands and protected those he held dear with honour. He lived a life of pride and accomplishments that you wanted to have in yours. You still did.

A singular incense stick burnt in the centre of the bowl of ash and sand, its smoke disappearing into the air as it did so. The air grew colder as the sun set, painting the sky in warm hues and your skin in gooseflesh. The storm outside threatened to extinguish the flames within the lantern posts outside. Your uniform robe and long skirt, despite its many layers and the fabric, didn’t aid much in shielding you from the cold. A shiver ran down your spine from the sudden drop in temperature.

If you were asked what you disliked about this time of the year, you would say the weather’s unpredictability as the veil was lifted. The day started pleasantly; the sun was bright and the spring breeze was refreshing. There was no way you could’ve known that there would be a storm approaching.

The doors slammed shut with a loud bang, making you jump in fright and instinctively reach for a sword you no longer owned. You frowned. Years had passed since you last held a weapon, and you weren’t sure if your body had any memory of it at all. If danger were to actually happen, your only means of defence would be the old wooden broom in the corner, which you doubted made for a good weapon. Still, you found yourself keeping it close, your fingers curling tightly around the handle. It was better to be safe than sorry. You were fortunate enough to live in a densely populated area that was well protected, but as typical of an Ionian village, worse things awaited after sunset.

You were a cautious person for as long as you could remember. As optimistic as you tried to be, you weren’t exactly so convinced that there was such a thing as a safe haven. So long as peace exists, so will chaos, and with chaos comes things that are out of your control. You were taught to let things progress the way fate and nature intended them to, to let go of your anxieties because you always worried over ‘nothing.’

But that was easier said than done. You worried for a reason. Everything happens for a reason. Fate weaves the threads of life the way it wants to. The strong are led to lives of fame and power, and the blessed are led to lives of love and fortune. But you weren’t strong or blessed, you were cursed. If the Creator put you on earth for a reason, what is it? What path does fate want you to take, and what did you do in your past life to be put in such a suffocating position?

The anxiety at the pit of your stomach grew stronger the longer you observed the forest and the shadows in between. In the daylight, the temple was comforting and tranquil, picturesque, but it hadn’t occurred to you until then how daunting it was in the dark. It was a quiet night, eerily so, and the floorboards creaked beneath your feet as you padded into the prayer area. Tentatively, you placed the broom down and knelt before the statues of the gods you worshipped. The incense burnt itself down to the base, gradually putting out the flame on its own.

‘If you are afraid, pray. The gods will protect you.’

You weren’t a child anymore. Monsters only existed in stories—there was nothing to be afraid of. But the feeling persisted and it became worse as the door swung open and slammed against the wall. You heard something breathing.

It wasn’t the wind.

A low growl rumbled from the chest of whatever was stalking towards you. An animal of some sort. A predator. Your mind screamed at you to just run, but you were terrified, you couldn’t move and your body just wouldn't listen—

It drew closer.

You were going to die, ripped apart by a monster, and it was going to hurt more than anything ever had. Squeezing your eyes shut, you muttered a prayer under your breath in hopes that it would help. Maybe it was a spirit that couldn’t pass on. If you prayed for it, you could alleviate its pain and then be left alone. You were frantic, the words coming out incoherent as you got tongue-tied and struggled to remember the rest of them. When you felt it breathing down the back of your neck, your voice died in a choked whine. It watched you with hunger and it raised its claws with murderous intent, ready to slash.

It never did.

Instead, you heard the gargling of blood, followed by a clatter on the floor. Your body finally listened and you turned around to see what you could only describe as a demon. The glow in its mask’s eyes dimmed as it died with a sword speared through its chest, inches away from your face. In terror, you watched it bleed as the crimson splattered on your skin. It crumbled into dust as if it was never there. Just like that, it was dead and gone.

The mask dropped where your saviour stood. Wordlessly, he picked it up and attached it to a grotesque belt adorned with similar faces. All you could do was watch as everything slowly sank in. The downpour became louder, heavier. Your ears rang and your body felt numb. The only sound you heard was your ragged breathing as you tried to calm down and think. This must be a nightmare. It had to be. It had to be a hallucination from your paranoia and lack of sleep.

You closed your eyes and opened them again. The man was still standing in front of you.

You weren’t dreaming.

It was all real, from the blood splattered on the ground to the man in front of you. Half of his face was covered by a red mask, more menacing than what the monster had worn. Bandages were loosely wrapped around his torso and his arms, revealing some of his pale skin and scars from what could only be combat.

You weren’t dreaming.

A monster you had never seen tried to kill you and you were lucky enough that this man came to save your life. It felt as though your mind stopped entirely. You didn’t know where to start. Were you supposed to ask about the monster or ask about him?

You decided on the latter. “How did you know it was here?”

A beat of silence passed, and then he spoke.

“It is my curse to bear.”

That didn’t really answer your question. You attempted to ask again, but one glance at his face made you realise that he didn’t care about answering them. It was essentially impossible to tell what he was thinking and you’d rather not agitate someone as intimidating as him.

“Thank you,” you opted to say instead.

Your gaze landed on the swords in his hands. Blood was still dripping off of the red blade that seemed to be glowing. If his mask was menacing, his blades were worse—you had never seen anything quite like them.

He didn’t respond. All he gave you was a nearly imperceptible nod, a sign of acknowledgement. Seemingly satisfied with his kill, he made the move to leave, and your thoughts ran rampant. You wanted answers, an explanation, anything to make sense out of what happened.

You should let him go. You should run home before you encounter another one of those things again when you’re not as lucky, but you didn’t.

“Wait!” you called out, louder than you intended. “Teach me how to fight.”

He stopped in his tracks, then slightly looked back at you. The action had you fidgeting nervously. There was a gut feeling that he was going to say—

“No.”

You needed him to teach you. He was strong. He knew what those things were and how to kill them. He could help you. If that thing could come in here so easily, undeterred by the protective runes and wards placed around the temple, another could do it again. You couldn’t afford to let this place get destroyed because of your inability to defend it. You needed to protect your grandparents’ memory, a small sliver of their legacy that you were allowed to touch. You had to.

The chance was falling out of your hands right in front of you. Your confidence wavered, but you tried again. “I… I’ll pay you. Just name your price.”

“Money has no value to me.”

“Please?” Your voice was quieter, more hesitant. “This place, it’s… It’s all I have left. I need to protect it.”

“I can’t,” he said. “I have a duty I must fulfil.”

“Please—wait!”

This time, he didn’t spare you another glance as he walked off into the night, leaving you afraid and alone with the monster’s blood still on your skin.

—

No matter how many years passed, Yone’s hands would always be stained in blood.

The village was different from what he remembered. He knew of it when it was in flames and scattered with bodies of the brave. With what little time it had after the war, the village has been rebuilt from the disaster that the Noxians left behind. It was stronger, safer, liberated from their clutches. More swordsmen and warriors were patrolling the area, all bearing the crest of the clan that owned the village itself.

That didn’t. The clan of where men were raised to be elite warriors and women were raised to be the most adept of mages, known for their noble blood and valiance. Their estate was fortified and bigger than it used to be, looming over the smaller houses that unsurprisingly didn’t get as much protection. What seemed to be the most protected, though, was the temple. It was known to be a sanctuary to the villagers and the most important value to them was faith. Seeing said sanctuary well-protected wasn’t a shock. It was always that way.

As a child, he used to visit the temple on particularly rough days. Sometimes, his brother would come along, and they’d go find the master swordsman who took care of it with his wife, the shrine maiden. His brother in particular enjoyed hearing all about the swordsman’s stories, inspired by his strength and bravery that remained well into his older years. His wife was stern but motherly to all, more doting towards children than adults.

They weren’t like the rest of the clan who looked down on the weak; they loved. They loved their home, they loved their fellow men, and they loved the world. The people loved them, too. He loved them, just like they loved this sanctuary they built.

Yone stepped into the courtyard. Though it was past sunset, he could see that the place was much greener. More flowers had grown since then and the spring was well-maintained. He thought that the temple remained the most welcoming place he ever found himself in. It was clear that whoever was taking care of this place did it with the same love that the elderly couple had. He spotted their names on the stone slabs written in gold. There wasn’t just one bouquet on their grave, but several. Well-loved even after death as they deserved.

As he approached the main building, he sensed it—danger lurking within, undoubtedly the work of a monster he was all too familiar with. The wooden doors were broken and splintered. Cautiously, he stepped inside. True to his suspicion, at the end of the hall was an azakana hunched over someone, its grotesque mass a stark contrast to the pristine state of the walls as it growled and breathed heavily. His swords glinted in the light of the moon as he drew them.

Yone’s kills were clean and precise. He didn’t need to destroy his surroundings to prove his strength, nor did he think that he was destructive to that extent. As disciplined in life, as disciplined in death, and even more so in between. His physiology was wholly different from what it had been when he was alive. His being alone defied life itself.

He felt weightless, numb yet still in full control of his body as he moved into the prayer room, his footsteps not making a single sound. He heard what sounded like crazed muttering from where the azakana stood, something akin to pleading or perhaps a prayer. The azakana raised its hand. Its talons grew longer and sharper, prepared to strike whoever it was hiding. Before it could, Yone pierced his blade through its heart, silently watching as it disintegrated back into nothing but ashes and dust on the ground.

“How did you know it was here?” you asked, still struggling to catch your breath.

He was silent for a while as he picked up the mask it left behind and pinned it to his belt as proof of yet another successful hunt. You were staring up at him with teary eyes, still shaken from being so close to death’s grasp. He didn’t want to alarm you—he knew he looked ghastly—but you were obviously different from what he was. You were alive, vulnerable, and from the way you quivered like a leaf, you had never encountered one of those things before.

“It is my curse to bear,” he replied smoothly. A practised response, one that he hoped would be all you asked for. Yone knew it didn’t answer your question. As if you had more questions—you most likely did; he didn’t blame you for that—you parted your lips to speak, but no words came out.

Slightly defeated, you exhaled and gave him a small smile. “Thank you.”

Yone glanced at you. Your face felt familiar to him like you were an old friend he hadn’t seen in years. You must be related to the previous caretakers somehow. The resemblance you had with them was striking. The way you spoke was timid, unlike the boisterous master swordsman or the confident shrine maiden. It didn’t bother him. If he was like you, defenceless in your position, he would’ve acted the same way. You seemed to be calming down with each breath you took, making him relax just the slightest. You weren’t harmed.

Aside from the azakana’s blood, tonight, his hands were clean, and he wouldn’t need to repent.

He decided to leave. There was no reason why he should stay for any longer. The sooner he could find the other stray malevolent spirits, the safer his childhood home would be. Things like him didn’t have the privilege of resting. He didn’t need it. Before he made it past the door, you called out for him, forcing him to stop in his tracks.

“Teach me how to fight.”

He didn’t hesitate. “No.”

“I… I’ll pay you. Just name your price.”

You looked less and less confident with each passing second. Dealing with stubborn people wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for him. He grew up with Yasuo—he was more than used to it. He pursed his lips.

“Money has no value to me.”

“Please.” Yone should’ve been out for the next hunt by now, but there was something in your voice that kept him staying where he was. “This place, it’s… It’s all I have left. I need to protect it.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help you. He wanted to protect what he could too. It just… wasn’t for him. He thought you’d be better off learning from a master. Surely you could go to the dojo that your clan owned?

“I can’t,” he replied, realising that he had left you hanging. “I have a duty I must fulfil.”

He didn’t look back this time. The cold air of the night greeted him as he stepped out and put his swords back in their sheaths. The rain washed away the blood and its remnants on the stones beneath his feet. The skies seemed to be clearer than they were earlier. The moon and stars glowed brightly in the darkness, illuminating the paths before him. There was a nagging feeling in his chest that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Something was off—were there more azakana hiding in the area? He decided he’d patrol the forest one more time before moving on elsewhere.

He left without a trace, just like a ghost like him always did.

—

You started to carry a dagger with you wherever you went.

It wasn’t a naginata or ootachi like you were trained to use, but it made you feel safer to have something you can defend yourself with. Thankfully, the temple wasn’t damaged too badly, though it would still take some time to repair. One of the older mages dropped by and offered to cast a protective seal, which you gladly accepted.

“Miss?” you asked, fidgeting nervously as she finished up her work.

She hummed. “Yes, dear?”

“Is the… The veil, is it already open?”

“It should be by now.” She contemplated for a bit. “I will say, it wasn’t this disastrous last year… I assume it’s because the magical energy is stronger this time around. Don’t worry, dear—nature will have adapted to it by now.”

“I see. Thank you,” you chirped. “I’m more worried about the temple getting attacked or broken than anything… I can’t see spirits the same way you can. I won’t be able to protect myself.”

“The seal will keep out malevolent entities.” She placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. Then she lowered her voice as if she was worried someone would hear her. “Was this really done by the storm? I could feel something strange in the air when I came here.”

You hesitantly shook your head. “There was a monster. It broke in and some—something else killed it.”

“What did it look like?”

“I was too scared to look,” you said apologetically, “but it was wearing a mask.”

“A mask?”

“It looked like a demon. The same ones in stories I used to read as a child.”

The mage frowned. “We’ll need a stronger seal than the one I put here, then.”

“Do you know what they are?”

“They’re called azakana. They are demons,” she explained. “You’re really lucky to have made it out alive. Those creatures are ruthless. They’ll stop at nothing.”

Azakana. You didn’t think you heard of them. You weren’t allowed in the magic library. Your grandparents didn’t like going into detail about the unknown, said it was just hearsay. You never got to explore the world the same way they did. All you knew in your entire life was the estate. You contemplated sneaking into the library to learn about everything that was kept from you, but there were bigger matters at hand.

“How do I stop them?”

“You kill them before they kill you,” she answered wryly. “I’ll do all I can to help keep the temple safe, but I can’t guarantee your protection.”

You had a busy afternoon ahead of you—more errands to run, more favours to do—so you couldn’t stay for long. With a polite goodbye, you went your own way, her words echoing in your mind all the while. You’d have to retrace your steps and learn to fight by yourself. The thought of how ridiculous you’d look training alone made you grimace. But she was right; it was kill or be killed. You wouldn’t always be as fortunate as you were a few days prior.

You idly swung the empty basket in your hand as you walked through the estate. The gardens look much better now. The hedges were trimmed, wilted flowers were removed, and the pond was clear. You couldn’t believe a storm just happened. The weather seemed to have settled for good, too. It was a warm and sunny day, the perfect weather for you to collect herbs and flowers for the village apothecary. She had become more frail with age, and considering her station isn’t too far from the temple, you offered to do the job for her. In your pocket was a written list of what she needed. It was nothing too difficult to find.

You were about to leave until you heard your name coming from someone in the meeting room. The doors were closed, but the walls were thin enough for you to be able to hear through them.

“—a leftover person,” a voice said—you recognised it as your uncle’s. “Past the age of marriage, but it could still be an option.”

Your heart dropped. You hid behind a wall, your fists clenched tightly around the handle of the basket as you tried to calm down and stay quiet lest you get caught eavesdropping.

Another voice chimed in. “—offspring would be cursed as well. Are you sure you don’t want to set up an arranged marriage? It’s been years—”

“Being constantly reminded of a mistake I made nearly thirty years ago is quite irritating, councillor,” came the unmistakable haughty voice of your father. “I said no. I refuse to tarnish our family name.”

You should be used to this. The cruel words, the hatred, the anger, but you can’t, no matter how much you’ve tried. It’s not as if you’re unaware of your power or lack thereof. It’s been said to you time and time again: you were weak, you were nothing.

“—what about training? It could help with getting started,” a feminine voice added. You weren’t surprised that she was the only one who was less harsh with her words talking about you so far. She of all people would know how you felt.

“Out of the question,” your father replied snidely. “Our mages and swordsmen are all pure-blooded. The bastard doesn’t deserve the honour of being one of them.”

Their words slipped through your ears. You were no longer listening; instead, you bit down on your lip and tried to hold back tears. How could someone hate their flesh and blood so much? How could he take everything away from you so easily? Not caring that they would hear you, you stormed out the gates while harshly wiping away your tears with your hands. Knowing them, they probably wanted you to.

You ran and pushed past strangers, unbothered by the concerned and irritated looks you were given. You ran until you found yourself deep in the forest, far enough so you could be left alone. Everything you tried to hold back then burst. You wailed, nails digging into your skin and your body wracked with sobs. The sound of water flowing down the stream slowly but surely calmed you down. The sobs eventually became quiet sniffles until they stopped entirely. Your tears dried on their own and you could finally breathe again.

Looking up from your hands, your gaze drifted to a fawn across the river. It lovingly nudged its mother with its head, stumbled a bit as it tried to keep up with her pace. The sight warmed your heart. It was always nice to see beings, human or animal, be gentle to one another. You hoped to be in that position someday.

A twig snapped behind you. Alarmed, you reflexively grabbed your dagger and whipped around, but the threat you were going to say died on your tongue when you saw who it was. The masked man—the one who saved you from the azakana—stood before you, huffing at you as if he found something funny.

“I’m not here to hurt you.”

You glowered at him with furrowed brows before hesitantly relaxing, putting the dagger back in its sheath. “What are you doing here?”

“The dojo.”

“What?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you not ask me to teach you how to fight?”

“I did, but…”

You bit the inside of your cheek. It was kind of him to seek you out again to tell you this, but you weren’t sure how you felt. Part of you wanted to say yes, to learn to protect yourself and others. The bigger part of you already felt defeated. You could only be tough for so long before you started to break.

“Thank you for reconsidering,” you said. You meant it. “But I’m not allowed there.”

“Not allowed?”

“My father is quite a stickler for the rules.” You chuckled humorlessly. “Only his sons are allowed in that dojo. The ones with noble blood, not the bastards. Take a guess where I fall between those two.”

He mulled over your words for a bit. Then he said, “Tell me your preferred weapon.”

You blinked dumbly. “Huh?”

“Your stance. It doesn’t belong to someone who uses a dagger.”

You supposed it made sense for someone like him to know something that even you didn’t notice. Awkward as he might be, it was evident that he was passionate about what he knew. A man of honour and discipline, a dual wielder with effortless lethality. You wondered how someone like him wasn’t revered and well-known the same way that the bladesman from Wuju and the blade dancer of Navori were. You broke the silence with a noise of disbelief. How strange, indeed.

“My grandfather thought I was best suited for a naginata, so that’s what he trained me in as a child,” you told him. “I don’t think I remember anything, though. It’s been a very long time.”

“You do,” he cut in. “No one forgets the art of the blade. Your mind may not remember, but your body does.”

“That’s very kind of you to say… Thank you,” you responded, smiling softly at him, “but what made you change your mind? I thought you had your… duty.”

“I do, but helping you can also be one of them,” he replied bluntly. “You have something you want to protect. As did I.”

You tried not to think too much about why he said it like that. It was not your place to pry, but you had always been a curious one. He must have lost something or someone along the way. For someone so stoic, he didn’t hide the regret in his tone well.

You glanced at him, deciding to end your train of thought before you slipped up and said something you regretted. “Are you sure you want nothing in return?”

“I only ask for your name.”

Heat rushed to your face. It was an incredibly mundane thing to ask for, normal for people who were getting to know each other to do. His forwardness caught you off guard, made you lose your balance for a moment. You cleared your throat and gave him your name, which he repeated quietly to himself.

He nodded at you. “My name is Yone.”

Yone grabbed a bamboo stick (where did he even get that from?) and tossed it your way, visibly pleased when you managed to catch it with ease.

“Well, then, let us begin.”

—

You developed a new routine since you started training with Yone.

In the morning, you took care of the temple, which you said was ‘good as new.’ In the afternoon, you helped the apothecary with preparing medicine. In the evening, when everyone went home, you trained by the riverside with Yone. Then, at night, he walked you home per your request.

For someone who was adamant that they forgot everything, you got familiar with the blades quite easily. You were a quick learner, he noticed. He didn’t understand why you thought so lowly of yourself. He didn’t understand how your family could hate someone like you. From first glance, he knew that you were kind. Stubborn, but a great listener. Thoughtful, quick-witted, and gentle even with those who didn’t treat you the same way.

It had taken a while, but you started to be more confident in yourself as well. You hesitated less. He could see you rising up the ranks in the dojo quickly; you just needed encouragement and practice. It didn’t make sense to him why your father was dead set on restricting you from everything.

No matter, Yone thought. His heart swelled with pride every time he saw you. You didn’t even seem to realise that you were nothing like your family said you were. As much as he wanted you to know that, he wasn’t good with words. On top of his unfamiliarity with comfort or praise, he also didn’t know where his relationship with you stood. You weren’t friends, you weren’t strangers, but you weren’t distant like acquaintances would be. Regardless, he didn’t want to overstep. All he could do was hope that you’d understand him.

Steel clashed against each other as you parried his attacks. Something was different, like you weren’t completely there. He was proven right when he managed to pin you down to the floor, the edge of his sword hovering only a breath away from your neck.

“You faltered,” he said more as a statement than a question. “You can not hesitate in a fight.”

You averted your gaze from his intense stare. Were you afraid of him?

“I’m sorry.”

“We should stop for today.” He smoothly rose to his feet and offered you a hand, helping you up. “Is something wrong? You seem distracted.”

“The festival is tomorrow,” you murmured. “But I’ll be alright.”

“You don’t wish to participate in it,” he finished for you.

You gave him a strained smile. “I can’t. I just… can’t.”

Abruptly, you pulled your hand away from his and squeaked out an apology. He hadn’t noticed they were still joined together, but there was a strange feeling pulling at his chest when you let go. Still, he didn’t say anything, choosing to let the conversation end there. He knew what it was like to lose someone. Rebirth might have changed him, melded him into stone, but some things could break through and get to him.

(He hadn’t known it then, but you were one of them.)

“I’ll… see you tomorrow, then,” you said hesitantly. “I should go back.”

He nodded. “I understand. Get home safe.”

You looked as though you wanted to say something else, lips parted and eyes curious, but you didn’t. Instead, you smiled at him—softer this time, less strained—and left without a word. As you faded into the distance, Yone sighed quietly and sat down on the grass, his swords laid next to him. He didn’t want to take you away from your other responsibilities; he knew fully well that you were quite dutiful as he was. He’d gotten so used to spending evenings with you, training and listening to you talk about whatever was on your mind that your absence felt off.

Though you were sure that you weren’t going to join in the festivities tomorrow, you most likely had to help out somehow. From what you told him about your family, he doubted that they’d leave you alone as well, taking the chance of reuniting with loved ones to look down on you. His lips tugged into a frown. Feelings weren’t exactly his strong suit since his new life began, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t understand how you would feel.

The breeze caressed his skin, taking him in its cold embrace. The drop in temperature didn’t bother him. It never had, really. He was more than used to how inconsistent the Ionian climate could get. So what was this weariness and uneasiness clouding his mind? Lingering somewhere between life and death, feelings were the least of his concerns, but he didn’t like what it was doing to him as he thought about you.

He stared at the moon’s reflection in the river. It did the same thing not long ago when you sat together and talked to him about your fondest memories. It was the first time you were so open with him. He listened to your stories, your laughter and the bittersweet tinge in your voice.

He saw a spirit walking hand-in-hand with another person somewhere not too far from where he was. A festival meant for reuniting with their loved ones, the only chance spirits and humans got to see each other again. He didn’t have anyone to visit—even if he did, he doubted he could bring himself to face someone he had failed years ago.

His thoughts wandered back to you and what you told him about your grandparents. It was a relief to find out that they never changed even after the war, having stayed the same loving people until their end. A thought popped into his head. If he could just find them—no, he could.

He knew their names. He knew them.

He wasn’t a magic user, but he was confident in his ability to search. Reinvigorated, he grabbed his swords and got up. Pondering under the stars would have to wait, he had a mission to do.

The only advantage to being something he was, Yone thought, was that fatigue was never an issue. He traversed through the plains, made his way up the hill, taking every twist and turn he could think of. Not wanting to risk being seen by civilians—he wasn’t exactly unaware of how… appalling he looked—he stayed in the shadows, hiding in the darkness. After what seemed like a few hours, he finally spotted the silhouettes of your grandparents, distant but familiar.

“Yone? Is that you?” your grandfather said in disbelief, his tone still full of the same joy it had whenever he spoke to Yone and his brother. His eyes crinkled as he beamed at the younger man. “I haven’t seen you in… in years! You’ve changed!”

Your grandmother was less boisterous, though it was clear she felt happy to see him as well. Upon taking a proper look at him, her face fell, and she approached him with a concerned expression.

“It’s far too early for you to be like this,” she sighed. Yone wanted to argue that he wasn’t exactly young anymore, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. “What happened?”

“It… is a long story,” Yone replied, his voice lacking the same strength and volume it had earlier in the day. Grief was such a fickle thing. He’d feel nothing one moment and everything in the next. He didn’t mourn himself, never had nor did he ever think it was necessary, but he did regret. Regretted being unable to protect his family, regretted being unable to protect your family. The curse laid upon him gave him the chance to atone, and even then, it never eased the chains wrapped around his soul.

He shook his head, pushing the thoughts aside. “I have a favour to ask of you.”

—

Yone was acting suspiciously.

To start, when you arrived at the clearing of the forest you usually trained with him, he wasn’t there. You didn’t know how long you waited until he arrived, offhandedly apologising for his tardiness. The sky had already faded into dark shades of blue, the sun nowhere to be seen and replaced with the moon peeking over the horizon. It might have been immature of you to scold him while being as huffy as a petulant child, but he didn’t seem to mind.

The day didn’t start out well for you, to say the least. The only things spoken around town were how excited people were to see their late relatives again and how much they looked forward to spending time with them for the next three days. It wasn’t like you wanted to feel bitter about it all. You were glad on their behalf, but the feeling of being the odd one wasn’t something you could control that easily. You wanted to be able to experience the same magic and happiness the others did.

As if that wasn’t enough, a councillor—likely the same one you overheard that time—left you a letter summoning you to a meeting the same night. If you didn’t know better, you would’ve kept that in mind and made sure you arrived in time. But you knew what it was going to be about. You were already in a loveless family. A loveless marriage wouldn’t make your life better and the only one benefiting from it was your father. You didn’t exactly like being spiteful (it’s a sin, a monk would say) but there was nothing wrong with it if they deserved it, was there? You ripped the paper to shreds, threw it out somewhere you couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter as long as you got rid of it.

There were a lot of things to be angry about, like how irritating it was to still be under your father’s control as an adult, or how they all never broke their habit of speaking as though you weren’t there. It didn’t mean you liked being angry. You weren’t built for such aggression.

You shook your head. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about this.

“You’re late.” You didn’t mean to say it as whiny as you did. Overly aware of how you sounded, you looked away from Yone and crossed your arms over your chest, ignoring whatever reaction he had to it. “I’ve been here for hours.”

“I’m sorry. I… had something to attend to,” he said. “I have something to show you. Follow me.”

Without realising it, you pouted. “And you have the nerve to boss me around…”

Yone’s silence made you begrudgingly glance at him again. He looked anxious, which was a surprise—you always saw him so calm and collected. It was… concerning. You sighed. He didn’t seem like he meant to leave you waiting for so long. Heaving out a quiet sigh, at last, you relented.

“Fine. Lead the way.”

The walk was quiet. You had a bunch of questions in your mind, both from curiosity and a bit of pettiness you had left. He deftly navigated through the woods, turning back once in a while to see if you were still following him. It was dark, almost as dark as it had been when you met him in that storm for the first time, but you weren’t as afraid anymore, either. You couldn’t describe it. Something about him felt safe. It could be that it was because he saved you from death and helped you become stronger. You didn’t think that was it, though.

You caught up to him, now walking beside him rather than behind. “Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer. You huffed. Fine.

But you couldn’t stay annoyed for long. You found your gaze drifting over to him; the curves of his mask, the clenching of his jaw. How was it possible for someone who scared you so much when you first met to also be someone who you’d trust with your life? You knew nothing about him. He was a strange person, impeccable swordsmanship aside. He never spoke about his family or his home. He was familiar with the village like he lived here before, but you’d never seen him. Just who was he?

Yone led you to a cliffside. The trek—how wasn’t he tired?—felt worth it in the end when you saw the night sky. The crescent moon smiled at you from her place among the scattered stars, sparkling and glowing brightly on what would normally be pitch black. A hand was placed on the small of your back, taking you by surprise and making your breath hitch before you relaxed. It was just him.

“I brought you a gift,” he said plainly. You narrowed your eyes at him. He didn’t look like he was one for gifts, but who were you to decline? It must be a reward or something, or an apology because you were left for hours—

Someone called your name. A familiar voice, one you hadn’t heard in years. You must be imagining it. They were dead, there was no way it could be. Were you so tired that you were imagining things?

“They’ve been waiting for you.” Yone gently pushed you forward. “Go.”

Sceptical as you were, once again, you relented.

The figures were clearer the closer you approached. You recognised the clothes, the voices—was this a prank? Would someone like Yone play such a cruel joke?

“You’ve grown so much,” came the voice of your grandmother, laced with a tenderness you’d recognise from anywhere.

“How…” you trailed off. Your grandparents stood in front of you, happiness radiating off of them in waves as they walked your way. You didn’t know what to think, what to feel. Weren’t they supposed to be dead? Were you hallucinating? “I don’t understand…”

“It’s us, kiddo.” Your grandfather placed a hand on your head, ruffling your hair affectionately. It was cold, but it felt real, too real. “We came to see you.”

You fell apart. Tears sprung to your eyes as you fell into their arms, broken sentences and wailing leaving you at its will. It was real. You didn’t understand it. You weren’t supposed to be able to see them, to see spirits—you didn’t have that gift, your father always made sure you knew that. So how was this possible? How could you see them, touch them, feel them?

“We tried to come find you every year,” your grandmother spoke, her voice as soft as a whisper. “But we—we couldn’t come in. The estate, it’s… locked away from us.”

“You left me,” you snivelled, “you left me here—you…”

You didn’t know what you were saying anymore. Giving up on trying to voice your thoughts, you kept crying until you grew weary, the devastated weeping gradually dissolving into shaky breaths. You felt her hand on the top of your head, lovingly smoothing down your hair as she hummed the tune she always sang to you when you were young. Your grandfather leaned down to press a kiss to your temple, chuckling under his breath—they were as overjoyed as you were.

“We can’t stay for long,” he murmured. “But we really wanted to see you. That young man helped us. Quite the man you’ve found, hm?”

“He’s just a friend,” you grumbled. As cross as you were with him earlier, you were thankful that he’d done this for you. There were many unanswered questions you had lingering in the back of your mind, but those weren’t that important anymore, you thought. Finally pulling away, you smiled for the first time that night. “I missed you.”

“We missed you too, sweetheart.” Your grandmother returned the gesture, brushing your stray tears away with her thumbs. “Why don’t you come sit with us, tell us what you’ve been up to?”

As you followed them, you turned to look back at Yone, mouthing ‘thank you’ with another smile. He nodded. You learned to pick up on his cues in the past month you spent with him, so you knew what he meant. You’re welcome. He wasn’t the best with words, preferring to let his actions speak for themselves. You wondered if he knew how important this was, how you’d always remember his kindness.

Lost in conversation with your loved ones, you missed how Yone’s stern expression melted into fondness as he watched the scene, the corners of his lips curling up just the slightest. It was the happiest he’d ever seen you.

(And it was the moment he knew—he’d do whatever it took to protect your smile.)

—

Existing somewhere in a plane between life and death, Yone spent his days on autopilot with only one goal in mind. Cursed for as long as his afterlife would last by the azakana, he’d continue to hunt them down one by one until there was nothing left. He saw his ‘life’ differently, ‘felt’ differently.

Bound to the world of the living, denied the peace of death, as he used to say. Time was no longer so important to him now that he became what he was. It passed as it willed, and he would only follow until it was over—assuming it would ever be. Yone didn’t care—or rather, he just tried not to think—about the state of life, the meaning of his existence. If he was bound to duty, at least he’d try to accomplish this one, unlike what he failed in his youth.

He should have left Ionia when he killed the last azakana in that temple. But more and more showed up every day, dangerously close to where you lived, and he knew that they would come find you again eventually. Deciding to take your request wasn’t an impulsive decision. He found your determination admirable even with the chains that held you back. It reminded him of who he had been. Who he craved to be once again. He tried to keep himself distant, staying within the boundary of just a kind stranger, but before he knew it, he found himself feeling tethered to you.

You weren’t just someone he saved. You were someone he had grown increasingly fond of. Yone knew you were kind, that you had a lot of love to give even to those who didn’t deserve it. He believed in his ability to predict what would happen, to adapt to sudden changes, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the whirlwind that was you.

For the first time in years, he felt alive, and it was all because of you. Your smile, your voice, the way you’d playfully talked back to him, the way you were always concerned for him. That much still held true as he sat beside you on a hill, his gaze focused on you over the sunrise you meant to show him.

He didn’t expect you to invite him to something that could be seen as so intimate. He didn’t expect himself to agree without a second thought either. He prided himself on being someone who always thought before he did anything, but something about you had him caving into his whims more frequently. He’d find that irritating if he was the same young man he used to be, but he didn’t. If he was bold enough, maybe he’d go as far as to admit that he liked how you made him feel.

It seemed his gift for you had changed you overnight. You weren’t mad at him anymore; if anything, you seemed to be more gentle with him. Like you saw him differently. He didn’t want to assume you did—that would be unfair to you.

This was what made it difficult for him to leave.

He couldn’t stay here for long. Fate would guide him to other places, more obscure and dangerous, and as much as he felt like he overstayed his welcome with you, he didn’t want to go. He didn’t know if he’d get the chance to see you again, to talk to you again. Getting attached to what could be temporary wasn’t a smart idea—he knew that. But for once, he wanted to let himself live again.

Seeing your face fall when he told you about his imminent departure was, perhaps, the worst he ever felt. He lived through countless battles; the scars on his hands proved that. He didn’t lose his senses even with his state of being a ‘ghost’ of sorts. He still felt the sting of a cut, the aches in his muscles after exerting himself. Emotions, on the other hand, were more complicated. Growing up with his brother, he had to be stern, calm and confident. He had to be assertive. He had to be strong.

With you, he could let all of that go. He wouldn’t lose his habits, he didn’t want to, but with you, he could let his guard down.

“Yone?” you broke the silence. He blinked, suddenly overly aware that he had been staring at you like a fool in love. Maybe he was. “Are you alright?”

“I am. I’m sorry for worrying you,” he responded. “I was only… thinking of the future.”

“You’re leaving soon, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

You went silent. He frowned, wondering if he should’ve kept it a secret after all. He didn’t want to hurt you. He never did.

“Well, if you decide to come back here one day,” you said, reaching for his hand. Your skin felt warm against his own. “Just know that I’ll be here waiting for you.”

Yone felt like time and the world stopped for him.

“I know I’m a lot to handle.” He didn’t think you were. Still, he didn’t interrupt, letting you speak your mind. “And I know this is just some favour, but you know… I’ve grown pretty fond of you. I’d be sad if you left without telling me.”

Your tone was lighthearted, playing off your words as if they were only a joke in case he didn’t feel the same. He felt warm—the warmest he’d ever been—and he was never one to be timid, but you always managed to bring that out of him with ease.

Yone said your name. You hummed, urging him to continue.

“You should be proud of yourself,” he said. The words felt unfamiliar to him, foreign, but he needed you to know. “Like I am of you.”

You smiled. He wanted to engrave this sight into his memory, make it something he would never forget. You teasingly nudged him with your elbow, giggles leaving your throat as you replied without missing a beat, “So you’ve grown fond of me too, huh?”

This was the most casual you had ever been with him. It was a nice change, he thought, one that he really liked. In a matter of a few weeks, you’d gone from a meek, terrified person into someone confident and much happier than you were when he first met you.

“I have, indeed,” he replied. Perhaps more than I should.

With another chuckle, you fell back into a silence that was tranquil this time, more comfortable. He wondered if it was obvious that he was staring at you—he was trying not to be, but he was always told his gaze was intense. It didn’t seem to be an issue with you. Sighing in contentment, he let his eyes wander back to the sunrise before him. The last day of the Spirit Blossom was fast approaching, which meant that you’d once again find yourself in a busy schedule. But he didn’t have to think about that, so he stopped. Instead, he let himself indulge in this rare moment with you, thinking of nothing but how much things have changed. How much he has changed.

You never let go of his hand. Neither did he.

—

“Will you be going back too? To the spirit world?”

He did say he would be leaving, after all. You weren’t really sure what you’d do if he left. His presence had become something you were accustomed to. Since the moment he found you again in the forest, your routine seemed to have more and more of him. It would feel odd, having something you were so used to just disappear so suddenly. You knew you’d get over it, but you didn’t want to.

“I’ll be staying in the human world,” he said, “only elsewhere.”

A selfish part of you wanted him to stay. You liked having him around. With him, you could forget all about the people who shunned you. Your initial lack of strength or inability to use magic never bothered him; he saw you for who you were, treated you like any person should be treated. You weren’t lying when you told him that you’ve grown fond of him—you truly did.

No, you didn’t want him to leave. But he had to.

“I see,” you whispered. “I guess this is goodbye, then.”

The longer he took to reply, the more anxious you became. The familiar stinging of your nose and the watering of your eyes had you trying to hide your face from him. You promised yourself you wouldn’t cry. A quiet whimper was all you let slip before you held back the onslaught of tears. You didn’t want him to think you were strange. Someone who got more attached to him than they should’ve. Someone lonely, desperate for company.

“Would you like to join me?”

Even with his mask on, you could still feel Yone’s gaze on you.

“What?” you echoed dumbly. You must’ve misheard him. You could’ve sworn you just saw his lips twitch like he was amused by something. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve said before that the only thing stopping you from leaving was your fear,” he continued. “You’ve become stronger. You fight well, by yourself and by my side. We might also be able to find your mother if we travel together. And, I…”

He trailed off, seemingly to collect his thoughts before he added, quieter, “I enjoy being with you.”

Flustered, you couldn’t say a word. It took a while before you could properly process what he said.

“You mean…”

“Yes. I’d like you to come with me.” He cleared his throat, hesitating as if he was nervous. “You can decline if you’d—”

Yone was cut off by you tackling him into a hug, nearly sending him falling backwards had he been unable to keep his balance. You buried your face in his neck, smiling against his skin before you pulled away to properly look at him. Seeing how close you were made your eyes widened, and you were about to pull away before he leaned down to kiss you softly, which you melted into with ease.

Hesitantly, he pulled away. You could’ve sworn he was blushing. “I assume that’s a yes…?”

“You already know what I meant, Yone.” You grinned, unable to resist the urge to tease him. “You just want me to say it.”

“Well, it… would confirm my thoughts.”

“Of course, it’s a yes!”

“I must warn you it won’t be easy,” he hesitated, giving you another chance to say no. Like he couldn’t believe that you wanted to join him. “So if you don’t want to come, you don’t have to… Why are you laughing?”

“I mean it, you old fool,” you teased.

“Old fool—”

“I would love to come with you.” You curled into his side, laying your head on his shoulder as you watched the river flow in front of you. “I’m not scared anymore. I have you.”

Yone pulled you closer, leaving a ghost of a kiss on the crown of your head. “And I have you.”

It felt like something straight out of a fairytale. You were going to leave this wicked place with someone you fell in love with. You couldn’t believe it was happening, but it was, and your heart raced, not out of fear but out of excitement.

You couldn’t wait for the adventures you’d have together.

#I had default Yone in mind writing this bc I like that design better so I'm sorry if that broke the immersion </3 #all #yone x reader #lol yone x reader #league of legends x reader #lol x reader #edit: changed it to fem reader after some consideration

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writing-till-i-am-dead · 6 months ago

Text

Marcille x Fem!Reader - Sick Day

May I interest you in some lesbian fluff?

Chilchuck walked over to the party, his face painted with mild concern.

"Hey, guys. I, uh.. think there's something wrong with Y/N."

Laios looked over curiously and could only get out the words "What do you-" before Marcille cut him off.

"What do you mean!? Is she ok? What's wrong with her?" With each sentence, she got closer and closer to Chilchuck, her eyes wide with worry.

"I just think she's sick!" Chilchuck said, raising his hands defensively.

"Sick!?" She turned to glare at Senshi and Laios. "This is your guys' faults!"

"Huh?!" Laios exclaimed. "How is it our faults?!"

"That jackalope you cooked last night! It was so undercooked!"

Chilchuck nodded in agreement. "Ya. Not your guys' best work."

Senshi looked down in shame and Laios sniffled a little before saying, "Then how are we not sick?"

"Because you two are built different, that's why!" Marcille clenched her fists. "Y/N only ate that meal out of pity as to not hurt your feelings!"

She dramatically turned. "I'll go take care of her."

Chilchuck shrugged. "Try not to get vomited on."

Marcille shuddered and turned to him and quietly said, "Don't you ever say that to me again.." She shook her head and entered Y/N's room.

"Y/N.. are you ok?"

Marcille heard a groan of pain and saw Y/N's sleeping bag shift around. Marcille sighed a little and walked over, gently shaking the sleeping bag.

"Y/N.." she said softly.

Y/N poked her head out and Marcille clicked her tongue. "You definitely got food poisoning."

Y/N groaned and rolled on her side, grumbling and her stomach making gurgling noises.

"Take deep breaths," Marcille guided, her voice soft and gentle. She stroked her hair as a means to help try and alleviate the pain. Due to not having eaten the meal last night, nor had any breakfast this morning, Marcille has no mana to try and heal Y/N. Welp. She'd have to do this the old-fashioned way, then!

"Want me to get you some water?" Marcille asked.

"Wouldn't I just vomit that up?" Y/N asked.

"Oh, well, I.." Marcille thought for a moment. Would she just vomit it up? Marcille actually had no idea. She's never actually tried to help someone feel better without using healing magic (even though she was really bad at it and usually ended up making the person feel even worse with healing-pains).

Y/N stared at her with a waiting expression. She always did get so grumpy when she was in pain. Marcille learned that a long time ago.

"Um.. uh.. I-I'll ask Senshi for some advice! I'll be right back, ok?" Marcille said before quickly getting up and running out.

"Senshiiiiii!!" Marcille called out, panicking a little. "Do you have any advice on how to make someone feel better from food poisoning?"

"Hmmm." Senshi thoughtfully stroked his beard. "Well, don't let her eat for a couple of hours. Try and have Y/N drink tiny sips of water every few minutes or so, to avoid dehydration. After a while, try and get her to eat some bland, nonflavored foods. Like crackers or toast!"

"But we don't have crackers or toast.." Marcille said, hunching her shoulders.

"I'll whip some up. We still have some flour from the orcs-"

"Oh no! Your food caused this, Senshi!"

"Oh, it was one slip up. I only didn't get to cook it properly because you lot were rushing me."

Marcille crosses her arms, considering her options. Well, not like she had any other choice. "Fine... do what you can, please."

Senshi nodded before reaching to his toolbelt and pulling out a ladle. "Here you go," he said and got to work to gather what he needed. Marcille then took to gathering water from the nearby well. "This should be enough," she said to herself, looking at the bucket of water full to the brim. "Maybe a bit overkill.."

She started to waddle back to Y/N's room, doing everything she could to not spill the water.

"I'm back!" she said, plopping the bucket down before letting out a "phew!" and wiping her brow.

Y/N looked over, her face extremely pale.

"Oh dear.." Marcille said, rushing over. "Did you..?"

Y/N nodded a little before glancing over at the corner of the room where there was some vomit. Marcille crinkled her nose, grosses out before looking back down at Y/N, who had let out a whimper.

"I'm sorry I'm gross right now.."

"No, no! It's not your fault. Don't apologize!"

Marcille reached over to rub Y/N's eyes, hoping to wipe any tears away, Y/N leaning into her touch, causing Marcille's heart to flutter. Just a little.

"Well, uhm... I brought you some water. Senshi says you can drink a little at a time.

Y/N nodded and forced herself to sit up with a pained groan. Marcille grabbed the water bucket, lifting the ladle to Y/N's lips.

She hesitated, at first, before softly sipping, coughing a few times and after around 5 sips, Marcille decided that should be enough for now.

"Thank you, Marcille."

Y/N reached out to pull her into a small hug of thanks, getting a squeak of surprise from Marcille, who stayed frozen in place during the entire embrace. Once Y/N let her go, she lied back down, seeming to feel a little bit better. Y/N sniffled a little bit, still a bit embarrassed about the whole situation. She was embarrassing herself in front of Marcille. She looked awful, and the room smelled awful because of when she threw up, and this whole situation was just awful!

And yet...

Marcille still wanted to take care of her. To make her feel better. Y/N buried her face into her arm, wiping away the tears and ignoring the rumbling in her stomach. Marcille really was amazing.

Marcille stared at her for a moment before scooting away to lean against the wall and watch over her.

She watched as her eyes slowly closed, her lashes long, and beautiful, all of her features beautiful, even with her sickly complexion. Marcille doesn't think she could ever, under any circumstances, find Y/N unattractive. It just didn't seem possible.

Y/N's eyes fluttered open again about 30 minutes later. "Can I have some more water?"

"Ya, of course."

Marcille scooted back over to her to spoon her some water. She didn't cough as much this time, nor groan in pain, so that was hopefully a good sign.

Marcille eventually set the ladle down and checked her own vitals for a moment. Her mana was back, only a little. Enough for one, small spell.

She scooped some water into her hands and quietly muttered a magic chant, a very faint blue glow illuminating her palms. She then turned to Y/N, who was watching with enchanted eyes.

"Um... Here. This water has a weak healing spell. It's all I can manage right now." She brought her hands to Y/N's lips, her looked rather nervous.

"I have to drink from your hands?"

"Ya. Sorry, I know it's not ideal, but-"

"No, no, it's fine." She looked down at the water in Marcille's hands, blushing a little. "Really fine.."

Y/N tilted her head back, feeling Marcille's hands press against her lips. That was all she could really focus on, not the water or the magic coursing through her body now. Nope. Just the skin-to-skin contact. Oh dear, does that make her a pervert?!

She tightly closed her eyes, but quickly opened them when she felt Marcille's hand gently touch her hairline.

"Do you feel any better?"

Y/N was too much in a trance to respond. Wow, she was pretty. Eventually, she managed to squeak out, "Y-Ya. I'm fine. Thank you for that, Marcille."

Marcille smiled at that. She loved being able to help people. Especially Y/N. She loved seeing that shimmer in her eyes.

"Glad to hear it."

The door opened and Senshi stood there, holding up a plate of homemade crackers and toast.

"Are you up to eating anything, Y/N?" he asked with a good-natured smile.

Y/N nodded, and Senshi set the plate in front of her.

"Get to feeling better."

Y/N nodded gratefully and began to nibble lightly on some toast.

"Don't eat too much, mkay?" Marcille said, her voice soft.

Y/N nodded, blushing a tad as she looked down at her food. Crumbs dotted her face. This did still kind of upset her stomach, but not as badly as it would have before. Must be that magic at work.

Marcille leaned her head over to look at Y/N. "You doing good?"

"Ya, thankfully."

"Hm?" Marcille gave her a curious look before her eyes softened a little. She leaned over and used her sleeve to wipe some crumbs from her face.

Y/N's eyes widened, and she could've vomited from sheer panic at that very moment. Her touch was so... gentle!

"It's funny.. usually you're never a messy eater, haha."

"Ya, well.. I'm too ill to worry about proper etiquette."

"Yes, of course, I know."

She paused before saying quietly, "Though, you don't have to act so proper around me..."

"What was that?"

"Oh, nothing, haha!"

"Hmm..." Y/N set the cracker she had been eating down. She looked at Marcille, and Marcille looked back.

"What is it, Y/N?"

Y/N hesitated. She should kiss her, right? ...No. She looked ugly, she smelled bad, her breath was awful... These were the definition of the worst situations to kiss someone in.

"Just.. wanted to thank you. For aiding me."

Marcille blinked a couple of times before smiling. "Of course!" She gently took Y/N's hand in her own before gently kissing the top. "I want to make you feel better."

Y/N's eyes turned as wide as saucer's and she froze, the only word she could get out being, "Why?"

"It was just a small healing spell.." Marcille said with a shy smile. "It can only be transferred by the lips."

"A-Ah.. I see.." Y/N paused before smiling at her.

They sat there for a moment before Marcille quickly hoisted herself up with her staff. "Well, I, uh, should let you rest. You get better now, hahahaha!" She slammed into a wall, rubbing her head before laughing again and running out, closing the door with a slam.

"So," Chilchuck said, giving her a knowing look.

"I.. uh.. She... She's fine. She is perfectly fine."

"Are you fine?" Laios asked.

Marcille smiled a little manically before letting out a little chuckle. "Not when she smiles at me like that.. Oh, never when she smiles at me like that."

Divider by @cafekitsune

#marcille dungeon meshi #marcille dunmeshi #dungeon meshi #dunmeshi #delicious in dungeon #marcille donato #marcille x reader #fanfic #y/n #lesbian #lesbians #sapphic

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monkishes · 7 months ago

Text

Violent Delights | 01

Y/N volunteers in a mental hospital with the intention to help the patients and care for them. Everything seems to be normal, except for seven boys whom she was assigned to. She doesn't understand what mess she has gotten herself into, and when she does, it's too late to get out.

warnings : mental illnesses, mentions of eating disorders, mental asylum, pills/drugs.

word count : 1905

pairing : ot7 x reader

chapter 1 of ? ——— previous -> next

Your ears filled with the cacophony of honking cars mixed with the sounds of people shouting. For the past ten minutes, you had been stuck in traffic, barely moving an inch. It felt as though the never ending flow of cars would never stop. You were practically leaning against the window, tapping your fingers on your thigh as irritation sank into every fibre in your body.

Frustrated, you sat up straight and beeped the horn another few times (even though you knew it wouldn't help.) A thought crossed your mind, and you realised the hospital wasn't too far from where you are right now. You frantically looked around for any available parking spaces, but everything was occupied, and everything that wasn't was practically impossible to get to.

Your hand itched towards your phone, gripping onto it and double tapping to check the time. 12:23PM, it read. Over twenty minutes late. If it continued to look like this, you wouldn't get to the hospital anytime soon.

The only thing left for you to do was to wait and pray that the traffic moved on.

Quickly hurrying out of the car, your shoes clacked against the concrete floors of the car park as you made your way over to the tall building. It loomed over you, seemingly stretching into the sky with no end.

A little further away from the entrance, you watched as another person rushed in through the doors. They seemed to be coming from the same traffic you came from. Unlike them, you didn't immediately run over to the doors, and instead took a minute to look at yourself in a compact mirror, checking if you looked presentable. After patting down a few flyaways, you let out a deep breathe and went back to speed walking towards the entrance.

The automatic glass doors opened as you stood before them, granting you entry and you stepped through them. The noise from the outside world was instantly replaced by the bustling sounds of the busy hospital. It was loud, the sounds of footsteps, inaudible conversations and medical equipment filling the air.

Your eyes darted from place to place before landing on the reception desk and you made your way over. The receptionist was engrossed in her computer, not sparing you a glance as you stood before her.

You hesitated for a moment before clearing your throat, but even that didn't seem to catch her attention, she continued clicking away on her keyboard as if you didn't even exist.

"Excuse me?" you mumbled, somewhat embarrassed as the receptionist glanced up towards you. "I'm here as a volunteer."

The receptionist straightened up, and you noticed the name tag attached to the right side of her uniform, Bora.

She looked at you up and down, her lip quirking up as she met your eyes. "You're over forty minutes late."

"I know, there was a lot of—"

"Traffic? Yes, I know. I also know of other volunteers who took the same route as you but managed to come on time, if not even earlier." Bora pushed herself back on her spinning chair, folding her arms and maintaining eye contact with you. Her intense gaze caused you to look down in shame, you hadn't realised forty minutes had passed.

"I—"

"Listen, I know you're not getting paid for this, but if you're just here to waste our time, the door's right there. The people here need help, we're not here to mess around." she pointed towards where you came from, and you couldn't help but glance for a second towards there. If she interrupted you one more time, maybe you would consider leaving.

"I apologise, I'm here to help. Trust me, Bora, it won't happen again." you finally managed to say without being interrupted.

"It better not. Do you know where you need to go?"

"I was told that someone would brief me here." you explained, noticing the annoyance in her tone.

"Well, since you're late, figure things out yourself. What's your name?"

"Y/N..." you muttered before the began typing away at the computer. When she finally stopped, she spun her chair round to the other side where the printer was sat, and you watched as she impatiently waited for a paper to be released.

She spun back towards you, handing you a sheet of paper with a bunch of writing on it. "You'll have to go to Dr. Hans room to get the stuff you need, it's down that corridor," she said, motioning with her fingers towards a hall, "His name is on his door so you'll know it when you see it."

"I would go over the case files with you, but since you're so late, that'll have to be done on another day." she finished, going back to typing away.

"So... all I do is give them their prescriptions?" you question, holding up the paper and scanning it with your eyes.

Bora grumbled at your question, and now it was clear that she did not like you. For what reason, you had no clue, but could only assume it was because of your tardiness. Still, you had a valid reason, right? She didn't have to give you such attitude.

"You'll give them their prescriptions, clean their rooms and assist them with whatever they need. If it's something medical, you'll have to call a doctor. Got it?"

"Yeah, thanks." you send her a smile that is unreciprocated and only returned with a scowl and a roll of her eyes.

Bora seemed like a friendly person, maybe being late just got you onto her bad side. So much for a good first impression.

As she walked down the endless hallway, her eyes continued to read over the paper that was handed to her which consisted of seven names in bold black writing followed with their illness and what things they need. With furrowed eyebrows, you read over the names of their pills and confusion set into your mind at their foreign names. At least you didn't have to pick those out.

For a second, you had forgotten where you were headed, but soon remembered that Dr. Han's room was somewhere in this corridor and that he was in charge of the pills. Instead of scanning the paper, your eyes scanned the hall, looking for a door with the doctors name.

It didn't take long to find it, and you were standing in front of his door in no time.

You brought up your fist to the door, knocking once, causing a muffled voice to be heard from inside. "Come in," it said, and you could only assume that it was Dr. Han. Still clutching onto the paper with one hand, you used the other to push open the door, revealing a man sat down at a desk. He looked to be only a few years older than you, his dark black hair pushed back with glasses sat atop his head. For a second, you admired his beauty, were all the workers here so good looking?

"May I help you?" he asked, slightly tilting his head to the left.

"Are you Dr. Han?" you spoke, to which the man nodded. You took the chance to walk closer towards him, letting the door shut behind you. "I'm here as a volunteer, Bora sent me here."

He nodded in understanding, the polite smile never leaving his face. Dr Han stood from his position at his desk, gesturing with his finger for you to come closer. "Could you hand me that?" he asked, looking towards the paper in your hand.

You handed it to him, and proceeded to wait there patiently in silence as he made his way around the room, grabbing various pills from shelves and not once making a mistake. It seemed as though he knew the room like the back of his hand.

Since you were now standing right at his desk, you took the chance to let your eyes scan all of its contents. It consisted of a computer with a keyboard, but that's not what caught your attention. You noticed the names of two boys, attached with a picture and a bunch of other writing. Unfortunately, due to your horrible eyesight, you had to squint hard to make out any of the words, Park Jimin and J—

Before you could read out the second name, Dr. Han was already making his way back towards you, this time with a tray in hand. You took a step back, realising that you were making yourself appear as nosy and rude. This was none of your business, anyway.

He returned with the tray and several other items, carefully placing each one onto the gray tray before handing it to you. It was of medium size, able to fit onto one of ur hands if you could balance it properly. You noticed that he had put the sheet of paper that you previously had down onto the tray first, then put everything else on top, allowing you to read off the names and hold all the prescriptions with no problems.

"How comes you're so late?" the doctor questioned, looking at you with a curious gaze.

"Oh, there was a lot of traffic." you replied, smiling sheepishly and expecting to be told off. Instead, Dr. Han chuckled softly at your reaction before taking his seat.

"I assume Bora already scolded you for being late." he said, rolling himself closer to his desk. You nodded, letting your finger roam across the edge of the tray. "I apologise on her behalf, she can be quite a handful."

"It's no problem, I understand where she's coming from anyway."

"Yeah, but she's probably just cranky since you're working with 'her boys.'" he rolled his eyes, and you could sense the dislike he felt towards her.

"What do you mean?" you asked, confused.

"Oh, nothing, never mind. You should probably get going, and come back when you're done."

Although you were confused and wanted him to answer your question, you knew staying would end up wasting more time, and instead decided to take your leave, muttering a quick goodbye with an awkward smile.

Before you left, you watched him go back to writing something down on a sheet of paper, and even more curiosity set down in your body.

#bts #kpop #bts x reader #bangtan #bts fanfic #jeon jungkook #jungkook #yandere

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ponett · 1 year ago

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i always find it funny that twitter lets you actually lets you go into your settings and see your "interests" that it assumes you have based on your activity. i mean all the targeted advertising panopticon shit is very darksided but it's funny to see the list laid bare like this

interests twitter has assigned me include, but are not limited to:

Amazon Prime

Angry Birds

Arknights

Astral Chain

Bernie Sanders

Blaseball

Bread

Brennan Lee Mulligan

COVID-19

Cardfight!! Vanguard

Chicken recipes

Chrono Cross

Combat sports

Curb Your Enthusiasm

Danganronpa

Doki Doki Literature Club

Dr. Disrespect

Dragon Ball Z Dokkan Battle

Dril / wint

Elon Musk

Furry fandom

Game emulation

Geoff Keighley

"Google brand conversation"

Gunma-chan (the mascot of japan's gunma prefecture, apparently)

Homestuck

JRPGs

Jaboukie Young-White

Jennifer Hale

Keemstar

Kizaru (this is apparently the name of a russian rapper but i definitely got this interest for tweeting about the one piece character)

Legalized Marijuana

Luigi's Mansion

Markiplier

Masahiro Sakurai

"Miku Hatsune"

Miss Kobayashi's Dragon Maid

Mobile Suit Gundam: Iron-Blooded Orphans (this is the only gundam series they have listed separately)

PAW Patrol

PlayStation Vita

Pope Francis

Roger Craig Smith

Saint Seiya

Secret of Mana

The Mighty Ducks: Game Changers

Todd Howard

Touhou Project

Twin Peaks

Twin Peaks: The Return

Walmart

"X - the everything app"

Yoshi

Young Sheldon

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sanzusslutt · 1 year ago

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How I thing the Tokyo Revengers characters would hug you

Pairing: Manjirou Sano, Ken Ryuguji, Takashi Mitsuya x Y/N (Separately)

Warnings: None♡︎

Sano Manjirou (Mikey)

The last weeks have been crowded for Mikey with things including Toman, making it very hard for you to schedule a date with your beloved boyfriend. Even if you eventually plan to go out, most of the time he would cancel it due to gang's business or meetings. So, tonight was no different. He called you half an hour before your date saying that, an unexpected meeting had to take place and since he wouldn't be able to go out, you could go where he was to see you. You agreed and some time later you were in front of your lovely boyfriend. He almost started running towards you, hands on your waist, both southing and caressing lovingly your back, and his forehead rested on your shoulder. "I'm sorry that I had to cancel again, pretty.." he murmured. You reassured him that you weren't upset about the cancellation mostly because you knew how important Toman is to Mikey and the other members. Being the leader of a gang that popular comes with drawbacks.

Ken Ryuguji (Draken)

You waited for Ken to finish fixing a bike at least the last three hours. Scrolling on your phone, looking through Draken's stuff, admiring his beautiful build or anything that could make time go faster as your boyfriend took his time fixing that damn bike. Eventually, he became tired of just sitting there trying to repair something when you were standing alone behind his tall figure. He looked over his shoulder only to see you looking around to find anything interesting to pass your time. He stood up, walking over your smaler figure, turning you around, planting his hands on your hips and pulling you closer to him. Then, he putted his hands on the fat of your butt as he easily lifted you from the floor and placing you on the counter that was behind you. You placed your hands on his shoulders, playing with his loose braid as he southed your lower back with his big palms. "Sorry, angel. The bike took a little longer than expected but I'm all yours now" he said as he massaged your back. Every thought you had, disappeared as soon as he caged you between his strong arms.

Takashi Mitsuya

It was one of the many times that your date had included Takashi's younger sisters, Mana and Luna. You were in his sister's room, talking and gossiping with the little angels before you put them to sleep. Your boyfriend was done with chores, leaving time for the both of you to spend some time together. He stopped at the door of Mana's and Luna's bedroom when he heard his sister's question. "Do you love big brother, Y/N?" the younger girl asked. "What kind of question is that?? I very much do, bug. He is one of the best things thats ever happened to me and since I met him, I can't imagine my life without him anymore". Taka leaned against the door frame, hands crossed at your sweet words and the softest expression on his face. "Eww, stop!! that's disgusting Y/N!!" the older sister yelled at you causing you to barst out laughing. "Come on girls, it's finally time you go to bed!! You got up, guiding the sisters to their beds when you felt two hands grabbing your waist from behind. "Suya?-" you called. He started kissing your neck as a reply. You giggled as he circled his hands on your waist and rested his head with his chin on your shoulder. "I can't imagine living without you either, darling" He whispered kissing your cheek as you felt your body grow hotter from the embarrassment that he heard what you said. It was true though, you couldn't live without him.

I love him. I think that shows...

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hydrangeapartridge · 4 months ago

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Title: Mind Body and Soul - Chapter 5

Pairing: Mage!Shinsou x reader

I wrote for Shinsou again! Link to AO3 here

Summary: Once upon a time there was you: a nobody, a refugee from a country devastated by Dabi’s undead army, serving as a maid in king Todoroki’s castle. There, fate decided you would cross path with the mysterious and dreaded court mage Hitoshi Shinsou. Little did you know that particular encounter would change your life forever.

Rating: M

Tagged people <3 (tell me if you want to be added): @maple-syrup-with-strawbewwies @moonlitmoonpie @obeythehuman

Chapter 5: The Fire (under the cut!) - (link to chapter 1, 2 , 3, 4)

The following days were filled with more reading, but also practice with the lenient spirit of water. Shinsou insisted that you should improve your handling of water before you could try handling another element; especially one harder to move like earth, or more abstract to picture like air.

Water spells weren’t boring, far from it. Every spell, every magic trick you performed felt as thrilling as the first one. You were sure you would never tire of it. However, you felt curious about the way the other elements would feel when connecting to them, and you were eager to learn more on the subject of magic. You barely started grazing the surface of it afterall. All that knowledge was new and exciting.

That thirst for knowledge became a consuming passion, and soon, you caught yourself reading for hours in the dead of the night, or not putting down your notes while hastily wolfing down a meal. As such, you understood Shinsou’s lifestyle better, slowly coming to follow it yourself. And never did you mock his impressive book collection again. On the contrary, you were grateful to be able to borrow from it.

After your interview with the king, your were informed that a room had been made available for you at the bottom of the castle’s tower. Being able to have your own space, and to sleep in a proper bed was a luxury you thought you would never be graced with. And yet, thanks to your gift for magic, your life was once again made better.

You absent-mindedly reflected on your improved lifestyle as you swiftly watered the plants on the windowsill with a little magic trick. You didn’t need any incantation anymore for it, and as Shinsou explained, the more you practised, the more magic stamina (or <i>mana</i>, as he called it) you gained, and the more spells you were able to cast in a row. At first your casting took time, and left you tired and drained. Now you could move a small amount of water with a snap of your fingers.

Once done with watering the flowers, you closed the windows. Outside, the air was chilly, the sun slowly setting. It was getting darker inside Shinsou’s office, and looking at the unlit candles on the desk, an idea struck you.

You still didn’t know how to conjure spirits, but if you could move water as you pleased, transferring a small amount of the fire inside Shinsou’s oil lamp to light a few candles shouldn't be too difficult. The theory of it you mastered without question. You felt confident it wouldn’t be too hard.

If he never explicitly told you not to play with fire, Shinsou did tell you you shouldn’t try new spells when he wasn’t present. Your teacher was overly careful with what spells he allowed you to experiment. He kept warning you about the dangers of magic, so much so that lately you listened to him less attentively.

You decided this one spell was simply a variation of water handling. After all, you would just be moving an elemental spirit from one place to another.

Shinsou liked to keep secrets to himself, that you were sure of, and as a fellow mage you would do the same. It would be your little secret, until you surprised him with how much you had improved, and proved him how skilled and independent in your studies you could be.

You secretly couldn’t wait for him to praise your progress, and with that thought in mind, you placed the oil lamp near the candles on the desk.

Taking a deep breath, you focused on the flame gently swaying inside the oil lamp. You took some time to visualize the path you would make a sample of the flame take. Even if you were confident you were able to do this, you still carefully approached the spell, knowing being careless with magic could result in a disaster. The candles were mere inches from the oil lamp. It shouldn’t be a difficult spell.

You quickly glanced at the door to Shinsou’s room. It was closed, and no noise came from there. He was probably focused on some reading. You wouldn’t be caught.

You straightened your clothes to steady yourself and leant towards the materials you placed on the desk.

You lifted a hand and whispered as low as possible. “Ignis”

Before your eyes, the flame in the oil lamp seemed to perk up. It burned brighter the moment you called out to it. The pulp of your fingers tingled as the connection was made, the sensation familiar but very different from how the water made you feel. The fire was warm, tickling, almost bubbly, giving you a sense of playfulness and a yearning for freedom.

With extreme focus, you slowly moved your finger. The flame stretched over the top glass opening of the oil lamp. You struggled to split it in two but after a while, you succeeded in getting only a tiny flame to leave the lamp. You quickly moved the flame to the candle, fearing it would go out. Its light seemed so fragile compared to the steady flame burning inside the lamp.

Once the flickering spark of fire touched the candle wick, its light grew bolder. You let out a relieved chuckle. You had succeeded.

Or so you thought.

The second you relaxed and eased your focus to terminate the spell, the flame lighting the candle suddenly grew wild. It rose as high as the ceiling, setting ablaze the parchments and books in its way, and licking at your hand that had the misfortune of hovering close to it.

You stepped back, nursing your injured hand, eyes wide with fear as the flames grew bigger. Fire started licking at the desk, wildly and exponentially spreading, devouring the easily flammable paper and wood. Was it your yelp of surprise and pain, or was it the sudden burst of light that alerted him, you wouldn’t know, but soon, the door to Shinsou’s room slammed opened, and the next second, the mage was by your side, stunned in front of the disaster you caused.

The look he sent you made you want to crawl into a dark hiding place forever, for more than furious, it was wounded. You had destroyed part of his hard work, and part of his beloved book collection. And worse, you had broken his trust.

Without wasting another second, Shinsou turned to the fire, staring at it like it had personally offended him. You felt the prickles of a spell in preparation in the air as your teacher focused. He raised his hands in front of him, then with force he brought them together. A strong gust of wind blew through your hair and a loud clapping sound rang in your ears. And with that, all the flames in the room went out.

In the dim light brought by the moon only, you could still see the dark burnt traces the fire left in its wake. On the desk and on the shelves, the damage was thankfully minimal, but a few parchments and books were still lost.

The silence that fell over the room felt deafening, and frozen in place, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at Shinsou.

“Fire is wild and wants to eat everything” You finally heard him whisper in a sigh.

“I’m sorry” You sniffed, voice barely audible. You felt ashamed that you didn’t heed his warnings. Tears started prickling at the corners of your eyes. You felt terrible, and your hand was hurting, burning where the flames touched you.

Through your blurry vision, you saw a pair of shoes appear in front of yours.

Shinsou carefully took your hand in his, gently prying your palm opened with his cold fingers. You winced as he traced the place where your skin was tender and turning an angry red.

“You’re hurt” He breathed, brows furrowing. “Why do I always end up needed the only kind of magic I’m so bad at” He sighed, then let go of your hand. “I won’t try my hand at healing magic for fear of worsening the wound. But I think I might have a poultice somewhere that can help”

Shinsou stepped away and with an effortless flick of his wrist, he lit the oil lamp again. You bit your lower lip in frustration, continuing your efforts to reign in the tears threatening to spill on your cheeks. While Shinsou looked for the salve, you carefully ran your thumb over the palm of your hand, tracing the edges of the burn. The gesture felt oddly soothing. As you massaged the area, you were surprised to feel the tip of your thumb tingle with an oddly familiar sensation. You could feel your pulse abnormally pounding under your skin. Under your bewildered eyes, you saw the burnt skin you were stroking progressively loosing its angry red colour, instead turning into a less sore pink hue. You forced yourself to blink a few times, almost sure you were hallucinating things because of the pain and fatigue.

“Shinsou” You feebly called out to him, distress filling you.

Despite sour mood and the obvious anger he must be feeling towards your actions, in an instant he was by your side. His worried gaze followed yours until he could assess the state of your hand.

“What’s happening to me?” You asked, voice shaking, your thumb still pressed to your opened palm. You felt like it was glued to it, finding it difficult to stop touching your burnt skin. It felt like that part of you was on a mission to finish something it started without your consent, and it was overwhelming.

Shinsou looked between you and the visibly receding burn on your hand. He then gently pried your thumb away from the wound, carefully holding it between his fingers. The pounding stopped; the tingling too. The connection was broken. Where you were once severely burnt, only soft pink and barely warm skin remained.

Shinsou let out an almost amused exhale through his nose “Well, nothing to worry about. It seems to me like you were simply healing yourself”

Your head lifted and your widening eyes meet his twinkling amethyst ones. You found no traces of anger left there. Only a sort of amusement mixed with maybe … pride?

“I did what?”

Shinsou smirked, leaving your side only to retrieve the poultice. Despite your burn looking a lot better, he still opted to treat it with the salve. Taking your hand in his, he took his precious time spreading the creamy mixture over your palm, intentionally not answering your question. You cheeks burnt under his attention, his ministrations, and his avoidance. Was that his way of punishing you? If that was the case, it was an oddly pleasant sort of punishment. The poultice’s fresh texture soothed your aching skin, but the feeling of Shinsou’s touch on your skin threatened to set it ablaze again.

“I am upset that you didn’t listen to my numerous warnings” He finally said, eyes focused on the task of massaging the poultice into your delicate skin. “But I suppose making mistakes is part of the learning process” He released your hand and his gaze met yours. “At least this debacle was of use; we found your spirit of affinity”

You blinked owlishly, surprised that he would forgive you so easily, and puzzled by his words. “Spirit of affinity?” You repeated, clueless.

Shinsou’s smirk sent heat coursing under your cheeks. “Haven’t read about that yet now have you?” He smugly teased. “Well, thankfully it is part of my duties as your master to enlighten you”

You levelled him with your best unimpressed stare, but it didn’t seem to deter his suddenly good mood.

Not paying you any mind, Shinsou started his evening lecture. “Although in theory any mage can cast any spell; communicate or order any spirit, each mage has a special connection to a particular kind of spirit, with which it is easier to connect. That is what we call ‘spirit of affinity'”

His explanation was very logical, and you nodded your head, the whole notion piquing your curiosity. “So mine is .. healing?” You wondered. “But that is not a spirit, is it?” You immediately corrected yourself, feeling a bit lost.

“Indeed” Shinsou nodded his head. “Your spirit of affinity seems to be the spirit of the Body” He told you, and suddenly it all made much more sense. “I am sure you remember the lesson about the Body, the Mind and the Soul” Shinsou continued his explanation. “Healers can communicate with and shape the spirit of the body. It is a rare and powerful ability”

Healing magic involved the spirit of the Body. You were thrilled to know you possessed such a rare and useful ability. If you pursued the path of healing magic, you could help so many people in the kingdom. That prospect made you ecstatic, and it was probably easy to read on your face.

“That discovery seems to please you” Shinsou remarked and you vigorously nodded your head “Sadly I’m afraid I won’t be able to teach you a lot in this area. As you may have noticed it is far from my expertise. But between books and the theory I can provide you, you should be able to cultivate that ability. As well as the many other things you need to learn to become a proper mage” His eyes held a mischievous glint as he added. “Like for example, handling fire spirits without any incident”

You let out an embarrassed little laugh. “Yes.. well, fire clearly isn’t my spirit of affinity” You commented, running a nervous hand through your hair.

Shinsou shook his head at your antics. “That we gathered. From the beginning, I didn’t picture you to be a fire mage. They are often brash and unfocused. Preferring easy solutions to well thought plans. You are nothing of the sort”

You felt a surge of pride at his words. “So you’re telling me that a mage’s personality matches its spirit of affinity?” You asked, curious.

“In a way” Shinsou replied, and you urged him to elaborate with examples. You were happy that he obliged, chuckling at your interest.

“For instance, earth mages are often stubborn, while air mages are light-hearted. They even have a reputation to be flighty. Metal mages are strong willed and taciturn, when wood mages are reliable and supposedly skilled in crafting… Those are rough approximations of course, there are some exceptions to these beliefs and reputations”

You avidly drank Shinsou’s words, and wished you could meet other mages to test if these theories were true. In your country, mages weren’t detected or trained; so much that you thought none of you were gifted. The discovery of your talent proved it to be wrong, but it didn’t change the fact that the court mage was the first and only mage you ever met. Your new found curiosity of the subject felt unquenchable, and you couldn’t help but wonder in which category Shinsou fell. You felt like the knowledge of his spirit of affinity could help you know him better. So you simply asked about it.

“What is yours?”

A beat of silence. Then he turned to look at you, deep violet eyes shinning with mischief.

“A secret” He whispered, the low rumble of his voice sending a shiver down your spine. A coy smile was on his lips, but his tone was nothing but serious.

Your heart skipped a beat in your chest. Between the light of the moon and the flame of the oil lamp, Shinsou was a two faced almost ethereal beauty. On one hand a warm and reliable teacher, and on the other, a mysterious and cool mage.

His smile, his eyes, his voice; you realized you weren’t indifferent to his charms. And given how secretive and powerful he was, you felt intimidated by that realization. That inclination could give him more power over you. He seemed to trust you but you were sure he did mostly because he could control you; control the knowledge he passed onto you, and handle you with his magic if ever you poised a threat. You were positive he was a better person than his master was, but he kept so many things to himself that it was shady. At first you didn’t mind, simply glad for the many improvements he brought into your life, but these days, you found yourself wishing to know more about him on a personal level. And that was obviously not a good idea.

You unconsciously stepped back, trying to regain your composure. Shinsou gauged your reaction, one thin eyebrow rising when you didn’t comment on his evasive reply.

“Well” You quickly followed up with the conversation, making a show of being annoyed by his lack of answer “if you don’t want to tell me then I’ll just have to guess”

Shinsou chuckled. “I wish you good luck on that endeavour”

You stepped in front of him, all serious this time. “If I find what it is, you’ll have to tell me when I’m right. No lying, no beating around the bush”

Shinsou’s amused expression dropped, leaving place to a more severe one. “Certainly” He accepted. “However you will have to argue for your breakthrough and explain what gave it away. No cheating. No listing all the existing spirits until you get it right”

You pouted, crossing your arms over your chest while your teacher proudly smirked. “It would make for a good assignment” He smugly added.

“Fine” You finally relented, accepting the challenge, but not without giving him a warning and a promise of your own “Just wait and see. I’ll uncover that secret of yours in no time.”

#shinsou x reader #shinsou hitoshi #mha x reader #mha fanfiction #hitoshi shinsou #bnha shinso hitoshi #shinsou x you #bnha x reader #hydrangea writes

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girlboybug · 1 year ago

Text

Crush

"he looks like he works with his hands, and smells like marlboro reds."

what's playing 🎧: crush by ethel cain

pairing : bfd!joel x reader (no outbreak au)

word count : 14k (oops)

*unedited*

CONTENT WARNINGS : SMUT, age gap, heavy petting, grinding, fingering, handjobs, references to m!masturbation, unprotected sex, creampies, light dirty talk, riding, soft dom!joel, but also switch coded joel if u squint, slight angst kinda sorta

TRIGGER WARNINGS : lowkey dubcon just bc of the power imbalance that comes with the age gap but everything is consensual as always. joel knew the reader when they were 4, 16 years have passed so now they're 20! brief mentions of messy home life and brief descriptions of verbal sexual harassment

A/N : i've been dying to write bfd!joel, and when i heard crush i knew what i had to do lolol. so sorry this took ages, it wasn't supposed to be this long but here we are lol. i hope you guys enjoy <3 comments really motivate me, so if you liked it plz lmk in the comments :3

your eyes continually drift over to the time glowing in the corner of the screen on your register, wondering when joel was supposed to swing by. you pray that he hasn’t forgotten his promise to your dad of checking out your air conditioner to see what needs to be repaired.

the tiny fan that sits beside your half drinken water bottle does little to nothing, and it only adds insult to injury.

you think back to last night at dinner, in your air conditioned home, about the ‘exciting’ news your dad had to share. he rattled on about how he ran into an old college buddy and family friend, joel miller down at the pro bass shop—and of course it was at the pro bass shop.

after a few jogs of your slightly depleting memory, you finally, somewhat, remembered a face to the name. you vaguely joined in with your parents’ reminiscing of how he used to come over with his little girl sarah for play dates, and occasionally babysitting you when your parents went out on their date nights.

they also were quick to tease you about your little crush on him, one you swear you can’t remember, which in your defense, you really don’t, and desperate to change the subject, you asked about his wife, which only worsened the allegations of your crush on him.

“goin through a divorce, it’s actually why he moved back here, but i’m sure you’re happy to hear that,” your dad snickered with a little nudge, and you wanted to bury your face in the steaming mashed potatoes on your plate.

once you managed to wrangle them out of the conversation of your alleged feelings towards the man you barely remembered, it was briefly mentioned that he’d be coming by today to check out your broken down air conditioner at the store your parents owned and operated.

you’re the cashier there, unwillingly of course, but it helps pay for your very expensive books you need for your classes, so it’s not a total issue. however, as you blanky look around the empty sweltering convenience store, you honestly consider closing up early and ubering home to soak in a nice, cold shower.

the bell that hangs from the door rings at the front entrance, but you’re too tired and worn down by the heat to say your usual greeting, instead deciding to just remain slumped in your small wooden stool, aimlessly trying to angle your mini fan at the most optimal point of your face.

your peripheral view catches a navy blue hued shirt, and your head lifts upwards to get a better look in case it’s a customer.

your eyes fall onto an older man smiling down at you, crossed arms bulging from behind his short sleeves. something bubbles in the very pit of your stomach. “mr. miller?” you ask, slightly unsure, but he nods, chuckling when his arms drop to his sides. “heya hun, it’s been awhile, how are you?” he leans in for a hug, and you suddenly don’t feel the sweat that’s been stuck to your skin for the past three hours as you rise to your feet and off the stool to meet his arms that come around your waist. you manage to stutter a response of, “i’m good, and you?”

“doin’ alright,” he says through a grin– oh god, his grin is so pretty, you think you almost see a cartoonish sparkle glint in his teeth from the fluorescent lighting.

your stomach bubbles up the more you take him in, and oh no. the worst possible thing just came to fruition.

your parents were actually right.

he pulls back, hands still on the backs of your arms as he takes a moment to really look at you. “you’re so grown up now honey, i remember when you were just this big,” he holds a hand just below his hip and you join in his light laughter, feeling those fluttery feelings you felt all those years ago rush to your chest and tummy like a dormant volcano erupting.

he hasn’t aged a bit, maybe a few more wrinkles here and there, and the crows feet beside his eyes deepen more now when he smiles, along with the grays that take the place of where some strands of brown used to be. but he’s just as beautiful as your fuzzy memories, if not more.

“y-you look exactly the same,” you chuckle nervously, trying to not give in to the magnetic pull tempting your eyes in the direction of his chest and abdomen. he grows a little bashful, glancing away for a moment before he replies, a little pinker in the cheeks than before. “i definitely don’t weigh the same, sweetheart,” he sighs playfully, patting his stomach.

you hear the traces of slight disappointment in his words and it saddens you. you shake your head, feeling even warmer under the heavy feeling from his eyes blanketing over you while you frown ever so slightly. “i think you look great.” you say truthfully, feeling nervous as soon as the words part from you, worried he might think you’re too forward, but instead he smiles again, looking down at his boots.

“you’re too kind.” he grins, looking back up at you, his fingers running along the side of his beard. you feel flushed, glancing away from his smiles.

“goddamn, it is hot in here,” he pinches at his shirt, pulling it back and forth to get a slight breeze. you nod vigorously, plopping back into your stool, fanning yourself once more. “i can show you were the ac’s at,” you offer, and he agrees.

you guide him to the useless machine, eyeing it down with an irritated look, as if it were alive, and purposefully broken down to spite you.

he walks over to it, bending down to its level and you balance on your heels awkwardly, overthinking on if it’s the correct social etiquette to say anything right now.

“hmm, lemme get my belt from the truck, i’ll be back hun,” he nods at you, sending you a smile before he disappears out the store and back to his truck.

when you’re sure he’s out of view, you curl in on yourself, holding your face and opening your mouth to let out a silent scream.

all it took was seeing him for two seconds, for a crush you didn’t even remember existed until last night to come back immediately.

when he returns, he sends you a smile before he goes right to work, setting up shop beside the air conditioner, toolbelt wrapped around the alluring circumference of his waist.

you imagine what it’d be like if it were your hands instead of the worn down leather that envelops him, how his skin would feel in your palms and jesus, you are being so creepy right now.

he talks while he works, listing about all the things wrong with the ac, jokingly calling your dad a cheapskate for not being willing enough to upgrade to a functioning one that wasn’t manufactured before you were born. and of course, you laugh, leaning against a counter, hoping he just so happens to turn to the side to spare you a glance and notice that you look effortlessly sexy.

he mainly keeps his focus on the task at hand but, you keep hoping he turns to look over at you at some point.

no customers have come in yet, and for once you are eternally grateful for a slow day.

your eyes trail from his biceps, down to his strong forearms, they look safe, secure, like they could hold you and keep you locked in, and his hands…god his hands.

they’re long, and big. his wide palms that splay across the side of the ac make the machine somehow look small in comparison. his fingers are so skillful, prodding and working at the screws and confusing bits you didn’t even know were a part of the contraption — but honestly the mechanisms of the ac are not what you care about right now.

you care about how it would feel if it were your sides, your hips, being touched and caressed instead of the machine, and how his big strong hands could hold onto them, grip them, squeeze them tight like a real man would.

you notice the way he swipes his forearm across his forehead, clearing away the sweat that beads over the skin, feeling bad that he’s doing so much manual labor in such terrible conditions.

you depart from your shared space for a moment, padding towards the refrigerators stocked full of drinks.

you return to him, tapping his shoulder and smiling brightly when he looks at you, eyes darting down to the cold root beer in your hands. “for you. least i can offer while you work,” you beam and he chuckles, switching some weight onto his left foot, his hand resting on his hip when he graciously takes the bottle from you.

“well thank you hun,” he tips his head at you, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig.

you watch the way his lips curl around the rim, how his hand just about swallows the entire bottle and the way his adam’s apple bobs while he drinks. you have to fight back the urge to squeeze your thighs together to alleviate the tingly feeling spreading inside you.

“how’d you remember i like root beer?” he asks, eyes peering at you with a warm surprise, his fingers twisting the screwdriver into the side of the ac.

you hop up onto the counter beside him, swinging your legs while you shrug. “just randomly came to mind i guess,” he turns to look at you, taking note of the way his eyes land on your bare legs first before they flicker back up to your eyes. you feel a little cocky about that.

“always were a helpful girl,” he says, and you just about glow at his little compliment, folding a leg over the other while you rest on your palms, trying to hide how big your smile grows.

“thank you,” you say quieter, shyer than you mean to.

you two converse a bit longer, and you decide to sneakily flip the open sign to closed in the window while you listen to his responses.

the topic of college is brought up, and you respond to his questions about how it’s going, what you’re majoring in, and you answer, creative writing, feeling flushed when he pauses his work to smile at you.

“an’ you know what, you always were a storyteller when you were young, i bet you’ve only gotten better since,” he says wistfully, fondly imagining you typing away and creating stories he’d happily read all about.

he’s not a big reader, but for you? he could be.

when he finishes up, he calls you over, turning the knob on high and watching as the ac releases what sounds like a guttural groan before a gust of icy air greets your bare arms.

you gasp and squeal in delight over no longer being slowly cooked to death in your parent’s mini mart.

“thank you mr. miller you’re literally the best,” you gush and he waves you off, gathering his tools as he nears the register.

“ahh don’t worry ‘bout it. i’m happy to do it. ‘specially if ya had anyone else do it for you, i know you’d get charged damn near an arm and a leg,” he rests his hands on the counter and your eyes trace over his long fingers while you make your way beside him. you feel giddy when you notice the tan line on his ring finger.

a reminder of the fact that he’s single now.

you just nod, holding back from saying something along the lines of how you’d be more than happy to pay him for this service with a…different kind of service of your own in return.

“so how much was the root beer hun?” he asks, flicking through the bills in his wallet. you immediately shake your head, ignoring his protests of accepting a free drink.

“no that was on the house mr. miller, i will not take your money,” you say stubbornly and he squints at you, huffing in defeat. “you sure? don’t want you gettin’ in trouble with your folks if they find out you’re out here givin things away for free now,” his hands settle on his hips and he gives you a playfully testing look, still managing to cause a flurry of emotions to ripple inside your lower tummy.

“who’s gonna tell them?” you counter, voice lowering just a little, eyes following in suit as you stare up at him.

his soft chuckle fades between his parted lips at the shift in your demeanor. his jaw comes down for a second before his lips curl to the side. “alright, thank you sweetpea,” he concedes just an octave above a murmur.

“is there anything else you wanted to get? because in all seriousness, they’d probably get more upset at me for actually charging you instead of just letting you have it for free.” you say truthfully, feeling positive that your dad wouldn’t mind joel taking a few things home free of charge.

he holds out that big hand of his, chuckling when his gaze shifts to the ground before it rests back over on you. “nah s’alright hun, root beer was already mighty gracious of you,” but you’re not buying it, you head behind the register, arms extending along the expanse of the wall of products, pretending to sell the items like you’re showcasing the prizes on a game show.

“you suuure? anything you want, completely free,” you offer temptingly and his lips collect themselves to the side of his mouth, chuckling mutedly, a little shake of his head as he watches you.

“alright,” he leans forward, and you feel your throat get a little tight at his ministrations, suddenly noticing the slight glimmer of a chain hidden beneath his shirt.

“can you get me that pack of marlboro reds behind you hun?” he points at the carton of cigarettes, and for some reason his request makes your stomach get tight.

you think back to how not even a day ago you rambled about your visceral dislike for boys, discarding them as a waste of time — but joel isn’t a boy. he’s a man, and may the version of yourself who existed moments before he came in, forgive you for being a melted pile of hypocritical mush he’s managed to turn you into in the span of less than two hours.

you can hear your mother’s scoff in your head as you find yourself feeling giggly at his choice of a freebie. it’s just so. manly.

he’s so manly.

you hand him the carton and he pockets it, not before taking a cigarette out, deciding to indulge early. “thank you sweetpea,” he smiles, cigarette already being placed between his lips.

“no problem,” you nod with a grin. he eyes the closed sign before he looks at you once more with a knowing smirk. “closing early i see,” he pointedly nods at the sign and you shrug with a sheepish little smile, neither confirming nor denying the notion.

“lemme guess—folks won’t mind? and would actually be more upset if you didn’t close up early?” he teases, and it almost feels like flirting. you decide to tell yourself it is. so you play along, rolling your eyes and waving your hand dismissively with an equally teasing ha. ha. ha laugh.

“it’s been a slow day, so no, they actually won’t mind, for your information,” you fold your arms, wriggling your face blithely. he chuckles, lighting his cigarette, taking a drag before he continues. “d’you need a ride home then hun?” he asks, genuinely offering and you have to forcibly give yourself a moment to pause before immediately yelling an overly enthusiastic YES PLEASE.

“are you sure? you’ve already done a lot for me today,” you act a little bashful, mostly because you are, but you also are attempting to hide the excitement bubbling inside you at the thought of being alone with him in his truck.

he shakes his head, exhaling the smoke from his lips silently, unknowingly entrancing you. “ts’ not a problem at all, cmon,” he motions his head towards the door and you trail along like a lost puppy.

you lock up the door behind you before you’re greeted by the sight of joel holding the passenger seat open for you.

your face gets hotter than it was before he fixed the ac at the sight of his chivalry, pretending to curtsy with your invisible dress before you climb into his truck, mumbling a shy thank you, as he safely closes the door behind you.

he hops in, and you read your address out for him as he turns the keys in the ignition.

it’s a little silent for awhile, but it’s okay, you’re content stealing glances at him, hiding behind the fist that supports the weight of your tilted head, hoping he doesn’t notice the way your eyes cast over him adoringly.

he’s so beautiful. you definitely had taste as a kid.

he even looks strong, and not in an annoying machismo way, but in a natural, humble way. a kind way.

you want to touch his broad shoulders, kiss your way down his biceps to his forearms and down to each and every finger of his. you want to kiss away all the callouses and take care of him the way he deserves.

you can’t believe you’re daydreaming about him in such a way right in front of him, especially since it’s the first time you’ve seen him in about 16 years and this is how you react.

oh well.

the contrast of grey in his soft looking brown hair is so complementary, you hope he hasn’t turned into one of those guys that put dye over it, because frankly you think the natural look suits him quite well.

you drift your stares down to his strong hooked nose, admiring how charming it is. you want to trace your finger tip down the slope of it, and uh oh he’s looking at you.

you can’t be too obvious in your actions, despite the fact that you already are, so you just smile instead of whipping your head around in the opposite direction like you wish you could. “can i try?” you ask, motioning towards his cigarette, trying to play off the situation as to not expose the real reason why you were staring.

he just chuckles under his breath, his smile lingering when he turns to look back at the road. “that’s ahh, not really a good habit you wanna get yourself into sweetpea.” he says with a small shake of his head.

you almost give up right there, but you decide to push just a little further. “it won’t be a habit, i just wanna see the appeal is all,” you turn in the seat to fully face him, smile growing when he leans his head towards you in a jokingly exasperated tilt. he says your name warningly, and you deflate for a moment, worried he may actually be annoyed with you.

you don’t say anything else and he notices, feeling bad at your silence. he sighs with guilt, wanting to remedy the incorrect thoughts you have of him being upset at you as he hands you the cigarette. you instantly perk, taking it into your own fingers. “careful now. you might choke, waters right there in the cup holder if it burns. don’t inhale it too long,” he instructs, watching you from the corner of his eyes to make sure you don’t hurt yourself.

you wave away his worries, placing the stick between your lips, feeling warm all over when you get a thought that says it’s kind of like we just kissed through the cigarette.

you inhale, hold it in for a few passing seconds before you’re proving his warnings correct, coughing loudly and not flatteringly whatsoever.

you try to face away from him, your eyes beginning to water and your throat burning worse than when you smoked from a very suspicious wax pen. the last thing you wanted was for him to see you like this.

he brings a hand behind your back, rubbing it soothingly as he sighs to himself, feeling a tinge of guilt for letting you smoke.

“easy honey easy, drink some water,” he hands you the bottle of water and you down it, blinking away your tears as you hand him back his cigarette. “that was so embarrassing i’m so sorry,” you groan, burying your face in your hands.

“s’alright honey, least now i bet you really won’t wanna make this a habit now right?” he asks, hoping you confirm your aversion to cigarettes. you instead choose to tease him a little, humming a contradictory response to his question. he squints at you and you giggle. “i dunno, might have to try again so i can really make sure.”

he taps the ashes out the window, laughing at your reply. “you’re gonna get me in trouble with your dad there hun f’he finds out i turned his daughter into a little chain smoker,”

you slide your hands under your thighs, watching him for a moment before you speak. “i won’t tell if you don’t,” you repeat yourself from earlier, alluding to something else, hoping he reads your mind and understands your allusions.

he purses his lips in a slight upward furl, looking at you once he’s reached a red light. “someone’s gotten a whole lot sneakier since the last time i saw her,” you laugh, leaning into the headrest while you look at him. “a lots changed since,” you say, voice falling quietly and he holds your stare, his eyes betraying him by clearly darting down to your lips. the red light switches back to green, forcing him to look away from you.

your chest bloomed at the way he looked at you in that moment, unsure if you’re delusional in even considering the possibility he maybe could reciprocate the attraction you’re feeling. but a little delusion never hurt anyone anyways.

“it sure has,” he agrees, the corner of his eyes taking in your figure once more.

but he shakes the thought from his head, almost rebuking it and instead deciding to change the subject. “can’t fault you too much though. sarah’s the same way sometimes,” he says through a chuckle that sounds nervous — did you make him nervous?

again, you tell yourself you did.

you sit up straight at the mention of sarah, visibly growing excited. “oh my god sarah, how is she? it’s been so long, i’m sure she doesn’t remember me,” blurred memories of playing with plastic makeup sets, and real makeup you two ‘borrowed’ from her mom, replay in your mind at the mention of her.

he shakes his head, disagreeing at your slightly saddened thought of being forgotten by sarah. “she’s good, she’s in school just like yourself, and she does remember you hun! matter a fact, she’s home right now, if you’d like, you can come over for dinner and catch up with her,” you clap your hands together excitedly, nodding happily at his suggestion.

“yes! that sounds amazing, i would love to!” you accept and he smiles at the thought of his two girls sitting together talking at the dinner table.

“i’m sure she’s gonna lose her mind when she sees you,” he squeezes your knee and you go still, frozen in place when you feel the heat from his palm radiate into your skin.

his touch is gone too soon, you want to hold his wrist and keep him there, but you pretend his fleeting touch doesn’t affect you as strongly as it actually does.

the heat from his skin has become yours and you cradle it, pretending you’re not beaming in his passenger seat from it while he talks.

“i’m kinda nervous, it’s been so long,” you say, pressing the backs of your fingers to your cheeks and feeling the warmth of nervousness flush to the surface of your face.

“don’t be sweetpea, nothin to be nervous about, i promise,” he comforts your nerves with a soft voice, and you allow it to cushion you.

—

joel was right about two things.

you really did have nothing to worry about, you and sarah clicked right away as if no time had passed. she squealed when she saw you, racing towards you and enveloping you in a tight hug, rambling about how she’s missed you so much. it felt good to know you were never forgotten in her mind.

he was also right about sarah being sneaky.

or rather ‘persuasive’ and ‘just so happens to forget to mention certain things’ as she would put it.

she managed to convince both joel (which didn’t take much convincing to begin with) and your dad to let you sleep over, which you were ecstatic about for obvious reasons but also because she saved you from having to scramble for a reason as to why you closed up the shop early.

you’re in her bed now, sitting behind her while you help gather her hair into her baby pink bonnet, talking about anything and everything there is to talk about. while also getting ready to sleep off the high from the wax pen she has hidden under her pillow.

“i can’t believe you’re really here with me right now,” she grins as you move back in front of her, leaning into her opening arms.

“i know, me too, it’s been so long,” you hum, rubbing her shoulders. “i’m kidnapping you by the way, this was all just an elaborate scheme to lure you in.” she mentions casually and you laugh, falling back into her bed with her while you rest your head on her shoulder.

“fine by me,” you say, and you mean it, but you don’t add that in.

“i’m happy you’re here,” she whispers, her nose scrunching up against yours. you smile, holding your forehead to hers. “i am too.”

“are you busy tomorrow?” she asks, pulling the blankets over your bodies. you shake your head, curling under the covers. “nah, we’re closed tomorrow at the store and i don’t have school that day,” you say, feeling pure adoration as you watch sarah’s smile grow the more she listens to you talk.

“why don’t we spend the day together then! my dad’s gonna be at work so we’ll have the house to ourselves,” she whispers as all the excitement from the day starts to add weight into your bones, easing you both into rest.

you nod and smile sleepily, leaning into her arm that drapes over your side. “okay, i’ll call my dad tomorrow,” you yawn and she closes her eyes at that, content by your answer.

—

it’s 3am. you should not be awake. but you are, and you’re looking over at sarah, wishing you were fast asleep like she is. you carefully peel yourself out of her arms, gently covering her with the blankets before you pad out of her room and down into the kitchen for some water.

you tiptoe down the stairs, your heart sinking nervously right into a tight spot inside your stomach when you see the fridge door agape, with a broad back sticking out of it, also in search of something to drink.

joel rises and turns to see your stilled figure standing awkwardly, staring forward like you’ve just gotten caught stealing.

he chuckles, scratching a few lazy fingers down his stubble when he shuts the fridge. “what’re you doin up sweetpea?” he asks, and oh god his voice is nice and gravely, a rasp from the depths of sleep that he evades every night careens around your ears and you nearly fold at the knees.

“just uh, randomly woke up and i couldn’t go back to bed. was just gonna get some water, sorry,” you sound meek and joel shakes his head, and walks closer. you panic a little. it’s a good panic.

“nuthin’ to be sorry about hun, i’ll getchu some water,” he holds your arm, smiling softly down at you, nodding at you for confirmation. once again his touch abandons the skin of your upper arm when he leaves to fetch a cup for your water.

your hand graces the skin he touched as you watch him pour you water. he hands it to you, and you thank him quietly, taking a sip from the old plastic disney princess cup he picked out for you.

“so what woke you up? you feelin’ alright?” he murmurs, coming in close again to press the back of his hand to your forehead. you weren’t overheating until he decided to do that.

you swallow hard, shaking your head beneath his hand. “n-no no—well i mean yes, yes i’m-i’m okay, i just wake up randomly at odd hours of the night for some reason sometimes,” you say hushedly, afraid to disturb the peaceful silence the night brings.

he nods understandingly, withdrawing his hand from your face and you want to tell him he can keep it there, but you mentally digress.

“happens to me too,” he sighs, visibly tired with a hand lazily running down his stubble. “sorry you’re goin’ through it too then hun,” his thumb runs a small circle over your shoulder comfortingly and your body molds around the curve of his fingers.

“it’s okay,” you mumble shyly and he smiles softly, his touch stalling on yours before it drops back to his side. the air that fills the quiet kitchen turns into something warm and calming when it floats between your tired bodies, and it feels nice. feels domestic. soft smiles mirror each other on your faces and you look away, unable to handle the weight of his stare.

“so, do you um…do anything that helps you fall asleep?” you ask curiously, mostly just trying to make conversation to keep him tethered to you, even for just a moment longer.

he scratches his scruffy beard and sighs, nodding like he’s somewhat ashamed to admit. you grow curiouser, deciding to test the waters and inch in just the tiniest bit closer. “and what do you do?” you question through a whisper.

“i smoke,” he responds just as hushed and you chuckle. “sounds like you’ve got a bad habit.” you prod, lightly teasing and he takes the playful jab, chuckling along with you.

“well, we’ve all got our vices,” he smiles at you in a way that's playfully guilty, and you roll your eyes with the same playfulness before speaking again. “was i stopping you from taking a smoke?” you ask, and he shakes his head, denying the notion. “no no, and if you were it’d probably be for the best,” he shrugs and you grin. an idea occurs in your mind.

“can i smoke with you again?” you ask bravely and the volume in his laugh rises before he’s silencing himself so as to not wake sarah.

“ain’t happenin’, shouldn’t have even happened the first time,” he immediately shoots down your request but you have a sneaking suspicion you’ll wear him down.

“but you said it helps you go to sleep,” you counter with a pout and he sighs with faux exasperation.

“hun,” he says warningly again, eyeing you in a way that pins you where you stand. “first time seein’ you in what? 15 to 16 years and i’m already becomin’ a bad influence on you.” he says amusedly, his fingers dipping into the pocket of his plaid pajama bottoms, tracing over the curve of the loose cigarettes that await him.

“it’s not like you’re giving me hard drugs mr. miller,” you say, tilting a shoulder at him persuasively. his eyes trace over your face for a few passing seconds, taking in the way you look back at him before he decides what to do next.

“last time, understand? just to help you sleep.” he says, but it sounds like he’s more so reminding himself than he is you.

“okay,” you smile, following him to the loveseat that faces the window, and you assume this is where he usually smokes.

he cracks open the window, and sits down into the plump cushion, leaning against the very texan quilt that drapes over the seat. you sit down on the arm of the seat, stretching your legs above his knees, the closeness in proximity feels so personal, and you want to live the rest of your life in this quiet and intimate hour with joel.

he hands you a cigarette, watching you put it between your lips, his available hand straying off to the side to grab the lighter that’s on the tray beside the loveseat.

he flicks the lighter on and your faces become illuminated by the small flickering flame. he looks beautiful as he carefully lights the end of it, his eyes on the bud of it while your’s memorize each and every wrinkle that crinkles around his eyes.

“inhale, careful now,” his words of concern blanket over you and pave a smooth passageway for the smoke to enter into your lungs, successfully preventing you from breaking out into another coughing fit.

you inhale, and keep it before you fan it out the window. he smiles and pats your ankle that rests beside his lap. “there ya go,” he nods the crown of his head at you proudly. you bow humbly, handing him the cigarette.

“feels nice. makes me feel warm,” you mumble tiredly, watching the way he takes a drag effortlessly. “don’t get too used to it now,” he chides, words shadowed amidst the mist of his smoke.

“i won’t,” you reply with a knowing smile as he goes to hands it back to you. he pulls his hand that holds the cigarette back, eyeing you. he says your name in that tone and you wave him off, taking the cigarette from his fingers. “kidding,” you remedy his worries of your possible nicotine addiction in the nearby future, inhaling another drag.

you two go back and forth like this for awhile, until the cigarette becomes an unrecognizable little stub,

“feel sleepy yet?” he exhales through a fanning breath, and you nod, watching him flatten the bud into the ashtray beside his side of the armrest.

“good,” he yawns, lazily running a hand across the side of his beard. “got a long day tomorrow — or today technically, an’ so do you little miss, try an’ get some rest.” he drawls softly, sleepily, and you nod your tired head at his words, free falling into them.

“goodnight sweetpea,” he says with a gentle finality, leaning in to hold you by the back of your head, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. you crumble into his touch, shutting your eyes as if to fossilize yourself in the moment.

“goodnight,” you whisper, feeling cold when he pulls away. you wish you had thought of something more to say, anything at all that would’ve kept him in your presence for just a little longer, but now you’re stuck sitting alone in the living room, watching his broad back ascend up the stairs, wishing you were trailing behind him, with your hand in his.

you finish the rest of your water before you’re trudging back up the stairs, the weight of exhaustion lowering its heft onto your shoulders with each step upwards.

and as you crawl back into bed with sarah, despite the attempts to push the thoughts away, all you can think about are the ways in which her father could tire you out until you fell asleep.

___

after that day, the miller household practically became your second home. more often than not showing up to their house rather than your own after school and work.

at first you were worried that maybe you were beginning to overstay your welcome, that maybe they just didn’t know how to tell you to stop coming over so often. but they quickly put those insecurities to rest when sarah called you wondering why you hadn’t shown up after work, saying how joel set a plate for you at the table and it was getting cold.

they were just as attached to you as you were to them.

they really loved having you over, loved getting to make up for all those years you all went without each other, taking the time to relearn everything there is to know about the other.

for instance, joel learned you have an affinity for tight tank tops that ride a little too low on your chest and rise a little too high whenever you bend down.

his fingers have a tendency to straighten out your spaghetti straps, and he always murmurs something along the lines of, showin a lotta skin today huh hun?

you’d grow warm under his touch, hiding behind a pretty grin and an excuse of oh, heat’s just gettin’ to me lately, or his personal favorite, damn dryer shrunk my clothes again.

he doesn’t mind whatever your excuse is, he’d just hand you his flannel, telling you to at least wrap it around your waist whenever guys were around, because i know how men think, he’d explain and you wouldn’t argue, you’d happily accept his flannel and listen to his heeding.

you wonder if he was having the same thoughts he was trying to prevent other men from having about you.

you like to tell yourself he was.

but there is one thing you don’t have to convince yourself of. joel really, truly, and utterly cares for you.

joel is nothing if not protective, he just wants to look out for you, make sure you’re safe, that you’re okay, and so when you called him at work, voice trembling and meekly asking if he can pick you up, naturally, he abandoned his meeting at work to race over to you.

creating blueprints for a new apartment building suddenly became unimportant the second he heard your voice crack over the phone.

he could hear the way your breath paused for a moment, only to come out shakily through tears when he asked if you were alright. your audible sadness casted immediate worry and concern over him, instilling itself in his chest.

he sees you now, rushing to walk out of the store, locking it on your way out, and he hops out of his truck, wanting to be the first thing you’re greeted by as soon as you raise your head.

relief rinses through you the moment you see joel standing in front of his truck, your eyes betraying the attempt at strength you were fighting so hard to have the second he pulls you into his arms.

his hands feel warm and heavy behind your back, rubbing all the quiet sobs out from you with each gentle circular movement.

“oh babygirl,” he murmurs under his breath, feeling his heart break with each little gasp you make through your tears. “what happened?” he asks, unintentionally causing the tears to fall harder, making you fist at his button up.

“today has been so bad,” you finally say, your head resting on his strong chest, shaking fingers tracing over the seams of his button up in an attempt at self soothing.

“wanna get inside an’ talk about it?” he asks just above a whisper, keeping his voice soft for you. you nod, twisting the knife in his chest when you sniffle.

he helps you into his truck, shutting the door behind you, meeting back with you soon once he’s in the driver’s seat.

“now what happened honey?” he asks, and you take in a deep breath through the tears, waving your hands at your eyes to try and stop the stinging sensation at your waterline.

“today has just been one bad thing after the other,” you wipe away the stray tears with annoyed fists, wishing they would cease their incessant presence. “first, i got into a fight with my dad, he called me selfish and inconsiderate for not canceling class to come down to the shop earlier and that there’s no point in attending class because i’m just gonna get overwhelmed and quit anyway,” you barely manage to say tearfully, further etching a frown into joel’s features, his chest aching at the way you’re visibly hurting.

he says your name tenderly, matching the way his hand reaches out for you to hold. you squeeze his hand, holding onto it when it rises upwards to cup your cheek, his thumb wiping a stray tear across your cheekbone.

you lean into his palm, shutting your eyes at his touch. “and i’m scared he’s right, today in class i was so stressed all i wanted to do was walk out,” you whimper ashamedly, and joel shushes you, bringing his free hand to fully hold your face, turning your gaze back up to meet his. his hold on you is delicate, like you’re a dandelion amidst a strong breeze, and all he wants to do is keep you with him, safe and sound.

your cheeks are cradled by his hands, his calluses turning into a thing of comfort against your cheeks, along with his thumbs that swipe away the tears that refuse to concede from your lash line.

he holds you like this for a while, wordlessly guiding your breathing with his, evening out your sporadic hiccups induced by your crying, settling your nerves down to a more manageable level.

your eyes flutter shut at the safety he drapes over you, your smaller hands holding onto his wrists, mindlessly running your thumb along his knuckles. “wish you were with me at work today,” you mumble, imagining the way he would’ve protected you from the creepy customers you had to deal with.

“what else happened?” he lightly coaxes it out of you, wanting you to get everything out so you don’t have to carry the burden of the day’s stress on your shoulders.

“these guys came in, and they were just so weird,” your hands tighten around his wrists, recounting the uncomfortable interaction you were subjected to.

“kept…kept making weird jokes about everything…i said if they needed anything to let me know and i heard one of them tell their friend i better be careful saying things like that, and they like—ugh,” you take a moment to catch your breath, refocusing on the way joel’s gently running his fingers across your temples, something he’d do for you in the middle of the night whenever you’d get a headache.

“they kept making jokes about me taking off my clothes because it’s summer and it’s hot or whatever i dunno it was stupid but they kept ‘suggesting’ i should lose the tank top because walking around in a bra is the same as wearing s bikini at the beach,” you grimace at the fresh memory, and joel wants to take it away from you, wants to wash you clean of all the pain you felt today.

when you look up at joel his jaw is clenched, lower jaw jutting out in anger, his hands falling from your face down to your hands, holding them in his, while he shakes his head. “fuckin’ disgusting,” he mutters to himself. “probably good i wan’t there, woulda fuckin’ killed them,” he utters under his breath, and more so to himself, his hands migrating down to your hands, squeezing them hard. his eyes that hold an image of what he’d do to the men who harassed you dissipate as soon as they shift back up to you. “i’m sorry hun,” he sighs, cupping your cheek, cradling you into his palm, speaking gentler this time, “an’ as for your dad well…he’s an asshole. but i know you already know that,” he pauses to smile at your little giggle.

“he couldn’t be more wrong about you. you are so smart hun, an’ you can and will accomplish everything you set your mind to.” the soft gravel of his voice tides around you like an embrace, enveloping you in it as an attempt to wash you clean of your distress.

your eyes well and your heart soars up high inside your chest at his kindness.

“thank you mr. miller, you are so nice to me, it—it means so much coming from you, and i can’t even begin to explain how grateful i am that you even came here at all,” he left work for you. you groan with guilt at the remembrance. “and—god i’m so sorry that i just like, randomly called you at work i’m so sorry you were probably super busy, i just didn’t know who else to go to,” you ramble with guilt, but joel’s already shaking his head as you rattle off with apologies, his hands coming back up to your cheeks, stilling the words on your tongue.

“hey hey hey,” he shushes you softly. “no apologies, okay?” his thumb runs under your lash line, clearing away your tears. “i’m glad you called me, rather you call me than have to hear what happened from someone else.” he pacifies your guilt for calling him, and he does it successfully, watching the upset furrow between your brows disappear.

your lip trembles and you suck it in between your teeth, closing your eyes and leaning forward into his chest. he takes you in with no hesitation, his arms forever acting as a sanctity for you to hide in whenever you need.

he hesitantly pulls away from you for a moment, mumbling a soft, give me a sec sweetie. he shifts around to the pull at the bottom of the driver seat, extending it backwards and giving him more space between him and the steering wheel.

“cmere,” he says above a whisper, opening his arms for you once more. you’re being guided into his lap, gently wrangled in until you’re wrapped up in the thick protection of his strong biceps. he rubs your back, head resting safely on top of your’s, keeping you down to earth, keeping you in his arms.

he takes in all your tears, takes in every racking sob from your chest into his, his lips every so often pressing their silent reminders of his presence into your temple. he rocks you back and forth, his soft shushes folding over the sound of your fading cries, lulling you into a calmness you didn’t know you could feel.

“you’re okay, you’re okay,” he promises, and you believe him. you finally raise your head from his chest, the scent of him still lingering around you, his presence feels pliable, the way he’s looking at you, eyes downturned and scanning all over your face lovingly feels like a sign you know isn’t real. he says nothing, just clears away your stray tears, and that’s when you act.

you lean in, holding his wrist and intertwining your fingers as your lips do the same. you sigh into his mouth, ascending in his arms when you feel him kiss you back just as rushedly, almost like if he’s too slow you’ll vanish from him.

but it’s him who vanishes first. he pulls apart from you with a gasp, shifting you further away from him in his lap, your heart immediately cracking straight down the middle. “what’re you…what are you doing?” his questioning comes out breathless, he feels like he’s asking himself rather than he is you, and he prays you say the right thing, he prays that you call him disgusting and that you climb right out of his lap, removing the temptation and opportune to lean back in.

but you don’t. “i’m sorry,” you whimper, embarrassment flushing through your whole body, he shuts his eyes, exhaling slowly through his nose. “i’m too old for you, you know that right?,” his knuckles drag across your cheekbone, and you nod solemnly, swallowing hard. “i’m not a kid though, joel,” you say shakenly, nerves rattling your bones when you say his name for the first time, unhidden by the lieu of mr. miller.

“compared to me, you are,” he sighs, his hands gripping his own thighs, weighing them down to prevent them from gravitating to your’s. “i’m too old for you,” he repeats to himself, closing his eyes and leaning into the headrest, the sight and feeling of you looking up at him in his lap is too much for him to combat. “i’d be takin advantage of you,” he mutters, shaking his head, guilt starting to settle into the base of his chest.

you’re quiet for awhile, and he takes it as his answer. that he’s right, this is wrong.

but you contradict his thoughts. reaching up to pull his gaze back onto you. “you’re not taking advantage of me, i know that i want this.” you promise hushedly, and he wants to believe you. your eyes connect once more, a quiet tug of air being shared between the two of you, and you’re willing to let him have it, to let him have all the air you can offer and more. he leans in and you stay still, watching when he inches backward when he gets too close, like you’re a flame whose flicker burns too bright the closer he gets. and when you inch in, you can’t get yourself to break the seal and press yourself into him, a weight of nerves keeping you stagnant before him.

his stare rises and falls down from your eyes to your lips, and you feel it in your bones that your body needs to have him more than it needs anything else. your gaze rests on him while your body acts for you, your hand finding his and holding it, squeezing it. “please,” you whisper, your words leaving you before you can process them. he swallows down everything holding him back, lurching forward to take your lips into his. his hand slides from yours, and up your arm, squeezing it as a test to see if you’re real. his hand moves from your cheek to the back of your head, kissing you hard and keeping you still, greedily wanting to keep you all for himself, wanting to memorize the taste of cherry coke on your tongue and raspberry lip balm on your lips.

it smears across his own lips, your taste immersing with his own, his mustache and beard tickling your skin just like you imagined it would, and you moan in his mouth at the feeling, flicking your tongue desperately over his, mindlessly bucking your hips against his. he groans deeply into you, grasping your hips and rocking himself into you, not a single thought in his head, just a carnal need to feel your cunt satiate the ache traveling down his cock.

you pull apart for a breath, lips still pushed together, foreheads melded in close, hips crashing into each other with need. “feels so good,” you whimper into his mouth, the pleasure from the friction making you blatantly honest.

he nods in agreement, never having heard truer words. his fingers indent the shape of themselves into your flesh, his hips acting on their own, desperate to push up into you while his mouth catches yours once more.

he groans, his cock twitching when he feels you slip your tongue into his mouth, a little moan of your own floating out when you taste a hint of root beer from his kiss.

your movements grow rushed, hands finding the heft of his flannel and fisting it to steady the heavy rocking of your hips crashing and tiding over his cock.

desperation flows in your veins where your blood once was, replacing all sense of anything except for the physical need to rut your cunt against his bulge. he can’t keep up, all he can do is let his head fall in your shoulder, his big hands coming around to find purchase on your welcoming hips. his thighs clench underneath yours, tensing when he feels you dampen him through his pants.

“baby,” he finally lets out shakily, thumbs running circles over your hips. “can’t—shit,” a beat passes with an involuntary grunt falling from his lips. “cant, can’t do this here,” he breathes, eyes hanging low upon you, his hips betraying his words with each thrust that meets your pelvis.

you slow your movements, catching your breath quietly, nodding in a silent agreement. “i don’t wanna stop,” you admit truthfully, no longer feeling bashful about the fact.

his cock aches at your honesty and he exhales through his nose, his hands tightening around you. “don’t have to,” he swallows, eyes drifting down to your hardened nipples. “just not here.”

his answer satiates you, which almost leaves him regretful when you climb off his lap and leave him cold and void of your warm cunt pressed up against him.

he starts the truck and all you can do is stare at the concentrated look on his face and his hands gripping the steering wheel.

you wonder if he’ll hold you by your throat the same way. your thighs squeeze together tightly, causing the hem of your jean shorts to rub against your clit just enough to soothe the ache inadvertently caused by joel.

he notices, eyeing you up and down, lips parted just a breadth at the sight. his hand itches to alleviate some of the pressure you’re carrying deep inside you, but instead he alleviates some of his own first. his right hand falls from the steering wheel for a moment, just to squeeze his cock when he watches the way you squirm and stare up at him from his passenger seat.

he turns away, knowing he’ll crash if he keeps staring at you, bringing his wandering hand back to the wheel.

“can i touch you?” you ask, seemingly innocent and his eyes shut for a passing second, a curt shake of his head joining the action. “not a good idea—“ he really wants you to though “gonna make me crash,” he exhales, though his hips say otherwise, inching towards your side with need.

your hand trails from his thigh down to his crotch, palming over him gently, and he grips the steering wheel, jaw vibrating with low groans.

a 10 minute drive has never felt so far until now.

your fingers curl over his bulge, straining against the seatbelt trying to lean in as close as it’ll let you until you decide to rid yourself of it all together.

“seatbelt,” he says warningly, and with concern, but you wash it away the second your lips meet the side of his neck, with your hand pawing over him to ensure his submission. and joel just about crumbles far too easily at the touches.

you’re impatient, he definitely sees that now, and you’re making it way harder than it needs to be for him to maintain his self control.

“i thought about this a lot,” you hum in his ear, leaving kisses in the wake of your warm words. his throat gets tight just like his lower belly, excitement strumming through him when he halts at a red light.

he turns towards you now, his hand dipping between your thighs, a little upward curl of his lips teasing the side of your cheek, his scruff leaving kisses of their own on your skin.

you stifle a whimper, holding onto his wrist when you grind down on his fingers. “thought about touching me like how i’m touchin’ you?” he murmurs, pressing chaste kisses to your jaw. you nod, your chest pounding at the wave of realization of what’s happening. it excites you.

“thought about it too,” he pulls away from you when the light turns green, and you stay frozen, your body suddenly unsure of how to function with a lack of his touch and proximity.

“didn’t wanna admit it to myself, but i thought about doin…a lot more than that whenever you’d come around,” he pays you a once over, his eyes lingering over the plushness of your thighs that fill his passenger seat.

“your skirts and shorts kept gettin’ so damn short, i felt guilty for wondering if it was on purpose,” a smugness takes over his face when he glances at you. “an’ now i know it was.”

you flutter at his confessions, a sense of pride swelling in you at the confirmation that your little tactics seemed to have paid off. “i just wanted your attention,” you say softly, words falling like pillows and he catches them with open arms.

his glance shifts from his crotch, up to your eyes knowingly, and he smiles faintly. “i can tell you that you had it even before you started wearin all that,” he rests his hand on your thigh, guiding the wheel with his left hand now. “but i can’t say i minded the change in outfits.” he brings his fingers over your clit, putting pressure over it and you whine quietly, bucking your hips into his touch.

“if you ever want me to stop you need to tell me okay?” he tells you, and he’s serious, his fingers pull away for emphasis and you nod profusely, holding onto his wrist desperately. “i promise, joel i don’t wanna stop,” you plead with him, and as a simple man that he is, he doesn’t seem to need much more convincing. the pads of his fingers run circles over your clothed clit, and you grind down into it, hungry for more.

“i want you,” you pant and he chuckles, drumming his thumb against the steering wheel.

“you’ve got me.”

“but i want more.”

—

it’s quiet when you arrive back at his house, the driveway is thankfully void of sarah’s little yellow volkswagen and relief blankets across your shoulders knowing she isn’t home.

he ushers you inside, his broad, strong chest pressed up against your back with his hands guiding you by your hips.

he closes the door with his back, leaning against it, watching you turn around to face him. it’s quiet for a few ticking seconds, and he watches as you lean in closer towards him. he doesn’t stop you but he doesn’t lean in to meet you halfway either. he says your name like he’s unsure if he’s even allowed to utter it, purposefully avoiding eye contact. you hum a soft little “yes?” and he sighs, his eyes falling shut for a moment.

“this ain’t right,” he reminds himself, and his hands begin to loosen on your hips. you clamp a hand over one of his, the other coming up to lure him back into you, a gentle palm of yours cupping his scruffy jaw, thumb running across the crows feet that gather at the corner of his eye. “says who?” you counter gingerly and he chuckles breathlessly, shaking his head in your hold, feeling all restraint trickle straight off him the second his eyes catch yours.

you move your hand away from his when his grip grows tight again, letting your now free hand hold both sides of his face when you go up on your tippy toes to meet him for a kiss.

he catches you off guard and pulls you deeper into him, your crotches pressed flush together when he slips his tongue into your mouth, hooking and reeling you in.

you moan into his mouth and it eggs him on, sending his hand into a downward motion towards your ass. he feels smug when you whimper in his mouth, pushing harder against his cock when he squeezes your ass.

he rubs over your ass posessively, squeezing it hard, almost in disbelief that he gets to have you like this. kiss “need you to tell me if and when you wanna stop,” kiss. you don’t reply, you just fall into him whenever he presses his lips back to yours. your lack of a response leaves him discontent and he pulls apart an inch, eyeing you down expectantly. you huff impatiently, hooking your arms around his neck. “promise. i will.” which is good enough for him as he melds into you once more.

his hands roam all over you, caressing, holding, squeezing all the places that only his eyes have traveled.

it feels good, it feels all encompassing, to feel the trails of fire his hands leave all across your skin, and you can’t get enough. “can we,” a kiss to your throat, “go to your room?” you ask, somewhat breathless and he pauses for a second, eyes tracing the outline of your bitten lips before he nods. he holds your hand, leading you into his bedroom.

the second you’re inside you’re guiding him into his own bed after having shut the door. he gazes at you amusedly, handing you the reins for a moment, keeping his hands on the edge of them while you take charge. he thinks it’s cute.

you sit him at the edge of his bed, straddling him while you push at his chest until his back meets the mattress. you’re leaning back down, holding his face in your hands, your lips hastily meeting his once more. he welcomes you, his hands holding you down on top of him by your hips.

you grind down on him, panting in his mouth at how good it feels to have him pressed right against your cunt. but it’s not enough. you need more.

your hands travel down his strong chest, fixing towards unbuttoning his flannel. he lets you, busying himself with unbuttoning your little denim shorts, but he wants to unwrap you slowly. he wants to make a show of it.

he flips you on your back and you gasp, feeling hot under his stare and stature above you. his knees rest on either side of you, indenting the bed while he maintains eye contact. his fingers take their time unzipping your shorts, and you whine quietly, bucking your hips towards him.

he pushes you back down and shushes you. “patience.” he murmurs, rubbing his thumbs over your upper thighs. he doesn’t rush taking your shorts off, wanting to savor the feeling of getting to do this for as long as he can. the vision of you in his bed, wet, and impatient, laying before him in your little pink panties is about to make him burst.

he’s still fully clothed above you and it casts a warm feeling throughout your bare body. you bring your knees close to your tummy, shutting your legs at your sudden shyness. he moves in closer, shaking his head with his palms on your knees.

he pushes them back down, slipping a hand between your thighs. you gasp, arching your back into him and exhaling with relief when his fingers trace over your clothed clit. “i wanna see you honey,” he careens you gently, coaxing your shyness away. your legs part for him, and he takes full advantage, running the pads of his fingers up and down slowly, feeling the slickness start to bleed through your panties.

he pushes them to the side, swirling over your clit and feeling proud when you moan into his shoulder. he dips into your little soaked hole, exhaling into your neck at how wet you are. “barely e’n touched you and you’ve already made a mess,” he tsks you lovingly, hints of teasing in his words, and it only excites you more. your stomach and chest get tight at his touches and the way he talks to you, it’s so unreal, and you could honestly cry in this moment from how bad you want to fuck him.

“i always get like this for you—oh,” you cry out into his shoulder when he pushes his thick middle finger inside you, his digit so long that it easily hits the little spongy spot inside you that you usually struggle to reach.

“aw sweetpea,” he coos, kissing your forehead while his finger curls inside you. “got you walkin’ around all hot and bothered with no release, i’m sorry,” he kisses your temple, his gentleness contradicting the way he’s fucking you with his finger, grunting under his breath at how tight the fit is when he works in his ring finger.

you choke on a gasp at the stretch, starting to wonder if his cock will fit if his fingers are already making you feel like this.

“you gonna make it up to me?” you whimper, still maintaining an air of playfulness in your response. he chuckles, pulling apart ever so slightly to look at you, to watch the way you struggle to stare up at him with his fingers in your cunt.

“i’ll make it up to you, and then some,” he says, his voice falling low on a raspy curve. you believe him, his response feeling like a promise he intends to keep.

he’s on you again and you invite it wholly, legs coming around on either side of him go trap him into you. his fingers fuck into that sweet little spot inside you, every single flick of his wrist has your lower back bucking up into his touch.

his palm hits your clit with every movement, it’s almost cruel, giving you just an inch when you need a mile. you’re running your hands all over him, kissing him messily even when there’s a mix of your saliva dribbling on your chin and air is depleting from your lungs. none of it matters, all that does is consuming as much of joel as humanly possible.

your fingers struggle to unbutton his flannel once more, shaking and trembling too much to do it as ladylike as you wish you could but he doesn’t mind, it makes his cock twitch knowing he’s the reason why you can’t stay still.

“feels so good joel,” you whimper, fucking yourself onto his fingers when you finally undo all the pesky buttons on his flannel. he kisses your cheek, his beard tickling your skin while you slide your hands underneath his wife beater.

“good honey, s’all i wanna do,” he curls his finger right there, drinking in your cries with his lips clamped over yours. your nails drag down his chest and he winces above you, your lips still brushing together. “sh-shit m’so so sorry joel,” you remedy the scratches with gentle caresses but he shakes his head, kissing your chin. “no no s’alright baby—kinda liked it,” he chuckles, thumbing over your clit, precum starting to leak through his boxers at the way you keen into him at the little action. you giggle at his response, raking your nails softly down his chest, fingers suddenly halting only to begin trembling when he picks up the pace inside you.

“want more joel, i—fuck,” you’re panting, arching up into him, the saturation of the room is getting dimmer and glittery, it’s hard to keep your eyes open and the pounding in your chest and cunt is nearly blinding you. “need more of you, please? please god i’ll do anything,” your desperation is loud and clear and you couldn’t care less. he can feel it, can feel you gripping his fingers, squeezing him so good and he certainly hears how ready you are for him; he revels in the slick clicking sound eliciting from between your legs because of, again, him.

he swipes the tears gathering at the corner of your eyes and he shushes you, kissing you wherever your tears appeared, rubbing that little spot inside of you soothingly.

you hum in pleasure, hands traveling up to his shoulders. “don’t need to cry honey, i’ll give i’to you,” his promises fan out over your lips, slipping his fingers out of you.

the loss of his fingers inside you feels cruel, you feel clingy, all you want is joel near you, around you, on you, and in you.

the sound of his hands undoing his belt hangs in the air, quiet and low breaths of desperation flicker from out your lips while you watch him pull himself out of his jeans. his cock, fat and heavy, and twitching, falls with heft on your lower tummy, resting with impatience on your skin.

you whimper, hand nervously wrapping around it, your fingers barely able to cover the thick circumference of it. “you’re huge,” you choke, unintentionally adding fuel into his ego and he chuckles, shaking his head when he kisses you.

“you’re flatterin’ me,” he murmurs against your lips, wrapping a hand around himself, guiding his tip to circle around your clit. you gasp, curling upwards into him, your forehead resting on his broad shoulder. you kiss his bare skin, the comfort of his skin to yours soothes you while he slides his cock up and down your folds.

“oh—ooh,” you suck in a big breath, hands flying to his forearms to hold onto when he starts to push in, his tip inching into you feels just as big as it looks. “shit,” you whimper at the burn that follows along with the stretch that he pushes into you and he pauses with concern. he hovers above you like a gracious adonis and it almost makes you forget the twinge of pain between your thighs.

“you need me to stop?” he asks, his words of gentleness cradling you and you shake your head, running your palms down his chest. “no, please keep going, i can take it,” you nod as further emphasis, pushing your hips up, aching to feel more of him.

he brings his lips to your’s again, sighing when he feels your little moan escape into his mouth. his cock rocks into you at a steady pace, unintentionally pushing you further up into his bed, and he holds onto you tighter, not wanting you to move an inch away from him.

“haven’t felt like—shit,” he shudders something like a whimper against your lips, and you have to hold back a moan at the sound. “ha-haven’t felt like this in so long honey,” he swallows hard, caressing the side of your face. “haven’t thought about someone like this in years’,” he groans, pushing his cock in deeper.

your clit pulses at the way he speaks to you, the way he fucks you. “had to fuckin’ jerk off like i was a teenager again after you’d leave—y’have no idea what the hell you’ve been doin’ to me honey,” he messily kisses you between each word, his thrusts growing heavy and rough inside you, the fat head of his cock prodding perfectly into the spongy little spot inside of you.

“should’ve told me sooner joel,” you whine, bucking your hips to feel more of his cock. “touched myself every night thinking of you,” you whimper out, eyes falling shut when you feel his lower half brush against your clit. he pushed in especially deep at your confession, and you gasp, holding onto him tighter.

“joel—fuck, sl-slow down, it’s so much,” you cry, barely able to hold onto him while he starts to pound into you, like he’s lost the reins and his body is in control now, an energy and stamina he hasn’t had since he was in his 20’s was back in full force and it all went into fucking you stupid.

“m’sorry honey—you just, ohfuck, feel so good an the things you’re sayin’ i just—fuck i can’t help it,” he breathes out, pressing a chaste kiss to your bitten lips. “just take it for me baby,” he groans, his hands squeezing your tits before traveling down to your hips.

his head hangs low while he splits you open on his cock, struggling to keep his eyes from shutting, but he forces them open to watch the way his cock stretches you wide. “you’re so big,” you whine, teeth coming down to sink into the heft of his shoulder. he groans in your neck, sending you a particularly hard thrust.

the scent of cigarettes wafts around you the more he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his lips nip at your skin and you whimper into his shoulder at the thought of you going home smelling like him.

his calloused hands mold to the shape of your body no matter where they travel, forming perfectly around you to hold onto you as tight as he can.

silence falls between you two, the only communication occurring is the shared grunts and groans that slip into each other’s open mouths. his forehead rests on yours, occasionally moving to your collarbone or ducking down to graze his teeth across your breasts, tongue darting out to wetten your nipples.

the sound of your soaked cunt getting fucked is near obnoxious—it’s loud, and you pray that the windows in his bedroom are shut, because there’s no doubt that if they aren’t, his neighbors will hear everything.

your legs shakily hang off his lower back, pushing him in deeper and deeper.

his thrusts start to slow in pace, and each drag of his cock inside you feels hypnotic, feels amazing, and he groans the same sentiments in your ear, kissing the skin behind it. “m’sorry,” his hips pause to a halt and you panic for a second, wondering if you somehow did something wrong. “everything okay?” you ask softly, clearing the hair away from his eyes. he nods, avoiding eye contact embarrassedly. “my back—startin to cramp up on me,” he mutters, pulling out of you and you hold back a sound of disappointment from the lack of weight on top of you.

he sits up, back facing away from you, head in his hands. “i’m sorry honey,” he apologizes, still not looking at you. you frown, shuffling on your knees towards him. you hold him from behind, kissing the side of his neck.

“don’t be.” you murmur, moving around in front of him now. you push at his chest gently, clambering on top of him. his eyes widen, a grin slowly spreading across his lips while his hands rest on your thighs. “what’re you doin?” he asks under a raspy breath, his cock twitching underneath you with excitement.

you hold his shaft, realigning him with your eager hole, leaning down to press a kiss before you speak. “i’m taking over.” is all you say as you sink down on his cock, wincing at the intrusion.

his eyes roll back and his head falls into the pillow, his hands starting to grip your hips. “baby,” he moans to himself, his cheeks growing hot. you have to inch him in at a cautious pace but he doesn’t mind, your tight warmth is something he welcomed wholeheartedly.

you start to grind your hips experimentally, hoping it feels good for him. you honestly have no idea what you’re doing. you’ve only had sex once but you don’t know if it even really counts.

if a guy putting it in then pulling out because he came too fast counted then, sure you’ve had sex.

however all of this; it’s different with joel, that was a boy, and now you’ve got a man’s cock buried in your pussy. and you want to make him feel like one, you don’t want him to feel ashamed about his age or anything like that. you’ll make him forget about everything.

you shudder a breathy moan at the new position, resting your hands on his broad chest, admiring the beautiful man that rests under you. “tell me what makes you feel good joel,” you murmur, head falling towards him, making direct eye contact with him. he swallows hard, his cock aching at how fucking hot you are.

“shit baby, just use me how you want, use my cock honey.” he groans, licking his fingers and bringing it to your clit. you whine, almost toppling over on top of him at the contact, but you hold yourself up, determined to make both yourself and joel feel good.

you grab his hands, unclamping them from the grip that rested around your hips and instead dragging them up your sides and onto your breasts, silently telling him to squeeze as much as he pleases.

and that he does.

he squeezes them, bucking his hips upwards into yours as he watches the way your flesh fills the gaps between his fingers. you rise and fall onto his cock, bouncing on it with a rhythm that hits every sensitive spot inside of you.

you look down to where you meet, sucking in your bottom lip at the sight of him disappearing inside of you each time you lower yourself onto him. you rock back and forth, whimpering at how deep he can reach in you. you watch the way he swirls his fingers over your clit, touching you better than you could ever do on your own time.

“c’mere honey,” he groans for you, and you obey, bending down to rest on his chest. he stops you before you can fully lay on top of him, holding you just under your ribs. he pulls you into his mouth, sucking over the soft flesh of your chest, tongue licking messily and hungrily all over your breasts. you gasp, arching your back into his mouth. “j-joel,” you moan, struggling to maintain the rhythm you built.

his teeth tease your nipples and you shiver, your nails digging into his shoulders at the sensation. you bounce on his cock, mind going numb and fuzzy while your senses take over, each thrust feeling like electric in your veins.

after he’s done sucking bruises into your soft flesh, your hands reconnect once more, and you pin them down beside his head, hovering above him while you ride his cock.

i love you, almost slips from your lips while you stare at each other, chests rising and falling heavily, mouths parted, tongues darting out to wet your lips with hunger. the words hang in the air without sound, you’re sure of it.

you grind down onto him as far as you can take him, feeling him nudge your cervix, and you whimper at just how deep he can go inside of you. he takes your moment of weakness as an opportunity to flip you right back to where you all started; underneath him.

you gape at him, unable to process his quick movements. you’re laying at the foot of the bed now, and he’s grabbing your calves, tugging you closer towards him. he pushes back in and wastes no time in pounding you like nothing happened. he grabs your leg, pushing it up further towards your chest, angling himself in even deeper, pure desire fueling him. “shit baby,”

he mutters, his hair falling in his eyes as he kisses your jaw.

he rubs your clit with his thick fingers and you cry out, starting to tremble uncontrollably beneath him. “think m’gonna cum joel, m’so so so close,” you whine, your eyes falling heavy with your impending orgasm.

“let me have it honey, cmon,” he kisses his encouragement into your cheek, fucking you with determination to make you cum, hard. his fingers never relent on your clit, and you can’t stop the panting that leaves your lips, all you can do is writhe beneath him while he fucks you through your dizzying climax. you moan his name in breathy chants, spasming as your body tries it’s best to ride out the stimulation that joel bombards you with.

his hips grow messy and sporadic, he’s catching your lips in a hot kiss, tongues clashing and saliva falling to the corners of your mouth. barely taking any time to break apart for air. “m’almost there—where can i…” he trails off breathlessly, unsure of how to ask in a way that a gentleman would ask but you don’t care, you don’t need him to sound like one, not when he’s fucking you as if he’s never heard the word before.

“inside, y-you can do it inside, please,” you beg with need, curling your legs around his hips and pushing down on his lower back. he shudders, and has a millisecond to want to ask you if you’re sure, but he can’t stop pushing himself inside you, it feels too good, and he’s glad you’re trapping him between your legs, because he never wants to stop.

“sh-shit, i’m cummin’ honey,” he shakily moans in your mouth, struggling to keep his kiss coherent but the way your spent cunt tightens around him makes him lose all sense. you whimper against his lips, feeling hyper sensitive to each and every touch, but the feeling of him cumming inside you is unlike anything you’ve ever felt.

he slowly pulls out of you, peppering your face with kisses when you make a sound of discomfort. you two lie in a comfortable silence, trying to catch your breaths. you turn to look at each other, and he smiles at you, leaning over to cup your face in his palm. “you okay?” he murmurs softly, running his thumb across your cheekbone. you nod into his touch, holding the back of his hand with yours. “yeah,” you grin. “you?”

he chuckles heartily, and nods as well. “yeah. i’m alright,” he sends a playful wink and you can’t believe that it still manages to make your tummy flutter with butterflies. you suppose he’ll always have that effect on you.

you stare at him for a little longer, testing the waters to see if he’ll stop you as you lift up his arm and scoot closer to him. and when he doesn’t, you smile to yourself while he only pulls you in closer, tightening his arms around you. you can feel his heartbeat against your back, and you’ve never felt more soothed before.

you trace the veins on his strong arm that cradles you into him, your head resting on his other bicep. you don’t want to disrupt the peacefulness that’s settled upon you both, but you have questions that just might do that.

“joel?” you ask and he hums a response. “would you ever want to do this again? or not even this but just…like…hangout?” you unknowingly grip onto his arm with nervousness, and hope that he says yes.

he takes in a breath and you shut your eyes at the impending rejection. “honey,” he starts, and your eyes glisten with tears already. “i don’t know if this is something we should’ve done to begin with—not that i regret it—lord,” he shakes his head, chuckling dryly to himself. “lord knows i don’t regret it. but i don’t know if this is something we could sustain. i want to though, sweetpea trust me that i do,” he tilts your chin towards him, feeling his heart break when he sees your watery eyes looking back at him.

“oh honey,” he sighs sadly, shifting you around so you can look up at him properly. his arms encase you, his warm hand running up and down your back while he pressed gentle kisses to your forehead. “why?” is all you manage to ask and he shuts his eyes, resting his chin on top of your head. “your dad’ll shoot me down and hang my body in front’of the whole neighborhood if he knew. and sarah? i don’t think she’d take kindly to me datin’ her best friend.” you hate that he makes perfect sense and you hate that you sound childish, that you didn’t even take either of those things into consideration.

“we don’t have to tell them—at least not now? and we don’t have to be anything serious, i just…i like being around you.” you softly murmur, feeling pathetic as tears line your lashes once again. he thumbs across them, ridding your eyes of their wetness. “i like being around you too,” he returns your sentiments, leaning down to peck you. it feels gentle, domestic, and you can’t imagine going without more of them.

“i’ll still pick you up after you have class, i still want you to come over for dinner like you usually do, nothin�� has to change and,” he closes his eyes for a beat. “—despite everything i said, i…i don’ know if i could handle not havin’ you around honey, feels like somethin’s missin’ when you’re not around.” he admits, and to himself as well, for the first time.

you bloom with happiness at his words, surging forward to kiss him. he holds you by the back of your neck, tracing circles into your jaw. you hold his face in your hands, pressing kisses along his cheeks, feeling warm all over and when he laughs. it’s filled with a comforting airiness.

he holds your wrist, turning to kiss your palm. he plucks your index finger, bringing it to his lips to kiss gently. “got me wrapped around this little thing,” he says just above a whisper, and your heart aches, overflowing with adoration.

the door suddenly opens downstairs and you both share a look of horror.

“dad? i’m home!”

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