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lovecla · 21 hours ago

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STUCK WITH YOU ; QUINN HUGHES.

❄︎ pair: quinn hughes x y/n.

❄︎ synopsis: of all the things y/n thought she was going to do on christmas eve, being stuck with her sister’s brother-in-law, quinn hughes, wasn't one of them.

❄︎ word count: 5.6k

❄︎ chapter warnings: unedited, p in v, unprotected sex, fingering, use of the word slut (once), softdom!quinn, dirty talk.

💌 from me to you: merry christmas, babies 🩶 i hope all of you had a great time and lots of delicious food. 1st of all, i’d like to apologise bc i got carried away with the word count! 2nd of all, i’m sorry about how dirty this is… this was supposed to be wholesome and cute but i don’t know what happened 😭 sorry…. anyways, as always, forgive me for this poorly written smut and share with me your thoughts! i love you! ♡

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Ever Since your sister started dating one of the most known hockey players, Luke Hughes, your life changed— for the better, that is. It’s not like you’re used to all the attention, but it’s nice to attend parties and meet your favorite hockey players for free.

But, the only issue you didn’t see coming when she announced that she was, in fact, very much in love with the youngest of the Hughes brothers is that now you have to constantly coexist with your long time celebrity crush, Quinn Hughes.

It’s an old thing, your situation with Quinn Hughes. You first started noticing him during his time in college, when he was just eighteen.

None of your friends understood what was so special about him but you just told them they didn’t have to: Quinn Hughes is one of the most attractive men you have ever seen, and you’ll stand by that until the end of your days.

When your sister decided that she would make Luke Hughes hers, you remember laughing and saying: He’ll be yours when Quinn Hughes’s mine.

Turns out, Luke is your sister’s.

And, well. Quinn’s not yours.

When you’re around him, during dinners and parties, you almost don’t even acknowledge him. It’s just because you don’t know how to be around him without immediately blushing and cringing at your own words.

It’s like you’re a teenager all over again, but what else can you do, really. He’s attractive, he’s funny and he cares about the people he loves; you cannot not be in love with someone like him.

But now you’re his brother’s sister in law and have been for the past year. You have been doing a great job at not staying in the same room as him for too long, and even if you can come off as rude or mean, it’s better than to get caught while watching him with lovey eyes.

It’s December 24th, and you’re on your way to your sister’s house, where you’d spend Christmas with her— and since she’s only arriving later that night because of work, you’ll be there earlier to arrange things for her.

You’re annoyed by the fact that she has to work until late during Christmas time but at least you’ll get to spend the night with at least one of your family members, since your parents are out of town.

What’s also annoying is the fact that it’s cold and snowing. Not just normal, winter type of snow but North-Pole type of snow. You’re shivering inside your car, because your heater is broken and you stupidly decided that it’d be a great idea to wear just leggings and a sweatshirt.

You park in front of her house, sighing and trying to move as fast as your frozen limbs could. You’re also carrying a hundred bags with you, because decorating is your favorite part of Christmas and knowing your sister and her workaholic personality, you know that she probably doesn’t even have her tree out of her attic yet— so you’ll have to do the whole decorating thing by yourself.

Which you silently prefer because there’s nothing you hate more when people try to dictate where your ornaments should go.

You ring her doorbell first, before dumbly realizing that she’s probably at work already, so you just start looking for the spare key she gave you when the door opens, making you lift your head up with a smile, only to drop it two seconds later.

“Oh.”

Quinn’s looking back at you with a polite smile, and you’re not sure that what you’re seeing is actually real because why the hell would Quinn Hughes be at your sister’s house during Christmas?

“Hi, Y/n.” He says, leaning against the door frame.

You frown without even noticing it. Why didn’t she warn you that he would be at her house?

You’ve been staring at him for what feels to be hours, when he speaks again: “Aren’t you… cold?”

You realize that he’s right and you are cold. Cold and tired because you’re still holding the heavy bags, so you just nod and watch as he opens the door more and reaches for the bags in your hand, picking all four of them up like they’re not heavy at all and letting you in.

You’re still in shock and shivering when you close the door behind you, welcoming the warm air inside the house, thankful for your sister’s amazing heating system.

Quinn walks back to the living room and you grab your phone, dialing your sister’s number and putting the phone against your ear.

“Y/n? Are you—”

“Why didn’t you tell me he would be at your place?!” You shout slash whisper, hiding behind her clothes rack.

“Who’s he? Why are you whispering?”

“What do you mean who’s he?” You hiss. “I’m talking about him!”

“Who’s… Oh.”

“Yes. Oh.”

Her laugh makes you blush. “I didn’t think he’d arrive so soon. I told him he could come later because you’d be the only one there so I just guessed… well. Nevermind.”

“What do I do?!” you sound so desperate it’s almost funny. “I can’t be here! You know I—”

“Y/n, stop freaking out. It’s just Quinn,” you can almost hear her eyes rolling to the back of her head. “Go decorate and do all that stuff you like to do during Christmas. I’ll pick up the food goodies when I leave work, so please just… be normal.”

“What do you mean be normal I can’t—”

“I gotta go. I love you. Bye.”

She hangs up the call and leaves you staring at your phone screen, contemplating how you would scape when it was so cold outside and Quinn’s already seen you so—

“Y/n? Are you playing hide and seek?”

You immediately get out of your sister’s clothes and smile awkwardly, almost opening the front door and standing in the middle of the road, waiting for someone to run you over.

“No, I—” you stutter, looking everywhere but him. “I was just… talking to my sister…”

“I see,” he says. “Is she okay? It’s snowing outside, and you’re still shivering.”

How the hell did he notice that?, you ask yourself, before nodding.

“She is, yeah. She’s working.”

You step further inside the house, walking past Quinn like he’s some type of virus. Besides the huge tree sitting in the corner by the TV, your sister’s house is poorly decorated, just like you predicted, so at least you’ll have something to busy yourself with until she arrives.

“She told me she’d work until late and she said I could come and help you out with your decorations until she and Luke arrive.” He explains, and you turn around, raising your eyebrow at him, confused.

“Luke’s coming?” You ask.

“He is, yes.”

“I thought… I thought you guys would spend Christmas with your parents.” You say, because that’s what you heard your sister saying.

“Well, they’re coming too,” he chuckles, putting his hand inside his front pockets. “I’m guessing she didn’t tell you anything?”

“No, I thought—” you start, but then you bite your lips, giving up mid-sentence. You didn’t want to sound rude by saying I thought it’d be the two of us only so you just stay quiet. “Nevermind. It’s nice that you all get to spend Christmas together.”

Quinn stares at you for a few seconds before nodding. “I’m sorry if you’re upset.”

You frown, shaking your head.

“I’m not, I promise. I just wasn’t expecting all of you,” you reply, embarrassed. “I brought my Grinch sweater…”

He laughs, and you have to stop yourself from smiling too.

“It’s okay. I’ll wear my Cindy Lou one.”

You want to yell at him and tell him to stop being nice, but you already know that’s just how he is. That’s one of the reasons you like him so much.

You look outside your sister’s big window and frown, noticing that the snow is only falling faster, and the street is white everywhere now. Even your car is barely visible.

“It’s getting ugly,” you say, pressing your lips into a line. “I hope it stops soon.”

“I don’t know about that…” he comments, sitting on the couch next to your bags. “I did see a blizzard warning in my weather app today.”

“What?” you almost shout. “Are you sure it was for today?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “That’s why I came earlier. I thought it was dangerous for you to stay here alone.”

You want to ask him what one thing has to do with the other but you’re too busy blushing over his sentence to do anything else.

“I’d be just fine, but thank you,” you mumble. Sighing, you look down at your clothes. “I’m going to change and then start decorating.” You announce, not even sure why.

“You should probably put on something warmer,” he looks down at your clothes before running his fingers through his hair. “It’d be a shame if you caught a cold.”

You don’t say anything, just nod and make your way to your sister’s bedroom, happy that you’re both the same size. Once you find a comfort, two piece set wool outfit, you grab it and change, immediately welcoming the warmth it brings.

You also spend more time in your sister’s bedroom than you should, sitting on her bed and contemplating what you should do.

It’s not like Quinn’s a bad person or someone difficult to be around, but you get shy really easily and he happens to master the art of making you embarrassed, even if it’s not in a bad way.

He’s probably not even aware of it, too, because he’s just a really kind person and that’s just how he treats everyone he likes.

He doesn’t like us, your brain reminds you, he’s just polite.

Whatever.

You get back to the living room and find him still sitting on the couch, watching some random, Christmas movie. You reach for your bags, trying to open them as silently as you could, not wanting to disturb him.

You remove the plastic boxes full of ornaments and distribute them around you, separating them by color and size. It’s therapeutic to you, and it helps to calm your brain down.

Soon, the fact that Quinn’s in the same room as you, alone, doesn’t even cross your mind. You’re having fun decorating your sister’s empty tree, making it beautifully decorated and ready for the night.

After what’s probably thirty minutes, you reach for the last item inside your boxes, which is a bright, yellow star, heavily bedazzled. It’s been yours since you and your sister moved out of your parents’ house and you love it more than all of your other Christmas decorations combined.

The only issue is that it should sit on top of the tree, and usually it wouldn’t be a problem, because your sister had been letting you decorate her tiny tree for the past years, and you’ve been able to reach it just fine. But this year she decided that she wanted to challenge you and she bought a tall one, so now you can’t really reach the top, and you only realize it after jumping for a few minutes and not even touching the top once.

“Do you need any help?”

Quinn’s calm voice startles you, and you hold back a scream. You had forgotten that he was sitting just behind you, and probably had been watching you embarrassing yourself for the past three minutes.

You’re feeling your cheeks warm when you answer: “No, I… well. Maybe?”

He chuckles, getting up. “Does your sister have a ladder?”

“No, she doesn’t,” you roll your eyes. “She says someone as tall as her should do just fine without one.”

“I don’t understand,” he laughs. “She’s just a few inches taller than you. There’s barely a difference.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling her.” You say, annoyed. “I can just grab a chair—”

“No, let me help you.” He walks towards you, and when you’re just about to tell him he’s not going to reach the top by himself either he does something that sends you to another world.

He picks you up effortlessly, putting you down on his left shoulder, and hands you the star like he wasn’t holding another human on one of his shoulders.

You put the star on the top of the tree, moving automatically because your brain hasn't been working properly ever since you stepped into your sister’s house.

“Are you done?” he asks, and he doesn’t even sound tired. “Do you need me to hand you anything else or—”

“No, you can… put me down, please.” You mumble, blushing as he grabs your waist and slowly pulls you down until your feet are touching the floor.

He’s standing behind you, chest glued to your back, and you hold back a yelp, stepping away like his touch is deadly.

“Uh, thanks?” It sounds like a question, but you don’t repeat it again. You turn around, watching as he smiles and nods.

“It looks great, Y/n.”

You also smile, because you always do it whenever people compliment your decorations skills. “Thanks. Again.”

“Well,” he shrugs, looking around. “What do you want to do now?”

You mimic his move, looking around your sister’s living room.

“I mean, I don’t know,” you hum. “Maybe set the table? I know it’s early but—”

“Yeah. We can definitely do that.” He starts walking towards the kitchen and you freak out.

“What!” you yell, and he stops, turning back around and looking at you with confused, pretty eyes. “I mean— what do you mean we?”

“Oh,” he shrugs. “I thought I could help.”

“Are you… like… serious?” You frown.

He frowns back. “I was, yes… are you one of those people who don’t like when people try to help because you’re afraid they’ll end up messing up with your arrangements?”

“Well, yes and no,” you laugh, only to shake your head after. “But it’s not that. I’m sorry, I just… I’ve never seen a man get up to help before. Especially during Christmas.”

He seems to take a while to process what you had just said, but then he laughs, beautifully you’d say.

“They weren’t raised by Ellen Hughes, Y/n. I was.”

You smile, realizing you were utterly fucked. And not in a good way.

You and Quinn worked in silence, and even though you almost dropped the plates twice with how nervous you were, this moment will probably keep repeating itself forever inside your head, from the moment you wake up to the moment you'll go to sleep.

He’s calm and he listens to each one of your orders without hesitation, just nodding and doing as you say. He carries the heavy stuff and just lets you busy yourself with making everything pretty, which you do.

You’re about to tell him that you’re done when the TV catches your attention.

“Good evening, and Merry Christmas Eve, everyone. This is Nicholas Edwards reporting live with an urgent weather alert. It’s shaping up to be a Christmas Eve like no other—because we are in the midst of a blizzard that shows no signs of letting up anytime soon.”

“Oh my God,” you hear someone saying, and realize that it was you. You move until you’re standing in front of the TV, covering your mouth with your right hand.

“Right now, snow is coming down at an incredible rate, with visibility dropping rapidly. Winds are gusting up to 40 miles per hour, creating near whiteout conditions in many areas. And the latest forecast? The snow isn’t expected to stop until early tomorrow morning—Christmas Day! That means we’re looking at significant snowfall totals, possibly more than 18 inches in some spots.”

“Oh my God,” you repeat, looking at Quinn before looking back at the TV again.

“Officials are urging everyone to stay indoors tonight. If you don’t absolutely need to be out, don’t risk it. Roads are treacherous, power outages are a real possibility, and emergency crews are working hard to keep up.”

“What about my sister and your family?” you ask, almost rhetorically, because you know Quinn knows just as much as you. “They can’t come now because it’s dangerous.”

“I’ll try to call my parents,” he says, reaching for his phone already. “Can you call your sister, please?”

“Already doing it.” You say, dialing your sister’s number.

“So… you saw the news.” Is the first thing she says after picking up and you roll your eyes.

“Yeah, Quinn and I did,” you say. “What are we going to do? It’s not safe for you to drive around and you’re definitely not driving thirty minutes back to your house in this weather.”

“I guess you’re right,” she sighs. “Luke and I are together, though. He saw the news before I did and drove me to his and Jack’s apartment since it’s closer to my workplace…”

“So, you’ll stay at their place?” You frown.

“What else can I do, right?” she chuckles, but you can tell she’s just as upset as you. “At least you’re stuck with the sibling that knows how to cook.”

“Hey!” You hear one of Quinn’s brothers, probably Jack, yelling in the back.

“You’re probably right,” you mumble. “Well. We’ll see each other tomorrow then?”

“‘Course we will, bubba,” she sounds joyful again. “Merry Christmas, Y/n. I love you. Tell Quinn I said Merry Christmas to him too!”

“I will,” you nod, even though you know she can’t see you. “I love you too. Bye.”

“Bye.”

You stare at your phone screen until it turns black, and sigh. Quinn finishes his phone call and stares at you, blue, fond eyes looking at you with care.

“I guess you heard the same thing as me.” He says and you nod.

“They’re not coming.”

“And neither are my parents,” he sighs. “They’re stuck in their hotel. They’re not letting people leave.”

“God, this sucks,” you grunt, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “We don’t even have food. My sister was supposed to pick it up after she finished her shift but…”

“I’m sure I can figure something out,” Quinn says and you can tell he’s trying to sound positive. “Come on, stop pouting.”

You frown. “I wasn’t pouting.”

“Yes, you were,” he smiles. “You do that whenever something doesn’t go your way.”

“I— how do you even know that?” You ask, genuinely amused. He just shrugs and walks back to the kitchen, leaving you and your one hundred thoughts about him alone. “Quinn!”

Dinner goes well. It’s silent and calm, but not in an embarrassing, awkward way. Quinn knows how to cook really well, and his food makes you hold yourself back so you won’t kiss him.

His lips probably taste amazing, just like the rest of him. Sometimes, when your thoughts about how Quinn could make you feel good are too much, you slip your hands under your covers and touch yourself, while imagining your hands are his.

You always feel so deeply embarrassed afterwards, and it takes you a while to convince yourself that you’re not a maniac and getting horny after thinking of your sister’s boyfriend's incredibly hot brother is lowkey expected, because he looks like a God.

You both returned to your bedrooms after the clock hit midnight and you both called your families, with you sleeping in your sister’s room and Quinn sleeping in the spare bedroom.

Although, you haven’t even thought about closing your eyes and going to sleep, because you know you won’t be able to— not when Quinn has been nothing but kind to you the entire night and definitely not when he’s only two doors away from you.

You can feel your body starting to get hot, and you want to shout at it, telling yourself to let it go, because you and Quinn won’t ever be a thing.

You look at the clock sitting on your sister’s bedside table and sigh, reading the late hours. Two thirty-six a.m. and you’re nowhere near Dreamland.

Even though you’re basically at the entrance of Hornyland.

Shaking your head, you get up, deciding to brew some chamomile tea for you, since it always helps you feel sleepier and, hopefully, less horny.

The lukewarm air hits your bare thighs and you’re reminded that you’re not wearing any pants— just one of your sister’s oversized sweaters and panties.

You look around the dark house, watching as snow continues to fall outside, and make your way to the kitchen, walking past Quinn’s closed door and trying not to make any sound.

And you would’ve been successful with your task, if it weren’t for the one plastic cup that fell out of the cupboard when you tried to grab your sister’s kettle.

It fell on the floor and bounced three times before you managed to grab it again. You waited to see if you would hear Quinn’s door open, but since you didn’t, you moved on with your task. While you waited for your water to boil, you leaned against your sister’s island, resting your chin in your hand.

“I thought you were asleep.”

This time, you don’t hold back the yelp that comes out of your mouth. You were so worried about waking Quinn up that you hadn’t considered the fact that he, just like you, might as well not have been able to sleep.

He’s sitting on your sister’s couch, wearing sweatpants and nothing else, looking at you with an indecipherable expression. His entire body is illuminated by the moonlight, and he looks gorgeous.

“Quinn. You scared me,” you put your hand over your heart, feeling your cheeks warm when you realize the movement made your sweater go up, and now Quinn probably saw your underwear. “Uh—”

“I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry,” he gets up, and he does look apologetic. He gets closer to where you were standing and you can help but take a take back. “Can’t sleep?”

You shake your head. “No. You?”

“I can’t either,” he says. “Too many thoughts.”

You desperately want to ask him what kind of thoughts are keeping him away from his bed, but you remember that it isn’t your place. And the best thing you can do for yourself right now is stay away from him.

“I— I’ll leave you to it then—”

“Why are you always running away from me?”

His serious tone makes you stop. You look up and stare at his eyes, looking like a child who had just been caught eating sweets before dinner.

Your answer is only natural: “I’m not?”

“Yes, you are,” he steps closer, and the distance between the two of you is now shorter. “Did I do something?”

“What?” you gasp. “No, of course not!”

“Then, you just don’t like me?”

“Gosh, why is it with the Hughes that you’re always so straightforward?” you mumble, frustrated. “I promise you, nothing’s wrong.”

“Is it because you want me to fuck you?” He raises his brow and you almost drop dead in front of him.

“What.”

It’s almost comical how your eyes double in size and how your mouth opens, just like in the cartoons. You’re trying really hard not to pack your things and leave, because you’re sure something possessed Quinn.

“I’m not dumb, y��know,” he starts. “I can tell when someone’s interested in me, and you aren’t exactly subtle.”

“Quinn—”

“At first,” he continues, paying you no mind. “I thought you were just shy. Then, I realized you only acted that way with me, but I thought you just didn’t like me. But…”

He lifts his hand up and caresses your cheek, the touch making you shiver instantly.

“Would someone who doesn’t like me stare at me like you do?” He keeps touching your face, the light feather touches barely there, but keeping you restless anyway. “It’s so sweet when you blush like that.”

“Quinn…” you try, once again. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I—”

“Uncomfortable?” he chuckles, like the word alone is enough to make him laugh. “No, sweetheart, you made me hard.”

You blush, thankful that the moonlight isn’t enough to show your red cheeks. “O-Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh,” he smiles, lifting your face just slightly with his thumb on your chin. “Can I kiss you, Y/n?”

I thought you’d never ask, you think. “Yes,” is what you say.

His lips taste like peppermint and his touch on your skin feels like fire. He presses your body against the counter, the cold marble hitting the back of your naked thighs and making you shiver.

It was a pleasant contrast, though: the warmth of his hands holding you close with the coldness of the stone making you shiver.

He kissed you fervently and you moaned inside his mouth, forgetting your shyness and running your fingers through his silky, soft hair. It was like opening presents on Christmas morning, because ever since you were a teenager you’ve been wanting to get your hands on him and now—

“You were right,” you say, breathless. Quinn tilts his head to the side, confused. “I want you to f-fuck me.”

He smirks, mischievously, and it’s probably one of the hottest things you have ever seen.

“Here?” he asks, chuckling.

“No,” you laugh. “My sister would kill me.”

“Mhm.” It’s all he says before picking you up once again, manhandling you however he wanted for the second time in less than twenty-four hours.

His bed is untouched when he lays you on it, a clear signal that he hadn’t even laid on it yet. Your sweater rode up, leaving your belly and your panties exposed.

Even though you’re not the type of girl to get embarrassed while having sex, you can feel your cheeks getting warm under Quinn’s lustful gaze. You have imagined this situation so many times before but you never actually thought your dreams would come true, so all of this is still hard for you to take in.

“I can actually hear your brain thinking, Y/n,” Quinn chuckles, standing in front of you. The outline of his dick is so noticeable it has your mouth dry.

“It’s not everyday your crush of years take you to bed,” you let out, only realising what you had just said when you watch his eyebrow going up, and a malicious smile decorate his beautiful face. “I mean—”

“Trust me, Y/n, if I hadn’t spent the last year thinking you hated me, you would’ve ended up in my bed from the moment I laid my eyes on you.”

He leans forward, then starts to pull your panties down. It’s embarrassing to say the least because you know that the fabric which was once pearly, cotton white, is now transparent and ruined. Quinn doesn’t seem to mind that— in fact, the smirk on his face just continues to grow.

“You have such a pretty pussy, baby,” he says, and you almost choke on your own spit. “Been thinking about you for so long I’m half convinced this is just another dream.”

He drops your underwear somewhere, and places his index finger between your wet folds, the cold touch contrasting with your hotness. He rubs, up and down, slowly and steady. It has you biting your lips, hard.

“Was it like that with you too, Y/n?” he asks, tone one octave deeper. “Endless dreams of how I would fuck you senseless, leave you wet and whimpering in my sheets, pussy dripping with my cum.”

He kept getting closer to your clit each time he opened his mouth to talk, but he still wasn’t touching it, which was starting to frustrate you.

“Quinn—”

“I’d always wake up hard, with my dick throbbing inside my pants, and you know what I’d do?”

He places his finger on your engorged clit, but doesn’t do anything, just— waits.

“Ask me what I would do, Y/n.” He orders, and you moan before complying.

“What, ah, what would you do?” you ask, and he starts moving his finger again. “Ah.”

“I’d fuck my hand. Wrap my dick around them, holding it tightly, imagining it was your cunt squeezing me like that,” he confesses, opening your legs more, leaving you spread in front of him like you’re nothing but a cheap whore. “And I’d come so hard, imagining I was filling you up. In the next morning, I’d shake hands with you, watching you give me that sweet smile of yours, not even knowing that I had just used it to touch myself while imagining it was you.”

He pressed two fingers on your hole, making you clench around nothing while he seemed to be having fun with your struggle.

“Was it like that with you, too?” he asks again, but you can tell by his reaction that he wasn’t expecting you to answer. Yet, you do it anyway.

“N-not dreams,” you breathe, as he inserts two of his fingers inside you, blue eyes never leaving yours. “When I couldn’t sleep, I’d, ah, touch myself, and pretend it was you.”

“Yeah?” he hums, sinking his fingers deeper inside you, the wet sound of sex leaving you dizzy. “Such a naughty, little slut.”

You moan, and Quinn stops holding back as he starts finger fucking you, finding your sweet spot and curling his fingers up until he had you trashing under him. You took pride in knowing your body and mastering the art of touching yourself, but not even in your wildest dreams you’d imagine that having something inside you could feel this good.

You’re not even holding back your sounds, you just let Quinn hear how insane he drives you, and good you’re feeling. You have your eyes closed— because holding eye contact with Quinn might be too much for you to handle— and your boobs exposed, since your sweater rode all the way up.

You can feel your orgasm starting to build up and just when you’re about to warn Quinn about it, he pulls his fingers back, making you cry, loudly.

“Wha— why?” you sound needy and desperate but you pay it no mind.

Quinn smiles, so sweet and kind that you wouldn’t even imagine what came out of his mouth afterwards.

“You’ll come on my cock tonight, sweetheart. I’ll make sure of it.”

The rest of what happens is basically history.

He removes his sweatpants and his dick hits his stomach, the tip almost purple with how red it was. The precum leaking from it made you lick your lips, imagining how good it would feel to have that in your mouth.

He throws the pants somewhere, and lays on top of you, right in the middle of your spread thighs. He looks down and holds his dick, rubbing it up and down on your folds, mixing your wetness with his, and just the view is almost enough to make you come.

He rubs the tip on your clit, and you watch as your swollen, needy button throbs under the nasty touch, and how your pussy leaves his dick glistening with how wet you were.

“I’ll fuck you now, okay?” His voice is calm, and soft, different from previously. You nod, smiling shyly. “Words, baby.”

“‘Mkay,” you answer, closing your eyes as he inserts himself inside you, slowly.

You can feel your walls opening up for him, and even though you’ve had sex before, nothing will ever top this. He’s thick, and you can feel him everywhere, deeper and deeper.

“Holy shit, Quinn,” you say, turning your hands into fists.

“You’re so fucking tight, baby,” he hisses, putting his hands on each side of your face. “Squeezing me so good, fuck, Y/n, I might come in seconds if you keep squeezing me like that.”

He removes his dick from you, leaving just the tip, only to slam it back in you, fucking you senseless, just like he told you. The smell of sex and sweat filled the room almost as quick as the tears fell from your eyes, the feeling of finally getting what— or who— you wanted making you cry tears of joy.

He kept fucking you, and once his lips found yours once again, you knew you were done. You came on his dick, like he said you’d do, moaning inside his mouth and pulling his hair, harshly.

“Fuck, Quinn, uh,” you inhaled his scent as his naked body engulfed yours completely. “Fuck, fuck.”

“It’s like you were made to, uh, take my cock,” he grunts, his thrusts getting sloppier, a clear sign that he was about to come. “Say it, baby, tell me what you were made for.”

“Quinn—”

“Say it, sweetheart,” he whispers.

“I was made to take y-your cock,” you sob. “O-only yours.”

“Only mine?” you can hear the amusement in his voice.

“Only yours.”

“Good,” thrust, “Girl.” Thrust.

He takes his dick out of you just a few seconds before he comes, and the loss of it makes you whimper and hide your face in his neck. The warm feeling of his come against your used, swollen cunt is enough to get another orgasm out of you, even if a little bit weaker this time.

You both stay silent, only the sounds of your breaths filling up the room. The weight of his body on top of you is comforting, and even though you know he’s not putting all of his weight on top of you, you feel safe either way.

“Thank you,” you mumble, barely audible, since your face is still in his neck.

He chuckles, breathless. “What are you saying thank you for, baby? I should be the one saying thank you.”

“You just made all of my wet dreams come true,” you explain. “Even if we’re probably going to hell because no one should be having sex on Christmas.”

Quinn laughs and rolls to the side, resting his head on the pillow. “Touché, sweetheart, touché,” he turns his head to the side and looks at you. “Merry Christmas, Y/n.”

You smile. “Merry Christmas, Quinny.”

#qh43 #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes angst #quinn hughes fluff #quinn hughes smut #quinn hughes imagine #captain quinn #vancouver canucks fic #vancouver canucks imagine #vancouver canucks #hockey x reader #nhl x reader #nhl fic

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shalom-iamcominghome · 2 days ago

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My jewish community, friends, rabbi, and educators: We are very invested in helping you be jewish. Do you want to help read the haftarah? Here's a chanukiah! You can have it!! Borrow these books! Here's some books! You need more books... Come to pesach! Come to the chanukah party! When are your classes done? We need a minyan for once!

Me and my 50000 IQ: What if I am Secretly Appropriating judaism? What if I am doing a Cultural Appropriation........

#jumblr #jew by choice #jewish conversion #personal thoughts tag #there comes a point where your concerns about if you are an Appropriative Cultural Appropriator hinders your jewish journey #i think a comforting thing is knowing that my incessant fear about this is confirmation that i love judaism #i love it with my heart and soul and (i feel) i'd be a less realized person without it #and i think people who genuinely engage in cultural appropriation just Do Not Care about the cultures they appropriate from #they don't love the culture enough to respect it and that is a big reason that it even IS appropriation #especially when jewish people are INVITING you to do things... it's not appropriation #i dunno last night i was feeling very anxious about lighting the chanukiah candles because i'm alone #but i've also lit shabbos candles. and it's just like... why would i choose not to engage in this when one day i will have to?#this time next year i will have to light candles. as a jew. and if i have no clue how to do it myself then i'll just avoid it #plus... i love my chanukiah and i want to use it. it is currently decorating my room because i love it #i hope they'll let me take pictures of all the chanukiah that'll be at the party #i'm sure they will because they're very open and they are very accommodating. in fact i'm bringing my clarinet too #i haven't touched that thing in well over four years 😭#but jewish music without a clarinet is like a body with no soul. it's impossible. it is not what g-d wants i think.#i just hope my ability to play by ear hasn't been affected by my lack of playing. i don't have perfect pitch tbc #but i fully believe you can know your instrument so well that you develop an ear for perfect pitch #in fact... i refused to memorize my marching band music because i DID develop that 'perfect pitch' ear. that's my dirty secret #i didn't practice in part because i can't have a space where noone could hear me practice and it's embarrassing and private to me #literally EVERY jew in my life has been almost TOO ecstatic about my jewish journey. i'm very thankful for it #i guess i just didn't think i deserved to have people as happy about me being in judaism as i am #so to be clear this is my brain being rude and dumb. this anxiety has NEVER been reinforced by anyone but myself #so i take full responsibility for it. but i think that anxiety is something many/most converts/jews-in-progress feel

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azuresaqua · 1 day ago

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little gifts

warnings + notes: kinich x reader, fluff, 2,4k words, secret santa submission for @vxnuslogy :) HI VEE !!!! i am your secret santa this year i hope you liked the fic :] tried to incorporate the things you like in this fic so !!! <3

PRESENT TIME

You consider Kinich to be a sentimental person. Why? Because when you accidentally stumble upon a box in your shared closet with the label “from my love” which is filled with things you had gotten him before and while you were dating, everything is in perfect condition. Nothing is broken, dirty, not a speck of dust in sight - as if he’d been secretly taking care of it.

“You’re snooping through my stuff now?” Kinich’s voice echoes through the room, laced with a slight amusement. He walks closer to you, peering inside the box. “Oh, you found it.”

“You kept all this?” you ask, taking out the first item in the box which is a little dragon keychain with a broken handle.

FIRST GIFT - DRAGON KEYCHAIN

The first time you ever gave Kinich a gift was during one of your “dates”. It wasn’t really a date, now that you actually think about it. It was way before the two of you started dating and Mualani and Kachina were there with you, so basically it was more of a hangout rather than a date (but Kinich will still think of it as a one).

The four of you had just finished the final exams of your last semester in university (while Kachina had just finished her last exams in high school), and Mualani had suggested to go hang out at a nearby mall to celebrate finally finishing exams. Of course, you and Kachina agreed almost instantly while Kinich had to be dragged by you and Mualani to come along.

“Ah, the mall!” Mualani took in a deep breath of “mall air” as she calls it and placed her hands on her hips, a triumphant smile on her face. “I’m finally back!” she threw her arms open, people passing by staring at her weirdly. “Y/N, tell me, how does it feel to finally be back in the mall after that tortuous week of non-stop studying?” Mualani slung a hand over your shoulder.

“I was back here just a few days ago…” you admitted, Mualani giving you a betrayed look. “I’m sorry! My parents took me out for dinner when they saw how hard I was studying last week.” you gave Mualani an apologetic look and she sighs.

“Okay, I’ll forgive you this time,” Mualani said and then gave you a cheeky smile. “However…” she trails off, changing her cheeky smile into something more… suspicious.

“What do you have in mind?” you asked nervously. Mualani isn’t mean, everyone knows that, but sometimes her plans are extraordinary, to say the least. What you were afraid of was accidentally letting out your secret of having a crush on Kinich. “Don’t be-” you tried whispering in her ear but Mualani suddenly grabbed Kinich’s hand and pulled him closer to you.

“My plan for today is to give each other gifts for finishing our exams!” Mualani exclaimed a little too excitedly. You had your suspicions that she just came up with that idea like five seconds ago, but you had no energy left to argue with her. “I was going to use spin the wheel to choose who gets who, but since someone went to the mall without us knowing,” she gave you a side eye. “I’m pairing you with Kinich!”

“Isn’t this a little unfair?” you complained.

“What’s unfair?” Mualani gave you a wink. “I think it’s a perfect opportunity to show whether or not you know the other person well.”

Kinich, who hadn’t been saying anything for the past ten minutes or so, suddenly spoke up. “That’s fine with me. I think this is a fun event.”

“See?” Mualani said. “Even Kinich doesn’t mind. As a matter of fact, I think you’re the only one who disagrees with this plan of mine.”

You narrowed your eyes, spotting Kachina behind Mualani who was watching this whole ordeal with an amused smile on her face. “Hey! Kachina hasn’t said anything. Wouldn’t it be rude of us just to go along with this if one person hasn’t said anything yet?”

Kachina, thrusted into the spotlight, flushed with embarrassment. “I-I don’t mind, really. I think it’s a fun activity.”

You stared at Kachina with a ‘you betrayed me’ look in your eyes and groaned in defeat. Eventually, after some more discussions, you split up - Kachina with Mualani and you with Kinich.

It was a quiet walk around the mall, you not knowing what to say and because Kinich is… well, Kinich. It’s nerve-wracking, really, being around him alone. You opened your mouth to say something but closed it back again not knowing how to say it.

Kinich might have noticed you getting all nervous because he suddenly spoke up. “Wanna split up? That way we’ll be surprised when we see the items we got.”

“Oh, yeah sure! That’s a good idea,” you replied. “So…”

“I’ll go this way.” Kinich pointed to his left. “We’ll meet back here in 40 minutes?”

“Okay,” you replied and saw Kinich walk away with his hands in his pockets. You let out a shaky breath, lightly slapping yourself on your cheeks to focus. “I can do this. Just get him something he likes.”

Around ten minutes of you walking around five different stores, you felt defeated. There was nothing you could find for Kinich in this mall, heck, you didn’t even know what he liked! He’d never been vocal about anything that piqued his interest, and even if he does find something cool, he fixates on it for a few minutes and then suddenly seems to lose interest.

Then, an idea pops into your head. The few times you’ve been in Kinich’s home (with the others of course), you’ve seen a few dragon stickers on his table and his wardrobe. There are just a few, but you have noticed that maybe Kinich likes anything related to dragons.

Walking into a store that sells many little trinkets, you spotted a cute little dragon keychain. There were a few options on display, but the blue, black, and green dragon keychain caught your eye. It resembled Kinich so well that it’s basically him in dragon form. It was subtle but enough for someone to catch if you were to squint your eyes at his bag.

“Perfect,” you muttered, grabbing it and walking over to the cashier. Walking back to the spot you agreed to rendezvous in, you spotted him already waiting there for you, a bag in his hands and his attention focused on his phone. “Kinich!”

He lifted his head and placed his phone in his pocket. “You sure took your time.”

“Sorry,” you apologized. “It took me a while to choose the perfect gift.”

“It’s okay,” Kinich said. “Mualani said to meet up in this cafe on the second floor.” You nodded and followed him up to the cafe.

Mualani and Kachina were already sitting on the chairs with gift bags on the table. Mualani saw the two of you and waved her arm, signaling you to come over. “Hey! What took you guys so long? We ordered some cheesecake and drinks,” you and Kinich sat down on the sofa side, making yourself comfortable.

“You know me so well, Mualani,” you teased, taking one plate of the cheesecake. “Oh, this is yummy.”

“Right?!” Kachina exclaimed, almost too excitedly. “Best cheesecake I’ve ever tasted.”

Mualani laughed, giving her a pat on her head. “Seems like someone has been missing out on some cheesecakes during her exam period,” Kachina let out an embarrassed laugh. “Well! Since we’re all here, let’s get to the present exchange shall we?”

“Wait- now?” you almost choked on your dessert, “Shouldn’t we finish our food first?”

“Where’s the fun in that? Eating cheesecake while opening our presents is a fun time!” Mualani explained. “Since you complained, you’re going first.”

“Hey-!” you tried to complain, but Kinich handed his gift to you. “You could’ve at least waited for me to finish eating.” You took one more bite out of your cheesecake and exchanged gifts with him.

“You can go first,” Kinich said, urging you to open the present.

You hummed and opened the bag. You gasped when you saw what was inside. Now, Mualani didn’t specify how many gifts you were supposed to buy for the other, but anyone would have thought one was enough. But Kinich had in fact gotten you three gifts.

You took out the first two items which were books, the ones you had been dreaming of buying but didn’t have enough money for. “You got me Franz Kafka’s books?! Kinich, this is too much.”

“I don’t think so,” Kinich replied softly. “You’ve been working so hard these past few weeks for our exams so I think you deserve them.”

You swear you were about to cry from how sweet his words are. Taking out the last gift was what made you cry for real - it was a bracelet, and once again, one you have been wanting to buy for a long time but not enough money to buy it. The pretty pink charms captivated you the moment you laid your eyes on it. Happy tears streamed down your face as you looked up at Kinich. “Isn’t this over your budget?”

“I have been saving my money since I didn’t really have anything I wanted to buy,” Kinich answered, giving you the sweetest smile in the world.

“How did you know I wanted these?” you asked.

“You mentioned it a few times before,” Kinich replied. “During our hangouts and free time. The last time we went to the mall together I remember you walking into the bookstore, staring at those two in particular for a long time.”

“Huh? Wait a minute, when did the two of you go out together?” Mualani asked, wiggling her eyebrows. “I don’t think you’ve ever-” You almost leapt across the table to cover Mualani’s mouth, to prevent her from saying more.

“You and Kachina were busy, and I was bored, so I asked Kinich to hang out with me,” you said, clearing your throat. You grabbed the small bag next to you, suddenly feeling anxious about giving it to him. “I feel bad for only giving you this one item, but I tried my best, I promise.”

Kinich took the bag from your hands and retrieved the little dragon keychain you bought. He stared at it for ten seconds without saying anything, and you thought he was about to say he didn’t like it, but when a smile appeared on his face, you felt relieved. “This is really cute, thank you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything else,” you felt embarrassed only getting him so little. “This was the only thing I found that reminded me of you.”

Kinich blinked and you swear you saw the tip of his ears turn red, but you brushed it off, thinking it was just the lighting. “No, I love it, really…”

Mualani suddenly cleared her throat. “Did you two forget we were here or something? Stop flirting in front of us!”

You choked out an embarrassed noise. “We are not flirting!”

“Was too!”

“Was not!”

In the midst of bickering with Mualani it was a shame you didn’t notice how Kinich’s eyes were trained on you the whole time.

PRESENT TIME

“Remember the way me and Mualani were arguing on whether or not we were openly flirting in front of her and Kachina?” you giggle. “Pretty sure Kachina couldn’t look us in the eyes for a few days after that.”

Kinich squats down next to you, holding the dragon keychain in his hands. “Yeah, that was really funny to see,” he flips it around, examining it. “It’s a shame we can’t fix the handle. I really loved using it on my bag.”

“We can always get a new one, you know?” you reply. “Besides, I’m pretty sure this was cheap…”

Kinich laughs. “Now that I think about it, our gift exchange was unfair.”

“Stop that! I didn’t know what to get you!” you complain. “Your stupid mysterious aura made it hard to understand you better.”

Shaking his head, Kinich takes out the next item in the box which was a poorly made paper flower.

SECOND GIFT - PAPER FLOWER

The first few weeks of going out with Kinich was… awkward, to say the least. Yes, you’d had a major crush on him ever since you started university and had been friends with him since high school, but that didn’t mean you knew how to act around him (especially since you were now his significant other).

When he asked you out on a date - to which you agreed without a second thought - you had this tiny paper flower you had made in art class. It looked… good, but it wasn’t quite beautiful. You tried your best, really. You wanted to give Kinich a handmade flower you’d seen everyone make on TikTok, but it failed and now you had to give Kinich a poorly made rendition that looked like it got run over by a car.

When you walked out the door, Kinich was already waiting outside of your dorm lobby dressed in casual clothes (which honestly made him look even cuter). He noticed you slowly walking over to him and he smiled. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you said, almost sounding breathless. The paper flower in your hand almost was crushed in your hands because of how nervous you were. “Um, I have something for you.” you hesitantly showed him the paper flower and Kinich blinked twice before taking it from you. “I know it looks ugly, but I swear I tried my best.”

You could see him stifling a laugh and you immediately frowned. “Stop laughing!”

“Sorry, it’s just-” Kinich tucked the flower safely in his pocket. “I love it, I promise.”

“You were laughing,” you pointed out.

“Because I find it cute,” Kinich replied. “You made a really pretty flower.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why do I feel like you’re lying?”

“I promise I’m not,” Kinich said, taking your hand in his. “Now, shall we get going with our date?”

PRESENT TIME

“I can’t believe you kept this!” you exclaim in disbelief. The paper flower still looked like the first time you gave it to him. “I thought you threw this away.”

“Why would I?” Kinich asks. “Both of these gifts from you are special and I’d like to keep them with me forever if I can help it.”

“So sappy,” you tease. The box still has a few items in it but you’re about to run late for the restaurant reservation Kinich booked for your date night. “Come on, let’s go. We’re going to be late.”

Kinich hums. “Do you have a present for me tonight?” he teases, giving you a smile. “Perhaps another poorly made paper flower?”

“Keep that up and you’re having dinner alone,” you say sternly.

Kinich immediately stops talking.

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croissantsandblackcoffee · 1 day ago

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luigi mangione ⊹ rumination

— he was literally glowing !!!!!! i’m so happy for him. also, i hope they dress him up in winter clothing more often. every single pic of him before he got caught is wearing sleeveless shirts, shorts and flip flops, and the occasional suit. link to the masterlist ;)

riker’s island. thursday, 5:00 PM

you’re feeling really nervous as you walk through the security checks, heading inside the facility to wait. you’ve tried your best to hide the symptoms, but you’ve been feeling a bit of nausea off and on, as well as a bit bloated. nothing too noticeable as of yet.

you take a seat at one of the empty seats, waiting for the guards to bring luigi out. your fingers play with the cord of the telephone, a habit out of nervousness.

as you sit there, waiting, you can’t help but get lost in your thoughts. all sorts of possible conversation starters are going through your head, but none of them seem good enough. how do you even tell someone you’re carrying their child?

eventually, you’re broken out of your thoughts by footsteps, and you look up to see luigi. he seems happy to see you right now, his gaze sweeping over you in that usual fashion he does; a mixture of curiosity and… something else.

“hey, sweetheart,“ he starts as he takes a seat opposite you, putting the phone to his ear. he doesn’t seem to notice the way you’re fidgeting in your seat, or the way you seem a bit more stressed than usual. “how’ve you been?”

“i’ve been alright,” you say, nodding. you try to control your expression, but you’re sure some of your stress is showing. despite everything though, seeing luigi again feels… nice. “how about you?”

he lets out a huff, and he sounds a little annoyed as he speaks.

“bored out of my mind. i mean, seriously — how do these guys expect people to stay sane when there’s nothing to do all day? it’s torture. i swear the only thing keeping me going is these visits with you.”

“oh, yeah?” you raise an eyebrow at that, managing to break past your worries for a moment and feel a bit smug. “so you look forward to my visits? that much?”

“what? of course i do,” he answers immediately, sounding a little incredulous that you’d even ask that. “i mean, sure, the guards are rude and the food sucks, but i… i look forward to seeing you, sweetheart. you’re the best part of my day.”

a small part of you wants to feel smug about it — that luigi finds so much enjoyment from seeing you, that it’s the highlight of his day. but the rest of you just feels guilty. because right now, you know there’s something you need to confess to him. but how the hell do you even bring it up?

eventually, after a small moment of silence, you take a deep breath and decide to hell with subtlety. this is luigi. he’s a mature adult who can handle tough conversations.

“luigi, i… i need to tell you something.”

he notices the change in your tone right away, hearing the more serious edge to your voice. a line appears in his brow, but it’s not a scowl. he looks more confused than anything.

“alright… what is it?” he tilts his head slightly. “you can tell me whatever’s on your mind, baby, you know that.”

“yeah, i know,” you nod, letting out a small sigh and shaking your head. “i just… it’s…”

you stop, taking another deep breath and preparing yourself for what you’re about to say. how the hell do you even bring this conversation up?

“just… don’t interrupt, okay? just let me talk for a minute.”

he looks more confused now, an eyebrow raised in curiosity, but he nods.

“alright,” he says. “i’m listening. go ahead.”

it takes a few more moments before you finally gather up the nerve to start talking. you take a deep breath, trying to arrange your thoughts properly.

“okay,” you begin, looking at him. “do you… do you remember that last time we were together? the conjugal visit a few weeks ago?”

he nods, his eyebrows pulled together. he seems to have an idea of where this conversation is going.

“of course i do. what about it?”

“right. right.” you nod, running a hand through your hair nervously. “well… i… i think something might have… happened, during that time. something that i only discovered a few days ago. and it’s kinda…”

you trail off, taking another deep breath. God, how the hell do you say this?

“it’s kinda what, sweetheart?” he asks quietly, his gaze fixed on you. he looks a little bit worried now, sensing that this is something big.

“well…” you struggle for another few moments, your hand basically gripping the telephone cord. you take another deep breath, steeling yourself as best as you can. “i… i think I’m pregnant.”

there. you said it.

there’s a few seconds of silence between the two of you, and it’s so thick you swear it could be cut with a knife. luigi has just been dropped a massive bomb, and he’s taking a few moments to process it.

right now, you can’t even tell what he’s thinking. his face is completely impossible to read.

eventually, he sighs.

“christ…” he mutters under his breath, before looking back up at you. there’s a mix of emotions in his expression — disbelief, shock, more disbelief, etc. “are… are you sure?” he asks. “like, 100% certain?”

“i’m sure. i took two tests, and both of them came up positive. and i’ve… i’ve had some other symptoms as well. so… yeah. i’m positive. i’m pregnant, luigi.”

his eyes are fixated on you, his mind racing as he processes this big ball of information that’s just been thrown at him. he looks a little less shocked, and now he seems to be moving towards acceptance.

“jesus… well, shit,” he mutters under his breath. he runs a hand over his face, thinking. “and, uh… it’s… it’s definitely mine, right? no doubts about that?”

you nod, your fingers still fiddling with the cord as you speak.

“yeah. yeah, it’s yours. i’ve had no one else but you, luigi. and we didn’t exactly consider using any protection during our visit, so…”

he lets out a huff at that, shaking his head. he doesn’t seem mad, just… worried.

“yeah, i suppose we didn’t… damn.” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “so… what are you gonna do? about the pregnancy, i mean.”

you shrug, chewing on your lip a bit. you’re not completely certain yourself, right now.

“i… i don’t know yet,” you admit. “i mean, it all just happened pretty damn recently, so i haven’t had time to really think about it yet. but… I guess i just wanted to know… what you thought about it. it is your kid too, after all.”

he nods, biting his own lip as his gaze drifts down to the tabletop.

“right… i mean, of course it has something to do with me as well… right, so…” he sighs, and glances back up at you. “are you sure you want to keep the baby, sweetheart? i mean, a baby is a pretty huge deal. it changes a lot of things.”

he pauses before continuing, “listen, it’s a big deal. and it’s gonna affect you way more than it’ll affect me. i mean, i’m the one who was able to just walk away after our little… visit. you’re the one who’s been left with the after-effects. i just… i just don’t want you to feel like you have to keep the kid just because it’s mine. it’s your body at the end of the day, so if you don’t want to carry, then you don’t have to.”

you bite your lip, knowing that that probably the reasonable conclusion to come to. but honestly, you don’t have the first clue what you actually want to do right now. this whole situation has got your head all over the place, and you’re not entirely sure how you feel about it.

“i don’t know, luigi, i…” you pause, taking a deep breath. “i don’t know if i want to keep it or not. i have no idea what i want to do right now. i just… i don’t know.”

luigi watches you, and his expression visibly softens as his shoulders relax a bit. he can tell that you’re overwhelmed, and honestly, he doesn’t entirely blame you for being so.

“hey," he starts, his voice quiet. "it’s alright, sweetheart, it’s alright. you don’t have to decide anything right now, alright? just… just take some time, think it over. no rush.”

he pressed his hand against the glass, as if taking your hand in his and squeezing it reassuringly. if only he would able to do so.

“i just want you to know that… whatever you end up choosing to do, i’m gonna support it. whether you want to keep or not, i’m gonna be there for you. you’re not by yourself in this. i’m not gonna let you deal with this all on your own, you hear me?”

it’s a comforting thought, knowing that luigi is going to support you no matter your decision. you’ve worried that perhaps he’d feel upset that this has happened, or that he’d somehow blame you for this happening. but no, he seems focused on making sure you’re supported through this.

you let out a breath, and nod, managing a weak smile. you press your own hand against the glass, wishing that you could feel his touch on your skin.

he mirrors you with a weak smile of his own. he watches the hand that’s pressed against the glass, as if imagining that he’s holding your own. despite the thick glass and the guards, luigi wishes that he could just take your face in his hands, and press a soft kiss to your forehead.

instead, he just has to settle for watching you.

you feel almost lonely just sitting there. it’s such a simple thing, but seeing luigi sitting on the other side of that thick glass, not even able to hold your hand, it makes your heart ache a little bit.

you’re not usually needy, you don’t usually desperately crave another person’s touch like this, but right now, you wish more than anything that you could just be in luigi’s arms.

he wishes more than anything in the world that he’d be able to just have you in his lap right now, to hold you close and have his arms wrapped securely around you.

he doesn’t even want anything more from you. no, right now his mind isn’t focused on anything sexual. he just wants to comfort you, hold you, and reassure you.

he wants to show you how much he cares about you. he wants to be able to hold you in his lap, and bury his face against your hair while he whispers soothing words into your ear. he wants to be able to run his fingers through your hair, and press kisses to your lips until that worried expression is gone.

right now, he wants to be able to be your comfort, the way that you’ve been his.

unfortunately, the glass that separates you prevents him from doing any of that. but he can’t not do something. no, he can’t just sit by, and simply watch you.

despite not being able to hold you in his lap, he does the next best thing, and starts talking with a soothing voice.

“hey,” he says quietly, his voice low. “it’s okay, sweetheart. everything’s gonna be alright, you hear me?”

his tone is gentle, and soft. the complete opposite to how he sounds when he’s teasing you. no, his teasing voice is cocky and smug.

this voice is just soothing, a quiet whisper that’s designed to comfort you.

“i mean it, alright? you’re not alone in this. i’m not leave just abandon you, or something. if you keep it, i’ll be there. if you don’t, i’ll still be there. i’m gonna be right by your side. you got it?”

he watches you, his eyes flickering over your face as he waits for your reaction to his words. he’s hoping that what he has said will have some sort of soothing effect on you, that at the very least it’ll help a little bit.

“i’m not going anywhere, sweetheart,” he says again, his voice still quiet. “you’re stuck with me. no matter what you choose.”

in spite of the difficult situation, a warm feeling starts to spread inside you. luigi’s soothing words are working — they’re helping to comfort you. the fact that he remains so unwaveringly supportive, and has even promised to be there for you, regardless of what choice you make, has a calming effect on you. not a massive effect, but enough to take some of the stress away.

luigi can tell that it’s working. it’s subtle, but in the slight change of your face, your body language, he can see the effect that his soothing words are having.

he can see that you’re a little bit more relaxed than you were at the beginning of the conversation — and that makes him slightly more relaxed.

“you know,” he starts gently, “you’re surprisingly calm for someone who just told their boyfriend that they’re pregnant.”

he says it jokingly, his tone still just as soft and gentle. however now there’s a slight hint of amusement in his expression. the fact that you’re relatively calm about the whole situation is a bit surprising to him.

the words have an effect though, as you give a small shrug, and let out a soft snort.

“do you want me to start panicking or something?” you ask, one eyebrow raised.

luigi lets out a huff, shaking his head.

“well, no, of course not. it’s just that, well… i mean, not that i think it’s bad, but i expected you to be at least a bit more stressed than you are right now.”

he tilts his head slightly, a hint of curiosity in his expression.

“i don’t know, sweetheart, you’re handling this surprisingly well.”

you shrug again, not really having an answer for that. honestly, you can’t even really explain it yourself.

“i mean, it’s not like panicking is going to help anything,” you say, letting out a soft huff. “and like i said, i’m not exactly sure what i even want to do yet, so why freak out over nothing?”

he stares at you for a moment, a slight smile on his face as he takes in your words. he’s actually a little bit impressed with your calmness right now. despite not having any idea what you actually want to do, you’re not losing your head completely.

there’s a hint of appreciation in his expression.

“you’re amazing, you know that?”

he says it more to himself than to you, shaking his head slightly and running a hand through his hair.

“i mean, seriously, you tell me that you’re pregnant, and what do you do? you stay perfectly calm and level-headed. and, i mean, it’s not like i was expecting you to freak out or anything, but i have a feeling that most women would not be as composed as you are right now.”

you give a small huff at that, a light smile appearing on your face. despite everything, that praise from him makes you feel a bit warm inside.

“i don’t know about ‘amazing’,” you say quietly, fiddling with the phone cord. “more like ‘not completely insane’.”

“hey, it’s amazing to me.”

he leans forward slightly, his expression softening. he watches you fiddle with the cord of the phone, wishing more than anything that he could be there with you right now.

“trust me, sweetheart, right now i think you’re amazing. the way you’re taking all this so calmly? it’s pretty damn impressive, if you ask me.”

you give a small scoff, rolling your eyes a bit, but you can feel a hint of colour rising to your cheeks. despite your best efforts, his compliments get you flustered.

“alright, stop it… you’re gonna make me embarrass myself,” you mutter, shifting a bit in your seat.

that subtle hint of colour in your cheeks isn’t subtle to him. luigi notices it immediately, and a smug grin appears on his face. you always get so adorably flustered when he compliments you.

“oh, is that so?” he murmurs, enjoying the way you’ve shifted awkwardly in your seat. he can see how flustered you’ve become just by a couple of innocent compliments.

seeing you like this, blushing and shy, makes him want to just take your face in his hands and kiss you senseless.

however, of course, that’s not possible at the moment. because there is a thick sheet of glass in the way, and he’s a threat to the public, apparently. it’s frustrating as hell, to be so close to you, and yet still be unable to actually reach you. unable to grab you, hold you, touch you.

instead, he simply lets out a huff, and continues to watch the way you look. he can see how your hands are fiddling with the phone cord, how your cheeks are flushed a little bit. how you’re shifting a bit in your seat, as if uncomfortable by how flustered he’s making you.

“would it be… selfish for me to keep it?” you ask, almost out the blue.

you asked the question to the air, seemingly more to yourself than anything. but luigi responds anyway.

“no. definitely not selfish.”

he shakes his head, his expression firm. he doesn’t want you to have any doubts, not even for a second.

“what makes you think it would be selfish?”

you give a soft exhale. luigi’s reassurance helps, a little bit at least. however, the fact that your mind immediately went from ‘should i keep it?’ to ‘is it selfish to keep it?’ is a worrying sign.

“i mean, what if they never let out you? i’d want to have something of yours, as weird as that sounds.”

you pause, biting your lip.

“but then i’d make you feel obligated to be a dad.”

it takes a moment for the full weight of your words to settle in, and when they do, luigi visibly stiffens in his seat.

that thought hadn’t occurred to him at all. but you’re right, it is definitely something that needs to be taken into consideration.

the possibility of him being released, and getting out, is next to none. and he might never get to be a dad, not properly anyway. It’s a bitter pill to swallow.

but he swallows it nonetheless, his shoulders tensing slightly. he knows that you’re just saying that you want something of his; but the idea that you might keep the baby just for that reason alone hurts.

he can’t give you a proper life. he can’t give you the family that you deserve. he can’t give you or the child that you might possibly have the life that you want. even if he was released someday, he’d be labeled as a threat, and it would always hang over his head.

he swallows again, watching you through the glass. he can see the way your eyes won’t quite meet his, the way that your fingers are still fiddling with the phone cord. You look almost embarrassed, in the way that your cheeks are slightly flushed.

“sweetheart,” he starts quietly, his voice low. “please look at me. can you give me that much, at least?”

you hesitate for a brief second, before meeting his gaze through the glass. it’s surprisingly intimidating, having him looking at you like that. the expression in his eyes is a mixture of softness and firmness — and you’re suddenly reminded just how intense his gaze can be, when it’s focused on you.

although it isn’t at all intentional, there’s a hint of authority in it. a reminder of the fact that he is dominant; and right now, he wants to talk with you, and he’s not about to let you shy away from him.

you feel your face getting a little bit hotter when you finally return his gaze, and you can feel your heart rate picking up just a little bit. there’s something about the way that luigi is looking at you that’s almost a little bit intimidating.

the softness in his gaze, paired with the firmness. the slight command to it, as if telling you to look at him. it makes you feel almost a little bit flustered, a shiver running down your spine.

for some reason, you feel like he’s dominating you right now, even from behind the glass.

“don’t keep it just for that reason.”

he practically demands it. he can see that you’re getting flustered just by him looking at you like this, but he doesn’t care.

the thought of you having the baby for that reason alone makes his heart hurt. it’s a reminder that there’s a very decent possibility that he’ll never get to be an actual father. he’ll never get to hold his child in his arms, take his child to school, watch as they grow and go through life.

it sucks. knowing that if you keep the baby, you’ll probably be a single mother.

luigi knows that he’ll never get to see his child. he can barely even see you — and chances are high that any visits you’d make to him while you’re pregnant would stop as soon as the baby is born.

he won’t ever get to see them growing up, get to watch their milestones — their first steps, their first words, their first day of school. he won’t be there for any of it.

“please.”

he repeats himself, the firmness in his gaze hardening just a little. he needs you to understand.

“don’t keep it just for that reason, okay?”

the thought has lodged itself in his mind now, and there’s almost a pleading tone in his voice. he’s practically begging you not to make your decision just to have something of his.

to have something of his. he knows that you didn’t mean it badly, that the intention behind the words wasn’t negative. but the words still hurt.

like a knife, going straight into his heart. the thought that you might keep the baby just to have part of him — not because you want to have a baby, that you want to be a mother.

the fact that you’re willing to make that sacrifice for him, makes him feel both touched and sick at the same time.

he hates it. he hates that the thought even crossed your mind. that you would possibly keep it just to have a part of him.

it’s touching that you care enough that you would do that, but it’s also not the reason why a child should be born. if you were to keep it, he wants it to be for the same reason anyone else has children.

because you want to be a mother. not because you feel like you need to for him.

he takes a breath, his hands clenching his thighs slightly under the table. the thought that keeps spinning and spinning around his head is that he won’t be able to be there.

he won’t be able to hold your hand while you give birth. he won’t be able to be there for any check-ups. he won’t be able to see you with a baby bump, your body changing to accommodate the child growing inside you.

he won’t get to hold you when the pregnancy gets uncomfortable, won’t be there to rub your swollen feet. he won’t get to feel the baby kicking in your belly and the joy of that first movement.

he won’t get to be there for any of it. no doctor’s appointments, no late nights, no first words, no first steps.

he hates it. he hates it so much.

he won’t get to experience any of the good aspects of parenthood. he won’t get to hold you when you’re stressed, won’t get to rub your back when you feel sick. he won’t get to take care of you during your pregnancy, comfort you when you’re in pain.

his arms won’t be the ones that you curl against when you’re feeling exhausted, when the pregnancy becomes exhausting.

he won’t get to walk with you through the store, picking out cute little clothes or toys for the baby. he won’t be the one to buy the first cute little onesie, the one to assemble the cot, or the changing table. he won’t be able to help you buy all the necessary baby supplies, won’t be there to shop for a stroller or a baby carrier.

he won’t pick out your hospital bag and fill it with all the necessary items when the time comes close. he won’t get to hold your hand as the labour pains start to hit, won’t get to comfort you when the pain gets too intense.

he won’t get to watch you as you bring a tiny, screaming, beautiful little human being into the world.

if you choose to keep it — and he hopes that you’ll make that decision because you want to, not because it would give you a tiny piece of him — he won’t be the one to cut the cord.

he won’t be the first one to hold the baby after the nurses weigh it and clean it up. he won’t even be allowed near the baby, because he’s a prisoner.

it’s the worst of both worlds. being a father and not being able to be a father at the same time. being a parent, but with none of the joy. none of the happy moments, none of the milestones. he’d be a father on paper only, but in reality it would all mean nothing.

no memories, no moments, no happiness. just emptiness on his side, and the exhaustion and stress on yours.

the worst part of it all is that he can’t even be mad. if you say yes, if you choose to keep it, how the hell would he be able to be mad at that? how could he be angry at you when you’re willing to give up so much just to have a part of him?

his mind keeps going back to the first thing you said, when the conversation started.

“would it be… selfish for me to keep it?”

and he’d been willing to say yes, because it was what you wanted. because this was about you, not him.

if you want to keep it, he isn’t going to stop you. but please, please, please don’t keep it just to have a part of him.

he can’t handle that. he won’t handle that.

as he watches you through the glass, his expression is carefully stoic and neutral. he’s trying to stay controlled, trying not to let the emotions show through on his face. he’s trying to keep his tone steady as he speaks.

“please, sweetheart,” he starts again, his tone a little bit more quiet. “please, don’t use that as an excuse to keep it. don’t make your choice based on that thought.”

he holds your gaze intently, silently begging you to understand.

it’s obvious that you’re struggling to stay emotionally composed, and it’s hard for him to watch. the way that your fingers are fiddling with the phone cord, the way that you’re shifting awkwardly in your seat. it’s all evidence that you’re having a hard time handling this.

he’d give anything to be able to hold you, comfort you. but the damn glass is in the way.

he wonders, idly, if you’ve been holding it together just fine in the past few days. If you’ve been strong and brave, putting on a facade of composure.

or if, when you were alone. when there was nobody around. when you were behind an closed door.

if you’ve collapsed to the floor. if you’ve cried into your hands, let out all the stress and confusion and anxiety.

he wonders if you’ve slept at all, at night. if you’ve been lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, overthinking every possible scenario until you’re exhausted. if you’ve tossed and turned, unable to turn your brain off.

wondering. questioning. overthinking. freaking out and stressing and worrying.

he wonders if you’ve even been eating properly. if you’re taking proper care of yourself.

he wonders how much the whole thing has been stressing you out, if the uncertainty is taking a toll on your mental health.

the look in your eyes now tells him that you’ve definitely been holding it together. but he doubts it’s been easy.

he knows that you’ve been going back and forth with your thoughts, second guessing yourself constantly. overthinking everything, every possible scenario. trying to figure stuff out, trying to process everything.

it’s clear to him just how much of toll this is taking on you, even if you’ve been struggling to keep it under control so far. even if you’ve been putting on a strong and mature front in front of him.

he can see the stress in your eyes now, just how much the whole situation is messing with your head.

the way that you’re sitting now. the phone cord in between your fingers, fidgeting nervously with it. the way that you’re shifting your weight from side to side, your feet tapping anxiously against the floor. the subtle nervous expression on your face, how your cheeks are flushed a little bit. your slightly heavier breathing.

it’s all proof that you’re struggling to keep it together. struggling to keep yourself composed.

he feels a wave of helplessness rush over him, as he’s forced to sit there, separated by the glass from you. he wants to comfort you so desperately. hold you in his arms, rub your back, kiss your forehead.

but he can’t. he can only sit there, watching, as you struggle to keep your composure.

are we keeping it or what? 👀

— TAG LIST —

@ga33y3 @icedchailattebabyy @betty-boop-lips-05 @harrysbestiee @badaspice @tsukishimawhore

#luigi mangione #luigi mangione x reader

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rafesbangs · 3 days ago

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was literally just reading all your work and you write so well!! new fav blog fr, i was wondering (if you're interested) if we could have some rafe x kook bestf!reader fluff, angst kinda one-shot story? thank youuu !! <3

thank you soso much ml !! ofc ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

req! 𝜗𝜚 kook!reader sneaks out to a boneyard kegger, & bsf!rafe gets pretty protective.

c!w; fluff ! for once, bsf!rafe, soft!rafe, possessiveness, overprotective guy friend, icky males, drinking, a brief physical fight, tiny mention of blood, mostly very fluffy with a tinge of angst ! notes; i can't believe this is my first fluff work lol ! i kinda wrote loads oopsie, i hope you enjoy <3

you sneak out of your house, careful to avoid the creaky floorboards. the night air is cool against your skin as you walk through the empty streets, the buzz of the kegger ahead growing louder with each step. it’s just past midnight when you reach the boneyard, the ground is uneven, the sand mixing with beer-stained grass, and the smell of salty air mingles with the faint scent of weed and sweat.

you grab a red solo cup from the keg, its warmth feeling strange against your fingers. your eyes scan the crowd, taking in the sight of everyone laughing, shouting, and dancing—people you mostly know but can never remember their names the next day. you slip into the chaos, easing into conversations, letting the alcohol dull the edges of the night. everything’s blurry, but in a good way, like you can finally breathe.

“hey,” a voice says, way too close to your ear. you turn, finding some random boy—a touron, probably. his blue eyes are too wide, his grin a little too eager. “you’re cute. want a drink?”

you arch an eyebrow, taking a small step back. “no, thanks. i've got one,” you say, trying to keep your tone light. you’re not interested, but you don’t want to be rude.

he doesn’t get the hint. instead, he takes a half-step toward you, leaning in as though he’s trying to get into your personal space. “oh come on, don’t be like that. one drink won’t hurt.”

you cross your arms and take another step back, annoyance creeping up your spine. “i said no, okay?”

he just laughs like it’s some kind of game, and that’s when you start to feel the frustration bubble up. you don’t want to make a scene, but it’s clear this guy doesn’t know how to take a hint. every time you move away, he follows.

“seriously, i’m not interested,” you snap, voice growing more annoyed. “go find someone else.”

the boy’s smile falters, but his hand comes out to touch your arm, a move that feels more possessive than friendly. before you can even say anything else, a shadow cuts through the crowd, and you hear a familiar voice bark, “hey, man, leave her alone.”

you glance over, relief flooding you when you see rafe, your best friend, pushing through the crowd, eyes narrowed and jaw tight. his presence has always been a kind of shield for you, and this time, it’s no different.

the touron boy looks up at rafe, sizing him up like he’s about to say something smart, but rafe doesn’t wait. he steps closer, his voice colder than you’ve ever heard it. “i said, leave her the hell alone.”

the tourist smirks. “or what?”

before you can even blink, rafe’s already moved. his fist connects with the touron's jaw, knocking the boy off balance, and the crowd around you steps back, forming a ring. it’s over before you can process what’s happening—a punch here, a shove there, and the guy crumbles. rafe doesn’t stop. another hit to the stomach, and the touron goes down, blood trickling from his lip.

you’re frozen for a moment, shock settling in your chest, but when rafe finally steps back, you see the blood smeared across his knuckles and the red pooling around his nose. it’s not much, but it’s enough to make your heart stop for a second.

“oh my god, rafe,” you rush to him, your hands hovering at his shoulders as you try to figure out what to do. “are you okay? your nose…”

he swipes at it with the back of his hand, but it only makes it worse. his eyes narrow, his face flushed with anger, but his voice is rough, like he’s trying to convince himself he’s fine. “yeah, i’m fine. it’s just a scratch.”

“rafe…” you trail off, frustration mixing with your worry. you want to help, but he’s already brushing you off, turning his back to you to walk away.

“let’s get out of here,” he mutters, walking toward the edge of the party. you follow, watching him, unsure of what to say. your stomach twists, unsure whether to be relieved that it’s over or angry that he’s hurt, again, because of you.

the two of you make your way down the beach, the sounds of the party growing distant behind you. it’s too quiet, and you can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong.

“you shouldn’t have done that,” you say finally, breaking the silence. you’re still angry, but your voice cracks with worry. “you didn’t have to get into that fight. you could’ve just-”

“and you shouldn’t have snuck out in the middle of the night to get drunk at a kegger alone!” rafe snaps, his voice rougher than usual, and you flinch at the bite in his words. “what the hell were you thinking? you know i worry about you.”

you swallow hard, the sting of his anger hitting you like a slap. “i didn’t mean to… i wasn’t trying to-”

“you’re reckless,” he interrupts, throwing his hands up in frustration, and you step back, feeling the weight of it settle deep in your chest. his words cut through you, sharper than you want to admit, and you stare at the sand beneath your feet.

“i’m sorry,” you say quietly, your voice small now, “i didn’t mean to make you worry. i didn’t-”

rafe stops walking and turns to face you, the moonlight catching the blood on his hands and the jagged split on his knuckles. he looks at you for a long moment, his expression softening just a little.

“it’s not just that,” he mutters, the words barely above a whisper. “i care about you. i don’t want anything to happen to you.”

you feel your chest tighten, your heart fluttering unexpectedly. you step closer to him, unsure of what to say, but then your arms are around him, pulling him into a tight hug.

“'m sorry rafe. thank you f'caring, so much about me” you whisper into his shirt, the words soft, sincere. you feel the tension in his body for a moment, like he’s not sure what to do with this closeness, but then he wraps his arms around you too, just a little hesitantly at first, before he holds you tightly.

“don’t thank me,” he mutters, his voice breaking a little. “i’m just... doing what you deserve.”

but when you pull back to look at him, his eyes are full of something else, something that feels a little more vulnerable. you reach up, brushing a strand of hair out of his face, and that’s when you see a tear, slipping down his cheek, a quiet, unexpected crack in his facade.

“rafe…” your voice trembles. “what’s wrong?”

he swallows hard, avoiding your gaze. “it’s just… no one ever thanks me for caring. they just expect me to always be the one looking out for everyone else, but no one ever... gives a damn about me.”

you blink, heart catching in your throat. “that’s not true,” you say, pulling him back in closer, holding him tighter. “i care. i always care.”

he sniffles, his shoulders shaking just slightly as he pulls away, his expression softening but still strained. “dad doesn’t love me 's much as he loves sarah. he’s always telling me how proud he is of her. he- he never says it t'me. and i try so hard. i do everything f'him, everything to make him proud. 'm just invisible to him”

the weight of his words hits you like a punch to the gut, and you squeeze him tighter, not knowing what else to say. “’m so sorry, rafe,” you murmur, your voice thick with emotion. “i can’t imagine what that must feel like. but you’re not invisible t'me. you never will be.”

his breath hitches, and then, finally, he lets go. tears slip down his face now, the kind he’s always kept hidden. you hold him as he breaks down, your arms around him, offering what little comfort you can.

you both sit there in the sand for a long time, the sound of the ocean surrounding you, the night stretching on like a long, quiet exhale. finally, rafe pulls back, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

“thanks for being here,” he says, voice still rough, but softer than before. “for… f'caring.”

you smile at him, your heart full. “always, rafe. i’m always here for you.”

when you finally sneak back to your house, you help him up to your room. in the soft glow of your bedroom light, you clean the blood off his hands, gently tending to his wounds. rafe watches you, the affection in his eyes evident as he gazes at you with a softness you don’t see often.

“y'always so damn careful with me,” he murmurs, his voice full of something unspoken.

“'ts because i care,” you whisper, holding his hand in yours, feeling the warmth between you that has always been there.

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jetkast · 2 days ago

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Listen I know there have been approximately a billion posts about the Divorce but I had to add to the noise.

This conversation really is such a succinct breakup with so much to it. Jayce finally has his moment to say something to Viktor after not knowing if he may ever get the chance at all, only for it all to come out scrambled. I just know he was punching the air at 3am redoing this conversation over and over.

Meanwhile Viktor was acclimating to the sheer body horror of being alive after dying, his own form nearly completely unknown to him, with this "recursive charge" thrumming in his skull that drives him to the most destitute part of the city.

Jayce (ready to beg like his life depends on it): I have royally fucked up and I will be seeking atonement forever for it, please please please love me, don't leave, guilt guilt guilt I'll die from guilt and failure right here on the floor

And my favorite part: 👹 where are you going 👹

I have been obsessed with the delivery of this line because it is exactly the phrase and tone used towards someone you are painfully intimate with and experiencing a rupture (aka divorcing). The panic of 'I cannot let you leave' with 'I'll die' and 'you're not allowed' while also so emotional that all that comes out is a sad anger. Like I can't even capture it. It's about the ownership or entitlement. It's not just "why are you exiting this conversation, that's rude and this is important" but something darker and more pathetic. I DON'T KNOW I JUST RECOGNIZE IT and wanted to ramble about it. Perhaps oddly, it is actually this line (juxtaposed with "it was affection", I'm suffering so much) that locked in them as already being intimately involved for me, beyond friends or lab mates.

These two are just on two entirely different planes of existence in this scene and it's so LAYERED AND UUHHGGFJH this show is going to drive me into my own recursive whateverthefuck.

Jayce is flooding with too much everything, love, fear, desperation, anger, hope, dread, etc, and looking for someone to hold it with him. And Viktor is a husk. And yet, they miss each other, not balancing one another, because they might as well be talking to each other through the looking glass. IT'S JUUUUST AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH lmao

#jayvik #jayce talis #viktor arcane #arcane season two #arcane netflix #jayvik divorce era #miscommunication #the brainrot is real #the way jayce just about bursts with 'i never asked for this' while vik is like abnegating personhood i cant i cant do it #i hate how this dynamic is like cocaine to me i am a very healthy gay with no relationship trauma whatsoever its fine lol

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prince-jjae · 16 hours ago

Text

Flesh & Rind.

Synopsis; When moving to the quaint little region that was Strawberryland, Watermelon Sorbet Yeonjun had one thing on his mind: relaxation. Enter Cherry Jam, the most devastatingly attractive boy that Yeonjun had been ever-so-blessed to lay eyes on. Cherry was decidedly not part of his relaxation plans, yet with the help of a little magic (and some incredibly well-placed scones), Cherry might just worm his way into Yeonjun’s heart (and while he's at it, his pants, too.) Warnings; extremely dubious consent, this is on the darker side so please proceed with caution. Stalking, Maneater!reader, Yeonjun is whipped, Reader pretends to be innocent, Yeonjun literally eats a treat left on his windowsill (DO NOT DO THIS). Yeonjun is a bit of an airhead. Reader is manipulative as SHIT. Smut Warnings; Again, Dubcon. Come eating. Coercion(?). Accidental exhibitionism. Masturbation. Aphrodisiacs in the form of flavoured bodily fluids. Intoxication play if you squint. Switch!yj, Switch!reader. Meandom!reader. Bondage. Anal sex (obviously). Oral (m!rec, anally ofc). Fingering. Riding. Power play. Degradation/praise kink. Comeshots/Coming untouched. WC; ~7.5k (oof.) Jjae's comments; holy shit. big shoutout to my moots and fellow creators in this event. This has been a wild ride for all of us and im so glad i got to share this experience with so many writers ive spent months looking up to. i hope this is as fun to read as it was to write. happy holidays! [masterlist.] [event materlist.]

It was because you were new to town, as was he. That was clearly the reason, otherwise he had no method of explanation as to why his eyes kept being drawn to you. You, with your fluffy pink hair, tumbling about your temples in gentle curls. Yes, it was because you were both new, novel and fresh to the town you now shared with plenty others, that's why you caught his eye.

No other reason.

Surely not because of the way your nose scrunched when you laughed, nor was it because of the way your eyes would sparkle upon helping one of your shared neighbors. No, there was no other explanation.

At first, he didn't think much of it. It was easy to ignore. You were easy to ignore. Not that Watermelon Sorbet Yeonjun thought himself rude. On the contrary, he considered himself to be quite nice. He was always described as a friend who would be there for you, someone who would bring warmth and safety to those he loved. Yet there was something about this pretty cherry boy, something about you, that sent alarm bells ringing in his head. A warning, loud and clear, to stay away. You didn't seem dangerous, not by any means. He figured you were such a gentle soul that you'd likely cry about the smallest things.

Oh, he could imagine that. Your bottom lip jutted out, trembling as fat tears gather along your lash line, threatening to spill down those bright pink ch-

He shook the thoughts from his head violently. This whole town was full of innocent joys, fruit houses piled atop the rolling hills, filled with even sweeter tennants. That’s why he was here, to finally be somewhere quiet and nice, away from the unforgivingly loud Big Apple City. He was here to relax, maybe even make some money. He wasn’t here to get involved with someone as dangerously alluring as you.

So he made a point to avoid you. Physically, anyway. He couldn’t deny himself the temptation of viewing you from across the room at gatherings, town meetings, seeing you across the stall from him at the weekly market. You always sat there so politely, cheeks a pretty pink as you gushed about your latest batch of jellies and jams. All variations of cherry, of course. And how cherry did suit you, Yeonjun thought. You were certainly just as pretty, and Yeonjun would wager you were just as sweet.

He kept his distance, and it seemed to be working. You hadn’t said much beyond your cutesy greetings in passing, eyes shining bright with wonder and sparkling at him in a way that made his stomach twist. He would always nod, rather stiffly, before turning on his heel and making a quick exit whenever possible. He always missed the way you wilted, face hardening into something unrecognizable for a few small moments. Maybe if his eyes lingered on you for a second longer, if he had cast a glance over his shoulder as he left, he would have seen that facade drop.

–

The first time he found one of your gifts was around two months after you two had moved into town. Two months of dancing around each other, with Yeonjun staring at you down the length of his nose whenever he thought you weren’t looking, two months of torture. It was a warm summer morning when he opened the shutters to his bedroom window only to find a scone, covered in the most delectable cherry jam he had ever seen. He hadn’t eaten yet, and although his mind screamed at him to not devour the treat, he inhaled it in the few seconds following his tongue darting out to wet his lips. If he had any better self-control, he might’ve tried to school his expression as he licked the sticky jam off of his plush lips, maybe even bite down the moan that bloomed in his chest upon savoring the taste on his tongue.

Unfortunately, Yeonjun wasn't known for his self-control.

He understood now why you had the town wrapped around your finger, drawing crowds to your stall every week for your newest batches of sweet treats, jars decorated with ribbons and bows, just like their maker. He fully understood the draw to your business, especially if everything you made tasted this divine.

The next time he found a gift was in much the same way, a still-warm scone dripping with jam, served neatly on a plate sat on his windowsill the very next day. And then the next day. And then the next. This continued for about a week, leading to Yeonjun waking up with a hunger he couldn’t describe every morning, drool pooling in his mouth long before he reached his window.

On the seventh day, the market finally rolled around. He needed more. Desperately. The sweet treats in the mornings weren’t enough to satiate his newfound sweet tooth. He needed one of your pretty jars. Hell, he would eat the sweet stickiness straight from the glass if need be. He was still wary of you, however, even as he approached your stall that morning after all was set up. There was still a decent amount of time before the earliest customers would wander through the market, perusing the many wares positioned along the street.

You were already smiling up at him politely as he strolled up to your stall with practiced confidence. He missed the way your eyes raked over his form, and subsequently missed the tiny quirk of your lips as they tugged into the ghost of a smirk. The expression washed over with that same pretty smile he was familiar with, and you knew he was none the wiser when he opened his mouth.

“Hi! Yeonjun, right?” You had beaten him to the punch, smooth voice ringing in his head like a melody of gentle bells, yet it did nothing to quell the violent churn in his stomach. His mouth paused, stuck doing gentle open and closed motions as he fumbled for his words. His brows furrowed as he promptly shut his mouth. This was most unlike him. Yeonjun was suave and collected, like a fox stalking through the world as if it was his runway. To be rendered speechless was something he was entirely unfamiliar with. You waited patiently, smile still easy and comforting as he gathered himself back together.

“Yeah, that’s right..” He wasn’t sure how to broach the subject, now that he really thought about it. He tilted his head, contemplating before finally opening his mouth again. Only a moment of hesitance was needed for you to interrupt him again.

“Here to snag a jar?” You queried, head tilted in the opposite way of his own, eyes twinkling in the same way that he had memorized, the visual long since burned into the back of his eyelids. He nodded, the movement stunted and jerky. This was wrong. Everything about this was wrong. He was never rendered this useless before in his life, and he was so thrown that he missed the way your eyes sharpened, hands reaching for something that lay at your feet behind your stall. “I have a special batch that I made just for you! Something new that only us newbies should share.”

Yeonjun’s brows furrowed, watching as you held up a jar much like your other ones, the only difference being the tiny watermelon and cherry charms attached to your decorative ribbons that wrapped around the glass. Something itched at the back of his mind. Perhaps it was your tone of voice, or maybe your choice in words that should have given him pause, yet he found it hard to focus. His eyes were locked on the jar, filled to the brim with the sweetness he had been craving for the past week. Like clockwork, drool pooled in his mouth embarrassingly fast, causing him to nearly choke on his own spit when he finally reached out and took the gift from you, muttering a hurried thanks as he fled back to the relative safety of his stall.

–

Yeonjun had never been one for sweets before, always more prone to craving savory or spicy meals. His old friends from the city used to poke fun at this little fact. Something about how his tasted contrasted so harshly to his fruity nature. Even the fruits (watermelon, naturally) he so lovingly tended to in his garden rarely tickled his fancy. Yeonjun wasn’t sure why this was all changing on a dime. He wasn’t sure how to explain the craving he had, a craving that was swallowing him whole and leaving him dizzy. Perhaps if he thought about it further, Yeonjun would find that the more he slathered that special jelly on his morning toast, scones, and muffins, the more intense his thirst grew. It bothered him greatly. He had never felt like this before. He found himself staring at you more often, now, not even trying to hide it. He was confused, yes, but he was equally hungry. A bone-deep kind of hunger that twisted around his brain and rendered his logical thoughts as useless as smoke in the wind. No longer did he reserve those glances for when you had your head turned. He was staring unabashedly now, sharp eyes boring into yours even when you met his gaze and gave him the most adorable eye-crinkling grin and excited wave. His newfound intensity didn’t seem to phase you in the slightest.

After weeks of this torture, this all-encompasing need swallowing him whole, it was you that finally did him in. He finally bent to those baser desires that he had shoved down when he first moved here, and now it was coming back to bite him. It was an innocent interaction by all accounts. You had scurried up to him while on the way to the newest town meeting, the breeze ruffling your curls to make them even more fluffy than usual. You seemed nearly out of breath, chest heaving with effort as if you had run a great distance to catch up to him. Perhaps you had, with how much longer his legs were than your own. You placed a steadying hand on his bicep, fingers curling into the muscle slightly. It was likely to give yourself a moment to catch your breath before greeting him, cheeks flushed and that smile pressing dimples into the blushing flesh. It was that visual, that touch, that look that ruined him. He ached, he felt the need deep in his soul, splintering his bones and ruining him from the inside like rot taking hold of sweet fruit flesh. He couldn't take it anymore. One final glance at those pretty pink cheeks and he had enough.

He found himself home far quicker than he usually would, the journey blurred and fuzzy in his mind. He didn’t care how he got home, anyway, he was more fussed about why he was home so early. It didn't take him long to stomp into his bedroom, jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached from the pressure, before he finally allowed that desire to consume him in the way he needed most.

Legs splayed prettily, head thrown back, bright red hair framing an ethereal halo around his head atop the silk pillowcase. Yeonjun was the picture of sin, with his skin sparkling with sweat, a bead rolling down his temple and vanishing along his damp hairline. Not much could be heard in the watermelon house, other than his whines and groans, naturally. It wasn’t often that Yeonjun found himself in such a position, desperately canting his hips up into his waiting fist, the slide deliciously wet and noisy due to the way he was practically dribbling precome down his own length at the thoughts in his head.

Oh, the thoughts in his head.. Filthy thoughts, really. Thoughts that should never see the light of day. Thoughts of claiming. Thoughts of animalistic, overwhelming claiming. Thoughts of pretty pink curls bouncing rhythmically, thoughts of those sparkling eyes swimming with tears of overstimulation, thoughts of those pretty lips singing his praises and begging, crying, pleading.

His orgasm crushed through him embarrassingly fast. His head, stuffed with cotton, could think little else on anything aside from ruining that pretty cherry boy. That same cherry boy that smiled at him with such affection, that same cherry boy that gave him such sweet treats out of the kindness of his heart, that same cherry boy he was utterly defiling, entirely ruining in his head.

He was blissfully unaware, as the sticky watermelon cream dripped over his fingertips and made a pool on his toned stomach, that he had forgotten to close his window. The opening left room for a gentle breeze that cooled his sweat-soaked skin, which he happily basked in. If he had opened his eyes, turned his head even a little, he would have caught it.

A pair of sharp cherry eyes, grinning at him in devilish satisfaction.

–

It was the aftermath that Yeonjun wasn’t prepared for. He had allowed himself to fall into that temptation after he had spent so long denying himself. Now that the metaphorical dam had been broken, those foul thoughts plagued him constantly. As he watched you, they pressed into his mind entirely without his permission.

You raised your hand at meetings, fingers slightly limp and curled in the air, and suddenly he couldn't think of anything better than seeing those fingers curl around his length. Would they look just as pretty decorated in that sweet watermelon sorbet? Perhaps it would look even better on your face, dripping over those pink curls and eyelashes, over your cheeks, nose, lips-

He adjusted himself in his chair, averting his eyes from your still-raised hand.

He missed the smirk on those very same lips. Perhaps if he had seen it, he wouldn’t have been so surprised when you approached him as the others were making to leave. He was doing much the same, running his fingers through that bright red fringe as he stood from his seat. His back twinged, perhaps he had been slouching too much in an effort to hide the issue between his thighs.

“Yeonjunnie!” Came your chipper voice, sending his eyes into a wide-set panic. Oh. You’d never called him that, before. He-

“Did you like that? Your cheeks turned all red!” If he listened any closer, he might have said you sounded smug, pleased with yourself and how easy it was to fluster him. Yeonjun had more pressing matters to concern himself with, however. He pressed his thighs together.

“Anyway! I wanted to ask you something. Is that okay? Is now a good time?” Yeonjun could only manage to nod his head. If he tried speaking, he knew he would say something incredibly stupid (read: incredibly horny). You paid no mind to his lack of audible response, bright smile dimpling your cheeks as you continued on. Yeonjun noticed the way you talked, something so endearing that he couldn’t help but give you his full focus whenever you opened your pretty mouth. You spoke animatedly, hands moving about to emphasise your points and certain words. Yeonjun found himself smiling slightly as he watched you speak.

“I was wanting to try a new recipe, but I need an extra set of hands to make it the way I want to.. Do you think you could help me?” Yeonjuns brain faltered, stuttering to a stop. The feeling only compounded when you followed your invitation with a belated, slightly whiny, “Please, Jjunie?”

When you put it like that, did he really have a choice?

That's how he found himself following after you like a lost puppy, all the way up to your front door. Your front door. God, how many times had he imagined himself behind this door, defiling you in the most depraved ways he could think of. And here you were, smile still tugging at your lips as you beckoned him through the threshold. Perhaps, once he passed through, he would explode into a puff of pure sin, like something from a corny horror film. He took a steadying breath, and walked through.

He didn't explode. That was a pleasant surprise. What was even more of a pleasant surprise was the way you promptly shoved him against the door, kissing all sense from his head. His hands flexed at his sides, shaking as he had no clue what to do with them. He was flailing, breath stuttering in his throat as you continued your onslaught against his pliant mouth. He felt you smirk, this time. Heard you chuckle.

“God, you're easier than I thought.” Your voice sounded raw, darker in a way that sent him into a tailspin. No, this wasn’t you. The you that was licking back into his mouth with urgency was a far cry from that cheerful, playful innocence he was familiar with. No, you had become something else entirely. The you in his head was so much closer to the way you acted in public, but in this moment, everything suddenly and finally fell into place.

All of it was just that, an act, and he had fallen for it hook, line and sinker.

Apparently growing bored of his lack of real reaction, you pulled back. You were panting, lips swollen and slick with spit, and the visual alone made him weak in the knees. Your mouth was set into a frown, something he had never seen on you. He found it intensely attractive. Just as you opened your mouth, complaint no doubt waiting on your tongue, he lunged forward. The kiss was desperate, messy, more tongue and teeth than any sweet press of lips. But this was you he was kissing. He now realised that there was nothing sweet about you. …Actually, that was a theory he most definitely wanted to test.

He hiked you up with firm hands under your thighs, turning to press your back into the door instead. A chuckle bubbled past those swollen lips, head tossed back to make a gentle thunk against the wood.

“Oh, you poor thing. Did I not make it clear yet?” Yeonjun’s vision swam, his brows tenting to gaze at you in bleary confusion. Clear? What was there to make clear? Did you not want this? Was he going too-

A hand in his hair, tugging harshly at the blood-red strands. A yelp pulled from his chest, making him arch to follow the pressure. Lips near his ear, hot breath brushing down his neck, leaving gooseflesh in its wake.

“You aren’t in charge here.” Oh.

Oh.

He didn’t even register that you had eased yourself back onto the floor, his head was too fuzzy with the thoughts you put into his head with those simple words. Months of daydreaming, fantasizing, and you tilted his world on its axis with one sentence. He wasn’t in charge. Oh, fuck. You were going to ruin him.

He vaguely heard your resounding giggle, sounding far too innocent given the context. Obviously you could see right through him, a thought that made him shiver down to his core. He wanted to tilt his head to follow the sound, but he found he couldn’t. Your hand was still in his hair, gripping at the roots with enough to make his scalp burn. You kept tugging him backwards, making him stumble after you down the hallway. His hands rushed to grab at your wrist, grasping blindly at your skin. He wasn’t even trying to pry you off, there wasn’t enough force in his hands to do that. No, the dawning realisation was starting to settle in his stomach like lava. He wanted this.

All too soon, your hands left their place in his hair, the drop in pressure pulling a desperate whine from him. You laughed at him.

“Stay here.” You commanded. Your words left little room for argument, though he imagined he couldn’t have argued against you even if he wanted to. And he didn’t. He watched, eyebrows furrowed and a pout drawing at those pretty plush lips of his, as you sauntered into your own bedroom. You moved with all the lethal grace of a predator, all smooth lines and sharp promise in the aura around you. You exuded dominance, he didn’t know how he missed it before. It was all-encompassing, shrouding you in a thick layer of power that he couldn’t look away from. He was positively enraptured.

You moved slowly, pulling at your clothes with all the leisure of someone who had all the time in the world. Perhaps you did. Perhaps you would make him wait forever, drool dripping down his chin at the very sight of you getting undressed and comfortable in the middle of your bed. You were a goddamn vision, sitting back prettily on your spread knees. His eyes followed a slow trail from your rosey knees, your flushed skin, the way the- Oh, fuck. Was that lace? Pretty white fabric decorated with little cherry patterns, innocent in a jarring juxtaposition against everything else about you. He swallowed thickly, eyes darting up to your face, his own pinched from restraint. You hadn’t invited him in yet.

As if reading his mind, your smirk grew sharper, cheshire. You slowly lifted your hand, watching in amusement as his eyes snapped to follow the action, and quirked a finger at him, beckoning him to the bed.

And who was Yeonjun to say no to such a command? He moved to take a step forward, hands clenched into fists at his side-

“No.” Your voice sliced through his thoughts. He froze in place, eyes snapping back up to meet yours in a panic. You laughed at him again, pointing your finger down to the ground. Your smirk dropped, expression schooled into bored indifference. “Crawl.”

Oh. Holy shit. Yeonjun dropped to his knees harshly, yet he barely registered the loud clack of the joints against the flooring. No, he was far too busy rushing to please you, crawling across the floor to your bed with such an eager expression that you giggled. There it was again, that innocence pulling at his mind, reminding him of all the times he imagined doing this to you, being in your position, and how wrong he was. He didn’t want that anymore, didn't want to be the one ruining you. Fuck, no, he wanted to be ruined.

With that in mind, and his hands now resting on his thighs as he kneeled in front of your bed, he peered up at you with such a hopeful gaze. You tilted your head, regarding him with amusement dancing in your sharp cherry eyes for just a moment before you silently patted the bed beside you. The Watermelon Boy scrambled to obey, nearly stumbling over himself as he eased his way onto your sheets. The mattress felt so soft beneath him, akin to sinking into a vat of marshmallow fluff. He crawled closer to you, nearly whimpering when you finally reached out to touch him.

Your fingers might as well have been scalding as you clutched his chin between your thumb and forefinger. You shifted his head around like that, smirking down the line of your nose at him. I did that before, he thought, but the image was too fuzzy to properly place. Focusing on you was much more important, especially with the way you used your thumb to wipe that trail of drool from the corner of his mouth, only to lick it off of your own finger. The subsequent shiver that wracked through Yeonjun was involuntary. He had never felt desire so strongly in his life. He wanted you so badly he could practically taste it. His tongue darted out to lick at his crimson lips, brushing against the pad of your thumb when you gripped at his chin again.

“Poor melon. And here I thought you'd put up more of a fight.” You almost sounded disappointed, and Yeonjun couldn’t have that. He was far too high off of you to even try and push down the whine that your words drew from him. Not trusting his voice, he shook his head, vehemently disagreeing. He would never put up a fight with you. He knew it, the fact ringing deep within him, entwined with his watermelon DNA. He was yours. Yours to use, to play with, to claim. He wouldn't have it any other way.

As if knowing this, as if expecting his answer, your smile returned. It was predatory again, and he watched as your eyes darkened when a particularly delicious thought entered your head. You nodded down to his clothes, then down to what little you still had on. Lace, his brain reminded him helpfully. He gulped, vision flicking down. Sure enough, said lace was struggling (and failing spectacularly) to keep your length contained. His jaw fell slack, body lurching into motion to pull his clothes from his body as if they scalded him.

Only once the offending items had been sufficiently tossed to an unknown part of the room, did he finally go to complete the rest of your wordless command. He eased himself between your spread thighs, fingers digging experimentally into the plushness. He groaned, the feeling of your soft skin doing a number on his brain. He could hardly keep himself together, especially now that he had your crotch barely an inch in front of his nose. Fuck.

Lip caught between his teeth, Yeonjun positioned himself to nose against the patch of skin around your hip that peeked out over the delicate lace. His eyes flashed up to meet yours again, and he nearly melted into the bed once his gaze met your own. Hunger, power. That was how best to describe you at that moment. He felt small under your sharp eyes, which he supposed could be funny considering he was a decent bit taller than you, but he knew height wasn't the issue here. No, he was shockingly at home with this feeling of being lesser, of being below you, as if this was where he was supposed to be. Perhaps he was.

With newfound confidence, he grasped the edge of the fabric between his teeth, letting his eyes flutter shut when you carded your fingers through his hair in approval. Then he tugged.

If you had any issue with the sound of the lace ripping, you made no effort to show it. Perhaps you actually liked it, the way he ripped the remaining clothing off of you like an animal, like a-

“Good seedling.” Ah. It seems today was the day the Watermelon Boy found out a lot of new things about himself. The shiver that tugged down his spine should have been embarrassing, and he supposed it was, with the way his ears flushed red. And with the way you cooed down at him, he guessed it had also spread down his neck and over his collarbones, too. He stared up at you with bleary eyes, and that damn hand in his hair worked its magic again. Tugging his head roughly to the side, you sneered down at him.

“Drop it.” Yeonjun’s jaw dropped open, allowing him to roll his tongue out of his mouth to make a show of releasing the torn fabric from the confines of his mouth. Your nails scratched at his scalp in reward. “That’s a good boy. Think you can put that mouth to good use for me?”

His breathing stuttered in his chest at the thought, but just when he swooped his head down to take you into his waiting mouth, you tugged his head back once again. “No, seedling. Not there.”

Oh. You wanted him there? Fuck, yes, he could work with that. He hurried to reposition himself, wiggling further down on the bed to nose at your thigh, urging you to spread them apart more. You made no moves to comply with him, instead opting to continue scratching at his scalp with your nails. He huffed out a breath, but the sound came out a bit closer to a growl. He dug his fingers into the plush of your thighs again, dragging them apart himself to gain better access to do what you asked of him. He preened under your answering breathless laugh, squirming at your following words.

“Eager little thing-- nng..”

You trailed off into a whimper when he finally pressed his tongue against your rim. You were right in your observation, he was eager from the get–go. Desperate to please. He could hardly believe this was happening, that after these months of denying himself, he eventually found himself between your thighs, splitting you open on his tongue. He wasted no time doing so, pushing the muscle into you with determined licks. Only when you were beginning to squirm did he dare to push further.

Your eyes flew open when a tinger tentatively pressed alongside the wet muscle, forcing you to choke on a moan in the process. Yeonjun had the nerve to grin against your entrance, feeling rather proud of himself for drawing such pretty noises from you.

It didn’t take much longer for you to tug at his hair again, rolling your hips down onto his tongue. It seemed that using his was loosening yours, and filth spilled from your lips.

“I wanted you like this for so fucking long, yknow..” You were practically purring the words down at him, and if he gathered up the courage to glance up at you, he would’ve seen the way your eyes darkened upon watching him fuck you with his tongue in earnest. He was trying so hard to please you, and you knew it. It made a thrill run through him in the most delicious way. Being used. Being useful. All for you. He hummed at you in response, prompting you to continue. The added vibration drew a beautiful moan from your parted mouth. You panted in between sentences, losing grasp on your words the longer his tongue and fingers worked into you, curling just right.

“Thought about how long it would take to get you to cave to me. How much it would take to bring you to your knees– Ah!” With the way you tossed your head back, you were a goddamn vision. Not sin like Yeonjun had been, no. You were positively angelic. Pretty pink curls framing your face, which was slack from bliss. He found the right bundle of nerves, it seemed. He grinned against your entrance as he continued rubbing his fingers against that same spot, over and over and over– Until you pulled him away forcefully by his hair. He was sure he was going to be missing at least a few strands with the rough handling, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

You caught your breath, propped up on your elbow as you stared down at him. You seemed to have many thoughts swimming around in that pretty pink head of yours, but with the way your eyes changed into something far darker, Yeonjun assumed one had won over all the rest.

“Lay down.” The speed at which he bent to your will should be scientifically studied. He had his back pressed against the sheets in mere moments, effectively trading spots with you. You tilted your head as you straddled him, and his hands instinctively reached to find purchase on your hips. They were promptly slapped away. He whined high in his throat at the denial, though you just smiled down at him, perhaps mockingly.

“I didn’t give you permission to touch me, seedling.” You warned, voice saccharine and dripping with an unspoken threat. Or what? His mind supplied, unhelpfully. Your expression shifted into something hard, eyes narrowed into slits at him. Oh, shit. Did he say that out loud?

“Brat.” You spat down at him. He shivered at the sudden harshness to your voice. You reached beyond him into your nightstand, pulling something out that he couldn't quite focus on. No, you were so close to him, face so near to his own. He leaned toward you instinctively, akin to a moth and its flame. He couldn't be bothered trying to keep up with whatever you were doing, too lost in watching your pretty face settled into a focused expression, tongue poking just barely from your lips as you worked. He didn’t mind this, splayed under you as you worked, did something above him that carried no weight in his brain, until– Ah. He couldn’t move his hands. He glanced up, eyes catching on a familiar set of charms and ribbons. Cherry and watermelon. You had restrained him with the very ribbons you decorated his special jars with, adorned with your respective fruity charms. Fuck, the symbolism was not lost on Yeonjun. He gave an experimental tug, to which there was no give. His mouth ran dry.

He was so enraptured by this change, that he was once again oblivious to whatever you were doing above him, tugging and tugging just to watch the way the ribbon dug into his wrists with fascination. That was, until he felt something decidedly too cold. His head snapped down to gaze at you, only to be rendered absolutely awestruck. You were still perched prettily on his lap, leaned back onto one hand with your other fingers working into yourself just like his were only moments ago.

“Fuck.” Eloquent as always, yet he had nothing else to say. You looked stunning, brows pinched as you stretched yourself out for him, your own eyes, when not scrunched closed, set right on his length. You were gauging how deep it would fit in you, he figured. The thought made him shudder, the thrill settling in his stomach hot and heavy. Fuck, if he didn’t get inside you soon, he was sure he would blow his load just from watching you toy with yourself. He wasn't even aware of himself squirming on the bed, whimpering at the visage of such an angel in his lap, spreading himself open just for the Watermelon Boy to fill. His gaze flickered up to your face again, only to find you already looking at him. Oh, God.

The coldness he felt had apparently been stray drips of lube, and he followed the trail of it down the line of your wrist. God, if the visual wasn’t enough, surely the sounds were. The filthy squelching rang through the room, accompanied by your soft groans, your eyes rolled back as you rolled your hips down harder onto your own fingers. Yeonjun’s ears burned from the embarrassment of it all, but you were entirely unphased, enjoying your pleasure to the fullest with little restraint. The Watermelon Boy found himself canting his hips upward, regardless of how futile the movements were. He just wanted to be closer, wanted to touch, wanted you to finally put him out of his misery and sink down onto him–

Perhaps you were psychic. That's the only explanation he had for tonight, especially with the way you seemed to respond to his every desire promptly without him even needing to open his mouth. Either that, or he was painfully predictable. Likely the latter. Yeonjun barely even had time to brace himself before you did exactly what he craved, and suddenly the feeling of hot, wet, too much burned through him like a brand through flesh. His senses felt like they were whiting out, nerves fraying along the edges as he pathetically writhed on the bed below you. He couldn’t move much, with his hands still tied prettily above his head and his hips held down by your hands. You were deceptively strong, he realised with a start. You kept him perfectly pinned underneath yourself, and he felt much like a butterfly with its wings pinned out. He was exposed, raw, and being forced to take–

“That’s it, seedling. Take it.” Gods above, you were answering his every prayer before he even knew to utter them. He keened, head tossed back as he struggled to even his breathing out. It wasn't until you had fully bottomed out, ass pressed to him firmly that he could do anything other than follow your command. You felt far too good, the warm temptation of your entrance proving too much to keep himself from. He rolled his hips in little circles up into you, as if he couldn’t help himself. And really, he couldn’t. You couldn’t possibly expect him to keep it together when you were sat atop his lap, looking like the perfect picture of innocence whilst speared so thoroughly on his cock that a bulge protruded from your stomach. He let his head fall back to the pillows again, forcing himself to look away from the cherry angel on his lap lest he fall off the edge too quickly.

His ears were buzzing, unable to make out whatever filth you had leaned down to mumble in his ear. He caught bits and pieces. Praise, mainly. He caught good fucking boy and taking me so well, and fuck, you couldn’t say things like that while still expecting him to keep himself together. The second phrase made him flush a much darker red, as if he was the one getting fucked by you and not the other way around. He chanced a glance back to where you were now steadily rolling your own hips to meet his movements. No, you were entirely right. He was taking you so well, taking your teasing, your tight wet heat wrapped around him to the point he couldn’t quite tell where he ended and you began.

He felt like he was floating, somewhere high up above himself, feeling everything you were giving to him but blissed from the rest of the world. It had narrowed to just the two of you, locked in a dance of your design. You had brought him to this, you had rendered him into this pathetic pet, made by you, for you. God, the idea was so hot. Then you picked yourself up on his lap, leaving only the tip inside of you as you hovered. You trailed a sharp nail down his chest, making his breath stutter as he looked up at you hazily.

“You were so much easier than I expected. Just a few scones and you were a fucking goner. Pathetic, really.” Then you dropped yourself down, full weight on his lap. He cried out, the noise wet and broken. His fingernails dug into his palms, hands aching to be able to grab onto you. He desperately wanted to hold, to pin you in place on his lap as he chased his pleasure like a dog, but– Wait. What was that you said? Scones? Yeonjun blinked as the questions piled up in his brain. You continued dragging yourself up his length until only the tip remained once more.

“You didn’t think that I gave those out of the kindness of my heart, did you? God, are you that stupid? And here I thought you knew what you were asking for when you ate them like an animal.” Yeonjun’s brain swam. He wasn’t sure where you were going with this, but the dread he felt like he should be feeling just.. Wasn’t there. That fact should worry him, shouldn’t it? He should be concerned about your sinister words, but instead of making him whimper in fear, he whimpered for a whole different reason. You outright laughed at him when you felt him twitch. You slammed yourself down his length again, punching out a half-laugh-half-moan from yourself as you did so.

“Do you know where that yummy jam came from, seedling? Or are you too stupid to put that together, too?” Your words renewed that flame in his cheeks a thousand times over. Well, when you put it like that in this context, especially while bouncing on him like this, it didn’t take much to put it all together now. Fuck, how had he managed to be so stupid? All this time, you had been dosing his treats with yourself. Making him crave you, without ever even knowing it. Jesus, you were right. He was so fucking stupid.

But maybe he liked it like that.

He dug his heels into the mattress below him, using the leverage to fuck himself up into you. Hard. Your eyes went wide in surprise, moan catching in your throat and coming out choked and cracked around the edges. You were so surprised, in fact, that you made no move to stop him as he pounded up into you, desperately searching for release in your heat. With a few tiny adjustments, he found what he was looking for. With a loud, throaty cry, your back arched. A grin spread on Yeonjun’s face. You didn’t have to say it, but he thought it at the very same time the words tumbled from your lips, shaky and wrecked.

There.

Now that he knew, now that he had all your dirty little tricks in context, he couldn’t help himself now. Yes, you may be in charge, you may own him now, but he wanted something in return. Something more than revenge.

Something sweeter.

With renewed vigor, he continued slamming home, the sound of his pelvis meeting your ass nearly drowning out the moans that bubbled from your lips uncontrollably. He had the audacity to laugh, sounding breathless to his own ears. More, more, more–

Snap.

Hands flew down to hold your hips in place before you could even register the sound of the Watermelon Boy’s restraints being broken. Fuck yes, this was exactly what he wanted. His fingers flexed, digging into the softness of your hips hard enough to leave behind marks in the shapes of his fingertips.

“Want it, want it, want it–” He panted, drilling into you at a speed and force that had you tumbling. He felt your subsequent near-panic, your nails scratching down the hard lines of his chest and abdomen, searching for purchase. Your wails were music to his ears, but he couldn’t stop to cherish them any longer. No, he had a goal in mind. “Give it to me, give it to me.”

And give it to him, you did. With a cry of his name, sounding like sin incarnate, he finally got what he had been wanting all along. Sweet cherry jam, sticky and red, splattering all over his chest and stomach. He watched, enraptured as your orgasm took you, cock jerking pathetically in the space between you two as your back arched into a sweet curve. Yeonjun Licked his lips. His treat would have to wait a moment longer.

The way you clenched erratically around him as you came brought him right to the brink, but what did him in was the way you lifted your head to look at him through those messy pink cherry curls, digging your finger through the mess you made, and shoving those same fingers right into his mouth. The sweet-tart flavour he had spent ages craving exploded on his tongue, and he followed soon after.

He didn’t know what kind of face he made, didn’t know what noises and filth tumbled from those red watermelon lips of his. He was far too busy with the way he pinned your hips down flush against his own, filling you up to the brim with his watermelon cream. He watched you tremble atop him, shuddering like a leaf at the feeling, that warmth spreading through your gut. And Oh, what a pretty picture you made, now you were not only stuffed full of his cock, but that sweet cream had distended your stomach even further, a pretty bulge resting in your lower stomach. He splayed a hand over it and pushed, relishing in the way you whimpered at the sudden pressure. He felt the way you leaked around him, his own watermelon cream making a mess of the sheets below.

When he finally had the mental presence to come back to himself, he found you once again already meeting his gaze. You had a habit of doing that, he noted, but the action only serves to make his chest warm with affection, the yearning he had built up after months of dancing around his favourite sweet cherry boy. He leaned into the touch when your hand cupped his cheek, wiping the seat from his hairline. You had such a fond, blissed out smile as your cherry eyes bored into his own, and he could only melt into it.

If the nearby residents of Strawberryland heard the absolute filth that had taken place in Cherry Jam’s house that day, they didn’t say a word. Nor did they mention it when days later, There was a pretty jar of watermelon cherry jam, adorned with ribbons and charms, sitting innocently on the windowsill.

#jjae's bookshelf #yeonjun smut #yeonjun x reader #txt smut #yeonjun/reader #jjae hard thoughts #choi yeonjun smut

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papiliotao · 12 hours ago

Text

HOME SWEET HOME — neuvillette x reader

content: 13.3k words, lovers to exes to hopefully lovers again, reader goes to jail, mixed feelings (i hope i wrote them decently), murder, poison, lots of investigation

summary: a singular trial is all it takes to tear your world apart. after being framed for an atrocious crime, you're sent to the fortress of meropide by the decree of your own lover. however, as new evidence emerges years down the line, you're offered freedom at last — the only catch being that you must confront the real culprit (and your complicated feelings for the man who broke your heart).

a/n: merry (late?) christmas @https-sourlimes!! i'm your secret santa. i am SO sorry about the wordcount; i got carried away while writing. i really hope you enjoy! <3

Happiness is a fragile ephemerality.

One word is all it takes to set your world ablaze in a frenzy of roaring flames, once-comforting hues of warmth roaring in a final performance of oceanic havoc. A numb horror manifests in subtle shivers that wrack your body, piercing your very soul with its glacial frostbite. Echoes reverberate within your mind.

Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.

According to the judgment of the Oratrice Mechanique D’analyse Cardinale, [name] is guilty.

Neuvillette’s words seem to ring in the air, long overstaying their welcome as they persist in a buzz of illusory ostinatos over a backdrop of stunned silence. No one stirs as the tragic tale of two star-crossed lovers unfolds before them. Instead, they watch with bated breath, never once daring to intervene, allowing every act of fate’s cruel masterpiece to play out in flawless tandem.

Nothing feels real until the moment the guards slip a pair of handcuffs around your wrists. Gradually, a sense of panic envelops your senses, prompting you to desperately turn to where Neuvillette had been standing. Fear begins to well up in the pit of your stomach.

You need his help.

But when your eyes land on the spot where your lover had once been, you find that he is all but gone.

Emptiness is all that remains as you’re escorted down to the depths of Meropide.

“Wriothesley,” you greet the man in front of you politely as you step into his office.

It’s only six in the morning, but you were unceremoniously dragged out of your bed earlier when you were informed that Wriothesley had sent for you. A few years ago, you would have complained about how rude it is to rouse someone from slumber without warning. However, after spending thousands of days in prison, you’ve grown to understand that societal norms have no place within the lifeless metallic walls of Meropide.

Everything runs on incentive alone. Coupons are all that matter within the underground prison, and as such, most inmates spare less than a thought towards moral obligations and frivolous sentiments. It’s a home for some of Fontaine’s most infamous criminals, for crying out loud! Only a fool would expect pleasantries to have any place in this bleak world.

Your train of thought is interrupted as Wriothesley gestures towards a chair in front of his desk.

“Take a seat, [name],” he says, his voice gruff yet comforting.

He’s been your only companion throughout your time in prison, as the other inmates have been a little too uncouth for your taste. Although Wriothesley tries to pretend he simply wants to be your friend, you know he has ulterior motives. You know the reason why he’s always checking up on you so often — why he’s been suspiciously interested in your day-to-day life.

Someone you’d rather not think about put him up to this.

Someone you used to love.

(You still remember the crystal raindrops that kissed your skin mere moments before you were taken underground. You wouldn’t put it past him to watch you from afar.)

“Is something up, Wriothesley?” you inquire.

The more he talks the better, you decide. Right now, anything is better than silence because silence is a harbinger of spiraling thoughts and unpleasant recollections. At the moment, you want nothing more than to drown the mantras gnawing at the edge of your conscience in a sea of cascading words.

“Brace yourself,” Wriothesley warns, “This is gonna be a tough one to stomach.”

You nod hesitantly. Wriothesley usually keeps your conversations lighthearted and casual, so you’re absolutely certain that he’s serious this time. His foreboding preface sends a slight shiver down your spine, but you steel your nerves and meet his gaze. Irises beaming with fading moonlight scan your eyes for any traces of hesitation, scrutinizing every sentiment that graces the windows to your soul.

“I’m ready,” you reassure him.

Although Wriothesley raises an eyebrow when he hears the tremble that unsteadily articulates your growing anxiety, he continues on. One thing about Wriothesley you’ve grown to appreciate is the fact that he never pries into your affairs (at least not openly).

��Alright,” he sighs. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Tension becomes tangible as momentary silence fills the atmosphere; it’s almost deceptively peaceful. Every transient second feels more akin to an eon spent in stagnation as suspense gnaws at your conscience. As much as you hope for the hush to dissipate with every fibre of your being, you also dread the moment your false utopia will shatter.

“Is it really that bad?” you make the mistake of asking Wriothesley.

The grimace that adorns his weary features tells you all you need to know. Before your mind can run through all the possibilities in a frenzied delirium of panicked theories, Wriothesley finally speaks up.

“It’s about him,” he clarifies.

You immediately know who he’s talking about.

It’s funny. A few years ago, you used to speak his name in a hushed tone, filled with admiration and brimming with ardor. Every whisper used to feel adoring, almost reverent, and as such, you had mistakenly believed your love was akin to an all-enduring everblaze, a crimson flame of passion that would burn bright and persevere through all.

The irony is nearly laughable. Dying embers and hollow sentiments are all that remain now. His name has become a taboo, a word that feels all-too-foreign as you attempt to fill in the silence.

“Neuvillette,” you whisper shakily.

An unpleasant ringing seems to manifest in your ears as all the memories you’ve been trying to repress ebb and flow in a wave of aquamarine recollections. You’re aware he’s always been an overwhelming presence, yet it becomes all the more obvious as thoughts of him invade and overload your mind.

Wriothesley confirms your suspicions in the form of a solemn nod. To your surprise, his steely grey eyes soften for what feels like the first time since you’ve met him, a gentle warmth stirring beneath layers of permafrost.

Great, so your situation is so abysmal that even Wriothesley is starting to feel sympathetic.

“What does he want?” you manage to breathe out.

A part of you doesn’t want to face your ex-lover ever again in this lifetime. And yet despite it all, your heart screams for closure, resolving to remain unrelenting in its desires until every loose thread of your tragedy has been tied up neatly. You don’t know what to hope for at this point.

“You remember the poisoning case from a few years ago?” Wriothesley questions you.

It takes all your willpower to resist the urge to scoff.

“Who would forget the murder that changed their life forever?” Your voice comes out wry, bitterness intricately working its way into each inflection. Despite your attempts to exercise restraint, you find that your emotions are beginning to overtake rationality.

“Alright,” Wriothesley says hesitantly, “then I guess there’s no better time to break the news.” The suffering in his drawn-out sigh is palpable. “Suspicious new evidence related to the case has emerged recently. The Marechaussee Phantom is beginning to suspect that there’s more to it than what they initially found,” Wriothesley starts. Before he can continue, you interrupt him.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Right.” With an exasperated click of his tongue, Wriothesley moves on. “That’s where you come in. Since you’re so closely-linked with the events that occurred that day, the Iudex has specifically requested your help in the investigation. I take it the possibility of freedom is incentive enough?”

You huff. “Seriously? He has the audacity to ask for my help after all this time without so much as a word? Not even freedom could convince me to work with that absolute — !”

The stern look that manifests within Wriothesley’s sterling irises is enough to prompt you to pause. Although he doesn’t vocalize his concerns, the diamond-esque glimmers of worry that manifest in his eyes speak volumes. Don’t say something you might regret.

So instead of continuing on, you allow yourself a single sigh — an attempt to alleviate all your frustration in a single exhale.

“What I meant was, I’m not sure I could work with the Iudex in any official capacity,” you say, gritting your teeth lest any unsavory words find a way to slip out of your mouth, “given our… complicated history.”

Wriothesley shakes his head, a subtle showing of his displeasure at being caught up in a lover’s quarrel. You can’t really blame him. Any bystander would feel beyond vexed if they were tasked with piecing together the fading ruby fragments of a once-blissful relationship.

“I thought you might say that,” he responds, raising a hand to massage his temples. At the moment, the bags under his eyes appear more prominent than ever, and you begin to wonder how much grief your personal issues with Neuvillette will cause poor Wriothesley. “That’s why you have a week to decide.”

You narrow your eyes to meet a gaze woven from the essence of dimming moonbeams. Wriothesley stares you back, unflinching in his poise.

“Good luck getting me to change my mind,” you scoff. “I’m not facing him ever again.”

A pause.

Silence threatens to consume all under its weight, and you’re left wondering how nothingness can feel so heavy. Wriothesley’s nonchalance seems to disperse, vanishing in the midst of the tense ambience. Now you’re absolutely sure you’re in for a heartfelt conversation — an anomaly amongst the casual paradigm the two of you have been defining over the past few years.

“I’m not great with all this sentimental stuff,” Wriothesley starts, “I mean, I’m hardly experienced with romantic relationships myself despite my age.” He chuckles, and suddenly you feel as though the mood has lightened ever-so-slightly. “But trust me when I say Monsieur Neuvillette still cares deeply about you.”

Does he? Why would anyone stand by helplessly while the person they supposedly love more than life itself is taken from them forever?

Despite the protests that practically fly to the tip of your tongue, you continue listening attentively. Although you keep telling yourself you no longer care about your former lover, perhaps there’s still a small spark of incandescent hope lying somewhere within your heart — an ember of love awaiting a day where it will burst into brilliant flame once more.

“Think about it,” Wriothesley hums, his casual tone slipping effortlessly back into place as if he never broke character. “It’s been years since your case has been closed, and all the loose ends were supposedly tied up when you were sentenced, which means…” He trails off, waiting for you to piece together fragmented bits of logic within the recesses of your mind.

The muddled pieces of knowledge confound you, yet as you consider the implications of Wriothesley’s statement more carefully, a flicker of ingenuity comes to life in a sporadic burst of aureate sparks.

“Which means he never stopped investigating,” you conclude. “He believed it wasn’t me all along.”

The realization dawns on you in shades of phantasmagoric navy. It’s chilling, akin to the unwelcome touch of icy waters. Likewise, it overwhelms you. Its implications are far too profound to be ignored or pushed aside, and you begin to understand that you won’t be able to run away from the man you once loved for eternity.

“And?” Wriothesley adds.

“And he’s been trying to prove my innocence,” you breathe out, feeling disconnected from the moment.

Everything feels surreal, and the last few seconds feel no less oneiric than the ludicrous dreams you’re pulled into every night. It’s as if your world is twisting and turning upside down. You’ve spent all this time trying to incinerate every ounce of affection held within your heart for Neuvillette, bitterly blocking every memory of him from your mind all while he’s been tirelessly working to reunite with you.

Guilt pierces your entire being, enveloping you in a venomous sort of discomfort. A shiver runs down your spine as you realize how unfairly you’ve been treating the man you were once hopelessly-devoted to. Even back then in your emotional state, you should have known he would never betray you, much less in such a profound manner. Yet a part of you is still bitter that it took him this long to do anything. You can’t find it in your heart to forgive him entirely.

Remorse is a complex sentiment. While it pushes individuals to grow and defy past ordainments, it also drives them to make decisions that become ironically more regrettable later on. You feel as though your situation will fit in the latter category as a desire to reconvene with your past lover blazes to life. You’re still beyond enraged when you think about him, but a small flourish of love still remains in your heart. There’s so much you want to know, so without a further thought, you relay your hasty choice to Wriothesley before you can stop yourself.

“Fine, take me up to the surface. I need to speak to Neuvillette.”

The moment you resurface for the first time in years, an epiphany overcomes your senses. You realize how much you missed all the sights and sounds of the outside world — how much you had taken everything for granted back when you were still free.

Every caress of an aquatic zephyr feels like a gentle luxury, and the sensation of golden sunbeams enveloping you in threads of luminous comfort is something entirely otherworldly. You savour the ephemeral peace and serenity that surrounds you, losing yourself in the salty spray of azure waves and the vast beauty of the divine skies above.

As someone who’s allowed above ground routinely for official business, Wriothesley either doesn’t notice your wonder as he escorts you to your destination, or he chooses not to comment on it. Perhaps the beauty of the overworld has become nothing more than a mundanity to him.

The Palais Mermonia is every bit as grand as you remember. It towers over Fontaine, as if watching over the city and all its affairs. The smooth stone walls and opulent detailings adorning the building serve as a welcome reminder of how magnificent Fontaine’s architecture can be — a nice change of pace after spending countless days locked away within the monochromatic metal walls of the Fortress of Meropide.

As Wriothesley leads you through the intricate doors of the Palais Mermonia, you feel a sense of anticipation swell within your heart. Polychromatic butterflies desperately flutter their wings in the pit of your stomach, manifesting in a swarm of discombobulating chaos. With every step you take towards Neuvillette’s office, you feel your feet grow heavier. By the time you’re standing before the entrance, you feel as if you’re practically glued to the ground. The only things that keep you going are Wriothesley’s watchful stare and careful guidance.

The dark-haired man beside you pushes the door open and motions for you to enter first. As much as you’d rather hide behind Wriothesley, you decide to swallow your nerves and step into the office before him.

Unfortunately for you, the first sight that greets you upon entering the office is the face of a man you’ve been trying to avoid for years now, whether in the waking world or slumber. Against your own will, you note that he appears just as breathtaking as the day you lost him. Every detail of his suit is as pristine as ever, not a single wrinkle in sight, no matter how hard you scrutinize. His hair looks as soft and voluminous as usual, each strand of cerulean a sharp contrast to silken starlight. Simply put it, nothing has changed, and as you look into his eyes, you realize just how accurate your inference is.

Molten tanzanite fills eyes akin to galaxies occupied by subtle glimmers of emotion. Even now, you find that you can read him perfectly. Although he appears serious on the surface, a single examination of Neuvillette’s gaze is all it takes for you to spot the luminous adoration that gleams beneath layers of carefully-crafted defenses.

Damn it. Don’t look at me like that.

It’s a look you’d recognize anywhere — a look you had once loved with all your heart, yet now it feels detestable more than anything. The ironic juxtaposition between your feelings in past and present nearly makes you laugh. It’s a bleak reminder of how greatly circumstances have shifted — how everything is wrong now.

Not a word is spoken as you sit down in a chair across from Neuvillette. Although you had assumed Wriothesley would join you, he stands off to the side before you can even protest. Any attempt to call him back over would definitely make it obvious that you didn’t want to have what was essentially a one-on-one conversation with your ex.

“[Name],” Neuvillette greets you formally, his tone steady and practiced. It feels unnatural after all you’ve been through; in the past, endearment would lace his tone each time he spoke to you, conveying the true depth of his feelings with a single whisper. This stiff rendition of the fantasia that used to be your name falling from his lips is nothing like the soft melody you’d become accustomed to so long ago.

“Neuvillette,” you shoot back, trying your best to keep your voice from reverting to its affectionate default. Although you’re unsure about acting cold towards the man, you’re certain neither of you would be fine with immediately going back to the way you were before the entire disaster unfolded in a matter of mere seconds.

(And besides that, you’re still somewhat angry it took him literal years to find a way to get you out of Meropide.)

“I hope you’ve been well,” Neuvillette says, his tone softening ever-so-subtly. Vulnerability works its way into a slight waver of his voice, a nearly-unnoticeable detail that any average person would miss. However, you are not an average person. You’ve acquainted yourself with every intricacy of Neuevillette’s personality over the years, and even now, every detail is preserved perfectly within the archives of your memory.

“I was as well as I could be in prison, I guess,” you mumble.

Even you’re not quite sure if your passing comment is an attempt at humour or a jab at your previous lover. Fortunately for you, Neuvillette doesn’t attempt to laugh. Instead, he simply nods.

“I see…” he trails off, staring at you intently. Eyes filled with hues of softened lilac and faint periwinkle blue bear into your soul, inspecting you with a gaze woven from twilight. Stardust suspicion seems to glint in Neuvillette’s irises, but he doesn’t pry. “What have you be—”

“Enough small talk. Can we get to the point?” you force out. You’re still not quite sure how you feel about the fact that Neuvillette still cares about you, so you push aside your emotions for the moment to focus on the main issue. As much as you want to ask what your relationship has become, everything feels far too overwhelming now that he’s in front of you again for the first time in years. “What exactly do you want me to do for you?”

Neuvillette pauses for a second, mulling over his next words. He doesn’t try to push the previous topic. Instead, he complies with your request.

“Work alongside me,” he says. “I’m aware that you may not find this to be the ideal arrangement, but ever since your sentencing, your reputation has become…” Neuvillette can’t bring himself to finish his sentence, so you interject.

“Awful? Dismal? Lower than low?” you chuckle bitterly. “I know. I didn’t expect any more when I agreed to come back up to the surface.”

For a second, pity sparkles in Neuvillette’s eyes, a look reminiscent of fragments of sunlight reflecting off sapphire ocean waves. You promptly decide that you hate it.

“Yes. Although I would not put it in such — brazen terms. If you would like an opportunity to clear your name, I would suggest putting serious consideration towards aiding in the second round of investigation. Please do let me know your verdict as soon as possible.”

“Why are you asking me as if I have a choice? It’s either help you or return to prison. Obviously one option is better than the other,” you sigh as a shiver runs down your spine. You know you’ll be in for an awkward few weeks. Spending every second by Neuvillette’s side is a harrowing nightmare come to life, but there’s no better way out of your dilemma. “I’ll join your stupid investigation.”

“Very well then,” Neuvillette responds. “I will show you to your accommodations in due time. Guards will be stationed outside your door around the clock in everyone’s best interest.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Even with contradictory evidence, you’re still going to be treated like a criminal until you’re proven definitively innocent.

“Please note that you will begin assisting me tomorrow.”

With that, Neuvillette turns to Wriothesley, acknowledging him for the first time since the two of you entered the room. “Mr. Wriothesley, thank you for escorting [name] to my office. You may now take your leave.”

A part of you wants to beg Wriothelsey not to leave you alone with Neuvillette, but for once, you decide that you have to start being brave. So with bated breath and a heavy heart, you watch as your sole companion in recent times turns away, heading back to an unreachable world below the surface.

You’re on your own now in a place that has become entirely foreign to you.

The silken covers of the bed you’re provided are surprisingly comfortable. Wrapping each seafoam-coloured blanket around your body feels like being enveloped in a cloud, and sinking into a soft mattress is a luxury you have long forgotten after becoming accustomed to your dorm in the Fortress of Meropide. Needless to say, you find your slumber shockingly restful despite all the turbulent feelings arising within the pit of your stomach, threatening to overtake your rationality and fill you with a cold, chilling panic.

No, the panic only sets in when you’re escorted back to Neuvillette’s office the next morning by the two guards sent to oversee your activities. It’s akin to being plunged into the depths of freezing lapis waters, losing your grip beneath waves forged from midnight essence. A whole day alone together with Neuvillette is going to be a challenge, and unfortunately, your nerves get the better of you.

You hear his voice as cool perspiration forms on the back of your neck, slight shivers running down your spine.

“Good morning,” Neuvillette greets you, as composed and regal as ever.

You envy his ability to behave as though he’s tranquility personified, even in such an awkward situation. His composure is a virtue.

“You let me sleep in,” you note. The sunbeams that filter through Neuvillette’s window in a flurry of faded daffodil shades look nothing like the gilded threads of light that grace Fontaine at sunrise. Besides that, you can already hear a fair amount of chatter outside the office, and you even recall spotting a few passer-bys scurrying about as you were accompanied to the Palais Mermonia.

“Indeed I did,” Neuvillette confirms your suspicions.

You glare at him. “I thought you wanted me up bright and early to help you investigate.”

The man before you sighs. “Based on your behaviour yesterday, I inferred that the past few days have been rather taxing on you emotionally. I wanted to give you ample time to recuperate to ensure that you would be able to think optimally today.”

Neuvillette’s eyes soften, a rare sort of gentleness manifesting in dulled lavender, a hue pulled straight from an evening afterglow.

You recall a passing thought from a time you had watched nightfall overtake the heavens with Neuvillette a few years back. At the time, he had looked at you with the same soft gaze, examining you with an expression that conveyed unspoken understanding and affection. You remember noting the way his irises seemed to reflect the muted iridescent shades above. Back then, everything had been so tranquil, euphoric. A part of you can’t help but desperately wish to go back in time.

“Thank you,” you relent, finally acknowledging Neuvillette’s kindness.

Neuvillette shakes his head. “There is no need to thank me,” he states. “This is beneficial to both of us. After all, I don’t expect you to work effectively with a tired mind.”

Without another word, Neuvillette pulls out a pile of official documents, their worn ivory pages a stark contrast to a second untainted milky white stack he sets on his desk.

“As you may be able to tell, these are the case files from the initial investigation,” Neuvillette points to the first collection of papers, “and these are documents containing new developments.” He points at the pristine new records.

“Can you summarize what exactly made you revisit the case?” you ask Neuvillette. Personally, you don’t feel like spending a full day poring over documents instead of investigating. That’s just inefficiency at its finest. Why do that when you have someone who seems to revel in records to explain everything to you?

Neuvillette allows a light chuckle to slip past his lips, the sound a nostalgic fantasia as it reaches your ears. “I see that you haven’t stopped finding the easiest way to complete your tasks,” he jests, “but very well. This will save us a considerable amount of time.”

You sit with bated breath, suspense filling the atmosphere as you patiently wait to learn the exact evidence that may have altered your fate entirely.

“Firstly, to reiterate, the murder was a poisoning,” Neuvillette starts. “A member of the Marechaussee Phantom was found dead at a banquet with a drink in hand. Its contents were found to be normal for the most part, but when investigated more thoroughly, trace amounts of a toxic substance were found.”

You nod with fervour, every intricate puzzle piece of the case that had dictated your destiny all those years ago still fresh in your mind.

“You were the one who poured the drink.” Perhaps your mind is playing tricks on you because for the first time in your life, you hear Neuvillette’s voice tremble slightly, like a resplendent leaf as it drifts on an autumnal breeze. “There was no way to prove your innocence at the time, and no matter how hard we tried to trace the origins of the poison, all we could discern was that it was fast-acting, which thankfully meant that there were no other casualties. Unfortunately, we were unable to find any compelling leads…” Neuvillette pauses, “until now.”

“Recently, a worker from a drink factory has approached us with reports of suspicious activities within the facility. Although most employees are kept in the front of the building to manage the machines and ensure that the quality of each bottle sufficiently meets company standards, there are a select few allowed in the back to oversee the entire operation.”

“What does this have to do with the case?” you interject. You can feel your interest waning as Neuvillette’s words become tangent-adjacent.

“Not everything is as it seems,” he assures you. “Around a week ago, the worker ventured into the back, desperately searching for one of their superiors. The higher-up in question had assigned them a task, and afterwards, they proceeded to disappear for weeks on end. When looking for their manager, the worker discovered the truth of the facility.”

Your breath hitches in anticipation.

“Put simply, the entire drink production operation is a deception. The company’s real purpose is to produce a rare variety of poison. Fortunately, we managed to procure a sample of it, and when tested, it was found to be identical to the very substance used to assassinate the victim of your case.”

Although you want to correct Neuvillette, you hold your tongue. There’s no point in getting off-track.

“So you want me to help you find out who put the poison in the bottle?” you ask.

Neuvillette nods. “We could have simply paid a visit to the Fortress of Meropide and interrogated you from there, but I thought you would appreciate a little freedom and control over your own destiny. Besides that, I know you’re competent, and the rest of the investigation could greatly benefit from your assistance.”

“Is that really all there is to it? I’m sure lots of people out here were against the idea of letting me roam free for fear of their own safety, so it must have been quite a challenge to get me out in the first place,” you scoff. “If my comfort was the only factor in play, then you would have simply taken the easy way out and questioned me in prison to appease everyone.”

For a moment, Neuvillette hesitates. Transitory silence fills the air before being fragmented into crystalline shards of dissonant revelation that cause goosebumps to grace the surface of your skin.

“Your intuition is as sharp as ever,” he sighs. Suddenly, he looks all too exhausted, and you begin to realize how hard he fought to earn you your temporary freedom. “All the citizens of Fontaine believe that the judgment of the Oratrice Mechanique D’analyse Cardinale is perfect, flawless in its very nature. However, after your sentencing, doubt started to circulate, and I found myself among those who questioned the outcome of the case. It felt as though the full truth had not been revealed to us yet, and your punishment was ordained solely by a hasty collection of shaky facts gathered through a rushed investigation. It was entirely… unjust… the opposite of what Fontaine stands for.”

“There it is. You’re doing this all in the name of what’s right, as usual.”

You’re not sure what you were expecting Neuvillette to say. Perhaps you wanted him to tell you that he would never lose faith in you, his once dearly-beloved. Or maybe you were wishing with every fibre of your being that he would simply say he still cared and wanted you back.

But no, he’s Neuvillette.

Above all, he is fair.

He is justice.

The gazes of everyone in the interrogation room seem to burn with the light of a thousand stars, their pressuring radiance serving as an instrument of truth — a way to seek sincere answers to any questions that are posed. You shrink under their phosphorescence, feeling insignificant as the demands of all the officials in the room coalesce.

Before you stands Neuvillette, a few guards, and a couple members of the Marechaussee Phantom. You recognize the latter two as personal friends of the victim — people with personal stakes in the case.

“Do you remember who gave you the bottle?” a melusine inquires.

You force yourself to take a deep breath in, oxygen feeling like the sweetest ambrosia as you try to calm yourself. It’s funny. The small creature is at most half your size, potentially even less, yet you’re the one who feels intimidation well up in the pit of your stomach like the ebb and flow of an evening tide.

“A man named Gabriel, I think? He handed me the bottle while I was walking around and asked me to pass it around for him because he was busy running other supplies around the party.”

“That seems to line up with the records from the trial,” Neuvillette muses, flipping through his documents, “but when we investigated, we found no trace of such an individual, which leads us to believe that they utilized an alias and a disguise to conceal their true identity.”

You have enough restraint to hold back a groan. Here we go again with all the complexities.

“The bottle was screwed shut and completely full before you poured the victim a glass of juice, correct?” The melusine continues their questioning, meeting your eyes with a gaze composed of molten tourmaline.

“Yes,” you confirm. “Doesn’t that just make me look more guilty though? Clearly the poison couldn’t have been in the drink because the bottle hadn’t been unsealed yet, so the court deemed that the only logical conclusion was that I slipped something into the victim’s drink in the split second where nobody was looking.”

The melusine sighs. “With the emerging evidence, we’ve come up with a new theory. If the person responsible for the murder truly wasn’t you, then perhaps the actual perpetrator had a different means of mixing the toxic substance with the beverage. Keep in mind, the poison manufacturer is also a drink manufacturer.”

You pause for a moment, a frown etching itself into your features. You’re starting to see where this is going, but you don’t quite understand the big picture yet. “Elaborate, please.”

Neuvillette takes over. “If our new running theory is correct, then this is how the timeline of events occurred. The suspect was likely an authority figure at the aforementioned drink company, or at the very least, they were relatively close with someone who had power there. In order to throw off the investigation, they managed to spike the beverage before it was sealed in the factory. By doing this, they falsely led us to believe that the poison was poured into the cup instead of into the bottle, thereby alleviating the manufacturer of any suspicion.”

Oh. Suddenly everything is beginning to make a lot more sense. As each string of evidence begins to fall into place, a tapestry of truth is woven. At long last, an alternate story is starting to replace the false narrative that had been in circulation at the time of the case’s unraveling.

“It worked,” you breathe out. “Nobody even bothered to check the contents of the bottle because they were so focused on who was close enough to sneak something into the victim’s cup in the brief moment between the pouring of the drink and the first sip.”

“And for that I must apologize,” Neuvillette sighs, a thousand unspoken regrets lacing his tone. “Our investigation was not thorough enough, and this time, I do not intend to allow any more injustices to befall you.”

As you peer into Neuvillette’s eyes, you catch sight of sincerity manifesting in their depths, each glint of violaceous luminosity conveying a silent promise to protect you. At that moment, you’re sure that Neuvillette believes you were nothing more than an innocent bystander entangled in a web of schemes. Even if the rest of the world is still against you, at least you have him.

“Thank you. I’ll try my best to help you as much as I can.” You finally relent and decide that perhaps it’s time to adopt a policy of compliance; now that you’re sure your intentions all align, you feel ready to work with Neuvillette without reservations.

“Permission to share what we found out about the bottle?” the melusine from before interrupts your moment with Neuvillette, your transient flash of bliss disappearing within a blink. You can’t blame them, as your main priority right now is getting to the bottom of things.

Neuvillette nods, wordlessly indicating his approval.

“As you may know, we took in all items related to the investigation that day. The bottle of beverage was among them. We recently tested the liquid inside, and as expected, there were traces of poison mixed with the drink. It’s worth noting that the drink itself is the same one produced by the suspicious facility we received a report about recently.”

“So I’ve almost been proven entirely innocent?” You can’t resist the urge to ask, the idea of being pardoned after being assumed guilty for so long a saccharine respite.

“Yes, as long as we can apprehend the real criminals and get them to confess to their crimes, you’ll be free,” the melusine confirms. “Fortunately, the worker and the contents of the bottle have led us to the perfect place to start our second inspection — the factory.”

Not even a day later, you rise bright and early to look into the manufacturer with Neuvillette. As the suspect framed in a murder linked to the factory’s poison, your reappearance above ground is bound to set off some red flags in the minds of those who helped orchestrate the entire ordeal. Consequently, you don an uncomfortable disguise while Neuvillette simply plans on masquerading around the place as himself.

It’s ironic. Neuvillette, the renowned Iudex of Fontaine, can roam without fear of interference as his genuine self. Meanwhile, you, a mere nobody, are forced to adorn yourself with layers of obscurities, masking every aspect of your identity.

The contrast between your situations is almost amusing, but you can’t bring yourself to laugh. Even as silken strands of opulent golden sunlight grace your skin, sending a rush of warmth through your body, you can’t help but tremble. The stakes are high, and the possibility of being discovered is distressing to an extreme.

“Shall I go over the narrative one last time?” Neuvillette asks you as your destination seems to grow larger and larger. The grey stone that the building is forged of is reminiscent of the colour of storm clouds — ominous and foreboding.

“Wouldn’t hurt to,” you mumble, willing yourself to stop shivering immediately. You’ll draw even more attention to yourself if you continue to shake like ultramarine ripples on the surface of a turbulent lake.

“Fontaine’s food and drink products have been suffering a decline in quality lately,” Neuvillette states, “and we are here today to perform a health inspection. Although the Iudex is typically not involved with investigating such trivial matters, the issue has become profound. The lives of several Fontainians have already been jeopardized, so in an attempt to prevent any further tragedies, I have decided to personally step in alongside my assistant.”

You hum absentmindedly, still distracted by your nerves. It feels as though permafrost has infused itself with your soul, as you continue to quiver despite all your attempt to ground yourself. “Compelling,” you manage to force out.

You’re drawn back to reality by Neuvillette’s next actions. To your horror, his familiarity with your emotions due to your shared history is your detriment. Before you can process what’s happening, he takes your hand in his. His gentle grip is soothing, and it serves as a much-needed reminder that you’re in this together.

“No matter what happens, I will be by your side,” he reassures you.

For a second, it feels like you’re back in the past. Everything is fine between you and Neuvillette, and you can still trust him unconditionally. Although your relationship has deteriorated now, you find that his presence still brings you a sense of comfort.

Perhaps some sentiments are simply meant to endure forevermore.

There’s nothing remarkable about the inside of the factory at first glance. As expected, typical assembly lines are present within the vicinity to ensure that every bottle is assembled and packaged in an efficient manner. On the surface, nothing seems out-of-the-ordinary.

Your tour guide is friendly and welcoming, not intimidated in the slightest by Neuvillette’s regal presence. Although his appearance garners a few curious glances from the employees you pass by, no one is outright alarmed.

“So as you can see, our humble facility does indeed live up to all the health and safety regulations mandated by Fontainian law,” your guide concludes as your mundane tour draws to a close.

In all honesty, you’ve learned nothing even remotely useful. However, you refuse to leave empty-handed. As such, you decide to make an impulsive decision — a choice that will perhaps cast suspicion upon you, but if everything goes well, you could obtain crucial evidence pertaining to the case.

“We haven’t seen the back of the factory yet,” you muse. “Is there something you’re trying to hide from us? Mold, perhaps?” you pause for dramatic effect, trying your best to play it up. All you can do is desperately pray that your acting skills are enough to convince the tour guide you’re being genuine. “Or maybe an insect infestation.”

A laugh slips past the tour guide’s lips, piercing the awkward atmosphere with a timbre and articulation far too forced to indicate any sort of amusement. No, the guide is nervous, which means something is definitely off. You just need to gather concrete evidence of the misdemeanours being conducted behind the scenes of a grand diversion — something that means more than a simple vial of poison hailing from an unknown origin brought to you by a worker.

“Oh, my superiors typically prefer privacy,” the guide continues to chuckle, a slight hint of anxiety permeating his tone. “There are lots of important meetings held in the back, and they’re not the most fond of disturbances.”

One scrutinizing glance from Neuvillette is all it takes to send the guard reeling. Eyes swimming with delicate lilac narrow, any hint of gentleness fading like the brilliance of wilting petals.

“But I’m sure they can make an exception for our most honoured guests.” Swiftly, the guide makes his way over to the door leading to the back, pulling it open and gesturing for both you and Neuvillette to pass through.

Yet again, you find that you’re met with a sight that’s mediocre at finest. There’s nothing extremely telling about the meeting rooms you’re led through. However, as you wander through the winding corridors and desolate hallways of the surprisingly large area, you spot it — a sizable wardrobe sitting within what feels like the hundredth meeting room you’ve passed through.

Like everything else in this strange place, there’s nothing off about the furnishing upon initial inspection, but after a few moments of careful consideration, you note that it’s far too sumptuous to be in a place like this. It’s horribly out-of-place, a polished oak eyesore amongst the cool-toned decorations within the room.

As you share a look with Neuvillette, you can see that he’s having similar thoughts. At some point in time, someone moved the wardrobe into the room, likely to conceal something. Taking a closer look is essential, but first you need to find a way to distract the guide.

“Excuse me,” you interrupt the guide’s tangent. “Is there a bathroom anywhere nearby?”

Within a matter of minutes, both you and Neuvillette are escorted over to the nearest bathroom. You enter the room and lock the door. Although you haven’t had an opportunity to discuss a plan with Neuvillette due to the prying ears stationed right next to the two of you, you know what he’ll do next. You’re sure he understands you well enough to know that what you need at the moment is a diversion.

Sure enough, your silent pleas are answered as Neuvillette walks a few steps away from the bathroom door, his footsteps thrumming against the frigid ground as a percussive background to the eerie soundtrack that seems to flood the entire factory.

“Is that an insect?” he inquires.

You hear a rush of frenzied steps, ones that you can distinctly differentiate from Neuvillette’s. That must be the guide.

“Where?” the guide’s voice rings out.

You hear the soft rustle of clothing as the guide supposedly leans over in order to take a closer look. Then, a loud bang shatters the quietude into jagged shards of chaos. You take it as your sign to open the bathroom door and sneak off quietly.

“Ah, forgive me. I was mistaken,” you hear Neuvillette’s voice fade into the distance.

The labyrinth of passages is difficult to navigate, but thankfully your memory is sufficient enough to guide you back along the route from whence you came. In a matter of minutes, you’re back at the wardrobe, scrambling to unveil every enigmatic secret hiding behind its prosaically plain exterior.

Common sense tells you to simply open it first, and sure enough, you find that the back of the furnishing has been hollowed out in order to form a passageway leading to an unknown location. Although you’re nervous, moving forwards is the only way you’re going to make any progress.

You force yourself to confront the mysterious tunnel, heading into its depths in order to collect the next piece of information you need to fully unravel the identity of the true killer.

This is for justice, you tell yourself. Begrudgingly, you also find thoughts of it’s what Neuvillette would do invading your mind.

When you finally step into a mundane office space, you feel as though you can breathe again. The daze slowly begins to subside, and in its wake, you find rationality once more.

Time is of the essence, so you decide to head over to the singular desk stationed in the room. On its surface is a collection of scattered papers, some frayed and others in mint condition. Immediately, you make a dash for the yellowed pages, scanning each one quickly before setting it down.

The documents seem to detail transactions between the company and those buying from their hidden business in the back. Each one is stamped with a date and a signature from the buyer stating that they will not (under any circumstance) reveal where the product they purchased came from. Perfect — all you have to do is find a file that seems to align with the relative time period where your crime took place.

Fortunately for you, the once-daunting plethora of papers is actually a far more meager pile than you had initially thought. Perhaps not many people know about the nefarious schemes that lie behind the factory’s fabricated façade, or maybe humans are simply sensible enough to avoid purchasing poison.

You search urgently, constantly looking over your shoulder and hoping, praying, to any archon listening to keep your deeds obscured and unwritten. However, through it all, you’re hindered by the fact that you have to actively try not to move things around too much. If someone returns to see that objects have shifted on their own, they’ll surely be on high alert.

After what feels like eons of blindly flipping through anything you could get your hands on, your eyes settle on a splotch of achromatic ink bleeding into canary. It’s a familiar date — around a week before your entire life fell apart. You grab the paper, and with one last scan of the other files, you’re nearly certain that it details the transaction of the very poison that broke down fate’s last defences, landing you in a prison you were never supposed to step foot in.

With haste, you stuff the document into your pocket and set off back to Neuvillette.

“We used to frequent that restaurant often,” Neuvillette muses as you wander the streets together.

Your tour had concluded around half an hour ago, and now you’re on your way back to the Palais Mermonia. Although you assured Neuvillette that you had obtained some useful evidence earlier through words whispered in the secrecy of a hushed voice, you know that you can’t discuss anything openly for fear of nosey bystanders — or worse, the criminals themselves — hearing.

You had taken a long time to find what you needed, so consequently it had been difficult to throw off any lingering doubt harboured by your guide. However, thanks to Neuvillette’s quick thinking, you were able to come up with an alibi.

The whole “bathroom” ruse had simply been a test — a plan to conduct your thorough inspection of the facility in an area typically skipped over, even on the most comprehensive tours. You had chimed in and said that the company passed with flying colours, and at that the guide simply beamed and continued leading you through meeting rooms.

Your reminiscence is interrupted as Neuvillette speaks again.

“Perhaps we should take a detour and visit,” he offers. “You must be famished after a day of hard work.”

You freeze, and your body tenses against your will. Isn’t it more important at the moment that you safely transport your evidence back to Neuvillette’s office? You tilt your head at Neuvillette curiously, as if to pose a question. Why are we wasting time?

“Trust me,” he leans in to whisper. You can feel his breath tickling your ear, yet you don’t flinch. It’s a feeling you had grown accustomed to years ago, and even now, having him close to you feels detestably right. “It will seem more like a casual outing if we make a leisurely stop along the way back. If we’re seen rushing back to the Palais Mermonia with a sense of urgency in our stride, then those around us will surely conclude that something is wrong.”

Neuvillette’s reasoning is sound, so despite your aching feet and your desire to simply get away from the cacophony of symphonic noise surrounding you, you allow him to pull you towards the restaurant. As you walk in, you find that all your senses are enveloped by the familiarity of deja vu. The pleasant lighting and floral arrangements begin to pop up in your memory, and the ornate furnishings that adorn the place are the same as ever.

A part of you finds that you missed this. You missed your simple traditions with Neuvillette.

The two of you are seated the moment you step foot in the restaurant. You can’t seem to recall if the staff had ever been this efficient before, but something tells you this is a special circumstance.

“Monsieur Neuvillette,” a waiter greets the Iudex as you both take your seats. You find that you recognize him. “It’s been a while since you’ve been here with company, much less someone other than [name].”

Right. No one recognizes you because you’re still clad in your stupid disguise.

“Ah, good evening, Pierre,” Neuvillette responds. “My companion here is a newly-hired assistant. They have been working tirelessly all day, so I decided to treat them to a meal. Although they are not [name], I hope you will be able to treat them with the same hospitality.”

A frenzy of nods follows Neuvillette’s words.

“What can I get for you today?” Pierre frantically asks you. As usual, people are eager to please Neuvillette, his position of power ever-pertinent within the recesses of their minds.

You scan the menu, and a rush of nostalgia overwhelms you for what feels like the millionth time in the past few days. There are a variety of dishes listed in neat loopy handwriting, each cursive word causing recollections to ebb and flow within your memory. However, your eyes settle on one menu item in particular — a former personal favourite of yours. Feeling satisfied, you decide to place your order. As you speak, you notice shock dance across the waiter’s visage.

“Is something wrong?” you question Pierre, scrutinizing his dumbfounded expression. If you could, you would dissect the meaning behind every line etched into his features — examine the anatomy of his curious stare.

Pierre shakes his head with fervour. “Nothing’s wrong, per se…” He trails off, the aquamarine lakes that comprise his irises fogging up with a shine unique to someone who’s reminiscing. “It’s just… that dish is one of our least popular, but [name] used to order it all the time. Nowadays, the only person who really consumes it regularly is Monsieur Neuvillette himself.”

Tension begins to materialize within the previously-lighthearted air of the restaurant. Suddenly, the atmosphere feels heavy as the implications of Pierre’s statement sink in. Once upon a time, you had offered Neuvillette a bite of your food when dining here, and although he didn’t mean to insult it, he did say that he understood why it was unpopular. In other words, he indirectly insinuated that he didn’t like the taste of the dish.

Perhaps you’re overly-optimistic, but a part of you begins to speculate that Neuvillette only willingly ordered the menu item regularly because of the memories associated with it. It’s a shockingly sweet revelation. Despite your distance over the years, he’s still tried his best to keep you in his heart.

Bittersweet affection gnaws at your heart, chipping off pieces of garnet in a cataclysmic heartbreak. As if you don’t already feel bad enough about your attempted erasure of his existence from your memory during your time in prison.

You zone out as Neuvillette places his order. All you manage to catch is the fact that he doesn’t ask for a serving of your favourite meal this time around.

So it really was all for you.

As Pierre walks away, you turn to study Neuvillette, your gaze sharp.

“What was that all about?”

For a second, Neuvillette stills, collecting his thoughts. Then, he makes eye contact, a stare composed of crepuscular shades of amethyst.

“I must admit, my heart longed for you throughout the years we spent apart,” Neuvillette confesses.

Darn it. Why can’t he be normal for once?

Your heartbeat, once a steady rhythm, begins to become erratic. It pounds in your ears with an unmatched urgency, as if its ultimate goal is simply to leap out of your chest and retreat back into your ex-lover’s gentle grasp.

“I see,” you mumble, beginning to feel awkward.

Silence envelopes your own personal world with Neuvillette as you wait for the waiter to come back with your food. Neither of you can bring yourselves to keep the conversation going. Any small talk would seem disingenuous at this point, and the mere idea of pressing on with the previous topic is enough to make you shudder.

Thankfully, Pierre is surprisingly quick (although that may have something to do with the fact that you’re dining with the Iudex himself), and you find that you’re able to dig into your meal to distract yourself in no time.

It tastes the same as you remember. In fact, nothing has really changed, even with the passage of time. Out of everything in the entire restaurant, you find that you and Neuvillette have undergone the most profound transformations, your once-loving relationship eroding into a confusing mess of broken trust, dubious betrayals, and yearning.

(At the end of the night, you find that a miniscule ember of love remains alive in your heart — a weak crimson glow beginning to ignite once more.)

The journey back to the Palais Mermonia is tranquil, the night air soothing the anxious thoughts plaguing your mind. Stars beam down at you from above, shedding brilliant silvery light over the entirety of the nation. Likewise, the moon guides your path back to the grand building where you wrap up your investigation for the day.

Upon entering Neuvillette’s office, you immediately beeline for his desk, pulling the document that took you a painstaking amount of effort to obtain out and setting it on the polished wooden surface. Curiously, eyes the shade of dulled anemone petals scan the contents of the page.

Neuvillette reads quickly, taking in all the information contained within the file in no time. After a lifetime of poring over records, he’s become accustomed to processing critical points of knowledge efficiently. However, he freezes as his gaze settles on the signature at the bottom of the page.

“What’s up?” you ask him.

You’ve never seen Neuvillette quite so shaken up, his composure torn away from him momentarily. In the moment, all that matters to you is ensuring that he’s okay. Before you realize it, you find yourself reaching out to him, an evanescent flash back to the past in a present that feels so far-removed. A few days ago, you never would have dreamed of comforting him, much less allowing him to make any sort of contact with you. Now, however, you’re beginning to unwind all the hasty misconceptions you had harboured for years on end.

You’ve come to understand that despite being worlds apart, you were still at the forefront of all Neuvillette’s sentiments throughout the past few years. He’s cared about you from afar beyond simply spying on your life through Wriothesley for all this time. It’s time you finally start treating him right.

To your relief, he doesn’t refuse your hand. Instead, he intertwines your fingers as he continues to gape at midnight upon ivory, reading the buyer’s name over and over. Finally, the calm returns to Neuvillette, his vulnerability dissipating after what feels like eons (in actuality, it’s no more than ten seconds).

“Apologies,” Neuvillette says, his voice as steady as ever. “Seeing the signature of the buyer… confirmed a suspicion of mine. However, this revelation is not necessarily a thrilling one. In fact, I would say that it is rather… disappointing and tragic.”

You tilt your head slightly, wonder swirling through your thoughts in spirals of erratic questions. “Why’s that?”

The sigh that Neuvillette heaves out is perhaps the most dramatically-depressing noise that’s ever left his lips. Creases line his forehead, marring porcelain skin with lines that convey concern and dismay.

“This is the name of one of our current Marechaussee Phantom members,” Neuvillette breathes out. “As a matter of fact, he was the one who assumed the position of the victim after their death. In addition to this, he was the only member who was intentionally not informed of the dealings of the deceptive factory. I withheld information from him because I had my own suspicions. I fear that my judgement was correct. If I had informed him that we were looking into the facility, these records would have been destroyed long before we stepped foot inside the building.”

“Wait a second! That sounds way too suspicious,” you say, your voice coming out slightly more aggressive than you want it to. You flinch as your tone reaches your ears. “Why didn’t anyone look into them or at least suspect them?”

“He was the deceased’s lover.” Your breath hitches as Neuvillette continues his explanation. “His grief after learning of the death was immense, so much so that no one could dare to consider the possibility that…”

“That he was the culprit,” you finish. “No one wanted to believe the lovers could betray each other.” You nearly scoff as you realize the irony of you saying this to your very own ex.

Neuvillette nods as you exhale tiredly. Everything is finally coming together after years. At long last, you’ve found another candidate for the possible murderer — the real deal this time.

“I had my doubts about him,” Neuvillette mumbles. “Although tears serve as an effective distractor, insincerity shines brighter than even the most dramatic of theatrics. I have never revealed this to anyone, but besides his qualifications and honouring the memory of our fallen comrade, one of the reasons I assigned him to his current position was to maintain a close watch over him at all times. Despite the precautions I took… I had hoped with all my heart that I would not be proven right.”

“And yet you were, so what now,” you inquire. “Do we just apprehend him and call it a day?”

“I would be pleased if it were that easy,” Neuvillette smiles wryly, “but there are many who would still be unwilling to trust our claims without further evidence. Think about it — would you really want to believe that a trusted member of the Marechaussee Phantom is a cold-blooded murderer? The very notion is inappropriately ironic.”

As Neuvillette’s reasoning sinks in, you nod along. What he’s saying makes sense, but you’re unsure of how you should proceed from here. To your relief, Neuvillette has a solution, as always.

“Considering the fact that the perpetrator has insider information, he’s already aware that we are currently revisiting the case,” Neuvillette reiterates. “As such, his main priority at the moment is to cement your status as the real culprit behind the crime. All he needs is an ample opportunity.”

This is getting far too complicated for your liking.

“In order to catch him in the act, we’ll organize another banquet. It will be the perfect opportunity for him to frame you for another poisoning.”

Neuvillette’s logic is hard to follow, and as you pause to think about it, every thread of reasoning becomes lost in a jumble of nonsensical speculation.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” you mutter. “He’s not stupid enough to assume that I’d poison someone right after obtaining freedom. That would look too hasty, so foul play would be suspected immediately.”

“And that’s why I think he’ll target you with his poison,” Neuvillette interjects.

Your frown deepens as his claims become more and more bizarre.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Let me explain everything,” Neuvillette starts. “In order to connect the two cases to each other, the perpetrator will likely use the same weapon again. However, this time his target will be you. As you pointed out, if he harms anyone else, it will instantaneously appear as though someone is eager to falsely accuse you of committing crimes. By non-fatally poisoning you, he can claim that you willingly drank your own weapon in an attempt to throw off suspicion. He can point to the similarities in the compositions of the substances used in both cases to frame you as the one true mastermind behind everything.”

The pieces finally begin to coalesce in your mind, forming a shaky plan that hinges on oceans of luck and protection from Celestia above. It’s risky, but it may be your only chance to set things straight.

“Your great plan is just based on endangering me in order to collect a sample of whatever that person is going to give me?”

“I understand that it may be difficult for you to trust me entirely after everything,” Neuvillette sighs, “but if you agree to my proposition, then I promise I will personally ensure that no harm will come to you.”

After the events of the past two days, you know where your heart wants to stand. In spite of this, your mind screams at you to reject Neuvillette’s idea. You’re scared — terrified. The thought of being let down by Neuvillette again induces a fear in you like no other. Despite it all, you understand that you’ll never truly heal if you don’t at least try to give him another chance, so ultimately, you decide to comply.

“Alright, let’s start party planning.”

Weeks of preparation lead up to the big evening, every passing day a countdown to a finale to end all finales. On top of gathering supplies, arranging catering, and decorating, you’re also drilled on how to act when the moment of danger eventually arrives. You train relentlessly to ensure that Neuvillette’s scheme will go off without a hitch.

All your tireless practices pay off. As you walk into the banquet venue, hand-in-hand with Neuvillette, you find that you’re far less nervous than you had been when the idea was initially proposed. The kaleidoscopic butterflies that once fluttered around in the pit of your stomach have stilled, and you’re utterly calm — exactly what you need to pull this off.

Despite assisting in the planning of the party, you still find yourself awed by the extravagance of it all. You’re not quite sure if Neuvillette has come up with an occasion for celebration yet, as he had initially stated that it was a surprise on the invitations he had sent out. However, you’re sure that no matter its grandeur, the sheer opulence of everything around you is more than sufficient.

Aureate accents adorn nearly every item in the room, and the crystal chandeliers above gleam as though they’re catching moonlight from the midnight sky. The music that envelopes you is warm, each melodious note ringing out in a sweet droning of strings. It’s a perfect backtrack for an elegant waltz.

Most noteworthy of all, however, are the guests that surround you. Not a single person is dressed less than exceptionally. Sparkles, gems, and sequins are commonplace here despite being everyday rarities. Shades of seafoam, cobalt, turquoise, and periwinkle surround you as if the fabric of every guest’s clothing is a component of a lavish ocean of luxury.

Everyone around you dons elaborate masks that obscure only a portion of their faces. It’s a masquerade — a way for you to conceal your true identity from innocent civilians without appearing odd.

You’re quickly dragged out of your thoughts as Neuvillette leads you into the crowd. Everyone is swirling around in a series of intricate steps, twirling to the song that’s resonating within the idyllic air of the room. If not for Neuvillette’s tight grasp on your wrist, you fear you would have been swept away by a tide of partygoers.

“Do you recall how to waltz?” he asks, leaning in closer to ensure that you’re able to hear him over the unpleasant discordance surrounding you from all sides.

“Why does it matter?” you shoot back. Although you’ve opened up more and more to Neuvillette with each passing day, you’re not quite sure you want to dance with him just yet. “It’s not like this is necessary.”

“If we simply sit on the sidelines and observe everything, our suspect is bound to notice,” Neuvillette explains, his voice hushed. “Their eyes will be on you all night.”

The words send a shiver down your spine.

“So do your best to enjoy the moment and act as though you’re simply here to rejuvenate yourself.” Neuvillette pulls you closer, yet he leaves enough room to ensure that you’re not outright uneasy. “Is this arrangement sufficiently comfortable?”

You nod shakily as words seem to stick to the sides of your throat. It’s as though saccharine honey is sugar coating everything, its viscous properties slowing both your lips and your mind.

With your consent, Neuvillette guides you through the steps of a graceful dance. Although he moves with tact, practiced sophistication, you’re the absolute antithesis. Throughout your years underground, you never saw the opportunity to waltz, and as such, you’ve forgotten every intricacy of the choreographies you used to run through with Neuvillette. Thankfully, he keeps you in line, correcting every misstep you make with gentle guidance.

You find that the tenderness with which he handles you is something you’ve missed. Even now with contrasting feelings warring in the depths of your conflicted mind, Neuvillette’s arms are comfort manifested in a physical form. At the end of the day, he’s still home to you, and maybe he always will be. No one else will ever be capable of calming you down right before a criminal attempts to poison you.

For once, you decide to take Neuvillette’s advice. You forget all the duress of the current moment, and instead, you allow yourself to savour the warmth of Neuvillette’s embrace. So much for not being sure about dancing with him.

Time becomes an anomaly. Although each moment seems to slow, drawing out in a montage of careful movements, the dance is over before you know it.

Neuvillette leads you over to your table, and you take a seat atop the rose-coloured cushions of a plush chair, allowing a cream tablecloth to drape over your legs. As you sit down, you feel him tap your shoulder. He’s pointing to a man clad in a striped grey suit, his mask adorned with midnight blue stitching and matching feathers.

It’s your culprit, Francis, as you’ve learned. You don’t intend on allowing him to get away this time.

Patiently, you wait for him to approach you and Neuvillette. You already know he’ll walk up to you with the intention of ensnaring you within his trap. However, you’re two steps ahead in this twisted game of chess.

Sure enough, a grating voice rings out behind you before long.

“Hello, Monsieur Neuvillette.” Predictably, you’re met with the face of your prime suspect as you whip your head around. “And [name].” Right. He knows exactly who you are. Perhaps your imagination is weaving deceptions from preconceived notions, but you swear that you can hear a hint of a sneer in Francis’ words.

He spends some time chatting with Neuvillette, his dialogue consisting of flattery and exaggerated compliments. You’re not sure what your suspect believes he’s accomplishing, but a frown dances across your features as you continue listening in on the conversation. Any average person would be able to detect the deceit in his sickly-sweet tone, so the fact that he’s trying to utilize such a tactic on Neuvillette of all people astounds you.

You can’t help but wince as he makes blunder after blunder, your frustration welling with every sentence that comes out of his mouth. Finally, when it all becomes too much for you, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

“Neuvillette, I’m parched,” you complain. “Wanna go get something to drink?” Your own voice makes you cringe. Note to self: learn how to act in a compelling manner if you manage to make it out of this absolute disaster.

“It would be my pleasure to accompany you, but unfortunately I must remain here. Although tonight is a night of leisure, I still have matters to discuss with certain individuals, and they are expecting me here.” You find it fortunate that Neuvillette’s performance is more convincing than your own, his mannerisms and timbre completely natural.

“Oh, don’t worry about them, Monsieur Neuvillette,” Francis says. “Tell you what. I can bring them over to the drinks table for you and give them a few recommendations. I can promise you that I am an expert when it comes to this kind of stuff. My brother owns a drink company.”

This time you’re sure your mind isn’t distorting reality. The smile that he flashes at you is downright devious, assuring you that Neuvillette had been right about his schemes all along.

You take a deep breath before eagerly accepting his offer.

“Sure. Thank you so much for joining me.”

The walk over is silent, Francis’ bright persona dimming the moment you step away from Neuvillette. Instead, fractals of glacial tension seem to settle over the atmosphere, frosting everything over with a hostile air.

When you reach the beverages, you immediately reach for a cup. However, Francis waves you down.

“Allow me. I insist.” He picks up a cup for you, placing it down in front of the selection of drinks. Before you even have the opportunity to voice your preferences, Francis picks up a bottle, inspecting it thoroughly before unscrewing the lid. “This delightful beverage was produced by my brother. You simply must have a taste.”

For a brief second, Francis obscures your vision of the cup with his back. His hand traces a path to the front pocket of his suit. You know what he’s doing, so you don’t bother attempting to sneak a glance. It’s futile.

As he hands you the drink, you thank him politely. You’re careful not to spill a single drop of the liquid as you make your way back to your seat. When you finally sit down next to Neuvillette again, you continue bantering, each second ticking down and burning away into oblivion. The more time you waste the closer you draw to your goal. People are on their way to test the contents of the spiked beverage at this very moment.

Despite your attempts to simply wait it out, a problem arises when Francis begins to pester you.

“Go ahead,” he urges you. “Try the drink and let me know your opinion. I’m eager to take notes for my brother!”

In response, you shake your head with fervour. Sampling poison is just about the last item on your bucket list. As you continuously refuse, Francis begins to become irritated, his words beginning to crescendo in volume.

Neuvillette’s crystalline lilac gaze begins to grow concerned. Subtle moonbeams glint within his irises, reflecting his worry for your wellbeing. However, his eyes continue to hold an unuttered promise — an oath to ensure that no harm befalls you whatsoever.

That’s what comforts you the most when Francis finally snaps, lunging at you as he jabs a finger into your face. As he begins to speak, his tone is accusatory more than anything.

“You set me up, didn’t you?” he snarls. “The two of you,” Francis glances back at Neuvillette, who’s silently watching the entire exchange. “You’re not drinking the beverage because you knew I’d poisoned it all along.”

“Mister Francis, I would advise you to remain silent,” Neuvillette speaks, his tone authoritative. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in court of law.”

Unfortunately for Francis, he doesn’t take Neuvillette’s advice seriously. Instead, he’s hellbent on exacting his revenge. You begin to realize his philosophy is one that entails dragging others down with him when he pulls out an enchantingly-gorgeous translucent vial from his pocket.

It’s deceptively beautiful, its design making it seem as though it should contain nothing less than the finest divine nectar. However, you know how deadly the contents of the glass tube really are, and as such, a sense of panic begins to overtake your senses, overwhelming your head with countless scenarios where everything goes horrendously wrong.

Every diverging path vanishes into nothingness the moment Neuvillette steps in. A swift burst of aquatic energy fills your vision, and a cascade of pristine dewy droplets of water splatters your face as you close your eyes. When it’s over at long last, you glance around to find that Francis is on the ground, drenched and shivering as Neuvillette bends down to collect the vial he had been carrying.

“This will make for good evidence,” he notes, setting it down on the table alongside the drink.

It doesn’t take long for your backup to arrive after Neuvillette knocks Francis out. In fact, the timing of the poison-testers is a little too serendipitous to be organic. You’re starting to think that Neuvillette had planned to provoke Francis all along, but you don’t find an opportunity to ask before the team confiscates the drink and the vial to run experiments.

A crowd of onlookers has already begun to congregate, amalgamating in a curious frenzy. Everyone thinks they’re slick, but you can clearly see the way their eyes wander over to Francis’ unmoving form on the ground every so often.

“Follow me,” Neuvillette tells you as he takes off after the forensic team. Someone carries the samples of liquid that have yet to be tested, and a few others grab Francis and haul him off with you. You lose yourself in the winding hallways of the venue, each twist and turn serving only to further discombobulate your frazzled mind.

It feels like forever before you finally reach your destination. It’s quite ordinary in comparison to the sumptuous party occurring outside its doors — each wall a stark and blinding snow white and the lighting sterile and plain.

Francis is set down, and the forensic team promptly begins their investigation. As they labour, you turn to Neuvillette.

“Was it really necessary for you to use so much force when stopping him?” you reprimand him. “I’m grateful, I really am, but I think we attracted a little more attention than we needed.”

Upon hearing your words, Neuvillette chuckles. The sound of his laughter is a sonorous tune that you’ve missed hearing, no matter how much you want to deny it. Your heart races involuntarily.

“I was not intent on leaving your fate up to chance,” he says, sincerity weaving itself into every syllable he speaks. “Although keeping our operation a secret would have been ideal, I wasn’t planning to compromise anyone’s safety in exchange — especially not yours.”

Sometimes you resent Neuvillette for saying the most romantic things without realizing it. Every single rose-tinted word is like a shot to the heart, ensnaring your feelings in crimson threads of love. It’s as if you fall deeper and deeper into oceanic clutches, drowning — suffocating — as the weight of emotions hailing from both the past and present overwhelm you.

“We’re finished,” a member of the team chirps.

You feel the tension in your shoulders alleviate as both you and Neuvillette rush over to take in the results of the investigation.

“The two poison samples match the exact substance that was used all those years ago,” the analyst confirms, presenting you with the conclusions drafted on a sheet of paper. “With all the eyewitness evidence and the fact that he personally confessed to having connections to the very factory that prompted this investigation in the first place, it’s safe to say he won’t be seeing the light of day for a while.”

You breathe out a sigh of relief that you’ve been holding in for weeks. Your name has finally been cleared, and the real threat has been eliminated.

Above all else, justice has prevailed once more.

To your surprise, Neuvillette leads you to the grand stage at the forefront of all the festivities the moment you re-enter the main hall. Despite the pandemonium that had become the most prominent spectacle of the banquet earlier, people have resumed their lighthearted conversations and elegant dancing, swaying to and fro as if the alarming exchange between the Chief Justice and Francis had never occurred in the first place.

As people begin to notice the diminuendo in music and Neuvillette’s presence at the anterior of the room, the chatter gradually begins to die down, diminishing in a steady waning of volume. Eventually, silence consumes all, and you’re reminded of the sheer gravity of the Iudex’s aura alone.

“Greetings, esteemed guests.” The hall amplifies Neuvillette’s voice, each booming word reverberating and echoing off the opulent walls. “I stand before you today to announce a joyous cause for commemoration as well as to clarify the cause behind the commotion that some of you may have witnessed earlier.”

Whispers permeate the crowd as gossip and speculation begin to circulate. However, Neuvillette shuts everything down as he continues.

“The person here by my side today is [name],” gasps ring out in the silence, fragmenting every semblance of false tranquility that exists in the moment. “Yes, the very same [name] that was sentenced to life in the Fortress of Meropide due to suspected misdemeanours that resulted in an egregious death.”

Protests spread like wildfire through the rambunctious group of people gathered in front of you. Flames of disapproval threaten to engulf your entire being, stinging you with a rutilant aggression as you try to tune out everything.

“Silence,” Neuvillette commands. Thankfully, it’s enough to get everyone to settle down. “I apologize. For the past few weeks, I have concealed the true nature of the situation from you all. A while ago, I personally received a report detailing the suspicious activities of a company producing drinks as a front. Their more sinister schemes laid behind the scenes, as they produced toxins and other deadly substances away from the watchful eyes of the authorities. The composition of the poison they created was identical to that of the weapon used in [name]’s case. With this new evidence, we decided to reopen the investigation.”

Yet again, a shocked reaction is elicited from the crowd, and you begin to wonder how many times they’ll collectively gasp before the end of Neuvillette’s speech.

“When we looked into things more thoroughly, we discovered that the true culprit was Francis, a member of our very own Marechaussee Phantom. At the moment, he has been detained and is currently awaiting trial.”

Relief propagates amongst the crowd, blossoming in a pure flourish of unadulterated solace. A few people look at you with pity, each starlit glint of their eyes conveying their woe on your behalf.

Neuvillette waits this time, allowing the partygoers to mutter amongst themselves. When they begin to settle, he moves on to more positive news.

“I would like to thank each and every one of you for taking the time to listen to my rather mundane explanations,” Neuvillette says. “Now for something more lighthearted.”

He gestures for you to take centre stage, and you reluctantly comply, gazing out at the ocean of people surrounding you.

“[Name] has finally been proven innocent, and as such, they will no longer be required to return to the Fortress of Meropide. This feast has been organized in their honour as a celebration of their return as well as an apology for years spent in isolation.”

Chants of your name begin to flood your ears along with cheers and apologies alike. At long last, you’ve been absolved of the burden wrongfully weighing on your shoulders.

“Welcome back,” Neuvillette whispers to you as he intertwines your fingers to help you off stage. “You’re finally home.”

You hum.

“Thank you.”

No one has the ability to predict the future, and fate’s ordainments are always an enigma to even the most omniscient entities that traverse Teyvat. You have no way of knowing how your relationship with Neuvillette will develop with the passage of time — whether it will mend or fade away as the last spotlight upon the very murder case that brought you back together fizzles out. However, you think you’ll take a chance and revel in his proximity for the time being. He’s proven that he still cares immensely over and over again.

Perhaps with enough patience, your seed of hope will bloom and fill the abyss that had once overtaken your heart, transforming it into a garden of romance reborn.

The weight of Neuvillette’s words begins to settle as you realize that yes, you really are home.

Even after a desolate rain of bitterness and sorrow, the feeling of your hand in his is still home — home sweet home.

thank you so much for reading!! sorry for the long wait riko!

#r.archives *ೃ༄#hvntersecretsanta #neuvillette x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #neuvillette x you #genshin imagines #genshin impact imagines #genshin headcanons #genshin fanfic

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tesungs · 1 day ago

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jujutsu kaisen men as different kinds of yandere archetypes — ♡ -> ft gojo, geto, yuta

warnings -> obsessiveness,unhealthy relationships, delusions, kidnapping, stalking

gojo satoru as the overprotective type — ♡

♡ gojo is inclined to protect you; after everything he has been through, he only does what he does to keep you safe.

♡ gojo watches everything you do to an obsessive degree. he has your schedule memorized. from the time you wake up to the time you get off work and even when you go to bed. he even tracks your location throughout the day. He had to put the tracker on your phone while you were sleeping. He didn't want you to freak out about it.

♡ gojo, who cares about you more than anything. who will do anything to keep you safe, even if that means killing someone he deems a danger to you. A customer is rude to you at work; the next day you see them on the news.

♡ gojo, who finally takes you back to his place after so much thought and preparation. "shh, baby. you're safe now; nothing bad will ever happen to you ever again."

geto suguru as the sadistic type — ♡

♡ geto, who spreads rumors and lies about you. so you'll only belong to him. you like a new guy, and he'll make up horrible things about you and spread them around campus, making sure you always run back to him. because he thrives on control and manipulation.

♡ geto, who isolates you from your friends and family. he will convince you that he is the only one who truly cares about you, making you believe that your loved ones are trying to tear you apart. geto will manipulate your emotions and make you feel dependent on him for happiness and security. slowly, he will strip away your support system, leaving you vulnerable and completely under his control.

♡ geto, who will let you escape after he brings you to his place, letting you hope that you're finally free only to catch you once again. he will continue to manipulate and push you to your limits, making you feel trapped and alone.

♡ geto who fucks with your mind and emotions. telling you one thing and then doing another. Breaking down barriers of your mind and body.

yuta okkotsu as the delusonal type — ♡

♡ yuta who twists the interpretation of your relationship. blurring the lines between reality and fiction.

♡ yuta who is so in love with you he'll do anything to make sure your feelings are the same. He'll get rid of anyone in his way.

♡ yuta who creates scenarios in his head, touching himself to the idea of a love where your love is all-consuming. sneaking into your apartment, stealing your panties, and taking your things.

♡ yuta whose obsession with you drives him to do things he has never done before. in his eyes you are the center of the universe, and he will stop at nothing to make sure that you feel the same way.

♡ yuta who follows you around like a lost dog, creeping around every corner. But you are his ultimate prize, his reason for living.

♡ yuta's obsession seems harmless at first, but before you realize the extent of his obsession, it's too late. yuta 's love knows no bounds.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #yandere geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #yandere yuta okkotsu #yuta okkotsu x reader #yandere jujutsu kaisen

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moonylvs · 2 days ago

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— ⋆˙⟡ A Lovely Christmas

Summary: Coming back to your small hometown for Christmas after years in the city doesn't sound very exciting, but the warmth of the town, the smell of cookies and a woman with a delicious wooden scent make you think that maybe Christmas won't be so bad.

Dedicated to @kousanosgf I hope you like it and have a Merry Christmas, xoxo.

Pairing: Sevika x fem!reader

Words: +6k (I lost count, but this is long)

ⓘ Warnings: Mostly fluff, modern au, cliche, a bit of soft!sevika (Someone give this woman a hug), hallmark kind of movie, use of yn once, no proofread, lmk if I miss anything!

Coming back to your hometown was not the way you expected to spend Christmas, but here you were, in that little town where snowfalls were an everyday thing, that little place where everyone knew each other, you didn't know whether to love it or hate it.

In just a week that you had been in that little town you had already been greeted and hugged by half of the population, all telling you “How big you are” and how “much you have changed”, even some old ladies who even if you tried hard you couldn't remember, called you beautiful and said they remembered you as a baby.

You did not consider yourself the most sociable or friendly person, years in the city and a dozen rude people had made you become a rather closed and some would even say bitter, you had to admit that you had lost a little Christmas spirit, not that your small apartment in the big city allowed you to do much, you just put some Christmas decorations on the front door to not feel out of place with the other neighbors.

But other than that, your Christmas the last few years had been boring and lonely, your work consumed most of your time and without many close friends you had no one to spend the holidays with.

So here you were, in that small town, it was all a rushed decision, after years you finally got a well deserved vacation from your job, but the moment they gave you the news you couldn't help but ask yourself, what the fuck do I do now?

You thought about staying at home, rest and sleep as much as you needed, or maybe travel to some extravagant place, you had the savings for that, but at the same time it felt so…empty.

You spent a whole day tossing and turning in bed in your apartment, trying to think of something to do so that your vacation wouldn't become a routine of rolling around in bed and overthinking.

That's when your gaze fell on your bedside table, where there was a picture of your family, when you were just a little girl, you were covered in so many clothes that you were sure you could barely walk, but your smile was pure, full of happiness.

So you thought, why not go back to that place, where there were so many memories, you knew it probably wouldn't be the same, your parents were no longer there to cheer you up in those cold days, you didn't even know if your old friends were still living in that small town or if they had left for the city like you, but at this point you didn't have many options and what better than spending Christmas in a small town where Christmas is such a beloved tradition.

You didn't know at what point you thought it was a good idea to buy so many Christmas decorations and stuff, but here you were, carrying at least a dozen boxes and bags, each one with ornaments, old-fashioned decorations, garlands and you even remembered to buy a ridiculous Christmas sweater.

You could barely stand, maybe everything would be easier if you had brought your car with you, but in that small town everyone was in the habit of walking and your house was not too far from the center of town.

While you were trying to get to your house you couldn't avoid bumping into some people, you didn't remember that there were so many people in the town, but now you were sure that the population had at least doubled.

You were starting to feel tired, you had to admit that it wasn't your best idea to buy all those things knowing that you had to carry them back home.

At this point you felt your legs ache, you were freezing and desperately needed to eat something, for a moment you stood in the middle of the sidewalk, rethinking your life decisions, you were sure that your hands had the marks of the handles of the bags and half of your vision was obstructed by the boxes you were holding.

When one of the bags slipped from your hand it was the final straw, you knew that to pick it up you would have to bend down and first of all your legs hurt, but more importantly, the rest of the stuff would fall out, your eyes closed in frustration, letting out an exaggerated sigh.

Fuck, fuck Christmas, fuck the Christmas spirit and fuck you and your compulsive shopping.

“Need some help, sweetheart?” a voice snapped you out of your thoughts, causing you to open your eyes, though the boxes still obstructed your vision.

“Yeah, thanks” You said quietly, not caring who it was that had spoken to you, you only felt the frustration disappear a little when that person held the boxes that obstructed your vision with ease and handed you the small bag you had dropped, at least you didn't feel like you were carrying weights anymore.

“I didn't remember you liked those ridiculous sweaters” Your gaze lifted suddenly, now recognizing that voice, but above all that scent, of fresh wood.

“Sevika” The name came naturally out of your mouth, without thinking.

The woman smiled slightly as she listened to you, taking some of the bags you were holding as she saw that you still seemed to be having trouble with the weight of them.

“I didn't know you were back in town, I thought you were already a city girl” Sevika said with that typical sarcasm you still remembered, you couldn't help but scoff slightly, you had lost count of how many people in town had said that to you.

“I just came to spend the holidays here, but I forgot how much you walk in this town” You said with some frustration, it was true that the big city was full of cabs and means of transportation that made your life easier, while here, most if not all, walked.

There were only a few people who owned a car, among them, sevika.

“Do you want me to give you a ride home? I see walking is no longer your thing” Sevika said with amusement, although her offer was sincere. You could still remember the years when both were young and would walk all over town, buying Christmas cookies and running errands for your parents.

“Yeah, I could really use a ride, I'm freezing” You admitted with amusement, letting sevika guide you to her car across the street.

You had to admit you weren't surprised at the ease with which sevika carried your stuff, she was always taller and stronger than the rest, you had to blame her parents' job ( probably hers now) for this.

Sevika placed the boxes and bags on the back seats of the truck, before opening the door for you with a smirk, to which you rolled your eyes.

That truck was the same one you remembered seeing as a child, the one that Sevika's father drove around the small town, bringing Christmas trees and firewood to all the residents, you had to say that although it was old it was in very good condition.

“Your family still sells firewood and Christmas trees?” You asked calmly the moment Sevika started the car, she didn't even bother to ask if you were still living in the same place, she knew you were.

“Yeah, my father passed the business down to me a few years ago, he said he was too old to keep working, but I think he really just wanted me to have a job and stop going from bar to bar” Sevika explained with a smile, you didn't doubt it would have been like that, when they were young Sevika was always the topic of conversation in town, some older men even said she would be a problem, but here you were now, almost 15 years later and Sevika seemed to be anything but a problem.

It didn't take long to get to your house, in fact, now you felt a little embarrassed because your house was too close and you could have easily walked there, but you were thankful that at least sevika didn't mention anything about it.

When you arrived home Sevika was quick to come down and open the door for you before starting to unload the boxes and bags from the back seats, while you hurried to open the front door, wanting to take shelter from the winter cold.

Upon entering the house you immediately felt relieved, it was as warm as you expected and you finally stopped feeling like you were freezing.

Sevika came in behind you carrying the boxes and bags, leaving them on the dining room table, the place was just as she remembered it.

It was obvious that you had been away from the village, because most of the people were already used to the cold while you were freezing with just a little while outside.

“Would you like some hot chocolate? For helping me out” You offered with a small smile, though you didn't even wait for an answer before you started walking to the kitchen.

Sevika rolled her eyes at this, but only hummed in approval, it wouldn't hurt to have a cup of hot chocolate, plus she wasn't planning on refusing to spend a little time with you.

You prepared the drink quickly, the smell bringing back memories of your childhood and Christmases in that place.

“Here” you murmured, handing a cup to sevika, it took you by surprise that sevika laughed, but you soon realized that the cup you had given her was yours, how did you know this? Because of the ridiculous drawing on the mug, which was a picture of the grinch.

“You never change from what I see” Sevika said mockingly, to which you rolled your eyes and snatched the cup from her hands, handing her the one that had no ridiculous drawing and was of a flat color.

Sevika tried to hold back her smile, despite the years you were still somewhat childish and stubborn, but something about it gave her comfort, despite the years, you hadn't changed.

“What made you come back after so many years?” sevika asked calmly after a few minutes in a comfortable silence.

You hesitated for a moment, taking a sip of your hot chocolate while you thought, even you didn't quite know the reason, you didn't want to say it was an impulsive decision, but at the same time it was as if something drew you back to that place.

“I don't know, I guess I needed a break from the city” you murmured, although the truth is that you didn't just need a break, you were looking for that comfort of the town, the one you had in your childhood, but you didn't even know if you would still find that comfort in the town after years.

Sevika just hummed in approval, she knew you weren't saying everything, but she wasn't going to push you to say more, you had always preferred to keep some things to yourself and Sevika knew that.

“Well, anyway…I'm glad you're back.” Sevika said with a gentle smile, taking a last sip from her mug before setting it down in the sink.

You couldn't explain why but something stirred in you, an electrifying current ran through your body at her words, you stood still for a moment, before snapping back to reality as you saw sevika take her coat and walk towards the door, running away after dropping a bomb, all in all things hadn't changed.

Without thinking your body instinctively moved after sevika, catching up with her at the door.

“Hope to see you around, call me if you need anything, love” Sevika said casually, opening the door and walking towards her truck, as always without looking back, but this time you were thankful she didn't, because she would have seen the embarrassing red color that flooded your cheeks at that nickname she hadn't used in years.

When Sevika's truck was finally far enough away from your sight, you went back into the house, closing the door behind you and leaning against it, lowering yourself down until you were sitting on the floor.

What the fuck was wrong with you? Why did you suddenly feel like a teenage girl having her first crush on a girl? Damn it, this couldn't be happening to you.

The next few days you tried to keep your mind busy, but those simple words from sevika wouldn't leave your head and that was killing you, you wanted to believe that it didn't mean anything, you and sevika had been friends when you were young, of course she would be happy to see you after years and the nickname, oh that damn nickname, of course it didn't mean anything either, she also called you that when you were young, you didn't even know how it started, you only knew that she only called you that, you and nobody else.

You were so deep in your thoughts that you didn't even hear the truck park in your house, not that you were going to notice it, you were trying to untangle that strip of lights, maybe you should have done it before climbing the stairs, but here you were, three meters above the ground, untangling a strip of lights and praying not to fall.

“All right up there, love?” That voice brought you out of your thoughts all of a sudden, for a moment you thought that now you were crazy, now you were hallucinating her voice?

But the sound of footsteps in the snow made you realize that in fact you were not hallucinating, without thinking your gaze went to the ground, seeing the figure of sevika, by god how good she looked from up there.

“Do you need help? I don't want you to fall on me, love” Sevika said with a smirk, her tone slightly mocking, but her gaze was fixed on you, as if she was actually expecting you to fall and hurt yourself, she even moved a little closer to the ladder.

“I'm not going to fall” You muttered with some annoyance, returning to your task of untangling the lights, trying with all your might to ignore sevika's presence, but it wasn't working, not at all.

Until this moment you hadn't taken into account that you were so far away from the ground, you looked at sevika again and this time the ground looked much farther, God, way too far, you didn't think you would die if you fell but it would definitely hurt.

“Get down from there and let me help you” Sevika said, this time her tone more gentle, seeming to notice your growing anxiety.

This time you didn't protest, leaving the lights there and starting to slowly descend the ladder, you were sure the ladder wasn't shaking so much when you climbed up, nor that the ground was so far away.

When you were halfway down the stairs you felt hands on your waist and soon your feet were on the ground again, which you were grateful for, you felt you would never finish coming down.

“Thank you” you murmured softly to sevika, lightly fixing your clothes, you were still a little anxious, you weren't even afraid of heights, you didn't understand where that momentary fear had come from.

“You're welcome, love” Sevika said kindly, her gaze sweeping over you, checking that you were okay. “Let me help you with this, yeah?” sevika asked, giving you a small smile, to which you nodded, her help would be very useful, you didn't want to climb that ladder again.

For a moment you realized that sevika had come to your house out of nowhere, which was strange.

“So what were you doing here?” you asked after a few minutes of silence, while sevika placed the Christmas lights calmly, although you felt on edge thinking that she could fall.

“I came to bring you some firewood, when I came you didn't have any, I thought you must be freezing” Sevika replied casually, brushing some snow off the roof, by god, how was he not freezing his hands off.

You frowned slightly, you hadn't even noticed that you didn't actually have any firewood, you had been living under the blankets freezing so much that you didn't think to light the fireplace.

“I'm almost done, would you mind giving me something to drink?” Sevika said after a few minutes in silence, to which you nodded immediately, walking into the house and pouring her some coffee, you prepared it as you always did, you didn't consider that maybe sevika wouldn't want it as sweet….

In a few minutes you came out with two cups of coffee, but as soon as you set foot in the snow you felt something cold hit your head, snow.

A loud laugh came from beside you, you looked up a little and there was Sevika, still on the ladder cleaning the snow from the roof, with a smile on her face, you couldn't remember ever seeing her smile like that.

You snorted falsely offended, feeling the snow on your head and seeing some flakes in the locks in front of you, you were thankful that nothing had fallen into the cups.

“Sorry, love, I didn't know you were there” Sevika said with amusement, although maybe she had seen you standing there, but she wasn't going to admit it. Sevika couldn't help but laugh as she came down the ladder and saw your hair white from the snow, her hand went to your hair, shaking it out a bit and brushing some of the snow out, even though you ended up a bit disheveled.

You just rolled your eyes, not being able to contain a giggle, careful not to burn yourself you handed the cup of coffee to sevika, instantly you noticed her frown slightly frowned when she saw the liquid in the cup.

“Don't tell me you like black coffee because I swear I'll throw you out of my house” You said in disbelief, staring at sevika, who only laughed lightly before shaking her head.

“It's just that this looks more like milk with a bit of coffee than coffee with milk” Sevika said mockingly, taking a sip of the coffee, though to her surprise, it was quite good, much less strong than what she usually drank, but not bad.

You smiled at her expression, which clearly showed that she liked it.

“I knew you'd like it” You replied with obviousness, giving her a proud smile, and sevika had to hold back with all her strength to say, 'I'd like anything that came from you'.

You both spent a few minutes in a comfortable silence, you watched the house, which now had Christmas lights and some decorations here and there, but sevika's gaze wasn't on the decorations, she didn't give a damn if santa was coming down the chimney, her gaze was fixed on you.

Despite the years for sevika you were still the same, your eyes were still huge and sparkled when you saw something you liked, you still covered your mouth when you laughed even though your smile was beautiful, your cheeks still blushed with the cold and you still had that habit of biting your lip when you were anxious.

Despite the years you were still you and sevika couldn't be happier with this, sevika thought that by going to the city and living so many years there, when you came back (if you did) you wouldn't be the same, she thought that maybe she wouldn't even be able to recognize you.

“Sev?”

Your voice brought sevika out of her thoughts, who hadn't even noticed that she had been staring at you and hadn't heard you speak.

“Yeah, sorry, what were you saying?” Sevika said, trying to sound as casual as possible, but your couldn't help but laugh slightly, even though you knew better than to tease her with this.

“I was telling you that if you were on your way to the town center…I wanted to know if maybe you could give me a ride” You explained with a small smile, trying to convince the woman.

Christmas Eve was tomorrow and you still wanted to buy some things, you didn't even know what you were going to do it for if you didn't plan for anyone to visit you but you still wanted to decorate and prepare some food, maybe you could give it to the people in the neighborhood, you remembered your parents doing it when you were little.

“Yeah sure, I was going to buy some stuff anyway, I can take you” Sevika replied calmly, finishing the coffee in her cup. “I'll take the Firewood inside and then we'll go, yeah?”

You nodded slightly, taking her empty mug and accompanying her inside while she carried the wood for the fireplace.

After leaving the empty cups in the kitchen, you went to get your purse, taking out some money, by the time you came out, Sevika was already waiting for you outside, leaning against her truck with a cigarette in her mouth.

You didn't want to admit it but she looked absolutely stunning, over the years she had grown a lot taller and her body was more muscular, probably because of her job.

You tried to shake those thoughts from your mind, but the blush had already grown across your cheeks.

“See something you like, love?” Sevika asked with a smirk, taking another drag on her cigarette.

You wanted to make a remark, to answer her, but you only felt your face turn redder, all you could do was roll your eyes and mutter a “shut up'”.

Without another word you walked towards the truck, Sevika still with a smirk opened the door of the truck for you, and then got in as well.

“Here, for the firewood” You said, extending the money to Sevika without looking at her, still feeling your face redden.

Sevika frowned, pushing your hand with the money gently.

“You don't have to pay me” Sevika replied sternly, starting the van towards town.

You rolled your eyes, extending the money towards Sevika again.

”Yes I do, just take it, will you?“” You said again, firewood was sevika's job and you weren't going to let her give you something for free.

“Love” Sevika called, catching your attention, damn it, she knew the effect that stupid nickname had on you. “I don't want you to pay me, I don't need you to pay me, so give it up, yes?”

Sevika's firm voice didn't let you contradict her, so you simply left quiet, still somewhat frustrated, but you knew there was no point in arguing, besides even if you didn't want to admit it, that nickname had convinced you a little.

The drive into town wasn't very long, the streets were flooded with people, all shopping for Christmas dinners.

Sevika quietly got out of the car, opening the door for you and helping you out, smiling slightly as your feet sank into the snow, you definitely should have chosen other shoes.

“Thank you for bringing me and for the firewood” You said softly, giving Sevika a small smile, your thanks were sincere, those small acts were huge for you.

“You're welcome love, do you want me to take you back when you're done?” Sevika asked to which you shook your head instantly, she had already done too much, you didn't want to take advantage of her kindness.

“No, no, don't bother, I'll just buy a few things and take a walk around town, thanks anyway sev” You said kindly, giving Sevika a sweet smile, to which she nodded slightly, saying goodbye and walking in the opposite direction to you.

The town was still the same as it was years ago, snow covered the streets and people were enjoying their Christmas shopping.

You spent some time going through each store, buying some ingredients for cooking, some gifts for your co-workers and just window shopping.

“Oh god, it's really you yn?” A voice behind you made its presence known, you instantly turned around, recognizing that sweet-eyed lady.

“Mrs. Smith, it's been a long time” You said in a friendly voice, walking up to greet the woman.

“I had heard you were back but I wanted to check it out myself” Said the woman with a sweet smile, which you reciprocated, it had been years since you had been in that town but there were people you never forgot.

“Ah yes, I just came to spend the vacations around here” You said kindly.

“I'm glad to see you here, I see the years did you good!” the woman remarked with a smile, squeezing your cheek affectionately, you couldn't help blushing slightly, feeling embarrassed for a moment, it was true that you had changed too much in these years.

“I saw you talking to Sevika, I'm glad to hear you're still friends” The woman said sympathetically, though there was something in her voice, nostalgia perhaps? “Sevika doesn't visit town much these days, she's always with work, so it's nice to see her around and more so happy like this.”

Your cheeks instantly turned red at the old woman's comment, you didn't even know this about sevika, you remembered that she used to be very sociable when she was little, running around town from place to place, so you had to admit you were a bit surprised.

“She doesn't visit the town much?” You repeated with curiosity and some confusion, the Sevika you remembered spent all her time in town.

“Not these days, after the death of her parents she took refuge in her home and work, I don't blame her…”

You couldn't even continue listening to the woman's words, you remained static, your mind blank.

Sevika's parents had died? How could you not have heard? You felt the air disappear from your lungs, sure, it had been a while since you had visited the village, but you still vividly remembered sevika's family, the one your parents used to visit at Christmas and who always made sure to give you presents.

“Her parents died? When?” you asked totally shocked, your face still slightly pale.

“Oh dear, didn't you know?” The woman said empathetically, bringing a hand to her chest. “It was a year ago now, the whole town suffered their loss, you know they were very loved…”

Your chest squeezed even tighter, how come you hadn't heard about it? Those people had welcomed you into their home a dozen times, they were loyal to their people and had a huge heart.

For a moment you felt your chest hurt too much, even more so because of Sevika, you didn't know and you didn't even get to say anything to her all this time, now you felt even worse, what if she thought you knew and you just didn't care?

The mere thought made your chest hurt, you couldn't leave it like this, you didn't want it to stay like this.

“I'm sorry ma'am, I have to go, it was nice to see you” You said politely, quickly saying goodbye to the woman and leaving the store.

You started walking through the streets of the town, it was starting to get dark and people were starting to go home, looking for shelter from the cold of the night.

Out of the corner of your eye you could see sevika, loading some groceries into her truck, without thinking you crossed the street, walking towards her, you didn't even know what you were supposed to say to her.

“Oh hi love, did you change your mind?” sevika asked calmly, about to take your shopping bags.

You didn't know what to say, you couldn't just say “oh I just heard your parents died, I'm sorry, I know it seems like I'm an insensitive piece of shit but I'm not!”

“Is something wrong?” Sevika asked with confusion when you wouldn't let her take the shopping bags.

“Ah? Oh, no, I just…” Shit why couldn't you stop stuttering.

“Do you want to come spend Christmas at my house?” You asked without thinking, your words coming out too fast that it took Sevika a few seconds to understand what you had said.

You immediately regretted it when you noticed that she didn't respond right away.

“You don't have to come, it was just an invitation, I was thinking of making cookies and baking something-” You quickly started to explain, your voice sounding more unsure than you would have liked, but Sevika interrupted you with a soft laugh.

“Love, relax, I would love to go, I was just taken by surprise by your invitation” Sevika said kindly as she noticed your concern over her response. “May I ask why the invitation so suddenly?”

You were quiet for a moment, hesitating how to answer, but simply sighed for a moment before speaking.

“I…I don't want you to spend Christmas alone, I'm here so I figured we could spend it together” You admitted quietly, unable to look Sevika in the eyes.

Sevika fell silent, the realization hitting her, you knew about her parents, someone had told you.

Sevika sighed lightly, bringing her fingers to the bridge of her nose.

“Who told you?” Sevika asked quietly, though she didn't sound upset, not with you.

“Mrs. Smith… I hadn't heard, I'm really sorry, I wish I had been here…been here for you” You said softly, feeling your chest tighten, you couldn't help but feel horrible, for not being there for her.

Sevika instantly shook her head, moving closer to you, bringing one of her hands to your chin, causing you to lift your head to look at her.

“You don't have to apologize, I know you didn't know” Sevika said softly, her tone more calm and understanding.

“I'm really sorry Sevika, I know they loved you so much” You said softly, this time looking Sevika in the eyes and for a moment you felt like you could see a momentary flash of vunerability, of pain.

You didn't know if it was the right thing to do, but you closed the distance between the two of you, hugging Sevika tightly, you wanted to show her that you cared, that you understood her pain.

Sevika was static for a moment, surprised by the sudden contact, she was never a fan of physical contact, but in that moment it felt so…comfortable.

In just a few seconds she hugged you back, sinking into the warmth of your body, for a moment she felt so vunerable, and for the first time she didn't mind.

Your embrace felt so perfect, so comfortable, after months she finally felt comforted.

Don't misunderstand her, the whole town had been there for her, giving her condolences and supporting her, but deep down Sevika didn't feel consoled, she didn't think anyone understood her pain, not like you.

You had been there in her childhood, you knew her parents, you knew how much they meant to Sevika, you knew and understood her, like no one else.

“Believe me I would have loved to have been here for you, I'm so sorry you had to go through this…. I know they loved you too much” You murmured softly, still not separating from sevika, you could swear she didn't want to separate either.

Sevika had no words, she couldn't say anything, at that moment she simply felt understood, your embrace alone gave her that comfort she was looking for, that she needed so much.

“My invitation for Christmas is still open, I'd really like to spend Christmas with you” You said softly, feeling Sevika separate just a little, just enough to just see your face.

“You don't have to feel pity for me, love, I don't want to be a bother in your house-” Sevika began to say, her tone slightly defensive at first, though still somewhat soft, probably because it was you.

You instantly frowned, shaking your head and interrupting her.

“Sevika, no, I'm not inviting you out of pity or anything, I'm serious when I say I want to spend Christmas with you” You said firmly, this time looking Sevika in the eyes, and she saw nothing but sincerity in you.

Still Sevika remained silent, there was something in her that was still defensive, that told her she couldn't let her guard down, that you were only inviting her out of pity.

“Let me take you home, love” Sevika murmured, finally letting go, even though she didn't want to, you instantly felt an emptiness, why did being in her arms feel so good?

The drive to your house was silent, neither of you said anything, you didn't know what to say or how to break the silence, and Sevika didn't seem to mind.

When you arrived at your house Sevika opened the door for you and brought down your groceries, making sure you got in the house.

“Thank you” You said softly, standing at the front door entrance, Sevika nodded slightly, before she could make the eagerness to turn around you spoke, '“My invitation still stands, just think about it, yeah?…There is no one else I would like to spend Christmas with” You admitted softly, giving sevika a small smile, you knew you were too direct, but at that moment you couldn't care less.

Sevika's eyes seemed to sparkle, she hesitated for a moment before she nodded slightly, you didn't know if she accepted or just simply gave in, but you didn't have the courage to ask.

At that moment you just watched Sevika leave in silence, getting into her truck without another word and disappearing down the snowy road.

Deep down and even if you didn't dare to admit it quietly, you hoped that Sevika would accept, that the next day she would show up at your door, you really wanted it.

Christmas Eve came, you spent the whole afternoon cooking all kinds of dishes, you didn't even know if Sevika would appear, but something deep inside you wanted to believe it, you desired to believe it.

The sky slowly began to darken, your house was illuminated by the Christmas lights that Sevika had hung.

After hours in the kitchen you finally finished, looking at the table in front of you with satisfaction, there was food, cookies and so on, you tried to recreate all those dishes you had eaten in your childhood.

The doorbell rang and you practically jumped in your place, you stood there for a moment, thinking you had imagined that sound.

But after a few seconds you moved quickly to the door, fixing your clothes and your hair lightly.

You couldn't help but feel anxious, your heart was pounding too hard and your head was racing too fast.

The moment you opened the door your heart stopped, Sevika was standing in front of you, looking spectacular, in her hands was a bouquet of flowers and a gift bag.

“Hi, love” Sevika's voice was soft and sweet, you couldn't even say a word, to say you were gawking was an understatement, all you could do was invite her in, moving to the side and opening the door for her.

Sevika smiled lightly, stepping inside and closing the door behind her.

“I brought you this” Sevika said softly, extending the bouquet and gift bag to you.

You blinked a couple of times before taking both, but before sevika said anything else you walked over to her, wrapping her in your arms gently.

“Thanks for coming, sev” You murmured softly, feeling your cheeks redden.

Almost instantly sevika's arms were around your body, wrapping you gently, careful not to crush the flowers or the gift.

“Thank you for inviting me, love” Sevika replied sweetly, leaving a small kiss on your forehead.

To say you were happy was an understatement, you felt like an excited little girl at Christmas, you had spent all afternoon preparing a beautiful dinner and now Sevika was there to enjoy it, you couldn't ask for more.

After a few seconds you separated from Sevika, taking the gift and the flowers with one hand while with the other you took Sevika's hand, leading her towards the dining room.

Sevika couldn't help but smile at seeing you so excited, she didn't hesitate for a second to follow you, her eyes widening in wonder at the sight of all the food on the table.

That table looked like something out of a magazine, there was all kinds of food, desserts, sevika couldn't even recognize half of the dishes there, she just knew it looked delicious.

“I spent the whole afternoon cooking, I don't know what you like so I prepared many things…” You explained with a small smile, while looking at the table full of food.

“Everything looks delicious love” Sevika replied instantly, giving you the sweetest smile you had ever seen on her.

Almost instantly your cheeks reddened, you couldn't hide the smile on your face nor your happiness, everything felt like a movie.

After sevika admired the food you invited her to sit down, it was already dinner time and you were excited for her to try every dish.

The moment sevika put a spoonful of food in her mouth her eyes practically sparkled, a low humming moan came out of her mouth, showing you that she definitely liked it.

“This is delicious, my goodness” Sevika said with a smile, shoving bite after bite into her mouth.

You couldn't hide your happiness, you made her try all the dishes and left the desserts for the end, even though sevika seemed to be completely full, she didn't refuse to try any of your dishes, telling you how good each one was over and over again.

When you both finished dinner you decided to go to the living room to watch a Christmas movie, sevika hated them, but she didn't have the heart to tell you so she just nodded and sat with you on the couch, trying not to roll her eyes at every ridiculously romantic scene.

Without even noticing it, as the movie went on you and sevika ended up snuggled up next to each other, sevika's arm that was initially on the couch behind you, was now on your shoulders, tracing patterns on your arm gently.

You didn't hesitate to snuggle up next to her, until you were leaning against her side, feeling the warmth of her body sheltering you from the cold.

That position was the most comfortable, it felt so familiar and so real, your head couldn't think of anything else but Sevika and how good it felt to be this close to her.

At one point sevika's gaze wasn't even on the movie anymore, but on your face, staring at you and noticing every expression on your face, from your smiles to the pink color that appeared on your cheeks when the main characters kissed, sevika could only think about you and didn't want to think about anything else.

While you were watching the movie you were eating the cookies you had prepared, which sevika complimented a dozen times, saying that you had a lot of talent for baking.

Sevika's gaze fell on you when you took a last bite of your cookie and after a few seconds a smile appeared on her face, noticing that you had some icing on the corner of your lips.

You couldn't help but be surprised when sevika gently took your chin without saying a word, her gaze was fixed on your lips and you swore you couldn't be redder.

Sevika's thumb carefully ran over the corner of your lips, wiping away the icing that was there, you immediately felt embarrassed, feeling stupid for believing that Sevika was looking at you with other intentions, for imagining how good her lips would feel on yours.

Sevika seemed to notice the blush on your cheeks and her mouth curved into a slight smile, without another word her hand moved from your chin to your cheek, her hand caressing lightly.

You felt like your heart was pounding out of your chest, your eyes practically glowed at the sight of Sevika and she clearly noticed it, as her eyes glowed the same way as she connected her gaze with yours.

You both stayed like that for a few seconds, your faces so close that sevika could see every detail of your face, a gleam ran through her eyes and without another word her lips met yours.

Her lips felt like heaven on yours, they were firm yet so gentle, loving was the only word that came to your mind.

You instantly kissed her back, bringing your hand to her neck and pulling her closer.

Sevika felt like she could melt under your touch, your lips were the sweetest thing she had ever tasted, she could feel the sweet taste of your cookies and the strawberry flavor of your lipstick, it was the best combination she had ever tasted, the softness and sweetness with which you kissed her made her feel butterflies as if she was a teenager.

She didn't know how long you spent kissing until you had to pull away for air, sevika reluctantly pulled away, her hand still on your cheek, holding you gently.

The moment sevika saw your face a smile spread across her face, you looked absolutely beautiful, your lips slightly puffy and your cheeks flushed, your eyes shining with love, it was the best sight.

“You look absolutely gorgeous” Sevika admitted without thinking, her thumb caressing your cheek and feeling her heart melt as you leaned into her touch.

Your hand went to sevika's on your cheek, holding it sweetly as your eyes closed for a second, enjoying the warmth of her touch.

When your eyes opened your gaze was fixed on sevika, roaming over every detail of her face, her lips, her shining eyes, every little scar on her face.

“You're staring, love” sevika murmured softly, her lips curving into a small smile.

“I know” You replied without looking away, instead you moved closer, leaving another soft kiss on her lips, which sevika responded to instantly.

“I love you” You said softly as you broke away from the kiss, sevika's hand stopped on your cheek, looking at you in disbelief for a second, those words felt a thousand times more powerful coming from you.

Sevika pressed her lips to yours again, this time in a sweet and gentle way, before pulling you into an embrace, holding you against her chest.

“I love you… More than you can imagine” Sevika murmured softly, leaving a kiss on your forehead.

At that moment you felt your heart melt, you could hear the beating of her heart and feel the warmth of her body, at that moment you knew you didn't need anything else, this was all you had wished for.

That night was beautiful, you could only call it a lovely Christmas.

a/n: All I can say is that I love this!!! I think I got a little excited and made it too long but I really love this, I know it's very cliché but that's literally the point! I hope you liked it and remember that reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated, have a merry Christmas Eve and Merry Christmas, love u, xoxo.

#⋆˙⟡ gracie's diary #⋆˙⟡ gracie's fics!#Sevika #sevika x reader #sevika arcane #writters on tumblr #arcane #x reader #Sevika's gift was a bracelet #She has the same bracelet but says it's a coincidence #my fic #fanfiction #request #christmas #special

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