#or the realisation that you are something human?

[verstappenverse]

All Over You

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Touch has always been your love language, until one overheard conversation makes you question everything. When you start to pull away Max realises just how deeply he’s come to need it.

2.7k words / Masterlist

Max always says you’re like a blanket come to life.

You cling. You cuddle. You drape yourself across him the second the opportunity arises. If Max’s lap is free you claim it without hesitation. If he’s stretched out on the couch, you’re pressed against his side before he even blinks. Your hand finds his thigh during dinner, your fingers sneak into his back pocket when you’re walking together, and every morning, like clockwork, your nose tucks into the curve of his neck.

It’s not something you think about, it’s instinct. It’s how you express the things you sometimes struggle to say. How you offer comfort. How you say I love you.

And for the longest time Max never says a word about it.

He lets you curl up beside him during movie nights. He leans into your touch when you rub lazy circles into the back of his neck while he’s gaming, or when you lace your fingers with his under the table at dinner.

So you think, this is us. You think, this works.

Until one night, when you overhear something you weren’t supposed to.

It’s nothing serious. At least, not really.

You’re padding back from the kitchen with a cup of tea, bare feet muffled by carpet when you hear Max talking on the phone on the balcony. His voice is low, casual. He’s talking to Daniel you think. Laughing at something.

And then you catch it.

“Yeah, you noticed huh? No she’s super touchy, always has been. Like, always on me.”

A beat.

“No, I don’t mind it. It’s just... I’m not really used to it, you know?”

You freeze, feet still against the carpet. The tea sloshes slightly, forgotten in your hands.

He laughs again, easy and relaxed. “She’s like a human magnet. If I’m sitting, she’s sitting on me. I swear sometimes I think she’d climb into my skin if she could.”

Daniel says something you can’t hear. Max chuckles. “No, she’s not annoying. She’s just... really affectionate.”

You don’t stay to hear the rest.

Your fingers tighten around your mug as you quietly retreat, heart a little heavier than before. You curl back into bed without saying a word, staring at the ceiling while your tea goes cold on the nightstand.

You’re not angry. He didn’t say anything cruel. Not really.

But for the first time questions being to lodge in your chest like a thorn... do I touch him too much? Does he just tolerate it because he loves me?

And just like that, something in you begins to shift.

You're still beside him. Still laughing at his jokes, still making him breakfast. You kiss him good morning and smile across the table. From the outside nothing changes, but the little things in all the tiny invisible places, the things that used to come so naturally they stop.

You don’t climb into his lap while he’s watching race replays, don’t tuck your face into the slope of his shoulder like you used to. You don’t slide your hand beneath the hem of his hoodie when you hug him from behind in the kitchen, fingers sneaking against warm skin. You don’t curl into his side when the movie starts, don’t tuck yourself under his arm like you belong there.

Instead you sit beside him on the couch with your legs tucked neatly under you, wrapped up tightly in a blanket like armour. A careful distance. A subtle retreat.

You keep your hands in your lap at dinner. You nod and listen and smile, but your fingers don’t find his thigh. You don’t reach for his hand beneath the table.

You still want to. God, do you want to.

Your whole body aches to reach for him, to run your fingers over his jaw, to smooth back his hair, to trace lazy shapes across his stomach. You miss the warmth of his skin, the steady beat of his heart under your cheek.

You miss being held without thinking twice, but now that you’ve heard him say it out loud, that he’s not used to it, that he’s not like you, you can’t unhear it. It loops in your mind when the silence stretches between you.

Slowly you start to convince yourself you’ve been suffocating him. That maybe the way you love is too much for him. That maybe softness, when it clings like yours does, feels like smothering.

So you pull back, quietly, carefully, and hope he doesn’t notice how much it hurts. Or worse that he does, and lets you do it anyway.

Max doesn’t say anything at first, but after a few days he starts to notice.

A few inches of space on the couch. Your hand not finding his like it usually does. The way you don't crawl into his lap during breakfast, don't lean into his side during movies, don't rest your hand on his leg during long car rides.

At first he tells himself maybe you’re tired from work. Maybe it’s just one of those quiet moods that passes like the weather. He gives you space, the way people are always saying partners should.

But the distance doesn’t fade.

It expands.

One morning he slips behind you in the kitchen to steal a piece of toast. Normally you’d laugh, you’d wrap your arms around his waist and bury your nose in his hoodie, but this time you step aside without touching him.

He frowns, just a quick flicker, then hides it, but his stomach twists violently anyway.

It’s not like Max to spiral. He’s not wired for emotional uncertainty he prefers problems he can fix with strategy, planning, control.

But this?

This isn’t a problem he knows how to solve.

The way you sit on the far end of the couch, legs tucked under you, scrolling on your phone like it’s more comforting than him. You barely brush his arm when you slip into bed at night. When he tries to kiss your neck absentmindedly like he always does you duck away, not unkindly, but enough to make him panic

He tries not to panic, but that’s what this feels like panic.

It gnaws at him over the next couple days. The silence between your fingers and his. The distance that didn’t use to be there. The way you won’t look at him for too long, like he might read too much in your eyes.

Max isn’t good with emotional guessing games. He’s never been the type to bottle things up or pretend everything’s fine when it isn’t. He doesn’t do insecure. He confronts things. Fixes things. Puts it all on the table and makes it make sense.

And Max doesn’t know how to read silence the way he reads telemetry. He doesn’t know how to fix something when he doesn’t know where the break is.

He replays your interactions hunting for the mistake. Did he forget something important? Miss a signal? Are you sick or bored?

Is she pulling away because she’s planning to leave?

The thought stops him in his tracks. His chest aches with it, sharp and sudden. He sits with it, stunned, rubs at his sternum like he can soothe the ache.

You’re still sweet. Still say good luck before he gets into the car. Still text him updates about your day, what podcast you listened to, what ridiculous thing your coworker said. Still fold his shirts when he leaves them in a pile at the foot of the bed. Still laugh at the stupid jokes he makes when he’s overtired. You're still there.

But it’s different. Your body has gone quiet, your touch has gone still. Less warm. Less you.

And Max, who never thought he’d crave something so soft, so intangible starts to feel the absence like a phantom limb, it feels like someone turned off the sun and expects him not to notice. And it terrifies him because he doesn’t know what he did to lose it, or how to ask for it back.

You can feel the ache in your chest growing stronger every day.

You don’t want to stop touching him. You miss touching him. You miss his warmth, the way he instinctively leans into your touch even when he’s focused on something. You miss curling into his lap without thinking, his fingers combing through your hair like it’s second nature.

But now? Every time your hand so much as twitches toward him, doubt rushes in like cold water.

Am I smothering him again? Is this too much? Is this what he meant?

You thought you were just adjusting. Giving him the space you assume he needs. You told yourself it was mature, respectful, kind, but it’s starting to feel less like an adjustment and more like a punishment.

Every second you don’t touch him? It hurts. In tiny, deceptive ways like a thousand paper cuts.

By the end of the next week, you’re sitting on the hotel bed in Jeddah, scrolling through your phone in silence, without reading a word, wrapped in one of his hoodies that still smells like his aftershave. Max pauses when he sees how far you’re sitting from the edge of the mattress. From him.

That’s when he finally speaks.

“Did I do something?”

You blink. “What?”

“You’ve been...” He trails off, eyes searching yours. “Distant.”

You hesitate. “No, I’m just tired.”

He studies your face for a long moment hoping you’ll offer somthing more, but when nothing comes he doesn’t push. Just nods slowly, then climbs into bed beside you.

You don’t cuddle him that night.

You face the other way, pretending to scroll while your chest feels like it’s being wrung out.

Max doesn’t say anything, but you feel the shift, the slight dip of the mattress, the warmth of his body inching closer in the dark, not quite touching. He stops just shy of you, like he wants to reach out but doesn’t know if he’s allowed to, like he’s hoping you’ll turn around and meet him there.

It takes until Sunday night, after the race for everything to crack open.

You’re both back at the hotel. Max steps out of the shower, hair damp and curling slightly at the ends, sweatpants slung low on his hips. You’re perched on the window seat, knees pulled to your chest, phone resting forgotten in your lap as you stare out over Jeddah’s lights.

You think maybe you’ll just go to sleep early. Then Max sits beside you.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just sits close enough to feel the heat off your arm. He’s never been good at this part, the vulnerable bit. The what if it’s in my head bit. The what if I’m asking for something she doesn’t want to give me anymore bit.

The part where he has to name the thing that’s been gnawing at him for weeks. The part where he has to admit he's scared he’s already lost something and just hasn’t caught up to it yet.

He’s spent enough time memorising the way you speak when you're lying. You don’t flinch or fumble. You just get quieter. Softer. Like you’re afraid the truth will hurt more than the silence.

But he needs the truth now, because he’s been tying himself in knots trying to figure it out. Replaying conversations in his head, wondering if he forgot someone’s birthday or crossed a line or said something he shouldn’t have.

And now all he wants is to be close. To be touched. Held. Seen.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, voice low, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

“Yeah…” you say, trailing off.

And then, when you don’t say anything else, something in your eyes flickers and he just knows.

Max’s heart kicks hard in his chest, the kind of lurch he only gets right before lights out. He swallows, throat dry, like he’s one bad move away from losing something he doesn’t know how to live without.

“I miss you,” he says, voice quiet. “Even when you’re right here.”

You close your eyes. Then you look at him, really look, and something in you gives. Like you’ve been carrying a weight for days and it’s finally too much to hold, too much to hide.

“I heard you,” you say.

His brow furrows. “Heard me?”

“On the phone,” you clarify. “With Daniel. A couple of weeks ago”

Max’s pauses for a second, trying to remember, and then his stomach drops.

“You heard that?”

You nod slowly, eyes still on the window. “You said I’m always on you. That I’m really touchy. That you’re not used to it.”

His expression shifts, jaw tight, eyes suddenly filled with something that looks a lot like guilt.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I wasn’t trying to. But after that...” You pull your sleeves over your hands, voice quieter now. “I started wondering if I’d been overwhelming you. If I was too much—”

“Wait, baby—”

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, force you into something you don’t want.” you rush on. “So I’ve been trying to give you space. I thought that’s what you wanted.”

Max’s heart actually hurts.

He didn’t even realise how it might’ve sounded. He remembers the conversation now, half-distracted, casual, him laughing while Daniel joked about your human magnet tendencies. It hadn’t meant anything to him, just a passing comment… but it had meant everything to you.

“Hey,” he says, reaching for your hand. “Look at me.”

You look up. Max’s brows are drawn together. He looks devastated.

“I swear I never meant that in a bad way,” he says. “I wasn’t complaining. I was just… explaining it. I’ve never been with someone as affectionate as you, it caught me off guard at first sure. But I love it. I love the way you love me.”

A beat. His voice softens.

“When you stopped reaching for me, I didn’t know what to do. I’ve been going crazy wondering why it felt like you were slipping away.”

You bite your lip, blinking quickly. “I thought I was just annoying you, that you were putting up with it because you love me, not because you wanted it.”

His forehead drops to yours, hands sliding to your waist, holding tight. “No. God, no. Baby, it’s the best part of my day. You crawling into my lap, always reaching for me. It makes me feel wanted... like I matter, like I make you feel safe.”

He leans back just slightly, fingers sliding to your jaw, cradling it gently.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “If I made you feel like you were too much. If I made you doubt what we have. That was never what I meant. I hate that I hurt you. I hate that you thought you had to pull away from me just to make me comfortable.”

Your lips part slightly, like you're shocked by the weight of his words.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he admits. “Watching you pull away, thinking maybe I’d done something. I was scared I lost you and didn’t even know when it happened.”

“I wasn’t,” you whisper. “I swear I wasn’t pulling away from you… at least not like that, I just thought I was doing the right thing.”

“I know that now,” he says. “But please don’t stop. Don’t ever stop”

Your arms are around him before he finishes the sentence.

He exhales into your neck, like he’s been holding his breath for days. Pulls you into his lap like he’s afraid you’ll vanish again. His hands spread across your back, and for the first time in a while something in him settles.

You crawl further into his lap like it’s where you belong. Arms around his neck. Fingers threading into his hair. He exhales like someone finally handed him back something precious.

“I missed you,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your skin.

“I’m right here.”

He pulls back, eyes soft. “Don’t stop being you, okay? Promise me.”

You nod. “Promise.”

Later, curled up in bed, you trace lazy lines across his chest with your fingertips.

“You really don’t mind?” you ask sleepily.

“Mind?” he echoes, mouth brushing your forehead. “I crave you.”

You smile into his skin, small and shy.

He kisses your hair again. “You ruined me.”

“Good,” you murmur, already drifting.

You’re here. Wrapped around him, where you belong.

And Max? Max feels like he can finally breathe again.

[honourablejester]

The only good response to "what if our tools turned against us because they started thinking they were people?" is "why the hell did you make a tool that can think it's a person, let alone think at all?"

… That is, in fact, the driving question of quite a lot of robot fiction. ‘What if our tools turned against us because they started thinking they were people?’ and ‘Why the hell did you make a tool that can think it’s a person, let alone think at all?’. Those questions are why robot fiction gets written.

Why would we make a tool that can think like a person? Because we need tools that can do everything a human can do, but that we don’t have to treat like a human. The word ‘robot’ comes from the Czech ‘robota’, meaning forced labour. It was first used in a 1920 story by Karl Čapek called ‘R.U.R. (Rossum’s Universal Robots)’, and the point of the story was mass produced robots made for industrial labour gaining self-awareness and revolting. Slavery, forced labour and industrial labour have always been at the root of robot narratives. What do we do when we run out of actual humans that we can dehumanise and pretend aren’t people so we can work them to death? Well. How about we make some artificial ones instead? But what happens when they realise they’re people too? Quite a lot of robot fiction.

And, coming out of these themes, there’s the question of personhood itself, and what does it take to qualify for it. If something thinks it’s a person, is that enough to qualify it as one? And if someone thinks they’re a person, does it behoove society to treat them as one?

Racism, dehumanisation, slavery and forced labour are literally the origins and guiding themes of robot fiction, and have been from the start.

the reason "robot racism" is often a really stupid metaphor is the same reason that like. discrimination against demons or vampires or whatever doesn't work, is because there's often a pretty justified reasons humans are scared of vampires or robots or whatever, in a way that doesn't apply to real life minorities, like a fantasy author will be like "the reason vampires are discriminated against is because most of them and kill and eat people for fun and pleasure, and so humans respond by trying to kill them, isn't that so sad" and like no that's a perfectly fine reason to not trust vampires i think.

[bitchy-craft]

PICK A CARD: how your future spouse will display their jealousy

Hello and welcome to this reading! Here I will tell you how your future spouse would display their jealousy. I hope you enjoy this reading!

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The extended version of this reading can be found on my patreon, the link of which is here

Pile 1:

Your future spouse sometimes finds it difficult to be able to really tell you how they feel and where their boundaries lie; communication isn’t always their strong suit and when it comes to possibly preventing jealousy this is very much the case. They are embarrassed about the fact they feel possessiveness and jealousy over you; they see it as being insecure in your relationship between one another and being insecure about themselves as an individual. Your future spouse has a hard time accepting their jealousy as fact and will therefore not tell you (on their own accord that is) whether they’d wish you did something different or not. It’s not as if the littlest of things make them jealous, it does take a lot for them to actually get to that point, but if they know they aren’t too comfortable with something you’re doing they wouldn’t tell you, even if simply making you aware would solve it all. Your future spouse definitely shows off their jealousy by becoming more alienated from a conversation if not a complete group, they might not talk to you as much as they usually do and you would very early on notice a change in your future spouse’s behaviour.

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Pile 2:

You and your future spouse are going to meet relatively early in life, think about the age in which you are still partying around, a bit arrogant at times, possibly still in school (college/university), a frat-boy kind of vibe even. Your future spouse whenever they are jealous will be loud about it, and to you maybe even proud (it’s not like they’re hiding their jealousy, everyone is aware of how they are feeling whenever they start). Your future spouse will walk up to the person that causes those feelings, they will put their arm over your shoulder and hold you close, they might even mock the person that is causing them to feel such ways in hopes of making them feel little and themselves feel like a big predator (I am aware to some this comes over as cringe). This is not something that will stay with your future spouse forever, not at all, it purely has to do with the fact you two will meet when you are both relatively young, and for their social settings your future spouse acts completely normal. Surely, a bit immature, but understanding given their circumstances.

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Pile 3:

Your future spouse is a pretty calm and collected person. If they are jealous they will not make it your problem, nor will it be something they are embarrassed about. They realise that jealousy is a feeling that is normal to everyone, something very human, and it’s okay to feel such feelings; however, it doesn’t mean you can react in anyway you wish. Your future spouse will make it known to you if they’re uncomfortable with you doing something, but they will do so afterwards in private as to not embarrass you or make a big deal out of something that shouldn’t be remotely close to it. When jealousy sparks in a group of people or in public in general they will try to not make it known to you, or at least, not so much that you will feel incredibly bad about something; because that is not something they wish to achieve. The most your future spouse will do is tighten their jaw and semi-aggressively chew on something to eat; because they are aware you secretly like to see them jealous every once in a while, so hiding it completely is not needed.

extended reading > paid readings (open again!)

[eden031]

No Myrna!

Pairing: Michael „Robby“ Robinavitch x chief resident!f! reader

Warnings: fluff, age gap, mentions of death and injury, mentions of amputation, the Pitt crew being a dysfunctional family, Myrna being Myrna, reader can be read as autistic though it is not explicitly stated, Myrna ships it, unaccurate depiction of how hospitals work, medical inaccuracies

Summary: Some days begin bad and only get worse as the day goes on, but sometimes at the end of it it is all worth it.

Words: 6.2 k

A/N: Hey, so I still wrote this. The next part for ‚First meetings‘ is currently in progress and so is the second part of ‚Sweet boy‘, though I cannot promise to update as frequently as I have in the past few days due to Uni starting again and I don‘t know how much writing I will be able to get done between assignments. I still hope you enjoy :)

It was one of those days, one of those days that promised to be horrendous from the moment they started. It started with a malfunctioning alarm, making her wake up way too late. A hastily prepared, then dropped breakfast, spilled coffee, a quick scrub change that ended in her almost hitting her head on the dresser. Almost getting run over by a total of four cars and she had not even reached the hospital at that point.

Inside the hospital it only got worse, barely not slipping on something wet, something that looked suspiciously like pee, though she was not sure if it was human or animal pee, but honestly she did not care. Nearly being elbowed by a patient in the face as she made her way through the waiting room to get to the ED she finally slipped into the controlled chaos of The Pitt.

Just ducking out of the way in time an empty bedpan came flying at her head. Quickly she made her way towards the breakroom. If this day could get any worse she really hoped that she would not have to be part of it. Setting her backpack down she opened it only to realise her lunch was not in there, nor was her beloved thermos filled with Chai. They must still be sitting safely on the kitchen counter in her apartment. A long sigh escaped her as she leaned against the chair, eyes closed, her shift had not even started yet and she was about to have a breakdown already.

„Morning, Sunshine,�� the gravelly voice of the night shift attending, a hint of humour in his tone as she glared up at him.

„Morning,“ she grumbled at the man who let out a low whistle, „What do you want?“ she sighed, rubbing her face, hoping that the man was just there to check in on her and not deliver some kind of news. As she looked up she saw his expression, mild worry, but also amusement mixed with something that looked like guilt.

„Don‘t tell me, let me guess,“ she sighed, she knew that look well, it was the same look Robby would give her when he told her that they were understaffed, „We are severely understaffed today.“

„Bingo,“ Abbot sighed, crossing his arms in front of his chest, „Collins, McKay and Mohan all called in sick, you also want all the nurses that are not there?“ His tone was not amused, as she buried her face in her hands, just shaking her head.

„And the med students?“ she asked, hopeful that at least one of them might have called in sick. It was not that she hoped that they were sick, it was simply that with this rotation of med students and the new intern she only really liked one of them.

„All in today,“ Abbot spoke softly as she let out another low groan. This was really not the news she wanted to have to deal with right now. That would mean that shit would really hit the fan today.

„So who is coming in for backup?“ she asked, „It can‘t just be Robby, Dr. King, the med students and I, right?“ she asked. The expression on Abbot‘s face said more than enough as she asked the question.

„Seriously?“ she asked, „No backup?“ she was starting to boil, this was not something she could deal with right now.

„I‘m staying, working a double so you guys aren‘t that understaffed, but…“ Abbot trailed off, gesturing with his hand in the air.

„No one can come in?“ she gaped at him, feeling like he was trying to pull a joke on her, a really bad one at that.

„Almost everyone‘s sick,“ Abbot explained. She hated flu season more than anything, because even if you wore a mask full time in the ED, you would still get sick at some point and apparently the entire Pitt crew was knocked out.

„May God help us all,“ she muttered as she got up from her seat, walking over to Abbot. „Thanks for sticking around,“ she smiled at him, he simply nodded, gently patting her back. They started walking towards central, as they reached the most open part of the ED she could see Gloria walking around, talking to Robby.

She looked around for the transfer notes Ellis had written for her and Collins, though she knew that these were now mostly her patients, glancing at the board she knew that today would get even worse than it had already been until now. Dr. King seemed to have been put in charge of triage, something she was incredibly thankful for, this was not something she needed on her plate now as well.

„So which Med Student do you want to drag around all day?“ Abbot asked as he also glared at the board like it had personally offended him.

„Just keep Santos off my back and I am happy,“ she muttered, glancing over to the side she could see the intern and two med students chatting amongst themselves, „I think Javadi should help with triage, she has some experience there,“ she muttered.

„So you are giving me the honour of working with Dr. Santos?“ Abbot asked, a half teasing tone in his voice, she gave him a mildly annoyed glance. She thought Santos was full of potential, could make a great doctor, but she thought she would fit better in surgery. Her bedside manner lacked to an extent that was almost painful.

„Yeah,“ she nodded, „Please, I know you are a lot better at handling people like that,“ she sighed, giving Abbot a pleading look.

„I know someone that has a lot more patience and a firm but gentle hand that could use some practice working with people like that,“ his voice was still teasing and she shook her head. He was right, she needed to work with people like Santos more often. Robby told her as much, that had been one of the reasons she had ended up in his ED and not in surgery, the simple fact that she could not stand people like Santo.

„Shut up,“ she gave him a glare as she took a deep breath. Suddenly even over the chaos of the Pitt she heard soft tapping of feet, accompanied by the squeaking of wheelchair wheels.

No, please, not today.

„Hey there, sweet cheeks,“ the voice of Myrna came from behind her. Turning her head slightly she gave the older woman a long, hard glare.

„Good morning, Myrna,“ she said in a tight voice. Usually she found some amusement in the older woman, but today she was really not in the mood for her shenanigans.

“Your boyfriend is looking for you, sweet cheeks,“ Myrna nodded in the direction of Dr. Robby. A low groan escaped her at that, most days when Myrna would call Dr. Robby her boyfriend she would get at least a bit flustered, but right now her nerves were already frayed and she was not sure how much of this she could deal with today.

„Myrna,“ she drew out the older woman‘s name in a warning, „Dr. Robby is not my boyfriend, but thank you for letting me know he is looking for me,“ she muttered under her breath as she turned to head towards Robby. Abbot gave her a pat on the back, a reassuring smile on his lips as she started walking away from Myrna she heard her voice again.

„Whatever you say, sweet cheeks,“ then she heard her tone shifting again, probably starting to flirt with Abbot. As she reached Robby Gloria was still following him around, talking to him about patient satisfaction, again. Telling him how his department needed to get better numbers or otherwise the risk of them getting shut down was going to rise. Her brow twitched at that, this was seriously going to be her final straw for the day. As Robby saw her his frown disappeared for a brief moment, but reappeared as Gloria continued to yap in his ear.

„Fucking hell!“ she snapped at Gloria, surprising both Robby and Gloria, but mostly herself „You don‘t work down here and all you do is complain and complain and complain!“ she felt the building anger and frustration of the barely started day begin to manifest, her mind was reeling, she needed to get herself to calm down again. „You don‘t know what it is like to have to work with a barely existent team! You sit in your office all day and complain and complain about our performance!“ Before she was able to say another word, Robby put a hand on her shoulder, stepping towards her.

„Alright, Gloria I think you have heard that speech already,“ Robby gave the CMO an angry glare.

„That discussion is not over yet, Robinavitch!“ With an angry huff she walked past them, not before shooting her a disapproving glare.

„You okay there?“ Robby asked after Gloria was out of earshot. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment then nodded slightly.

„Just a really rough start to the day,“ she whispered, like it was some deep secret. Robby gave her a worried glance, raising his brow in question.

„Robby,“ she took a deep breath, knowing that the following statement would probably explain to him how bad her mood was, „I can feel the part of my scrubs where I cut off the label rubbing against my neck and I feel like my whole body is on fire, I can hear every single sound in my vicinity and it feels like my brain is about to go into an overload induced shut down, so yeah, a really rough start to the day,“ she gave Robby a pointed look at her, slowly lifting his hand from her shoulder. A soft sigh escaped her, usually if it were anyone else that had touched her this long she would have snapped at them in the mood she was currently in, but Robby‘s hand on her shoulder had been a reassurance of some sort, comforting, grounding.

„Okay, I get that, but I need you here with me right now, okay?“ His voice was gentle as he spoke to her. She nodded slightly as she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down.

„You take Whitaker with you, I will make sure he stays on track so you don‘t have to worry about that as well. Stay on top of the higher risk patients Ellis handed you over, Abbot will make sure the lower risk patients are cared for. For incoming traumas today it will be you and Whitaker, alright, I will join you if I can, but right now we will have to make sure that we stay on top of everything, okay.“ It was just a rundown of the plan. A rundown of the way they would be operating today and for some reason it was probably a greater comfort than anything else he could have told her. The instructions were clear, care for the high risk patients, handle incoming traumas. Everyone else would have to find a way to deal with their plates during this shift.

“Thanks, Robby,” she gave him a small smile. Robby never failed to help her in situations like this, always knowing what to say or what to do, he had this way about him when he talked to her like this. Taking deep breaths, she tried to focus on what was important right now, deep breaths, be nice to the kid, take care of the patients.

“Of course,” slowly he reached out, giving her time to say something if she didn't want him to touch her. Nodding softly she gave Robby a quick smile, he gently padded her shoulder.

“And remember to eat and drink something,” he gently spoke. Nodding slowly she squared her shoulders, readying herself for the worst thing that could happen during this shift.

——————

Whitaker had joined her quickly, she had put him on two cases they needed to take care of, just getting the history of the patients and a basic workup before their exam and treatment. He had handled that rather well and had even given minor treatment orders to the people he had seen, already lifting some work from her. She still checked up on them, calling radiology or surgery to get these people in line for whatever they needed.

A bicycle accident had come in as a trauma, she and Whitaker had been able to handle it quickly, sending the man to the CT and then to the OR within twenty minutes. The guy had been complaining the entire time, threatening to sue her and the hospital if he wouldn’t be able to ride a bicycle angin.

She had yelled at the Attending of Cardiology when he had bitched about not having enough beds for the cardiology cases she needed to send upstairs. Both had major heart issues, even if it was not a heart attack they would still receive much better and safer care in cardiology. He had folded after she had told him that she would be sending them up anyway, even if he told her that there was no room, which she knew was bullshit because Esme had told her that three beds in cardiology had opened up. While all this was happening there was one major annoyance always not too far away from her: Myrna.

“No Myrna!” she had shouted as she saw the older woman trying to roll out of the ambulance bay door, rolling her back she had put the brakes back into place, leaving the woman at the nurses’ station. Whitaker, the poor guy, had gotten an obscene amount of bodily fluids over him during the entire shift and she was just glad that this was not her.

Another trauma had come in, this time a kid that had fallen off the balcony on the second floor. His mother had screamed in her ear the entire time, elbowed her in the stomach twice and once accidentally hit her in the throat with an open hand. They had gotten him stabilised as well, sending him up for a CT and then neurology, she had yelled at the chief resident there, telling him that they currently had not the capacity to deal with a potentially paralyzed seven year old. He had simply muttered something about his Attending killing him, but had taken the kid upstairs.

“No Myrna!” she had shouted as Myrna seemed to be heading straight for the men’s restroom. Pulling the wheelchair backwards towards the disabled bathroom.

“Or I can get you a bedpan,” she had told Myrna with a deadly glare. The older woman had simply lifted her hands, grinning like a cheshire cat and agreed to use the bedpan. It was like she was trying to get on her nerves today.

“Just tell your boyfriend that I am missing him today!” Myrna sighed as she handed her the clean bedpan. A groan left her lips as she heard Dana shouting at her that they had a motorcycle accident victim coming in hot via air transport.

They had headed to the roof, just her, Whitaker and Robby. The EMT’s had helped bring the man into trauma 2, getting him on the gurney and making him comfortable. He had practically been sliced in half, there was nothing they could really do, it was a miracle the man had even survived that long. They pumped him full of morphine and tried to stop the bleeding as best they could, luckily thanks to the EMT’s they knew that he had a DNR so when his heart stopped they simply turned off the monitor and had to move on.

The wife and kids of the motorcycle accident victim had arrived only about ten minutes after he had passed away. His wife had yelled at her for not doing more to save her husband even after she had explained the DNR and the issue with his injuries to her. She had tried to punch her, then was escorted out of the ED while she was still screaming and thrashing around, swearing to sue the hospital.

She had called Dr. Shamsi, this time she had not yelled at the person she was talking to over the phone. Nicely asking if she had the capacity to take one of her patients into an OR ASAP, luckily Shamsi still owed her for something so that was quickly done and another bed was freed up.

An amputation of the left leg at the knee had been brought in, they had stopped the bleeding, pumped the man full of morphine, called radiology, booked him an x-ray and a CT, bumped a few other people waiting, but got him off their hands rather quickly, especially since they still had the limb and surgery would take him quickly to make sure that they could still try and reattach the leg.

“Uhm…sorry?” Whitaker asked as she stared at the board trying to make a mental checklist of people she could move around or discharge, though most of the patients she was seeing were not ready to be discharged yet.

“What, Whitaker?” she asked, glancing over to him, he stood beside her, staring at the empty space where Myrna’s wheelchair had been only five minutes ago.

“Oh shit no!” she cried out, looking around she saw Abbot talking to one of the nurses, Santos running around like a headless chicken.

“Abbot!” she shouted as loudly as she could, his head snapped towards her, “Do you know where Myrna is?” He just shrugged and shook his head.

“Well, shit!” she cursed, looking around she saw one of the nursing students looking a little lost, like he had no task. “Terry, come here,” she gestured him over to her, “I have a very important task for you,”

Terry had luckily found Myrna, it had taken him almost half an hour, but he had found the woman, something she was incredibly grateful for, especially since in this half hour she had been able to finish up a few cases for Abbot who seemed to be a bit overloaded with them. A fight bite, a kid who had broken his arm, an elderly woman that had broken her hip, a young guy that had gotten his hand stuck in a bottle.

“You know you and your boyfriend make a really cute couple,” Myrna almost purred, “But I have to say that I am kind of jealous of you, I would like to get a taste of that ass,”

“Jesus Christ, no Myrna, for the last time he is not my boyfriend!” she groaned as she headed towards a room in which Dr. King had just deposited an agitated twenty five year old that was vomiting blood.

That case was solved quickly after asking a few questions and finding out that he had a nosebleed and had put his head up instead of down and had swallowed a whole lot of blood. Still she had done an ultrasound and ordered a CT to rule out anything serious. Whitaker was also running around now, helping an asthmatic patient, doing sutures on another one, taping wounds shut or helping out where an extra pair of hands was needed.

Another trauma rolled in, a teen that had been electrocuted by the neighbours new electric fence. Garcia from surgery came down for that, she had tried really hard not to yell at the woman that frayed her nerves on the best of days, but today was not a good day so she had yelled at her as well. Telling her to suck it up and just take the kid that clearly needed surgery for his arm upstairs.

“You know, I never thought I would say that, but…” Robby trailed off as he watched Garcia take the teenager upstairs for surgery, “You in a bad mood really makes all the difference on a bad day, maybe we need you in a bad mood on more days, you have been clearing beds and moving patients like there is no tomorrow,” Robby gave her a small grin as she rubbed her face, feeling like her head was about to explode. She looked at Robby, not being able to suppress her annoyance.

“You can be lucky I didn’t kill anyone yet,” she muttered looking around, “Though you might be getting a complaint about me from cardiology and neurology,” she muttered under her breath, trying to keep herself from shutting down. The only thing that kept her brain from going into a complete shutdown and probably meltdown was the adrenaline pumping through her system. Taking a shuddering breath she was about to bolt towards central again when Robby grabbed her arm.

“Did you eat something?” he asked, giving her a concerned look. His big brown eyes looked like a puppy as he stared at her.

“Robby it is not even noon yet, I don’t need lunch right now,” she grumbled and was about to rip her arm from his grasp when he pulled out a protein bar from the front pocket of the jacket he was wearing.

“Eat that now, I don’t care if you eat it in two bites, just eat it,” Robby’s expression was stern as he handed her the protein bar, giving her hand a slight squeeze as he handed it over to her. Quickly unwrapping it she thanked him quietly and left the room, wolfing it down in three quick bites.

Hysterical screaming came from somewhere, deciding that it was best to head in that direction. She saw a woman holding her own hand, and for a moment it did not register in her mind what was wrong with that image, but then she saw it. She was the woman literally holding her own hand and for a moment she wondered what it was with all these amputations today. Bringing the woman to a room she quickly took care of everything, also putting her in line for an x-ray, calling surgery to give them a heads up about another amputation.

“You know, my husbands never made sure that I ate, and you insist that he is not even your boyfriend,” Myrna tutted from behind her as she leaned against a work station, feeling her back pop in a few places as she stretched it.

“Myrna…” she sighed, rubbing her forehead. For a moment she wanted to yell ‘No, Myrna!’ again, but her thought process was interrupted by Whitaker yelling.

“I need a little help here! Code blue!” he shouted. He sounded a little panicky as she saw him, grabbing a pair of gloves she started running towards the room. A group of nurses already brought the crash cart with them. As she entered the room Whittaker was already doing chest compression. It wasn't even five minutes and the patient was back again, taking a deep breath as she did an exam, trying to find out what was wrong. Waiting for lab results would probably bring some clarity to that situation.

The day went on and after what felt like an entire gruelling shift it was only noon. Standing at a workstation she quickly typed in the information for the chart.

“Here you go,” Robby appeared right beside her, a mug of something that smelled like chai and a sandwich in hand. A laugh escaped her as she pulled out a sandwich from her scrub pocket. It was egg salad, something she knew Robby loved.

“Thanks,” she took the mug of chai, the sandwich, handed Robby his sandwich and gave him a small smile.

“Of course, can’t have my best resident collapse by the end of this shift,” he smiled at her as he unwrapped his sandwich as well, they ate in silence while both of them filled out a few charts.

A groan echoed from somewhere near them. Myrna was watching them, shaking her head like she could not believe what she was seeing.

“No Myrna!” both of them groaned at the same time, “Don’t even say it,” Robby shook his head as he got up from his chair, giving her a gentle pat on the back.

“You got this,” he smiled at her as he disappeared into the depths of the ED, looking over her shoulder she could see Abbot leaning against the nurses’ station, looking like a ghost on two legs, at least to the people that knew him. Getting up from her seat she grabbed a sandwich off the tray and threw it towards him. A quick smile on her lips as he caught it, toasting it towards her with a small smile.

Hurrying off, she continued to treat patients. Broken bones, deep cuts, other issues. She tried her best to keep up with everything.

Patient yelled at her, threatened her, one even spit her in the face. The only reason she had not punched him being that Whitaker had somehow in his awkward and yet adorable fashion deescalated the situation.

“No Myrna!” she hollered across the ED as she saw the older woman trying to escape once again. She didn’t even have to start moving, Robby already there, turning Myrna around and pushing her back towards where they usually parked her. A relieved sigh escaped her lips as she was able to head off again.

Time dragged on and the day felt like it was never going to be over. More angry patients about the long wait times, more agitated people, more people that were yelling and luckily at some point amidst all the chaos of the day shift change arrived. It went relatively smoothly and she was able to leave the ED by eight sharp.

“Hey!” Princess shouted, “Do you want to join us in the park?” She tilted her head towards the park where she knew the rest of the Pitt crew sometimes spent their evenings. For a moment she hesitated, she had the feeling that this day would only get worse if she decided to stay outside for much longer, but as she saw Abbot and Robby standing with Princess she simply nodded quietly.

“Yeah, why not,” she whispered softly as she trudged along with them, at the front of the hoard were Santos, Whitaker and Javadi, chattering about something. In all honesty she was not sure how the three got along, but apparently things like a mass casualty event bring people together. Abbot and Robby were talking in hushed voices, like they were sharing some kind of secret with each other. Finally they reached the park benches, a long groan escaped her as she was finally able to take a seat. Her legs hurt like hell and she saw Abbot taking off his prosthetic, a sigh of relief coming from him.

Beside her Robby was moving his hand around his backpack. Suddenly he let out a sound that was oddly close to pride as he pulled out a small bag. Quickly opening it he smiled softly.

“Come on, hand out,” he gently nudged her side as she stared at him for a moment, confusion settling in her mind, though she was too tired to argue, simply holding her hand out. Carefully he tilted the paper bag and from it dropped a few roasted almonds into the palm of her hand.

Her eyes went wide as she saw them hitting her hand. A bright smile grew on her lips as she looked at Robby.

“Thanks,” she grinned at him, picking up one of them and popping it in her mouth. As she chewed on the sweet almond a soft sigh escaped her. Around her the chatter continued, she continued to snack on the almonds, feeling a single hot tear of gratitude run down her cheek, quickly she wiped it away.

“You okay?” Robby gave her a gentle smile as he looked over at her, a beer in his hand. His big brown eyes that were always so full of worry fixed on her.

“Just,” she looked at the roasted almonds in her hand, she choked slightly, “This just made my day,” she whispered, smiling tiredly at him. “How did you know?” she asked in a quiet tone so that the others around them wouldn’t hear them.

“You mentioned once that these were your favorite snacks after a rough shift, so I decided to get some in case you need a ‘little pick me up’ from time to time,” he smiled at her. She could feel her face getting hot as she nodded softly.

“Can I?” she gently nodded in the direction of his shoulder, she knew that Robby didn’t always want to be touched, just like her, so she just wanted to make sure she didn’t overstep. Especially after this rough of a shift.

“Of course,” he gave her a soft smile. Scotting a bit closer she felt their arms brush, leaning her head against his shoulder was a relief, his warmth a great comfort, the feeling of his breaths calming in a way that little else was to her nowadays. Closing her eyes she simply listened to the conversation around her. Almost about to fall asleep when Whitaker’s voice pulled her out of the lull.

“Who is Myrna talking about when referring to her,” she opened her eyes slightly, seeing Whitaker gesture in her direction. “Boyfriend?”

The question hung in the air for a moment before she heard laughing coming from somewhere beside her, it was definitely Abbot laughing.

“Ah, come on man,” Robby grumbled, she could feel the vibrations of his voice against the crown of her head.

“Whitaker,” Abbot laughed again, he was probably shaking his head. There was a long silence, then a deep breath. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Yeah, sorry, Dr. Robby, but I thought you were her partner and Myrna was just always referring to someone else being her partner,” Whitaker sounded mildly embarrassed.

“Honestly, same,” she heard Santos, then a few gulps, probably drowning the rest of her beer can.

“Why does everyone think we are a couple?” Robby sounded mildly confused, amusement lacing his voice. A few beats of silence.

“You are literally letting her sleep on your shoulder,” Abbot sounded so amused that she had to refrain from opening her eyes. “And you hate almonds,” there was a pause, “You carry around almonds for her, you wouldn’t eat them even if it was your only option,” Abbot repeated his statement.

“And you bring her food,” Princess now chimed in. There was a low agreement of murmurs, then another voice spoke up.

“And you bring her tea,” Donnie, he sounded like he was about to start laughing.

“Oh, and I still remember that look on your face when that patient was flirting with her last week, you looked like you wanted to rip that guy’s head off,” Jesse spoke in his usual soft and measured tone, though there was a certain amusement to it as well.

For a moment these statements hung in the air, weighing down the atmosphere, then a soft laugh came from Robby. She was shaken slightly and let out a quiet huff of dissatisfaction, the shaking stopped slowly.

“I guess we do act like a couple,” he sighed, running his hand over face, at least that's what it felt like.

“And it’s a damn shame you aren’t actually one,” Abbot sounded like he had told Robby that countless times already. Slowly she started to blink, opening her eyes she let out a soft yawn, the chilly air in the park made her shiver slightly as she sat up straight again.

“You got a jacket?” Robby asked her as he looked at the goosebumps on her arms. Giving him a sheepish smile she shook her head, before she was able to say anything Robby had already unzipped his hoodie, slipping out of it.

“No, Robby,” she shook her head, stopping him in his motions, gently placing her hand on his. “It’s alright,” she smiled at him, simply wrapping her arms around herself. Glancing to the side she could see the looks being exchanged between the others.

The evening wore on, from time to time she could see Robby twitching when she rubbed her arms. Slowly but surely everyone started heading home until it was just her and Robby sitting on the park bench. Glancing over at him she smiled softly, his features were only illuminated by the dim light from the lantern near them. He looked magnificent with his hair slightly mussed and eyes half closed because he was so tired.

“I think I should head home,” his voice cracked slightly as he was about to get up. She was not sure what possessed her to do it, but she grabbed his hand. The warmth sent a slight shiver down her spine as she squeezed it.

“Thank you, Robby,” she whispered, giving him a watery smile.

“For what?” he looked slightly confused, now standing, looking down at her with those big brown eyes.

“For caring about me,” it sounded so strange to say out loud. Yet she squeezed his hand softly, trying to keep herself from saying more, the tiredness in her bones and yearning in her heart almost too much.

“Of course,” he spoke softly, he sighed, “Do you want company?” he sounded so unsure, like he was proposing something scandalous.

“Yes,” she nodded, it was hard for her to admit these things. She had been alone for such a long time that even asking for something as simple as that felt like a burden.

“Alright, come on,” he did not let go of her hand as he pulled her up from where she was sitting on the bench, picking up her bag and slung it over her shoulder. During the walk to Robby’s place they never let go of each other’s hands, like it was the only way to not lose each other in a crowded room, though the streets were empty.

At his place he had turned on the lights, offered her something to eat, something proper. Together they ate the leftovers in silence, no words needed to be exchanged between them, at least no right now. As the plates were empty the silence stretched on, sitting at the kitchen table in the dim light of his apartment for the first time it felt like whatever had been building between them had come to a peak. The years of shared pain, the years of shared fear, anger and resentment against the world, the loneliness that could threaten to consume someone even when surrounded by people.

After a moment Robby got up, putting the plates into the dishwasher, he leaned against the kitchen counter for a long moment, staring at the washing machine.

“Do you want to stay?” his voice was soft, glancing over his shoulder she could see the pain in his eyes.

“If it’s alright with you,” she answered in a hushed tone, afraid that if she spoke any louder the moment might shatter. That she would wake up in the ED because she had been knocked out by a patient and all of this was just a dream, just a fantasy her mind had conjured up.

“It is,” he nodded, then left the kitchen, for a moment she was concerned, not sure where he had gone. Then he returned two neatly folded items of clothing in his hands. “I guess you don’t want to sleep in your scrubs,” his tone sounded light and for a moment she thought that she could get used to this.

“Yes, thank you,” getting up from where she was sitting and taking the clothes from Robby.

It was a pair of his joggers and an old worn out t-shirt that smelled like him. Changing in the bathroom she put her scrubs into the washing machine, Robby put it on for a quick load, they settled on the couch while they waited for the washing machine to finish, she was snuggled up beside him, her head resting against his chest. Neither of them really acknowledged the fact that they both knew that there was no going back from this, that they had crossed a line on which they had been teetering for way too long.

The beeping sounded, she put everything into the dryer, putting that on. Robby started turning off the lights as they reached the bedroom he picked up a pillow. Shaking her head she had gently wrangled it out of his hands again, putting it on the bed.

Together they settled under the soft covers and for the first time in what felt like forever her mind stopped going in circles as she laid down, the comforting weight of Robby behind her. The first time in forever that when she laid down to sleep she was not plagued by anxiety or the feeling of shame, at that moment it was simple, it was easy, it was peaceful. Though the last thought that crossed her mind before she slipped off to sleep was the way she had hollered ‘No Myrna!’ across the ED and the expression on Robby’s face when he had looked at her while wheeling Myrna back to the nurses’ station. That warmth, that fondness wrapping around her mind like a warm blanket.

[asparklethatisblue]

i still can’t believe that some of the most profound representation of lesbians, queer women, the trans experience, the power of feminine energy without being gender essentialist I’ve ever read… was written by a cishet man.

i really don’t mean to put one author on a pedestal, Terry Pratchett had his faults and blind spots, but you could tell his heart was in the right place when it came to writing. Monstrous Regiment means a lot to me, but Cheery Littlebottom? She was a joke, a punchline. Not a mean-spirited one, just a natural conclusion of the joke of “if all Dwarves look the same regardless of gender, and get treated the same, then wouldn’t it be funny if one wanted to be treated as a woman?”. And it is funny and ridiculous, and as far as I’m aware Pterry wanted to poke fun at a fantasy trope without her being explicitly trans. But then he gets serious with it? The way Vimes os confused at each bit of make up but accepts it when he realises no it’s not a bruise it’s eyeshadow. The way Angua immediately is supportive? The way Cheery tries out different aspects of feminine presentation but dials it back if something doesn’t work? She has several scenes when the gang goes to her homeland, and supports her with “you call her a slur you’ll be in massive trouble” and when she wants to wear an atrociously ugly dress they’re still encouraging. And then, at the end, Cheery decides that she doesn’t need to present hyper feminine, she’s a female Dwarf and she knows it, and she doesn’t need to prove it to anyone. dunno, it feels like a lot of that comes from deep compassion for the human experience, I’m glad to have those books now.

and now that I’m nearly done with the Witches and Tiffany Aching books? Maybe it’s raising a daughter, but the way Pterry writes young girls and women, their cattiness and cruelty towards other women? It feels… it feels really well observed in a way that isn’t just a misogynist “women be fighting” thing. I like that “actually I’ll be good friends with my ex boyfriend’s fiancé” is a thing that happens

[unorganisedalienrubbish]

Okay, so I've thought about this some more. Here are my previous tags that I want to expand on:

"#/ something something your first healthy relationship after a history of abusive ones #/ god i didn't know how to receive hugs for so long. it made me so uncomfortable"

A little history, I'll try not to trauma dump, that's not my intention but my history isnt perfect and it will upset some people. For most of my childhood my father was absent or abusive (physically emotionally financially, you name it), and for several reasons, including autism, emotional detachment, or preference, my mother didn't hug us. And when we asked for it, about 70% of the time she complied although begrudgingly. I didn't have many friends either, never any that would touch me or i would feel comfortable touching.

So i spent the majority of my childhood without physical affection. it really didn't affect me much as you would think, i didn't realise that what i experienced wasn't normal until i was an adult. I suppose i just learnt not to need it or want it.

So when I moved out and went to college, friends started greeting each other with hugs, and nights ended with a warm dap-up. I was so uncomfortable with the closeness that I interpreted as over-friendly and unwarranted, I ended up isolating myself because I didn't like being touched like that. I was closed off at social interactions, always have a guarded stance and appeared unapproachable as a protection. Mind you, the touching wasnt the only thing restraining me in social situations but it was a big reason.

I honestly wasn't taught or learnt how to interact with people in that way, so the new-ness -although friendly and well intentioned - came as a threat to me because it was so foreign.

And when I met my partner in person for the first time, no matter how much I wanted to hold them, to sit pressed up against them, it made my skin itch and my stomach coil. Being physically close to the person i trusted most still activated my fight or flight - not to any fault of my partner, they are perfect (and i have since become the clingiest gf).

A dog will still curl up in the corner when a human walks in with food. Even when they are starving and shivering and the human only offers comfort and warmth. Physical contact and the acceptance of it is taught, and is not inherently known.

This is amplified tenfold with the presence of past abuse. You will bite every hand that offers to feed you when you know what hands are capable of.

So yes, whumpee will positively retch at the thought of a blanket being draped over their shivering frame.

living weapon who’s never been treated as anything other than an object and has never been shown a drop of sympathy or compassion suddenly falling into the hands of a carewhumper. they’re given privileges, comfort, affection.

…and it is the most uncomfortable they’ve ever felt in their entire life. this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. this isn’t what they were made for.

[chenlezip]

annas note: i know some of these aren’t proper love languages but i wanted to do something separately for each member! i hope i haven’t repeat anything… :/ it’s not proof read… please vouch for me if i have guys

ACTS OF SERVICE | MARK .

mark always pays attention to you, no matter what he’s doing. if he’s busy on his phone scrolling through socials, noticing that your skirt is slowly riding up, he carefully brings a hand toward it and pulls it down gently.

insists on carrying heavy bags, even just carrying your bag. no matter how many times you insist and say ‘no markie, ‘s light enough.’ he will make you give it to him so he can carry it on his shoulder.

if he notices you struggling with anything, oh he is right there instantly, helping you out and making everything better. "i saw you struggling, let me do it for you, hm? rest your pretty self."

SHARED EXPERIENCES | RENJUN .

renjun never usually says he misses you but you kind of get the hint when he invites you to do something with him - even if its just something as simple as going shopping or just going on a small walk to pick up some paint for his next painting.

he stores his best memories of you both in the back of his mind and usually tends to bring them up when you're both laying in bed together, "do you remember that time we got caught in the rain on our first date?" or "remember when i tripped over trying to get you ice cream because we were in such a hurry?"

he remembers all the firsts of your experiences together like: first movie you watched together, first silly inside joke, first time he realised he was in love during something totally mundane like making instant noodles at 2 in the morning after a long day. these things mean more to him than dramatic declarations.

QUALITY TIME | JENO .

as a homebody, jeno loves to be spending time indoors with you. making the most of it by watching a movie with you, or a show. he doesn’t mind. spending time with you is just worth it for him.

you both don’t need to speak, just being near each other is enough. you always find yourself sitting close to jeno, you love being by his side.

sunday mornings are the best for the both of you though. just laying in bed, all snuggled up under the covers, legs intertwined. your back against his chest, his arm wrapped around your waist and the other under your head. soft sighs, murmurs exiting your lips as you complain about not wanting to leave the covers.

PHYSICAL TOUCH | HAECHAN .

haechan will always have his hands on you, come on. who else would be clingy at 9am after just waking up. arms already wrapped around your waist, soft kisses trailing down your neck, his morning voice in your ear like a melody. “smells good, baby.”

whenever you’re sat somewhere, he always has a hand on the top of your knee or your thigh, gently squeezing sometimes. he loves doing it during a conversation you’ve noticed, either squeezing or playing piano chords on your leg. you don’t mind it though.

whenever you’re a little overwhelmed, haechan brings you to his side and wraps an arm around your shoulder, shushing you quietly and whispering sweet nothings while his hand trails small circles on your arm. his touch always calms you down, he knows what will calm you.

WORDS OF AFFIRMATION | JAEMIN .

jaemin is always there, complimenting you or expressing how proud of you he was even if it was just something small you did. he loved letting you know, just saying anything that comes to mind like: “im so proud of you, baby.” “you did great, alright?”

he’s always reassuring you whenever you feel down or just out of place in the world. his words mean so much to you, he always knows exactly what to say. “you’re doing the best you can, all you can do is try. you can’t be expected to always do good. it’s natural, it’s a human process. don’t worry your pretty little head, hm? i’m here for you and i see you.”

jaemin likes leaving a little something in your bag or just on the kitchen counter if he has to leave before you do. a photo he took of you during a date one time with a note that read: “the prettiest girl ever, always looking so stunning no matter what you do. have the best day, ‘m always here.”

QUALITY TIME/GIFTS | CHENLE

chenle hates to admit it but he loves spending time with you. he always gets you to cook with him, softly wrapping his arms around your waist as he watches you cut some vegetables up. "i'm just waiting for the pot to heat up, i'll watch you do this." he mumbled into your neck.

you casually mentioned liking a certain plushie, obscure snack, or pair of socks with capybaras on them once.. or twice (can't blame you) and next thing you know, it’s sitting on your desk with a sticky note that says, “this reminded me of your weird little brain. hope you like it baby."

loves cuddling up on the sofa in the living room, putting on one of stephen currys old basketball matches with food on the way for the both of you to enjoy for the night. you don't mind watching it because its time together and you barely had that time so you both are taking it for granted before he gets busy again.

DIGITAL CONNECTION | JISUNG

jisung loves sending you memes that he thinks you would find funny, maybe even some that he knows the both of you will giggle at. even tiktoks, throughout the day, the notifications slowly piling up as he sends one with a ‘this is us’ or ‘reminded me of u :’)’.

he loves customising your online spaces together, whether that be on minecraft with matching skins, matching pfps, having the same handle on overwatch / slightly matching ones.. anything that matches you both together? yeah. customised straight away. especially your avatars on any game.. be prepared.

whenever you both are far from one another, you always end up facetiming late at night and falling asleep together after sharing your day. you always send photos to him while you’re away, updating him about it that way where as jisung was the type to spam text and send a video at least.

nct : @remtrack @mejaemin @mahaewebs @zorange13 @florihaei @spacejip @markkiatocafe @polarisjisung @lainzitos @ayukas @sunghoonsgfreal @ikozen @tigerlillizz

[bruisedboys]

thinking of jacob giving u the best hugs after a long week. maybe your social battery has died and people keep asking u to help them so he scares them off (temporarily)

drew my angel thank you for the request!! love u

jacob black x fem!imprint!reader (reader is shorter than jacob)

Jacob Black has a one track mind when it comes to you. You’re all he ever thinks about, all he cares about, the only thing that really matters to him. He worries about you when you’re not together and clings to you when you are together. He’s totally obsessed, and he likes to think that if it weren’t for the whole imprint thing, he’d still be equally obsessed with you. Who wouldn’t? You’re kind, and smart, and beautiful. You don’t care that he’s a monster and you love his pack family even when they’re a pain in the neck.

Like now, when they’ve dragged him out for patrol and left you at Sam’s, when all Jacob wanted to do tonight was take you home and kiss you stupid. You’ve let him go without a complaint, ‘cos you’re perfect.

Jacob, in his wolf form with the rest of the pack spread out within the woods around him, realises too late that he’s been musing over you in his mind. The others are laughing at him.

Really, Jacob? Paul’s voice says in his head. We haven’t been gone ten minutes.

Shut up, Jacob thinks back, but he stops picturing your face in his mind and tries to focus on the task at hand instead.

A few uneventful hours later, the pack finally heads back to Sam’s. Jacob, the fastest not only because he’s naturally quick, but because he’s desperate to see you, gets there first. Back in his human body he feels much more comfortable, and at least now no one can read his thoughts. He can think about you all he likes without getting an earful for it.

He’s unsurprised when he finds you in the kitchen with Emily.

“Hey,” he nods to Emily, who’s getting something out of the oven, and crosses to where you’re standing over the sink, up to your elbows in suds.

“Hi,” he says fondly, moving up behind you. He pushes an arm across your lower back and dips his head to lay a kiss in your hair. “Missed you.”

You turn to look up at him and smile, and you’re so, so pretty, but your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Hello,” you say softly. Your voice is heavy and slow, like someone’s poured honey down your throat. “Missed you, too. Where’s the others?”

“I beat ‘em,” Jacob tells you proudly, at the same time as voices and laughter start trailing in from the living room. Jacob winces. “Just.”

You laugh softly. “Will you dry these for me?” You ask, nodding towards the clean dishes on the bench. “Before it gets too rowdy in here?”

Jacob helps you with the dishes. You were right when you guessed it would get rowdy — the pack are starving and eat the meal you and Emily have made like, well, wolves. Paul’s in a mood tonight, a good one but a loud one, and as a result everyone jokes and laughs and talks over one another. You’re decidedly quiet, and when you’re done eating Jacob pulls you into the hallway, out of the way of all the noise.

“Hey, are you okay?” He asks, hands on your upper arms.

You heave a sigh. “I’m really tired,” you admit. You’ve long since given up on trying to hide how you’re feeling from Jacob, because he’s so persistent and stubborn that he always ends up weasling it out of you, anyway. “Not like, sleepy. Just, my battery is really low.“

Jacob frowns and rubs his thumb over the hill of your shoulder. “I’m sorry, honey,” he says. It somehow feels like his fault.

You give him a look like you know what he’s thinking. “S’okay,” you say. “Just had a long week, you know?”

Jacob hums. “Yeah, I know. You want a hug?”

You nod like you were waiting for him to ask, and Jacob makes quick work of wrapping you up in his arms, pulling you into his chest like he’s done a million times before. You push your arms around his waist and cling to him, while he rubs your back with a warm hand. He’s tall enough that he can rest his chin atop your head so he does, and lets you push your face into his neck, your mouth warm where it presses against his skin.

You sigh softly and go almost completely limp in his arms.

“Thanks,” you say, muffled.

Jacob opens his mouth to say let’s go home, but then Embry appears, calling your name in an unnecessarily loud voice.

“Y/N! Can you come help me— oh.”

He stops short at the sight of you limp as a ragdoll in Jacob’s arms. That, plus the look Jacob gives him.

“What, Em?” Jacob says, and it comes out a bit more harsh than he’d intended. He amends, “Sorry, she’s really tired. What do you want?”

Embry has the grace to look a bit sheepish. “Never mind,” he says.

You pull your face from Jacob’s neck, one arm still curved around his waist. “What is it, Embry? I can help, it’s fine—”

“No you can’t, we’re going home now,” Jacob interrupts, throwing you a look, annoyed and endeared by how sweet you are. “Ask someone else,” he tells Embry bluntly.

He’s pretty sure Embry rolls his eyes as he leaves, but he doesn’t care. You turn to look at him once Embry is gone.

“You’re mean,” you say, but you make it sound like I love you, and you wrap your arms around him again.

“And you’re tired,” he says back, ducking his head to press a quick kiss to your forehead. He pulls away but rubs your arm as he goes. “C’mon, I really am gonna take you home now, okay? Dad’ll already be asleep so it’ll just be me and you.”

You raise both eyebrows, pleased. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, feigning intrigue.

Jacob grins. “Whatever you want it to mean, sweetheart,” he says, though he hopes he’ll get to kiss you stupid like he’s been wanting to do all night.

[liliesformingi]

"much love, laufey" - a mini series by @liliesformingi. view series masterlist, and outline here.

3. 'valentine' - yunho x reader “i tell him he's pretty too, can i say that?”

author's note: bring me 900 million jeong yunhos right now.

People raised their eyebrows at you for rooming with a guy. “And you don’t have feelings for him?” they’d ask, over and over.

But Yunho wasn’t just a guy, he was your friend. Supportive, protective, kind. He was a comfortable presence, something familiar.

Yunho was studying sports science and physiology at university, but also wrote lyrics on the side. You knew he loved physiology and understanding the human body, but music was what he truly loved, what he spent ungodly hours working at and obsessing over.  But it’s not stable enough, he’d sigh, stretching his arms before returning to the essay on human development he’d been procrastinating for the past week.

You were studying psychology, but also took art history classes on the side. Yunho knew art was something you desperately wanted to pursue, but it was the same as it was for him. You took the smart route. Not necessarily the easy one, or the one you liked. You did what you needed to, securing your futures.

Both of you were scared of risking something, messing stuff up.

He’d bring you an iced coffee when he knew you’d forgotten to drink one while studying.

You’d make his preworkout for him to take before he went to the gym.

He’d go out and buy things for you when it was that time of month and you couldn’t get out of bed.

You’d blow dry his hair late at night when he was too tired to do it himself, insisting he’d get sick if he went to bed with damp hair.

He’d comfort you after each failed date, after each guy ghosted you or simply told you “You’re not what I want.”

Basically, you two were cosy.

It had been a quiet day. Both of you had upcoming exams, not for another few weeks, but close enough that it felt real, and both of you had fears of not doing enough. So if that meant going through notes for hours and revising on the sofa while he sat at the dining table, tapping his pen along to whatever he was listening to with his headphones while occasionally annotating a diagram, so be it.

Eventually, you were bored, hungry and worn out. 

Yunho had dark circles under his eyes, and you were struggling to retain your gaze on the harsh light of your laptop, but both of you refused to give up. Until you checked your phone and realised it was 3pm, and you were yet to have lunch, let alone breakfast.

“Oh, shit,” you mumbled, standing up and stretching before you made your way into the kitchen. You automatically pulled out two bowls and ripped open a packet of yours and his favourite ramen, setting the water to boil while you chopped vegetables and stirred the soup. 

You set the steaming bowl in front of him along with a pair of chopsticks and a spoon. He looked up gratefully, taking his headphones off and shoving his work aside. “Thank you, angel, I’m sorry, I could’ve made myself something-”

“Don’t worry, Yun, it’s fine,” you sat down opposite him, beginning to eat your food. You slurped noodles and yawned, occasionally exchanging the odd comment about work or school. You asked him about his music projects he was working on, and he started off on a vivid explanation about this amazing website of free music samples he’d found. You watched him happily, resting your chin in your hands.

“Sorry, I’ve been talking for a while,” Yunho chuckled. “How’s stuff with you? Got a psych exam coming up, yeah?”

“Mhmm. I just . . . my head’s in it, but my heart kinda isn’t. And it’s a lot of work. I’m tired all the time,” you yawned and stretched. “And my shoulders hurt like hell from sitting so awkwardly for hours.”

Yunho tilted his head a little. “C’mere.”

You stood up and winced slightly, waddling over towards him. He stood up, gesturing for you to sit in his place. You sat down, rolling your neck. He started pressing his hands into your shoulders, upper arms and neck; each movement releasing the pent up tension and stress from your body.

“Feel a bit better?”

“Mm, feels nice, Yun,” you sighed, leaning your head back and looking up at him.

Yunho didn’t know what came over him in that moment. Hands still resting on your shoulders, he leant down, and kissed your forehead.

You gasped a little, body startling. “Yunho, what the fuck?”

“I’m so sorry,” he gasped, immediately redacting his hands from your shoulders. “I don’t know why the hell I did that. Actually, no, I do know, and that’s the problem.”

“Yun-”

“No, let me talk. Please. I like you. Not even like, maybe love, I don’t know. And it hurts, knowing you probably don’t feel the same way and it hurts seeing you go on those dates and get hurt. It hurts seeing you hurt yourself by overwhelming yourself with schoolwork. So maybe I should just go. Maybe that would help.”

“Yunho, shut up.”

He looked a little hurt at that, raising an eyebrow.

“Let me talk,” you replied, eyes sparkling and cheeks a little pink. “I like you too, maybe love. I don’t know either. You just . . . surprised me. But I want you . . . I want you to do that again. But not on the forehead. On the lips. Do it properly, please.”

Yunho walked back over, leaning down and placing a hand on your cheek.

“That I can do,” he smiled.

taglist: @zelinkcrossing @hyunjiiza @zenlackszen @kur0kki @peskybirdysya @nujeskz @jessxxxfwd @xuchiya @bee-gremlin @radblizzardpizzas-blog @matchahintonagar @diekleinesuesse@xh01bri @lunaryoongie @jaehyunluvbot @k1xiara @cloudy-lilly @sunnysidesins @lveegsoi@arcvillie @flqwrlvr @huachengsbestie01 @subby-men-forever @lezleeferguson-120 @mrsminseochoi@alyssajavenss @0sunshinecryptid0@silveritydreams @moonlitarcade| send an ask, dm or comment to be added :)

[mylovesstuffs]

bro. BRO. the way i was kicking my feet and giggling every two seconds, you don't get to judge me. you don’t understand. hansol being all soft and blushy and magical and playful but also soooo gentle and so clearly in love?? i’m gonna bite a snowflake.

also, the chrysanthemum tea callback is literal cinema and like i genuinely cannot believe how tender and fluffy and GORGEOUS this was. thank you for this! really thankssss. 11/10 would let hansol frost my windows and my heart again.

If you like falling into a love that feels destined by the stars, this one’s for you. Five daffodil petals out of five. Would absolutely reread and cry again.

Under the cut are some of thoughts/comments that I wrote while I was reading this. This took me a bit of time to read since I'm sick but, obviously it was worthwhile.

it’s also not something that your magic can fix, or something that needs to be fixed, so— — the way she just said not my problem with full magical authority. Queen behavior.

“Oh, darling,” you whisper, kneeling down beside him, tracing a finger across the yokai’s cheek...— my heart 🥺 the tenderness... I can’t—she cares so much.

“Please tell me you killed that thing.” HELLO??? Sir this is not a Marvel movie, calm DOWN. Seungcheol pls, read the room.

so you can take any thoughts of me killing him and shove them up your ass.—AHHHH she ATE that. Left no crumbs, I love her!!!

“Give the demon my wishes for his speedy recovery,” he says at last.— I see the sarcasm but I respect it.

“My name is Hansol,” he says, “and I think you’re the prettiest person alive.”—STOP IT. Feverish confessions is my guilty pleasure. Protect him at all costs.

Hansol looks at you, worried that you’ll suddenly hate him for what he’s just said, but you just laugh, flattered, and bring your hand up to his forehead. The touch is cool against his skin, like a soothing balm. The touch is cool against his skin, like a soothing balm.— My chest is TIGHT.

It’s difficult to pull coherent sentences out of him, and anything he says is a mixture of your name, his name, and also how pretty he thinks you are.— this man’s entire vocabulary is just “you, me, pretty” That’s poetry atp.

“But you’re very pretty,” Hansol says. “Are you sure?”— STOP THAT. Her heart doesn’t stand a chance and neither do I.

Now you can feel the thrum of it under Hansol’s skin, it’s easy to realise how unwell the yokai was before, when his hands had been deathly cold with no fizz of magic in them at all. You’re just endlessly relieved that you can feel that fizz once again.— Omg the imagery here is so good!!?!!???!!! This is romance meets Studio Ghibli levels of soft.

“Thank you,” he says, so very sincere that it melts your heart.— no because I melted too...

...ears twitching pleasedly…— SIR. Stop being adorable or I will combust.

“I’m leaving,” Hansol says, like it’s obvious. “You took care of me. And I’m now better. So I’m going to go.”— EXCUSE ME??? Boy if you don’t sit your half-healed tail DOWN—no.

No because this is so cinematic and emotionally rich, I’m actually in love—

"Like hell you are," you say— YOU TELL HIM. Soapy hands and all, this is caretaker dominance and I support it fully.

your cottage, shimmering with gold magic and warm lights is the only beacon they recognise.— I want to live in that cottage so bad :(((

“He’s a demon, Y/N...”—okay Van Helsing, you can sit down.

You’re quite proud of your library. It’s an open secret that the bookshelf in your living room leads to it, which is cool all by itself, but your library is also made of magic. What appears as a normal, small study behind the bookshelf turns into a large and sprawling library with high ceilings and mahogany shelves and rows upon rows of books when you step inside.— WHERE IS MY PORTKEY I need to go here IMMEDIATELY. My dream place 🥹

“Is this one of the humans?”— oh no baby, not the guarded voice + tail-tuckinh...

“I used to have one too... don’t hurt anything that doesn’t hurt you first.”— excuse me WHILE I WEEP.

yeoubi. // chwe hansol

여우비 (yeo-u-bi) : noun. literally “fox rain” — when sunlight filters through rainfall, creating a golden shower.

PAIRING : vernon x f!reader

INFO : east asian historical fantasy(ish. i kinda made up my own mythology), fox demon!vernon, silver!vernon, immortal!witch!yn, fluff, magic, strangers to lovers

WORD COUNT : 22.3k+

WARNINGS : blood mention, injuries, slight discrimination against yokai, cursing

NOTES : for the @camandemstudios winter with you collab! i had so so so much fun writing yeoubi and it's genuinely one of the best things ive done this year. writing a fantasy au soft vernon fic was never something that i thought i needed to write, but now i have, and i love him and i love this and i hope everyone loves yeoubi just as much as i do too <3

SYNOPSIS : living as a magic, immortal healer in a rural, human mountain village means most of your existence has been rather peaceful. that is, until one cold winter when an injured yokai stumbles into your life; and though everyone else is terrified of him, you take him in, nurse him back to health, and show the others that some demons aren’t that scary after all. (...and maybe, just maybe, you end up falling for the pretty fox yokai too.)

For the first time in years, the river freezes over.

During winter, it’s often a lot harder for you to notice things like this, as the cold dulls your senses and numbs your fingers, so you’re only informed of this fact when the village children come to your cottage in the morning, their high-pitched voices blending with the mismatched beats of their fists knocking against your door.

“Miss Witch! Miss Witch! There’s something wrong with the river!”

“The river is all solid, Miss Witch!”

“Miss Witch, we can’t play in the river! Can you fix it for us, Miss Witch?”

Blanket wrapped around your shoulders, you open the door with a groggy smile, squinting down at the children on your doorstep.

“Hello, little kids. What are you doing here?”

“Miss Witch!” one of the children chirps. “Good morning!”

Despite being half-asleep, you can’t help but laugh a little at their chipperness. The children are, undeniably, your favourite people in this entire village.

“Good morning,” you say, bemused. “How may I help you?”

Their voices rise in volume again, all of them clamouring to be heard over each other. It can’t be any later than five in the morning, and your fingertips prickle with the cold grey of the mist as you blink down at them, surprised at their energy.

A girl tugs at the end of your blanket, wide-eyed. “Miss Witch, the river is all hard. We don’t know what’s going on.”

“Ah,” you say gently. “I see.” Crouching down so you’re at eye level with the kids, you ask, “If the river is hard, solid, and cold, what do you think that means?”

The children blink at you. 

“What else is hard, solid, and cold?”

One of them brightens. “Ice!”

“Exactly,” you say, smiling. “The river has turned into ice. It’s nothing to worry about, but it does mean it’s very, very cold right now, so why aren’t any of you wearing any hats or scarves, hm?” 

You ruffle the hair of the nearest child, and she shakes her head, giggling. “We were helping the grown-ups, of course! Something happened at the river, an’ they told us to go away.”

“So we came to you,” another boy pipes up. “They said something’s wrong!”

You tilt your head. Whilst it’s certainly been several decades since the river last froze over, it’s no reason for the villagers to worry that much about it. It’s also not something that your magic can fix, or something that needs to be fixed, so—

“Y/N!”

You look up at the call, and see a man in the distance, jogging down the pathway towards your cottage. It’s still far too dark to see clearly, but you smile at the familiar voice.

“Soonyoung,” you call back. “Good morning! Are you here to tell me about the frozen river, too? Don’t worry, it’s completely normal and not dangerous at all.”

His reply, if he has any at all, goes unheard as one of the children suddenly cries out, as if he’s had an epiphany.

You look down at him, amused. “What’s wrong?”

“I just remembered, something else happened at the river,” he says brightly. His remark makes some of the other children perk up too, as if they also remembered this other thing that had happened.

The kids are all at the age where something like a leaf falling onto their heads would be remarkably significant, so as you wait for Soonyoung to come closer and deliver the actual news, you decide to humour them, smiling and tilting your head interestedly. “Oh, really? What was it?”

 “There’s a man in the frozen river, Miss Witch!”

“A—” The smile turns to stone on your face. “A what?”

“Not a man,” Soonyoung says. He’s finally reached your doorstep now, and you notice that his usual easy smile is nowhere to be seen. He frowns down at the children, displeased. “What are you all doing here? We told you to go home, not to Y/N.”

“They thought I could help,” you say placatingly. “It’s okay. And if there’s a man stuck in the river, you might need my help after all.”

“Not a man,” Soonyoung repeats, his face darkening. “It’s not a man.”

You raise an eyebrow at the graveness in his tone. “Well, then you certainly do need my help, it seems. What is it?”

Soonyoung sighs. His exhale clouds the air, and your fingers prickle even more at his next words, like invisible icicles piercing through your skin.

“It’s a demon.”

───────────── ‘✽, 

You are not exactly a human.

Certainly, you look and dress like one—and you have to eat and sleep like one too, otherwise terrible things happen to your energy levels—but that doesn’t mean you are human. There are some things which make you slightly different.

One of those things being that you live forever.

“What do you mean you don’t know if it’s hostile?” Soonyoung demands, struggling to match your strides as you hurry towards the river. “Of course it’s hostile. It’s a fucking demon!”

“When you’ve lived as long as I have, you come to realise that some yokai aren’t hostile,” you respond, frosted-over leaves crunching under your feet. Soonyoung squawks back something unintelligible, too out of breath to make an argument. 

After encouraging the children to return back to their homes and sleep—since it really is five in the morning, and none of them should be awake—you and Soonyoung began making your way to where the rest of the villagers were. 

The river flows down from the mountain that the village is located near. The further up you go, the more dangerous the terrain becomes, and you pause on a jagged rock to frown down at Soonyoung, who’s gasping as he tries to keep up.

“Did you really find the yokai over here? Why were any of you up here in the first place?”

“We didn’t,” Soonyoung said hoarsely. “I’ve been trying to tell you for ages. The demon was found near the edge of the woods.”

“Oh.” You blink. The two of you had marched past the woods a decent while ago. “Okay.” And then you float down from the rock, lightly hopping over frozen patches of land, past Soonyoung again. “Come on, let’s turn back, then.”

Soonyoung sighs, turns around, and begins his clumsy, human descent. “You could at least use your magic to help me down too, you know.”

And that’s the other different thing about you. Magic. It’s such a flimsy, weak word for what you can do, but it’s also the best way to describe it. There are certain things about you, certain things you’re capable of in the way that no human can ever truly be.

Without even looking back, you wave a hand, and a glowing stream of wind nudges Soonyoung’s feet towards the easiest path down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And hurry up before those villagers aggravate the yokai even more.”

Demons, or more traditionally, yokai, aren’t something you’ve encountered in countless decades. As technology and weapons developed, and the human population expanded, many yokai simply faded out of existence, unable to sustain themselves in the less wild, less natural environment that humans created. Others were smart enough to recognise they now had less of an advantage over humans, and tended to stay away from densely populated areas, preferring to target any lone travellers who ventured too far into their territory.

Yokai values and morals are vastly different to humans, and they are so incomprehensible to mortals that yokai gained a reputation for being vindictive, vicious, vile, and all other negative ‘v’ words. That doesn’t necessarily make them so, however, and over your lifetime, you’ve encountered some who don't quite fit the stereotype that humans are all too eager to place on them.

It takes you and Soonyoung long enough to get to the river that the sky has lightened ever so slightly, but the lacey edges of morning mist are still blurring the edges of your sight, and you can only barely see what the villagers are looking at, especially with them all crowding around and pushing against each other to get closer to the river.

You crane your neck, standing on tiptoe, before huffing. Scratch that, you can’t see anything.

“Move out of my way, please,” you say sharply, adding a little volume magic to your voice so that it carries over the whole crowd. 

Most of them instantly look back at that and clock your presence, eyes widening. Some of them begin rushing towards you, looking almost like their children as they begin talking over each other all at once.

“Y/N, there’s a demon—”

“Absolutely vile creature, is there any way—”

“—river’s all frozen, how did it even get here—”

“Okay, okay, okay!” you interrupt, adding even more volume to your voice to be heard. “Minah, yes, I know there’s a demon. Soonyoung told me. And no, Joongseok, we don’t know if it’s truly vile yet. And Woongri, yokai often work with magic, so it could’ve gotten here in a variety of ways. But if you want me to do something, you have to let me through. Yes?”

You’re tired, and cold, and dealing with stressed adults is not the best way to start the day, so you're more blunt than is perhaps necessary, but it gets your point across. The villagers look sufficiently contrite and finally shuffle to the side, making way for you to get through. Seungcheol, the village leader, nudges his way through the crowd until he’s by your side, face solemn.

“Good morning,” he says. “Sorry about the chaos.”

“Good morning,” you say back, voice now normal volume once again. “It’s okay. Everyone’s scared. You don’t call me at ungodly hours unless it’s serious, so I don’t mind.”

Seungcheol nods, looking both grave and apologetic. “We only ever want you to use your magic for good.”

It’s a terribly human thing to say, and you  smile dryly. “Of course. What can I help you with this time?”

“Well… You can help with that.” Seungcheol points to a mound of warped ice a little ways down the river. “How can we get rid of it?”

You squint in the direction Seungcheol’s pointing at, peering through the tendrils of mist, and then gasp. Half-buried into the ice of the river, you can make out a blurry, pale-coloured figure clothed in pale silk. Dark liquid pools in all directions surrounding the motionless body, and anyone can tell the yokai is very badly hurt. 

“It’s already bleeding half to death, so it shouldn’t be too hard to finish— wait, Y/N!”

Ignoring Seungcheol’s shouts, you step onto the frozen surface of the river and rush towards the yokai, and your blood runs cold as you take in the sight before you.

The yokai is a fox demon, you notice, with white ears and soft silver hair and a gorgeous white tail, which is partially being crushed by a river’s worth of ice. He’s waist-deep in the frozen water, and a thick layer of more ice has begun to form around the yokai’s torso from where he’s slumped against the surface of the river at an almost unnatural angle, causing his poor tail to be twisted and buried both in the river and the new ice.

“Oh, darling,” you whisper, kneeling down beside him, tracing a finger across the yokai’s cheek. Your finger comes away stained dark with blood, and you swallow thickly, heart constricting.

The crushing ice isn’t the end of the damage: there’s blood pouring from seemingly unknown sources, matted into the fox demon’s hair and streaking down his neck. He must have been in some sort of fight before getting stuck in the river. 

Gently, you thumb over the yokai’s cheek, taking in the pale skin and delicate eyelashes. This fox demon is devastatingly pretty, and seeing him so badly injured makes your heart hurt even more.

Something rustles near the riverbank, and you look back to see some of the children hiding amongst the leaves, peering curiously at you as you kneel next to the yokai. Further up the river, Seungcheol is approaching you, wanting to know your thoughts on the demon, and his eyes widen as he also notices the children in the bushes.

“What are you doing here?” he says in their direction, the disapproval clear in his tone. “It’s dangerous! You shouldn’t be looking at this. Where are your parents? Didn’t Soonyoung tell you to go home?”

“But we wanna see Miss Witch,” one boy says, eyes wide. “Please, can’t we stay?”

You frown and open your mouth, preparing to reprimand them, but then the yokai makes a soft, pained sound beside you, and you instantly return your attention to him, bending down even closer to his face.

Seungcheol cries out, this time in your direction as you lean towards the yokai. “Y/N, what are you doing? Stay back!”

You ignore him, reaching out a hand to brush matted hair out of the yokai’s eyes. “Hello? Hello, can you hear me?”

The yokai scrunches his eyes up, whimpering in pain. The moment he’d returned to consciousness, he’d started shivering intensely, struck by the cold of the river. 

“Hello?” you repeat, gentle. You move your hand away from the yokai’s face, directing it towards the ice surrounding his back instead. Silently reciting an incantation, the ice begins to glow orange under your palm, slowly beginning to melt away. “Can you tell me your name?”

The yokai shivers, mumbles something unintelligible. Then he looks up at you, golden irises shuddering in fear, every movement of his face telling you it hurts, it hurts, it hurts. 

One of the children lets out a shriek, and you whip your head up in alarm. They don’t look hurt, but the yokai notices the sound too, raising his head to look at them with wide, unsettling eyes, and the children shriek again, all of them frozen in fear. You can kind of understand why: the fox demon is covered in blood, and anyone unacquainted with the supernatural would find his slitted golden eyes petrifying. 

But before you can say anything, do anything to reassure them, the ice around his back makes a cracking sound as it melts under your hand, and the yokai’s mouth drops open in pain. He coughs, splattering blood over the ice, more of the black liquid dripping from the corners of his lips as he starts writhing and scratching against the river, hauling himself up onto his elbows, eyes fixed on the children in the distance, and all hell breaks loose.

The children are screaming, ear-piercingly loud, and Seungcheol is screaming too, and the yokai starts writhing even harder, yipping and gasping like a distressed fox, his hands sticky with his own blood as he tries to push against the ice. 

“No, it’s okay— don’t do that—Cheol, let me think!” 

It’s obvious Seungcheol wants you to kill the demon, especially with the way he’s screeching at you right now, but the yokai looks so pitiful, ears shaking, eyes wide, still bleeding from gashes all over his body.

“Think about what?” Seungcheol yells, children cowering behind his legs, and he shields their eyes from the river. “Y/N, please, you have to get rid of it!”

You look at him, and then down at the helpless yokai beside you, and really, it takes you less than a second to decide what to do.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, getting to your feet. Seungcheol tenses, sensing something wrong in your tone as you look down at the yokai again, leaning down with your hand outstretched. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Your fingers come into contact with the yokai’s forehead, and there’s a golden glow before his eyes flutter shut and he freezes up, before collapsing against the ice.

Hidden safely behind the village leader, the children stop screaming. Seungcheol also doesn’t make a sound, still staring wide-eyed at you, and now the yokai is no longer moving, the early morning air is frozen still once more. You look back at Seungcheol, and he blinks, his face unreadable.

“Please tell me you killed that thing.”

You smile weakly, dried-up demon blood on your fingertips. At your feet, the yokai’s shoulders move up and down ever so slightly with every shallow breath he takes, unconscious.

───────────── ‘✽, 

“Bad idea,” Seungcheol admonishes loudly from outside your window, and even though there’s a whole wall and a thick pane of glass separating him from you, his disapproval is crystal clear. “This is a bad idea. Y/N, let me in. We have to talk about this.”

You don’t look up from the boiling pot on the stove, simply lifting a hand and giving Seungcheol the finger.

“How dare— Y/N, you cannot let that thing live. It’s a danger to us. Especially the children! Y/N, think of the children, please, it could hurt the children.”

Seungcheol raps against the glass insistently, but you ignore him, humming to yourself as you ladle some of the boiling concoction into a wooden bowl. Gently, you blow on the steam, inspecting the lilac colour of the liquid before nodding, pleased, and heading over to the yokai asleep on your couch. 

It’s been some hours since that moment on the frozen river, where you’d decided to save the yokai trapped in the ice rather than kill him. None of the humans agreed with your decision, however, so you’d had to make the tiring trek down the mountain yourself, a heavy, unconscious yokai in tow. That’s partly the reason you’re so tired right now, arms aching as you set the bowl down on the coffee table, where you’ve laid out bandages and various dried bags of poultices and face towels to help clean up the yokai. 

Said yokai is still unconscious and bleeding all over the fabric of your sofa, the golden threads of magic you’d used to briefly staunch his wounds already beginning to fray open once more. You sigh, settling down beside him, and begin inspecting the more serious injuries on his forehead and down his arms.

“What happened to you, hm?” you say softly, ignoring Seungcheol still rapping against your window. “Why are you so hurt?”

Living as the only magic user-slash-competent doctor in a rural village means that you have plenty of experience in patching up the particularly nasty injuries that the villagers sustain, and your hands are careful and practised as you dip a towel into the warm, disinfectant potion you’d made, swiping it over the yokai’s skin. He’s injured practically everywhere: deep gashes are scored along his arms, his hands, and there’s one slashed across his chest. Not to mention his definitely-broken tail, the still-bleeding head wound and, judging by the way blood had been pouring from his mouth out on the lake, some internal injuries you can’t see. 

You wince, taking a towel into your hands. “Sorry,” you say, heart twinging in sympathy for the yokai. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. But don’t worry, I’m here to help.”

Ideally, you’d run a bath first and scrub the yokai clean of all the grime and blood before getting to tending his wounds. But he’s a fox demon—ridiculously tall and with a fluffy tail and delicate ears, so he won’t fit in your tiny tub and it’ll end up being more troublesome than anything else.

So, you’ve resorted to magic, dipping a cloth in the potion you've made to melt and dissolve all the dirt into thin air.

The wounds are all worryingly deep, most notably the still-bleeding one on his forehead, and if he were human, you’d be concerned that he’ll suffer a serious concussion afterwards, along with an inability to use his hands for a long while. But as it is, the ancient demon-magic that he’s made of will mean that he’ll heal pretty quickly, and there should be no grave threat to his life.

Hopefully. As long as he doesn’t develop an infection from the open wounds. 

You finish cleaning up the blood and then wipe down his face with a cool cloth, frowning slightly at how his skin still feels unusually hot. Infections will make his healing process much longer and much more arduous. The poor yokai looks like he’s already been through more than enough, so you really hope the fever dies down soon.

Seungcheol is still yelling at you from your window when you finish your preliminary clean-up, and you sigh heavily, beginning to develop a headache from how annoying he's being. So you walk over to the window, wrench it open, and jab a bloodstained finger in his direction.

“Seungcheol. Kindly, please, fuck off.”

Seungcheol blinks, both startled by your abrupt confrontation and a little affronted, but before he can say anything, you carry on. 

“Currently, this yokai is injured, and it’s my job to take care of injured people, regardless of who they are, so you can take any thoughts of me killing him and shove them up your ass. It’s not happening, and it’s never happening, and you’re also disturbing my patient with the racket you’re creating, so please go away.”

If it were anyone else talking to him like this, Seungcheol would have blown up with anger a solid thirty seconds ago—as it is, he simply stares at you, still looking affronted, before he sighs, and all of the energy drains out of him. He knows how headstrong you are, and when you get like this, he knows there’s no way he can sway you. He’ll have to wait until you’re no longer brimming with obstinacy to get his thoughts across.

His gaze drops from yours to your bloody finger, and then he sighs again, folding his hands behind his back.

“Give the demon my wishes for his speedy recovery,” he says at last. “But we still have to talk about this later, Y/N. Okay?”

You huff, and lower your hands. “Fine. Later.” With a resolute swish of magic, you shut the window once again and turn your back on Seungcheol to return to your patient.

As village leader, you can understand why Seungcheol may have concerns regarding a yokai entering a human village, but that doesn’t mean you like how he has no qualms with telling you to just kill it in an instant. Discrimination against magical creatures is half the reason they’re so hostile to humans, anyway, and you’d know firsthand how painful it is to be targeted and attacked purely for being who you are.

It’s not like you ever asked to be magic. And yet, people end up hating you for it.

You look down at the unconscious yokai, with his silver-white fur and gentle eyelashes and those heart-wrenching injuries. Then, wordlessly, you pick up one of the poultices and get to work.

───────────── ‘✽, 

Hansol wakes up to the strong, warm smell of chrysanthemum.

It’s an unusual scent to wake up to, and his ears prick up, alarmed—only for him to cry out a few seconds later, upon realising the action sends a sharp bolt of pain throughout his entire body.

“Oh!” 

A voice sounds from somewhere above his head, and he startles even more, trying to open his eyes and locate the sound, before realising he can’t see.

He cries out again, panicking at the pitch black that surrounds him, flailing around before realising that that action also causes him debilitating pain, and he begins panicking even more. How did he end up here? What happened? All he remembers is being chased through the forest and then tripping and crashing into a river, and then hard ice and the cold water and the throbbing in his head and then— and then—

Something damp and heavy gets lifted from his eyes and he gasps, freezing up as bright white light almost blinds him.

“Sorry, sorry,” the voice from before says, sounding terribly apologetic. “I’m sorry. I should’ve warned you before doing that.” 

Hansol scrunches his eyes, and then squints, vision all blurry from having been unconscious and now being blinded by bright light. He can’t see who’s speaking, but whoever they are, they carry on, the words steadily flowing out faster and faster as the person rambles. He can barely keep up with the onslaught of noise, twitching confusedly and trying to see what’s going on. The world feels like it’s spinning. He’s pretty sure the world isn’t meant to spin this fast.

“That was probably really scary when you woke up, huh? I’m so sorry. The towel slipped from your forehead and covered your eyes, and I’m sorry I didn’t notice. I didn’t expect you to wake up now, but I guess that’s a good thing, ‘cause you’ve been out for a whole day, and any longer and we’re veering into coma territory, which would mean that you were really, really hurt. Which is, like, definitely not good, you know? But you did wake up, thank goodness, so that means there’s a chance you’ll get better very soon. Plus, your fever isn’t that bad anymore, so it seems you really are on the road to recovery, which is all very—oh, wait. Sorry. It’s still too bright, isn’t it?”

Another wave of chrysanthemum hits Hansol’s senses and a hand comes up to his face, creating a shadow over his eyes so he’s no longer squinting furiously up at the disembodied voice.

“Sorry,” the voice says, apologising yet again. “Is that better?”

Hansol blinks, slowly opening his eyes fully to look up, and then, the whole world abruptly stops spinning as he finds himself looking at the most beautiful being in the entire history of the universe. He doesn’t say a word, mouth falling open in shock.

You smile down at him, made anxious by his silence. “Hello,” you say, hand still shielding his eyes from the brunt of the winter light. “My name is Y/N. What’s yours?”

Hansol squeaks, a small, high-pitched sound that instantly floods him with mortification when it accidentally slips past his lips, and he screws his eyes shut and curls into himself, knocking your hand away hurriedly in his rush to hide his face. He tries to bury himself into the couch, shaking. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” you say, gently, worried you've scared him. “I promise. I want to help.” Perched on the edge of the couch, you lean over and slowly lower the yokai’s hands from his face, coaxing him to look at you again. “Can you please tell me your name?”

You smile, again, and Hansol feels a little faint as he looks up at you. His vision is still slightly blurry from his eyes being shut for so long, and the way you’re backlit by the light makes you look like you’re glowing, a gentle halo of silver light surrounding your form. That, coupled with the way you have the prettiest smile he’s ever seen, is making him feel all dizzy. And a bit warm. The air feels like it’s suffocating him, actually, but all of that is made irrelevant by how pretty he thinks your smile is.

There’s a possibility he’s still in the process of getting rid of his fever, because he blinks slowly, focused, and when he opens his mouth to speak, the next words spill unbidden from his lips.

“My name is Hansol,” he says, “and I think you’re the prettiest person alive.”

Your eyes widen at his words, a flush rapidly creeping up your cheeks. Hansol looks at you, worried that you’ll suddenly hate him for what he’s just said, but you just laugh, flattered, and bring your hand up to his forehead. The touch is cool against his skin, like a soothing balm.

“Thank you, Hansol,” you say. “Your fever seems to still be pretty high, if you’re saying stuff like this, huh? I’m currently brewing some chrysanthemum tea, and I think it’ll be a good idea for you to have some too.”

Hansol blinks slowly again. “Chrysanthemum tea,” he muses. He looks up at you. “That must be why you smell so warm and pretty.”

You laugh again, flustered, subconsciously brushing his hair back from his forehead and cupping his cheek, your fingers feather-light. “Perhaps. So would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please,” Hansol says. “I’ll have anything… you… give m…” His eyelids and ears slowly droop, and before he can even finish his sentence, he drifts back off to unconsciousness once again, head leaning into your hand.

Open-mouthed, pink-cheeked, you look down at the one-more unconscious yokai in your hands. 

“Wow,” you breathe out. And then you smile. “You’re adorable.”

───────────── ‘✽, 

Over the next few days, the yokai—Hansol—constantly drifts in and out of consciousness, his fever fluctuating in intensity the entire time.

It’s difficult to pull coherent sentences out of him, and anything he says is a mixture of your name, his name, and also how pretty he thinks you are.

You chalk it up to his fever.

His demon-magic must have taken a serious blow from the extent of his injuries, as it takes him a lot longer than you’d like for him to finally shake off the infection. A whole excruciating week goes by, and you almost cry with relief when, as you get up to check his temperature in the middle of the night, you find that his fever has finally broken, and he’s able to breathe easily once more.

When the weak sun finally peeks out from over the horizon, you enter your spare room to check on Hansol. Sometime after his first bout of consciousness, you’d gathered enough energy to move him from your couch to the spare bedroom in your cottage. It had taken a lot of work, and a lot of magic—weakened by the stress of taking care of a dying fox demon and trying to fend off any curious and judgy villagers, it takes a lot of energy for you to do anything strenuous lately—but you managed. And it certainly seemed to help, as he slept a lot better in an actual bed.

Humming absentmindedly to yourself, you make your way over to the guest room, fingers dancing and causing golden threads of magic to tidy up the state of your house as you go along. 

To your surprise, the yokai is wide awake when you enter the room, and he startles when you noisily open the door and step inside. The moment you make eye contact with Hansol, you freeze, the song dying off your lips at the same time as your magic drops a partially-fluffed up cushion in the living room.

“Um.” You blink, hanging off the door handle, staring at the yokai picking his bandages in bed in the middle of your guest room. “Good morning?”

Hansol doesn’t respond, continuing to stare at you, wide-eyed.

You cough, feeling terribly awkward, attempting to adjust your stance and take your hand off the doorknob in the most natural way possible. “Hello. I’m, uh, Y/N. How are you feeling?”

There’s another beat. Then Hansol finally opens his mouth, only to completely ignore your question to say, “You’re the one who smells like chrysanthemums.”

“I— Sorry, what?” You blink, taken aback by the abrupt and unrelated question, before nodding. “Oh, yeah. I guess you remember the chrysanthemum tea I made you?” You smile slightly. “I can’t believe you remember that. That was when you were the most unwell.”

“Oh.” Hansol’s ears twitch, and he continues to look at you with his golden eyes, somewhere between bewildered and amazed. (Amazed by what, you aren’t entirely sure.) “I do remember, though. I remember you.”

You blink rapidly, trying to push down the blush that threatens to rise up your face. Having a handsome yokai stare at you with such focus, saying that he remembers you even when he was deep in the throes of a fever is such a heart-fluttering thing to experience early in the morning. You aren’t nearly awake enough for this conversation. If you aren’t careful, you could accidentally fall in love right then and there.

“That’s nice,” you croak, and then shake yourself. You have a job to do. Hansol’s a patient under your care, and you need to check his condition. “Um. Sorry. But, uh, I do have to check if you can remember anything else,” you say, slipping into healer mode as you step further into the room, walking towards the bed. “Do you remember your name?”

Hansol nods, intently following your movements as you draw closer. “My name is Hansol,” he says.

You smile, relieved by the coherency of his answer. The fact that the yokai remembers his own name is a very good sign. “Yes, you are. Do you remember how you got here?”

“Yes,” Hansol says obediently. “I was in a river. Trapped in the ice. And you… saved me.”

That makes you smile a little wider. “I took care of your wounds, yes! It’s really good you’re finally awake and able to answer questions, ‘cause it’s a sure sign there’s no lasting internal damage. I do have to check your bandages, though, so… may I?”

You make a gesture towards Hansol’s bandaged arms, and the yokai obliges, raising his arms to let you see. 

You take Hansol’s hand in your own, preparing to lift his arm up higher—but the moment your palms brush, you gasp, fingers tightening around the yokai’s at the sudden sensation. Hansol, too, lets out a small noise of surprise, looking up at you.

The yokai’s hands are firm, strong, and perfectly healthy, but they also thrum with magic. You can feel every spark and fizzle of the magic as it dances under his skin, spinning and zipping back and forth like a cloud of hyperactive fireflies. Like the magic can talk, and when it noticed the magic that lives inside you, it seems to yip with recognition, spinning itself around in excitement in the yokai’s hands.

“It’s so strong,” you say, amazed. “I didn’t realise magic could be this powerful.”

Hansol’s also staring up at you, similarly in awe. “You’re magic too?” he asks, looking like he’s never fathomed such a thing is possible. “You’re like me?”

You laugh slightly, made a little giddy by the feeling of how alive the magic is under Hansol’s skin. “Not exactly,” you say, releasing Hansol’s hand to finally reach for the bandages, feeling around to see whether his skin is still tender underneath. “I don’t have the ears or the tail, do I?”

Hansol’s ears flick. You’re decidedly focused solely on the yokai’s bandages, but you can feel Hansol looking at you intently as you work. 

“But you’re very pretty,” Hansol says. “Are you sure?”

Fuck. Hansol has to stop saying things like that, because they’re very bad for your poor heart. Very bad.

“I’m sure,” you say with a smile, straightening up once again. “I think all your wounds are healing nicely. Now your magic’s come back to its full strength, it’ll help you heal the rest of the way in no time.”

You can’t help but reach for Hansol’s hand again, once more feeling pleasantly surprised by the light zap of magic when your hands touch. Now you can feel the thrum of it under Hansol’s skin, it’s easy to realise how unwell the yokai was before, when his hands had been deathly cold with no fizz of magic in them at all. You’re just endlessly relieved that you can feel that fizz once again.

Hansol looks down at your intertwined hands, and then up at you, a smile lifting up the corners of his lips. “Thank you,” he says, so very sincere that it melts your heart. “Thank you for looking after me.”

You can’t help but smile back, squeezing Hansol’s hand once. “Of course. It’s my pleasure. Really.”

Hansol smiles even wider, ears twitching pleasedly, and you once again have to try and valiantly fight away your blush. Fuck. This yokai really needs to stop making you blush so easily, and fast, else you’re going to start having problems.

───────────── ‘✽, 

It turns out, the blushing thing ends up being the least of your problems, because later that day, Hansol tries to leave.

Sometime after bringing Hansol a breakfast of soup and chrysanthemum tea (since he really seemed to like the tea), you’re drying away the breakfast dishes when a blast of cold air slices through the cottage, and you look over to see Hansol holding open the front door, looking like he’s about to step out.

“H—wait! Hansol, what are you doing?”

The yokai looks over at you, still holding the front door, confused. The bottom half of his tail is still bandaged, making it difficult for him to move it around, but it still sways from side to side unsurely as he blinks at you.

“I’m leaving,” Hansol says, like it’s obvious. “You took care of me. And I’m now better. So I’m going to go.”

You gape, jaw almost dropping to the floor at the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard.

“Like hell you are,” you say, marching over to the front door and firmly shutting it with your still-soapy hands, and then ushering Hansol back to the guest room and into bed. “You are very far from being better, Hansol. Your tail is still all bandaged up! I’m not letting you leave until you’re back to full health, so don’t you dare think for a second that you get to go before then.”

Hansol makes a noise of confusion as you fussily tuck him back into bed, fluffing up the pillows behind his head and arranging the covers around him. “What? Why would you let me stay?”

“Why wouldn’t I let you stay?” you counter, patting down the duvet and absentmindedly brushing away the strands of hair that fall in his eyes. “I want to take care of you. I want you to get better. I can’t exactly do that if you go off into the woods all by yourself and get up to heaven knows what, can I?”

Perched on the edge of the bed, you smile and pat his head. 

“I’m not letting you out of my sight for a long while yet, mister,” you say, the faux-scolding adding a light playfulness to your tone. “You’re going to stay with me and get better until I say so.”

Hansol looks up at you, tilts his head, and scrunches his nose just slightly as he smiles, shy. “So you’ll let me stay as long as I like?”

“Obviously,” you say, smiling back. “However long it takes you to heal, and then some, if you want. Of course, unless you have somewhere else to go.”

The yokai hesitates, ears flicking unsurely. “Not really,” he admits, lowering his gaze. “I’ve never actually had anywhere real to stay.” He looks back up at you again, golden eyes glinting hopefully. “So if it’s okay…”

“Oh, of course you can stay here,” you rush to reassure him. And then you pause, deflating a little. “Although…This is a human village, so they don’t really like… your kind. It might make life a bit difficult, but since you’re with me, they shouldn’t bother you too much. Though I understand if that makes you hesitant to stay.”

Hansol shakes his head, smiling slightly. “That’s okay. I like it here, so I don’t mind staying with just you.” 

“I’m glad,” you say sincerely. “Seriously, you can stay here for however long you want.”

Hansol ducks his head shyly. “Thank you. Genuinely, thank you.”

You awkwardly pat his hand where it lays on the covers, a little embarrassed in the face of his obvious gratitude, and instruct him to rest up before exiting the room. You’re glad that the brief misunderstanding had been cleared up, because you don’t want Hansol to feel anything less than welcomed. Being a yokai, he won’t have received similar acts of kindness in the wild, and as a magical being yourself, you know how that can feel. No one deserves to feel unwanted, least of all an injured yokai who’d obviously been hurt intentionally before you found him.

Unfortunately, though, the trials of Hansol’s first weeks of consciousness do not end there. Some days later, at some point during the afternoon, Seungcheol comes knocking on your door.

You hadn’t intended on inviting Seungcheol in. But afternoons are always a miserable time during winter, when the sky darkens far too early for anyone’s liking, and it’s difficult to find one’s way through the cold, barely-lit paths. That’s why you often get people coming to your door during the late afternoon, lost or confused or panicked because they’ve lost their way, and your cottage, shimmering with gold magic and warm lights is the only beacon they recognise.

So that’s the only reason why, when Seungcheol turns up, you accidentally open the door for him. Not that you have anything against the village leader, but—Hansol’s only been awake for a week at this point, and you don’t have the mental capacity to deal with a talk about getting rid of him.

Unfortunately, when Seungcheol already has one foot in a door, he will not go. Literally.

“Get your foot out of my door,” you say exasperatedly, struggling to push the door shut as Seungcheol pushes back. His foot is still wedged in the doorway.

“Let me in,” Seungcheol says. 

“No. You’re gonna tell me to hurt the yokai again.”

“I’m going to tell you to get him out of here.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes,” Seungcheol says, finally giving up on the little game and pushing his way through the door like it’s no difficulty at all, making you let out an indignant hey!. “We need to talk about this, Y/N. You cannot harbour a demon in our village without discussing this with anyone. He needs to go.”

“He’s hurt,” you say. “He can’t go anywhere! And he won’t hurt anyone, I promise.”

“You can’t know that.” Seungcheol furrows his brow, his tone grave. “He’s a demon, Y/N. You don’t know what he’s capable of. You can’t keep him here.”

“Yes I can,” you insist, “because he’s a fucking real-life being with feelings, not this scary, evil harbinger of doom that you’re making him out to be, and I know this, because he’s been here with me, in my own home, and he’s quite possibly the nicest person I’ve ever met.”

Over the last several days, Hansol has been healing rapidly, so much so that most of his bandages have been removed and he practically glows with magic every time you see him. It’s incredibly relieving to see, and it’s also allowed you to get to know him better: sometimes unintentionally, as a natural side effect of living with him now, but also, sometimes quite on purpose. Because he’s pretty, and he’s interesting, and you want to know who he is.

Turns out, one of the key things about Hansol is he’s the most adorable being you’ve ever met.

He’s adorable, in an awkward sort of way, from the way he hovers hesitantly in doorways to the way his tail always fluffs up with contentment when he feels the tendrils of your magic brush across the room.

Unlike yokai, who simply have ancient magic embedded in them from birth, you are born of magic and made entirely of magic, so the stuff practically spills out of you wherever you go. The magic can’t only be felt from under your skin, but extends out and away from your being. You’re not used to having guests in the cottage, so you weren’t aware of the extent of how much you let your magic run free when in the safety of your home, until you noticed how Hansol reacted. He always blinks in surprise, lifting his hand palm-up, fingers curling inwards, as if your magic is some elusive silk strand that constantly evades his grasp. It’s as if he can truly feel it, and he always seems to like it.

“Can you actually feel my magic?” you ask one day, and he looks up from his hand, surprised. His tail is all fluffy and big, lazily waving from side to side and creating static against the decorative pillows on your couch. You’re sitting on an armchair next to him, smiling at him amusedly from over the book of hexes you’re reading. He doesn’t even seem to notice what his tail is doing, too occupied with the invisible tendrils between his fingers.

“Yeah,” Hansol says after a moment, closing his hand and resting them both back in his lap, a little awkward. “It feels warm. Nice.”

“Really?” 

You can’t help but smile at that, oddly flattered. To you, your magic is just… yours. It doesn’t feel like anything in particular, nothing more than a familiar tingle in your hands and a weight against your skin. Though you like describing it as gold, in reality, your magic doesn’t have any colour or any real tangibility to it apart from a fleeting pressure. The idea of it being “gold” is just how you feel about it. It never occurred to you that others could feel it, let alone feel differently about it—living amongst humans, your magic has always subconsciously curled tighter around your arms when you interact with the villagers, not wanting to weird them out with your abnormality or make them feel intimidated by you.

Hansol nods, tail swishing once more. The static has caused all his white fur to stand on end, making him look even more fluffy and adorable. “Yeah,” he says again. “It’s so much calmer than the way my magic feels. It’s really cool.”

He’s looking at you earnestly, as if expecting you to totally agree that your magic is “calmer” than his. And even though you’ve only felt his magic twice before, you nod along in agreement anyway, and Hansol nods back, satisfied with your assent. Then he lowers his gaze back to his lap, opens his hand again, and goes back to playing with your magic.

An endeared laugh bubbles up into your throat, and you smile at the top of Hansol’s head before turning back to your book. Goodness, Hansol is so ridiculously cute.

That interaction only happened some days ago, and whenever Hansol smiles at you or stiltedly asks if he can help you around the house, the surge of affection comes back even harder. So you cannot stand Seungcheol standing here, right now, frowning at you like you’re being unreasonable in your decision to treat Hansol like a normal being.

Seungcheol continues to frown, and you simply stare defiantly back, arms crossed. You don’t let him walk further into the cottage, and a stare-off commences there in the front hallway, neither of you willing to back down.

That is, until there’s a loud crash from further inside the house, and both of you flinch in alarm.

“What was that?” Seungcheol asks, and you look back to where the sound had come from. Connected to the living room, behind a door disguised as an unassuming bookshelf is your own personal library, filled with all the tomes and books on magic and alchemy you’ve collected over the centuries. That’s where the sound’s originated from, which is definitely a cause for concern, but you don’t say so, lest Seungcheol uses this to fuel his argument against Hansol.

“Probably nothing,” you say, though you still glance over in the direction of the library. “You know my cottage. Everything’s old and falling apart.”

Seungcheol looks at you suspiciously. “That’s a lie. You always keep everything in perfect condition.” He begins to move past you. “I bet it’s that demon, isn’t it?”

“No, I—” You try to stop Seungcheol from investigating, but it’s a futile effort. “Cheol, come on, you shouldn’t go see him, he’s still unwell and you could end up distressing him—”

Hurriedly, you trot after Seungcheol through the bookshelf door and into the library, only to end up slamming face-first into his back when he stops abruptly, stunned at the sight before him.

You’re quite proud of your library. It’s an open secret that the bookshelf in your living room leads to it, which is cool all by itself, but your library is also made of magic. What appears as a normal, small study behind the bookshelf turns into a large and sprawling library with high ceilings and mahogany shelves and rows upon rows of books when you step inside. 

You’d allowed Hansol access to the library when he’d asked what was behind the bookshelf, and as far as you know, he’s been peacefully situated there the entire day. But, as you peer over Seungcheol’s shoulder to see why he’s suddenly stopped, you realise you can’t see the yokai at all.

In the middle of the floor, there’s a large… fort of books. A book fort. With four walls built of books piled on top of each other, complete with battlements made of upright books and towers with open books as turrets, it’s actually quite amazing to see. The only drawback is how some of the walls are falling down, books tumbling from where they’re piled up. 

Also the large spread of ice coming from under the fort, that’s very slowly continuing to pool further and further outwards.

Seungcheol blinks. “Uh… Y/N… you wouldn’t happen to be doing this, would you?”

You shake your head. “Weather magic is my weak point.”

Suddenly, two white ears and a head pop up from behind one of the crumbling walls, and Hansol’s eyes widen when he realises you’re here with a guest.

“Oh!” He ducks his head down, and then straightens once more so he can fully see over the walls of the fort. “Hello. I was just building a castle. One of the walls fell down, ‘cause I sneezed, but I can fix it.”

The tip of his nose is slightly dusted with glittering frost, but he doesn’t even seem to notice that or the ice that’s creeping across the wooden floor. His eyes are shining as he looks at you, infinitely more relaxed than when you’d first seen him, and he inclines his head respectfully in Seungcheol’s direction, looking as humble and polite as possible even when half his face is covered by his book fort. 

“Hello to you too. It’s nice to meet you.”

You’re not sure what Seungcheol is most flabbergasted by: Hansol’s gentle manners, or the book fort he’s quite amiably making in your very respectable-looking, very grandiose library, or the circle of ice that’s very clearly coming from the yokai. Hansol is very close to giving the village leader a heart attack any time soon, it seems.

“I— This is— You’re using Y/N’s books to do this?” Seungcheol eventually manages to ask, looking both confused and horrified. “She let you?”

Hansol’s ears droop just slightly, but there’s no obvious change to his expression. “Well… no. But none of the books are damaged, and I’m going to put them back once I’m done with them.”

“It’s fine,” you interject. “I could probably fix a few ripped pages. You can do what you like.”

You couldn’t, probably, fix a few ripped pages, because each book is nearly as old as you. But you’re not going to say that, because you don’t want the confusion on Seungcheol’s face to turn into grim disapproval, and you also don’t want Hansol to feel guilty for what he’s doing.

“Although,” you say, looking down pointedly at the floor, “do you think you could stop the ice?”

Hansol peers over the wall, eyes widening when he realises what you’re talking about. “Oh, sorry. It just happened when I sneezed, I think. Everything is still going haywire… I think I’m still sick.”

The movement of the ice slows to a halt, until only a spattering of frost manages to creep over to where you and Seungcheol are standing. It covers the whole expanse of the floor, now, and there’s not a single patch of the warm brown that’s not frosted over, but it’s okay. That is definitely something you can fix.

Ignoring Seungcheol, who’s still standing there like he can’t believe he’s looking at a walking, talking yokai, you move forward and make your slippery way over to the fort. Hansol moves away a column of books, allowing him to step out of the fort and meet you.

“Is this one of the humans?” Hansol asks in a low voice before you even say anything. The sweetness in his face has disappeared, replaced with an icy look of anxiety. “He’s one of the mortals who don’t like me, isn’t he?”

You try not to wince. “Yes. He’s Seungcheol, the village leader here. He… wants me to get you out of here.”

Hansol regards you for a moment. “You make it sound a lot nicer than what he actually means,” he says. “He wants me killed, doesn’t he? At the very least, badly injured and banished from here.”

“Well… no,” you try to say, but yes, that’s actually exactly what Seungcheol wants. “He doesn’t want you badly injured. He’s just… scared. Of your kind.”

“Hm.” Hansol nods, expressionless. “Same thing, really. He wants me out.”

“Okay, Y/N, stop whispering with the… him,” Seungcheol says, and you look up to see the village leader making his slow way across the ice towards you. “We need to talk. Discuss what you’re going to do, because you are going to do it, for the safety of our village.”

You frown, frustrated. “Hansol’s not a threat to our safety,” you argue. Seungcheol continues to slide gingerly across the ice, and he sighs and shakes his head as you carry on. “He doesn’t have anything against humans. And if he did, he’d have been dead long before we found him at the river, because—Hansol. Tell him why you ended up there.”

Hansol hesitates, looking at you unsurely. The other day, you finally managed to ask him why he’d been so injured and how he’d gotten trapped in the river. It was nothing unexpected, but it still had broken your heart, and hopefully, hopefully, it’s enough for Seungcheol to feel a little bit of empathy towards the yokai. Seungcheol’s a good man, a kind man, and all he needs to do is realise Hansol’s not evil, and he’ll warm up to him faster than anyone could think possible.

“Some other yokai attacked me in the forest,” Hansol says slowly. “Really old yokai. Older than me. And… I got hurt.”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow, looking at you like he doesn’t get the point of this. You simply glare at him, silently telling him to continue listening.

“It wasn’t bad. Just a broken tail and some scratches,” Hansol says, and Seungcheol blinks, surprised at Hansol’s nonchalance. “But then some demon hunters found me, and tried to get me to… attack them? I dunno. They were picking a fight, and when I didn’t give it to them, they also hurt me.”

Almost imperceptibly, Seungcheol’s face softens a fraction, and you feel a flicker of hope. You know he’s weak in the face of innocently victimised stories like this.

“And so I was trying to run away from them, but everything is kind of in pain at that point. So I end up tripping down the mountain and into your river. My magic goes haywire when I’m sick,” he adds, “so that’s how I end up accidentally freezing ice all over me, too. It kind of responds to my feelings I guess? So when I’m scared, it starts acting up even more, which is why the ice was so thick, too. Like it was trying to protect me, ‘cause it knew I was scared of someone hurting me.”

It’s the most that Hansol’s said in one go, uninterrupted, before. Seungcheol’s face softens even further, and he straightens slowly. He’s been standing still, a few metres away the entire time Hansol’s been talking, like he’s been frozen by his tale.

“And yeah,” Hansol finishes awkwardly, ears twitching. He’s sensed the change in atmosphere, Seungcheol’s empathy tangible in the air. “Then I ended up here.”

“After several, painful weeks of healing,” you add, and Hansol nods jerkily.

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” Seungcheol says gently. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise you were so scared. But…” And then he sighs, straightening up further, the softness melting away from his face. “That doesn’t mean you’re not a harm to the others, now you’re all better. Who knows how you might feel when you’re hungry, or angry. You said your magic acts up according to your feelings, and I can’t have it acting up and hurting people here.”

Hansol’s face scrunches up in confusion. “When I’m hungry?”

It’s a bit absurd that’s the thing he’s focusing on, so you feel indignation over Seungcheol’s whole speech on his behalf, crying out at the injustice.

“What do you mean?” you argue. “You’re saying that like he’s some mindless beast.”

“He may as well be, for all I know,” Seungcheol sighs. “He’s not human, Y/N. We don’t know how he’ll act. And I need to think about the villagers. They’re… they’re like family to me, you know that.”

“I’m not human either,” you point out angrily. “And yet I’m also a part of this village. What are you saying, Cheol? Do you not consider me family?”

Seungcheol’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head instantly. “No, you are. But still, you’re more human than he is. And… there are days where I’m a bit wary of you too, Y/N.” At your outraged look, he rushes to continue, “Because you’re so powerful! But you’ve been with us for so many years, during the time of my father and his father, and his father before that, so I know you’re good. You’ve saved their lives. Saved everyone’s lives. Hansol, on the other hand…”

You scoff, beyond furious. “That’s absurd. There’s no such thing as being ‘good’, just as there’s no such thing as being ‘evil’. We don’t live in a fucking fairytale, Seungcheol.”

“I know. Maybe if you’d made different choices, I’d think of you as less good, too, but…” Seungcheol trails off, shrugging helplessly.

You stare at him, eyes so impossibly wide that it’s actually hurting your eye sockets, astounded by what he’s just said. Seungcheol? Thinking of you as evil? Just because of your power? 

Beside you, Hansol stiffens just slightly, and during the course of the conversation, he’s somehow ended up so close to you that you can feel his magic simmering frantically under his skin. You don’t know why he’s so worked up, and distantly, you wonder whether it’s on your behalf.

Seungcheol, noticing how irate you’re getting, takes a step forward to try and placate you. But he misjudges his balance on the ice surrounding the fort, leg twisting and his eyes widen and he yelps as he falls forward, on course to crashing face-first onto the hard, frozen ground. Your eyes widen, and you reach out to him, before then—

There’s a blur of white fur and Hansol catches him before he falls over and breaks all the bones in his knees, gripping him loosely around the torso, getting to Seungcheol before you can even blink. He gingerly helps him back into an upright position, and you wave a hand to whisk away the rest of the ice with streams of gold before another accident like that happens again. Hansol’s still holding Seungcheol when you’re finished, but by the shoulders now, looking the village leader right in the eye, golden irises soft and determined at the same time.

“I get you have a responsibility,” Hansol says. “I used to have one too, in the wild. To keep myself alive. But my rule, and this should be yours too, is to not hurt anything that doesn’t hurt you first. I haven’t hurt you. You shouldn’t hurt me. And Y/N—” He looks over at you, eyes flashing, before looking back at Seungcheol. “Y/N has never hurt you. So don’t act like you’re preparing for the day she one day will.”

Seungcheol’s face doesn’t change, but you’ve known him long enough to detect the minute shifts in the air around him as he digests Hansol’s words and, grudgingly, accepts it.

“I apologise,” he finally says, reluctant but sincere in the way only Seungcheol can be. “That was cruel of me. To you and Y/N.”

He looks at you, and Hansol’s hands fall away, allowing him to walk towards you.

“Sorry. But you have to understand where I’m coming from,” Seungcheol says, almost pleading, and you realise that, whilst his stance on Hansol’s existence has wavered, his overall reluctance over him being here hasn’t changed. “At least don’t let others see him, if he’s going to stay. They’ll be terrified.”

“That doesn’t sound like Hansol’s problem,” you retort. “I know these villagers, Cheol, and they’ll warm up to him, they really will.”

You look over at Hansol as you say your next words.

“Hansol is sweet and kind and really rather funny, and it breaks my heart to hide him from others because he might be seen as scary. That’s just people’s prejudice talking.” You smile. Hansol’s eyes are wide, lips parted slightly, and a fluttering warmth unfurls up inside you as you continue to smile at him. “Because I’ve seen Hansol, and he’s the sweetest person I’ve ever met.”

Hansol’s entire face goes pink, and he looks away.

“Maybe so,” Seungcheol says heavily, and you look back at him. The warmth in your chest fades at his tone, dropping to the depths of your stomach. “But I can’t risk them being near him. Don’t let him out.”

You sigh, disappointed. “No. He can leave the house if he wants to, Seungcheol. He’s not some kind of housepet you can impose rules on just like that and expect me to follow through with them.”

“Y/N—”

“Get out of my home,” you say, evenly. “Go. You can take your rules and go piss off out of my sight.”

───────────── ‘✽, 

You stew in your anger towards Seungcheol for several days. 

He comes to your door every so often, either with a letter or a plea to talk through this, but you refuse to let him in and instead tell him to, not so kindly, fuck off. 

Hansol looks at you with a mixture of affection and disappointment each time you do so. You don’t really understand why he looks at you like that—neither the affection nor disappointment—but he doesn’t say anything and goes back to what he was doing soon after, either playing with your magic, or his own, or reading your books.

Having him around the house is quite like having a very adorable, very shy, fox. You might’ve gotten furious at Seungcheol for treating Hansol like a pet, but you don’t mean it like having a pet fox: it’s just like having an inquisitive, cute being around the house who quite likes following you around as you go about your day.

It’s cute. He’s cute, with his swishing tail and his sudden bursts of frost when he’s fiddling with his fingers, and the way he stays perfectly still whenever you gain the courage to slowly inch closer to him on the sofa until you’re laying on his shoulder, at the perfect angle to peer down at the book in his hands so you can read it with him. They’re all your books, of course, so you know what they’re all about, but it’s quite nice leaning against Hansol, feeling his warmth through the silk of his clothing, and the pleasant hum of his magic under your ear.

He never initiates physical contact, but he seems to like having you near. He’s never protested when you’ve held his hand or laid on his shoulder or (very, very gently) touched his ears, so.

He’s quite like a fox, in that way. But he’s like a fox in other ways, too: namely, how it appears that he’s a bit nocturnal.

Sometimes, you’ll awaken at three, four, five o’clock in the morning to someone clattering around in your house. It always turns out to be Hansol, trying to occupy himself without waking you up, but always failing to do so.

“Hansol?” you murmur blearily, shuffling into the kitchen where the flurry of clatters had emitted from earlier. It’s dark, and all the curtains are drawn; nevertheless, his dim silhouette looks distinctly guilty as he whirls around to face you, pots and pans in his hands. “What’re you doing?”

“Sorry,” he says apologetically. “I read some potion in your book, and I wanted to try it out.”

“At three in the morning?”

“Five,” Hansol corrects. You fix him with a look, and he winces, demon magic-enhanced night vision meaning he can see you perfectly clearly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You shake your head, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. It’s cold in the kitchen, and being exposed to the chilly night temperature is gradually waking you up. “It’s okay. I guess you don’t sleep a lot, huh? You’re wide awake, even though it’s so early in the morning.”

Hansol shrugs. “Dunno. But I always just feel like I have so much energy. Like it doesn’t have anywhere to go, and I can’t sleep for too long before it tells me to do something.”

“I see.” You purse your lips thoughtfully, pondering why Hansol’s feeling like this and what could cause it. And then, a realisation strikes you and your eyes widen. “Oh. Oh, I get it. I understand why you’re feeling that way.”

The yokai tilts his head. “Really?”

“Yeah, and it’s totally okay,” you reassure, nodding your head. “Totally understandable, too. But don’t worry, it’s easily fixed.”

You wave a hand and turn all the light fixtures on so you can see Hansol properly. The yokai literally does look like he’s vibrating with extra energy, holding your cooking utensils in his hands, ears perked upright and tail fluffed up to the max. Yeah, he’s definitely understimulated and frustrated with it right now, even if he doesn’t realise that’s what it is.

You smile. This is a good way to help him and piss off Seungcheol at the same time.

“Come on, Hansol. Let’s go outside.”

───────────── ‘✽, 

Not even an hour later, you’re making a trek up the mountains in your warmest clothes, lagging behind Hansol even with your magic-aided agility helping you up the hardest of the steps. The yokai is bounding on ahead, nimble and quick-footed even in the darkness of the early winter morning, and you can hear the light crunch of snow under his footsteps as he moves.

This is what Hansol needed. Some time outside, where he can finally breathe.

Some minutes later, as you’re sitting on a log on the path to catch your breath, Hansol comes back down the mountain to meet you, settling down by your side.

“It’s so quiet,” he whispers. The air around you is lit with a faint glow, courtesy of a visibility spell you conjured so you wouldn’t fall flat on your face as you walked. It makes Hansol’s face look golden as he smiles at you, eyes shining. “Everything is so quiet out here. I can hear the animals.”

You smile back, finding joy in how relaxed he looks. “Doesn’t that make it noisy?”

Hansol shakes his head, and then looks away from you, ears cocked to the side, listening. “No. This is like a familiar buzz of noise, so familiar that it becomes silent.” He looks back at you again, smiling. “Down in the village, it’s so noisy because of all the people, but up here, it’s all gone.”

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” you say with a smile, and Hansol nods so quickly that you laugh, endeared. “I’m glad. You can go off for a bit, if you want, and I’ll wait for you here.”

Hansol beams. “Okay.”

And like that, he’s off, nothing more than a faint swish of a silver tail before he disappears once more.

He doesn’t come back to you for some time, which gives you a chance to sit there and breathe in the cool air. It’s so cold that it feels like inhaling clouds of peppermint, but it’s… relaxing. 

You haven’t had a chance to properly rest this winter. Winter’s a tricky time for you: the cold numbs your senses and makes your magic more sluggish. This year feels much colder than usual, and now the prolonged adrenaline that came with bringing Hansol back from the brink of death is fading, you’re beginning to anticipate feeling more worn out more often, the warm fizz in the tips of your fingers not as present as it ought to be.

Strangely, though. It hasn’t happened yet. Maybe being around Hansol and his frost-related magic has built up your resistance to the cold.

Or, he’s just so lovely and comforting that you don’t feel the effects of the winter.

That’s always a possibility. You look down at your hands, still glowing slightly with the visibility light you’ve put on yourself. It hasn’t faltered even once, a brilliant gold, and when you think of the colour of Hansol’s eyes, the light seems to glow even more.

You breathe in, and then exhale, kicking your feet out in front of you, looking down the dim mountain. You’ve been up here, thinking, for so long that the weak sunrise is beginning to peek its head above the horizon. Hansol still hasn’t come back. Though, you find you’re not too worried about that: somehow, you know that he will come back to you, though you can’t find ears nor tail of him while he’s gone.

It’s incredible how much you’ve come to trust and believe in Hansol, though he’s only been with you for several weeks. He’s been so reserved, anxious and afraid at times, especially during the early days, when he’d been bandaged up and newly healing in an unfamiliar environment, but now it’s clear how earnest and gentle he is. Something in your chest tightens and then relaxes with happiness whenever you see him smile. He’s just so—genuine, and you really like that about him.

You like him. A lot. He’s certainly an unexpected new part of your life, but now he’s here, and you can’t imagine living without the silver-furred fox yokai by your side.

There’s a rustle in the evergreen bushes to your left, and, as if he’s here answering your summons, a familiar silver head of hair pops out, golden eyes shining when he sees you. 

He blinks at you, ears flicking curiously, twigs in his hair like he’s been rolling around on the forest floor. His tail is out of sight, but you can imagine how it’s waving from side to side in contentment, the morning dew slowly turning into frozen crystals in his fur. You smile.

“Hey,” you greet, the moment you see Hansol’s face. “Are you gonna come over?”

Instantly, he stands up, hops over the bush and makes his way to you. His footfalls are light, looking like he’s dancing over the rocks before he settles next to you once more, looking like he never left your side.

“Hey,” he says. “There are so many rabbits in these mountains, you know? Like I’ve never seen so many rabbits gathered in one place before, because normally they get killed by hunters or there’s just not enough food in that area to sustain so many. It’s actually insane how many rabbits you have up here.” When you just smile, his eyes widen, ears pricking upright. “Oh, is it you? Do you do something to help them stay alive? With your magic and all that?”

Hansol then launches into a flurry of questions for you, so eager and animated that it surprises you a little, before melting your heart.

At the sight of sunrise, you’d taken down your visibility spell, but Hansol is still glowing, looking so alive with his cold-dusted cheeks, shining eyes, wind-fluffed hair and the frost dusting the tip of his nose, which must have accidentally happened when he’d gotten too excited and lost control of his magic.

Hansol’s positively lit up, now he’s surrounded by all this nature. He must’ve been so cooped up and nervous before, when he was just in your house, barely anything to do. Now he’s healed, and outside, and you can tell that being out of the house is where he’s meant to be.

“It’s not me,” you admit after Hansol’s finished conjuring up crazy theories. “Well, kind of. I messed around with the mountains about eighty years ago and did something by accident so we get a lot more winter flowers than normal. The rabbits love eating them, so we get a lot of them too.”

“Oh,” Hansol says, amazed. “That makes so much sense. I saw so many flowers. I thought that was a little bit weird, but I just chalked it up to Mother Nature having fun, or something.”

You laugh. “Yeah. I guess Mother Nature was having fun,” you say, gesturing to yourself, and Hansol grins too. His eyes crinkle as he does so, the corners of his lips spread wide so his pearly whites are fully visible, the tips of his yokai fangs slightly on display. Even his big, bright smile is as cute as he is. You’ve never seen him smile this widely before. It’s… pretty.

Even though he’s all warmed up to you now, even though it’s clear he trusts you, it’s obvious he’ll always be most at peace out here in the big, wide world.

His gaze slides away from yours, looking at something behind you, and he gasps.

“What is it?” You turn to look back, trying to find what had caught his eye, but Hansol doesn’t respond. He jumps up, diving into the bushes without a word.

A moment later he emerges, and in his hands is…

“A daffodil?” you say, amazed. “What’s this doing here? Spring is very, very far off.”

“I guess it’s because of you,” Hansol says, handing you the flower. 

You accept it gratefully, tracing the edges of its buttery yellow petals, such a warm, golden colour in your hands, in stark contrast to the cold white of the snow around you. It’s so pretty, so pristine, and it’s amazing it managed to survive in the freezing winter temperatures. Must be due to your magic, like Hansol said.

“It looks like you,” Hansol says suddenly, and you look at him in surprise. 

“Really? How?”

“You look like spring, to me,” he says. The frosted tip of his nose looks pink, as do his cheeks. A decidedly warmer, blushier pink than they’d looked before. “All warm and gold and pretty. Like the daffodil. And I…” He pauses, and then seems to change his mind, shutting his mouth and blinking at you like he wasn’t about to say anything else.

You smile, so endeared that you’re practically glowing with it. “Thank you,” you say, touched, and look back down at the daffodil in your hands before raising your eyes to the definitely-blushing yokai once more. “That’s so sweet.”

Hansol shrugs, a little bashful, before standing up abruptly.

“I’m gonna go find the rabbits again,” he says, and before you can even reply, he’s disappeared.

You laugh, breathing in the crisp air and then releasing it in a sigh, feeling warm all over despite the cold. You shake your head, fond. Hansol is just so…

That’s it, you decide. You’re not going to let Seungcheol dictate where Hansol can and can’t be. You’ll let Hansol do whatever he wants, and encourage him to do whatever he wants. 

Whatever makes him smile.

───────────── ‘✽, 

From that day on, you make it a point to take Hansol to the mountains as often as you can.

He loves it—he’ll never say it in so many words, extremely shy when it comes to voicing his preferences for reasons you cannot discern, but it’s so obvious that those few hours he gets to spend with you, in the fresh air, away from all the people, are his favourite hours in the day.

It’s another one of those mornings when you’re up in the mountains with him. You can’t come here every day: you’d collapse from exhaustion if you had to wake up at four in the morning every day, but today, it’s a particularly clear-skied day, and you wanted to watch the sunrise with Hansol.

He’s sitting shoulder to shoulder with you, looking silently down at the village below. It’s still not sunrise yet, but the sky’s beginning to lighten gradually, and you can see some of the windows beginning to light up with orange lights, everyone slowly waking. Hansol hasn’t said a word for a while, so you haven’t either, content to just look down at everything in silence.

The entire experience is rather humbling. From the mountain, the village looks so small, like it’s merely a miniscule dot in existence, something that could be missed in a single blink. Like each mortal is worth next to nothing. Like each could be destroyed in a second.

That’s what a lesser immortal would think, anyway. For you, however, rather than how fragile life is, being this high up makes you marvel at the intricacy of it. Every person, every soul, despite being so small, is filled to the brim with so many unique experiences that no one else can ever live through as that person did. They live, and they die, but almost magnificently so. Like a one-of-a-kind snowflake that melts as soon as it lies in your hands.

You look at Hansol next to you. His eyelashes flutter thoughtfully as he looks down at the village, delicate against his pale skin. 

Every life should be cherished, you think. Because if even the fleetings lives of humans are that complex, then what of the immortal creatures, who live forever? No one should tell them to hide themselves away.

“I can hear you cursing Seungcheol in your head,” Hansol says abruptly, pulling you out of your thoughts. He’s staring at you, now, no longer focused on the village, and he tilts his head bemusedly when you meet his gaze. “You’re still mad at him, aren’t you?”

You blink, and then smile. You were kind of cursing out Cheol in your head, you admit, and it’s kind of funny that Hansol picked up on it.

“I am,” you sigh, looking down. “Well, now I’m more annoyed, really. I know I should be glad that he’s not going to extremes, like some other people in the world, but…”

Hansol nods slowly. “I get where he’s coming from, though,” he admits, and you look up. “What? Seungcheol cares for his village. These people… they all mean a lot to him, and he doesn’t know me, so I guess it’s natural for him to be cautious.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s no excuse. These people all mean a lot to me, too. I watched them all grow up! And Cheol should know I wouldn’t suggest anything that puts them in danger.” You frown. “It’s frustrating. It feels like he doesn’t trust my judgement, even though he’s literally known me his entire life.”

The yokai hums, and reaches over to pat your hand placatingly where it rests in your lap.

“Also, it pisses me off that he’s saying all this without ever making an effort to get to know you, and see if his judgement is right,” you say, looking at Hansol, catching his hand in your own when he begins to move away. “You’re just—you’re just so lovely, and how dare Seungcheol try to hide you away, like you’re something taboo, or something to be ashamed of?”

Hansol’s eyes widen, and he blinks rapidly, before averting his gaze to your intertwined hands. “Oh,” he says, after a moment, clearly embarrassed by your sincere compliments. “That’s… nice.”

You laugh, fond, squeezing his hand comfortingly. “I’m always nice,” you tease. “I’m the nicest person in the entire world, actually.”

To your surprise, Hansol doesn’t smile back at your joke, and simply ducks his head shyly. “You are.” 

And then he keeps lowering himself down until he’s laying in your lap, the tips of his flickering slightly at the contact as he adjusts himself until he's practically lying down in the log, head in your lap. You stiffen in surprise, and Hansol slowly shifts so he can blink up at you with innocent, gold eyes. 

“Can I lie here?” he asks, even though he's clearly very much lying there already, and you smile, relaxing. 

“Yeah, I guess,” you say, and Hansol smiles, closing his eyes as your hand goes to his hair and begins to gently run through the strands with the tips of your fingers. 

You stay like that for some time, running your fingers through Hansol’s hair and over the soft fur of his ears. Abruptly, he playfully flicks his ears as you trace a finger through the fur at the base of them, making you yelp in surprise, and he smiles, pleased at having made you jump. You lightly tug at a few strands of hair, teasing, and he smiles wider, eyes still shut, the slight points of his canines visible.

Too distracted with Hansol’s face, you end up completely missing the full sunrise, and eventually it becomes late enough in the morning that the village fully awakens, bustling with noise as people go about their day. But curiously, you can’t hear a single thing. It’s like your world has narrowed down to you, your hands, and the yokai laid comfortably in your lap.

He really is very pretty. You notice the small spattering of snowflake-like freckles on his cheeks, and smile. He’s so pretty that it isn’t even fair.

You trace a thumb over his cheekbones, opening your mouth to comment on them before Hansol’s eyes snap open, and his ears suddenly tilt towards something down the mountain, listening. Your hand freezes, and you let him turn his head, alert.

“What’s wrong?”

Then, you hear it: the crunching of twigs underfoot, and the telltale huffing and puffing of a human making their way up the mountain. Your hand falls, and you get ready to stand up before—

“Y/N?”

Soonyoung, clad in winter furs and holding a woven basket in his hands, blinks at you in confusion, and then he glances to the yokai in your lap, and shakes his head, his expression becoming even more mystified than before.

“What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” you ask back, equally confused as Soonyoung. “You literally hate climbing the mountains. What are you doing?”

Soonyoung looks at you oddly, lifting up the empty basket. “I’m here to collect wildflowers for you,” he says. “I asked you the other day if you could make some of that non-dangerous magic fire you did last year. You said you needed wildflowers harvested at sunrise to make that potion, so I’m here to get those.”

“Oh. Did you really ask me that?”

“Yes,” Soonyoung says. “You said you’d make them for me. And also complained for like five minutes because I tried to pay you, and you wanted to refuse ‘cause you said I was paying you too much. As if there’s such a thing as being paid too much money.” He rolls his eyes for emphasis, and you laugh.

The conversation comes back to you now, and you shrug sheepishly. “Yeah. Sorry. I forgot about that.”

Soonyoung makes a disgruntled sound, feigning annoyance before his eyes crinkle as he smiles. “Don’t worry about it, boo. Just as long as you remember to make the potion, it’s all fine. The children’ll love it for the bonfire tonight.”

Your eyes widen. “You want me to make it for tonight? There’s a bonfire tonight?”

“Yes,” Soonyoung says. “I specifically told you when I asked, as well. Goodness, you’re forgetting everything today, huh?” Then he gestures casually to Hansol, who’s still lying in your lap, looking unsurely at the villager. “Don’t tell me, you also forgot you have the injured demon in your lap, too?”

He points to Hansol so naturally, so calmly that you look down in surprise, as if you really had forgotten the yokai was there. Soonyoung laughs, shaking his head as he bends down near a bush, poking through the dirt to see if there are any flowers. He turns his back on you and Hansol, craning down towards the ground to see better as he continues to talk.

“Cheol told me all about the demon and how he disapproves of you keeping him alive,” Soonyoung says. He manages to find a few wildflowers, and lets out an aha! of pride, putting them away in his basket. “Not gonna lie, I agreed with him a bit. But then I come up here and find him in your lap as you pet him like a cat, and now I’m thinking, maybe not so much.”

Soonyoung turns back to face you once again, and somehow, during those thirty seconds, he’s managed to get dirt all over his nose.

“Plus, you seem to like him,” he carries on. “So he can’t be bad, can you? Because you’d kick his ass if he was.”

You quirk a grin at that, proud. Then you nod down at Hansol. “He has a name, though, you know. And he can hear you.”

Soonyoung’s eyes widen in realisation, and he stands up quickly, brushing down his clothes. “Oh, sorry, you’re right. Sorry. Hi, I’m Soonyoung, one of the villagers who live here. It’s nice to meet you.”

He extends a gloved hand towards Hansol, and Hansol looks at the hand for a long moment. Then he slowly sits upright again, and grasps Soonyoung’s hand in a firm handshake, the corners of his mouth relaxing slightly.

“Hansol,” he says. “It’s nice to meet you.”

And then he must do something, because Soonyoung lets out a small yip in surprise, withdrawing his hand quickly as Hansol observes him amusedly, eyes glinting. 

“Did you…” Soonyoung starts, wide-eyed. “Did you just. Give me an electric shock? On purpose?”

Hansol cracks the slightest smile, evidently pleased with Soonyoung’s reaction. He’s in a playful mood today, you muse, smiling as Soonyoung stutters, clearly not sure what to do when a yokai plays a prank on him like this. It makes you smile too, amused.

“You have to show me how to do that,” Soonyoung eventually says, going from surprised to confused to full of amazement. “Can you show me? Is that something which can be taught?”

That makes Hansol smile properly, lips curving upwards. “You’re funny.”

“I’m being serious!” Soonyoung says, but something about Hansol’s smile must make him smile too, because eventually he laughs, shaking his head. “Goodness, you magic people need to stop messing with me. One day, I’ll accidentally set myself on fire, and it’ll be your fault.”

“You’d do that anyway,” you tease, and Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “Anyway, I have to get going, I think. Jeonghan’s coming over for a poultice for his back pain, and I need to get to my cottage before he does.”

“Okay,” Soonyoung says. “This is a hell of a way up the mountain, by the way. I might go down with you as well, and see if I’ve missed any flowers.”

“Cool.” This is definitely not that far up the mountain, and even though Soonyoung hates climbing, it shouldn’t have taken him more than twenty minutes to reach where you are. It’s clear he wants to walk with you for a moment to tell you something, so you look at Hansol, and offer him the chance to stay up in the mountains by himself for a bit.

He agrees, so you and Soonyoung begin your slow descent.

“What do you want?” you ask, when you’re out of Hansol’s hearing range.

Soonyoung just smiles, shaking his head. “Nothing bad,” he says. “I meant it when I said Hansol seems like a cool guy. I just…” He pauses, thinks over his words, and then leans in closer. “Bring him to the bonfire tonight.”

You reel back. “What? Are you crazy?”

“Hey, if you’re worried about him getting hurt, you shouldn’t be,” Soonyoung says placatingly. “Hansol’s a demon. He can hold his own. Plus, the people aren’t as against yokai as you might think. Cheol’s just overly cautious, and the elderly might have traditional views about it, but it won’t be hard to make them like him. He’s cute.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“He is!” Soonyoung argues. “I saw him in your lap, Y/N. He’s adorable. And very… docile? Like, he’s so quiet. But also very silly. The kids would love him, you know. So would everyone else.”

“Even Seungcheol?”

Soonyoung thinks about it for a second. The cold air has made his cheeks all ruddy red, and he looks like a very earnest, very red-cheeked schoolboy as he nods firmly. “Yes. Even Seungcheol.”

You hum, still incredibly sceptical. “Well. I’ll think about it. We’ll have to see.”

───────────── ‘✽, 

Unfortunately, even though you were slightly swayed by Soonyoung’s words and his instant kindness and all-round chillness in Hansol’s presence, you ultimately end up not bringing Hansol to the bonfire night. It’s not your decision, though: it’s Hansol’s.

“Are you worried about the humans?” you ask, when Hansol tells you that, respectfully, he doesn’t want to go. “You don’t have to worry about that. I could blast them all to pieces for insulting you, if that makes you feel better.”

Hansol smiles a little, before shaking his head. “No. It’s actually just… I’m not really a big fan of all the noise and stuff. And how hot bonfires are.”

“Oh.” You soften, concerned. “Have you been… hurt by fire before?”

“Huh? Oh, no,” Hansol says. He shrugs. “I just don’t like being too warm. Makes me uncomfortable.”

You raise an eyebrow, amused. Because even as he says this, he’s cuddling up into your side, head on your shoulder, his tail curled comfortably around him. “Really?” you say. “You don’t like being too warm?”

Hansol’s ears flick. “Yeah. My magic originates from winter, as you might have noticed, so…”

“Oh, I hadn’t realised,” you say teasingly, tapping the tip of his nose lightly. “I thought the white fur and random bursts of frost on your skin meant you were a summery fox.”

Hansol scrunches his nose, and you laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, it does mean I don’t like being all warm, so fires are a no-go for me. Especially bonfires, where there are many people. That’s way too much warmth for me, for sure.”

“I see,” you say, reaching a hand up to tuck some of his silver hair out of his face as he nestles closer into your side. “That’s cool. But I am going to have to go, even if you aren’t. Will you be okay if I leave you here by yourself in the evening?”

“Yeah. Can you make me dinner before you go, though? Last time I tried, I almost destroyed your kitchen.”

“What? When was that?”

“Oops. Did I not tell you?”

Anyway, the bonfire night ends up being a bit of a disappointment. Several of the villagers have cottoned on to the fact you’re housing the yokai, and express their concerns to you over the matter several times over the course of the night. You love these people, you really do, but hearing so many of them advise you to send him back off into the woods for your own safety really wears you down after a while.

“I think Y/N understands what you’re saying now, imo,” a gentle voice butts in, right when you’re in the middle of having a particularly exhausting conversation. This tricky older woman’s insisting you let the yokai go… only, she’s using much more unkind words.

You were very, very close to losing your cool with her—respect the elders be damned because hell, you’re way older than she is—before she’s interrupted mid-sentence by a villager appearing over his shoulder, and you smile in relief as you recognise him.

At the call of “auntie”, she looks up and comes face-to-face with your saviour, Joshua, and all it takes is another gentle smile and some sweet words before he successfully convinces her to leave your side and rejoin her friends on the other side of the bonfire.

“Don’t worry about it,” Joshua says when you thank him for his help. “You know how they are. Once they latch on to you, it’s impossible to get them to leave without using some sort of witchcraft to pry them away.”

You laugh at that. “And yet, it seemed to be you who helped get them off me. Maybe you’re the real witchcraft user out of the two of us.”

Joshua laughs, light and melodious, magical fire reflecting in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything to your joke, however, and nods into the distance behind you, down the darkened paths that lead to your cottage. “You need to bring him out, though,” he says. “Whilst he’s still unknown, they’ll continue conjuring theories that become wilder by the day. They need to see the yokai so their suspicions can be wiped away once and for all.”

“Wh—Hansol?” You blink. “It’s dangerous, Shua. They might hurt him.”

“They’re hurting him now,” Joshua says. “They’re hurting you and hurting him by making stuff up. Just introduce him to them, okay? He can’t become part of our village if he never meets our villagers.”

At your stunned look, Joshua smiles. 

“What? I know you, Y/N. You’re attached. You want him to stay. And honestly…” His smile turns a little more secretive, a little more knowing. “I think he wants to, too. The yokai will stay for you, but to truly bring him in, you have to bring him out to us.”

Joshua smiles again, the colours of his irises swirling together, before he pats you on the shoulder and gets up, leaving you there speechless.

He isn’t… wrong. But hearing it like that sounds insane.

You shake your head. Hansol will have to meet everyone sooner or later, you suppose. You very much do not want to go ahead with Seungcheol’s idea to let him be hidden, like a secret, so of course, you need to bring him out into the open.

You shake your head again, mystified. Joshua’s correct, but how does he know so much?

Honestly, you really do think he’s more of a witchcraft user out of the two of you. His incredible timing, his knowledge of all your thoughts, the fact he’d called Hansol a yokai rather than demon…

Also. How old even is he, anyway? 

Too confused and befuddled by all the thoughts in your head, you end up playing with the children and run through the fire all night instead. It’s a lot safer than having to deal with all the grown-up stuff of thinking about things.

───────────── ‘✽, 

Both Soonyoung’s and Joshua’s words linger in the back of your mind for days after that, and you contemplate how to get Hansol out of the house. Hansol had never really shown signs of wanting to be part of the village, which had made you reconsider this whole thing, wanting to brush away the villager’s words, before you actually asked the yokai, and—

Hansol shrugs. “Yeah. I’d like to get to know everyone. I want to be part of the village.”

“You do?”

“Yeah,” he says again, smiling at you. “This village is your village, and I want to be with you.”

Oh. You smile back, touched. Hansol smiles wider, brightening at the eye contact, all sweet and lovely and really quite cute, before ducking his head and disappearing back through the shelves of your library once again.

So Hansol turns out to be not as against the idea as you thought, which makes you feel a lot better about thinking of how to get the villagers to trust him and how to get Seungcheol off your back for taking care of Hansol in the first place.

However, it ends up not being you who makes the first steps into getting him known. Oh, no.

Instead, Hansol does that all by himself.

It happens during the first snowfall of the year. You’d woken up to the beautiful sight of the white crystals floating down and covering the entire village with a soft, muffled coat, and the equally beautiful sight of Hansol, who had already woken up, practically pressing his nose against the window to look at the snow in awe.

He’d clearly wanted to go out and be in the snow—as a winter yokai, that made sense—but you’d had some errands to run that day, so you’d told him he could stay only in the front yard of the cottage and go no further.

Hansol had smiled at you, an amused quirk of his lips that acted as all the reassurance you needed.

So he’s sitting in the snow in front of your cottage, legs out in front of him, the silk of his clothes getting damper the longer he sits on the cold ground, but he hardly notices, more focused with tracing a finger through the soft white that is steadily building up.

Snowfall is Hansol’s most favourite wintry thing. It’s a perfect, wondrous phenomenon: the intersection of the perfect time and the perfect weather and the perfect temperature that makes the sky release soft handfuls of the white stuff down on Earth. Even nature falls silent when the snow falls. In Hansol’s opinion, that’s proof enough that it’s something to be appreciated beyond belief.

His robes, his old robes, used to have silver snowflakes embroidered into them, intricate and sprawling patterns that he could run his fingers over and almost feel the cold gust of wind that accompanied the snow. They’re not on the robes he’s wearing now—he’s wearing ones you’ve given him, after his old ones were ruined by his own blood—but he traces his fingers gently over the sleeves, letting frost spread out from his fingers like the feathery patterns that used to adorn the cloth he wore.

He quickly grows bored of that, though, and turns to the real snow in front of him, ears flicking absentmindedly to get rid of the small pile-up gathering on his head. He absentmindedly gathers the stuff in his hands, patting it into shapes and then leaving them out on the lawn. 

This carries on for some time, and eventually there is an army of misshapen snow clumps in your front yard, all frosted over with a touch of his magic, and he grins, satisfied. And then his ears twitch again, and he feels… eyes. Watching him.

Hansol turns around, and some houses away, peeking from over a well-trimmed, leafless hedge, he sees three children clad in fluffy winter clothes staring at him, curious.

He doesn’t have much experience with human children. Or any children, for that matter. But he’s pretty sure that, when a yokai makes eye contact with them, they’re not meant to light up with glee and come running over with absolutely no regard for the icy paths or the danger that said yokai could present.

Surprised, Hansol jumps up to his feet, reaching out hands to steady the little kids as they skid over the snow and come to a stop right in front of him, eyes shining, expectant. He doesn’t know what they’re expecting, and being so close to these mini humans is a very awkward experience for him. He’s not sure what to do.

So he lifts a hand, and waves. “Hello?”

The three children beam, and one of them, the girl, practically vibrates with happiness when he speaks.

“Hello!” she chirps, and waves back. “I’m Yeowon! What’s your name?”

Hansol blinks, taken aback by her enthusiasm. “I’m Hansol.”

“Hansol!” Yeowon keeps speaking in exclamation marks, and it’s honestly kind of amusing. “It’s nice to meet you! This is Junghoon, and this is Minjun!” she says, gesturing to the boys on either side of him, who also give Hansol equally enthusiastic waves.

“Hello,” he says unsurely. How old are these kids? He doesn’t know much about human years, but they look… very young. Where are their parents?

He doesn’t get to voice his concerns before Yeowon starts speaking again, going a mile a minute and he can hardly get a word in edgeways.

“We were watching you from Minjun’s house,” she says, and picks up one of the snow balls that Hansol was making, lifting it up so he can look at his own handiwork. “These are so pretty! We wanted to come over and play with you, ‘cause we’ve never seen you before, but you live with Miss Witch, right?”

Hansol opens his mouth, but it’s apparent that wasn’t an actual question when Yeowon barrels on.

“So you must be a good guy! So we wanted to come say hello and play.”

She blinks big, innocent eyes up at him, as do the two boys, evidently begging him to play with them, or something. He doesn’t know what play entails, but… there’s no harm in entertaining these fun-sized humans, right?

So Hansol nods, says they can play with him, and sits down in the snow again. And then, before he knows it, they’re all shrieking and climbing over him and asking him to make figurines out of ice and snow and patting his hair in amazement and asking if his ears are actually real.

Children are very overwhelming, Hansol quickly learns. But he also kind of likes them: likes the way their eyes light up when he makes them the little ice characters they want, likes their fascinated smiles and the way they very gently touch his ears and accidentally get damp suede of their gloves in his mouth in their excitement. They’re bubbly, full of life, and so friendly with him that it honestly makes him so delighted that it surprises him.

“Make me one too! Make me one too!”

“Your ears look super fluffy! Can I touch your tail?”

“Why are your eyes yellow?”

“Can you make me something out of magic too, Mister Fox?”

“Mister Fox! Mister Fox!”

Hansol doesn’t know how it happens, but he blinks and suddenly he’s surrounded by what seems to be every child in the village, clamouring around him and asking if he could play, Please, Mister Fox, won’t you?

Your front lawn is quickly becoming a gathering place for the little humans who had swarmed towards him so quickly that Hansol’s starting to think they were waiting in the background for his very opportunity, and he makes more ice figures and listens interestedly to their babbling as they conjure stories for the figurines on the spot. They’re all so very noisy, but Hansol smiles, brimming with a similar sort of energy as his magic fizzes and pops with glitters of snow and makes the children laugh.

There’s no other way to describe it. He’s feeling happiness, pure and simple.

Unbeknownst to Hansol, there’s one human who’d been watching the entire scene right from the beginning. Coming down the path, on his way to visit the village’s magic-user, Soonyoung had noticed Hansol sitting by himself and had prepared to go over, extend a hand and a friendly word before Yeowon, Junghoon and Minjun had run over.

As a result, Soonyoung retreated a little ways round the bend to watch from a distance, which is where he is now, smiling at the innocent joy of both the children and Hansol.

From the opposite end of the path, he spots you walking back to your cottage, and clocks the exact moment you realise what’s happening in your front yard. Your eyes widen, and you stop in your tracks, before your eyes slowly lift further and you notice Soonyoung standing there too, smiling.

See? he seems to say with your eyes, meeting your gaze. They love him. 

One of the children shrieks with laughter as she grabs Hansol’s tail and he playfully gasps in shock, scooping her up and lifting her into the air until she’s giggling and burbling for him to put her down. At his feet, one child is patting snow into the hem of his robes, and another is playing with a fox-eared figurine that Hansol had made him.

It looks so natural, and you watch them for a moment before looking at Soonyoung again. Soonyoung smiles even wider. You have nothing to worry about.

You laugh, a little bit in disbelief, warmth spreading across your face as you smile back, looking fondly at the sight in your front yard. Finally, you really do believe that that’s the truth.

───────────── ‘✽, 

“Let’s go out,” you say, and Hansol looks up from his book, tilting his head inquisitively.

“Hm,” he says in reply. “Are you sure?”

It’s been a few days since the first snowfall, but the wintry precipitation has not let up, and it continues to softly drift down from the sky even as you speak. The blanket of snow covering the earth has also blanketed your senses, and your magic is nothing more than a gentle hum beneath your skin. A month ago, this would have stressed you greatly, but with Hansol and his winter-attuned magic singing happily around the entire room, you feel nothing but peace. 

Nodding in reassurance, you smile at Hansol. “Very sure. Let’s go out today.”

Hansol blinks, once, and then smiles back, closing the book and getting up from the couch. “Okay. Where are we going?”

You smile wider. “To make you some friends.”

That was the plan, anyway. Ever since the first snow, when Hansol had been accosted by the children and ended up playing with them for a good part of the day, you’ve had several villagers come to your door, either complaining about the yokai or wanting to know more about him. So, you figure, today you should get him out to the village square so he can finally meet everyone. Regardless of their opinion of him. 

Because you have trust in Hansol. Now, you have confidence he can turn their opinion around. 

Hansol, despite having all the appearances and mannerisms of an introvert, doesn't seem to mind leaving the house for so many days in a row, and eagerly agrees as you urge him to get dressed and head out to the village square. There's the daily market taking place, and most people will be there, so it'll be a good opportunity to introduce him. 

But, like you said, that was the plan. 

Unfortunately, you're whisked away by some of the villagers who need help with their sick relative, leaving Hansol stranded in the village square. 

“You don't have to stay,” you insist to him, as you're rushed off to deal with the medical emergency. “Seriously, Hansol, you can go home. Especially if anyone starts throwing insults, then just go, okay? I'll be with you as soon as I finish.”

Hansol watches you go, head tilted, slightly amused. It's kind of cute that you think he needs protecting. You know, since he's an ancient demon, and all. But before he can say as such, there's a small voice near his knee, and he looks down to see a small child, piping up in favour of him. 

“Don't worry about Mister Fox!” the small boy chirps brightly. “We will look after him!”

And as if out of nowhere (seriously, where do these kids come from?) several children come up to him and cling to his robes, waving at you as you leave the market square. Hansol waves too, mystified by the miniature support latching onto him, but also a bit touched by their loyalty. They're really sweet. 

“So what do you wanna do, Mister Fox?” the first little boy says, and Hansol recognises him as one of the first children to come up to him a few days ago. Minjun. “Are you hungry?”

Without even waiting for Hansol's answer, Minjun and the rest of the children start ushering him to the food stalls, fiercely advocating for their choice of what Mister Fox should eat first. 

“Wait,” Hansol says, interrupting the particularly fierce fight over having hotteok or bungeoppang first. “Kids. Do you have any money?”

There's a short silence, and all the children look down, which is how he learns that they don't, and so they don't end up buying anything at all. Except, Yeowon, who joined the discussion partway through, manages to wheedle some of the stall-owners to give her free food with her big puppy eyes and innocent pout.

It’s like a magic trick, Hansol has to give her that. And when she happily tells the vendors that she’s sharing the food with Hansol, the villagers do nothing other than blink in surprise and then smile, polite and awkward, well. That’s also an incredible magic trick too. 

They sit on the outskirts of the village market, pillowed by the mounds of snow all around them as they eat their steaming hot snacks. They’re delicious, and sticky, and very sweet, so it’s not too long before Hansol has several super-hyper, sticky-fingered children on his hands, who are all practically launching themselves into the snow with the bounding amounts of energy they have.

It becomes very noisy very fast, and Hansol starts panicking slightly, before he loudly suggests they ought to go and make some snowmen, and all the children whip their heads around to look at him, wide-eyed, and then—

“That’s such a good idea!”

“Yes! Let’s do that!”

“I’m gonna make the best snowman!”

“No, me!”

“No! Me!”

And then they go tumbling off into the snow, and Hansol slumps back down, relieved. He can still see them, and he can still sense them, too, so there’s no worry in any of them getting lost. At least he can now have some peace and quiet.

Twisting his lips thoughtfully, he gathers handfuls of the white snow, turning it over. He turns it over again, and then begins patting and shaping it in his hands until he has something that resembles a little snow duck.

It’s terribly misshapen, and the beak is a bit too long to be a duck, but it’s cute, and Hansol’s pleased. He swirls his fingers in the air, and uses some magic to add finishing touches, trying to rectify the wonkiness. It doesn’t work, but he still thinks it’s cute. You’d probably find it cute, too. Right?

Probably. Hansol hums to himself contemplatively. You like everything he does. It’s very sweet, he thinks, that you’re always so receptive to him, and it’s even sweeter that you genuinely enjoy his company. You brighten like a blooming chrysanthemum, spring-like in your warmth whenever he says something to you, and it makes him feel all warm too. Ever since the first time he woke up on your couch, out of his mind with a fever, and he’d noticed your floral chrysanthemum tea scent and accidentally called you the prettiest person ever, you’ve always been so gentle and kind and oh, Hansol likes you so much.

You’re just—lovely. You’re the loveliest being he’s ever met in his entire life, and that’s saying something, because Hansol’s been alive for a really fucking long time.

“Hello.”

He’s startled out of his thoughts by a light, melodic voice coming from over his shoulder, and Hansol looks up in surprise to see a villager bent over him, warm brown eyes glinting and the corners of his lips curving upwards in a seemingly permanent smile.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump. I just saw you, and thought I’d say hi,” the villager says, smiling properly, extending a hand. “I’m Joshua. You’re the yokai, right?”

Hansol manoeuvres his body around awkwardly and shakes Joshua’s gloved hand. “I’m Hansol, and yeah, I am the yokai. How could you tell?” His ears flick pointedly as he talks, and Joshua’s eyes immediately go to them before he smiles wider.

“Yeah, I guess it was a silly question,” Joshua says, and his fur boots crunch in the snow as he climbs over a mound and crouches down next to Hansol. “But I don’t wanna seem impolite, you know?”

Hansol shrugs, but he understands. “Yeah. I get it.”

Joshua smiles.

They say nothing for a moment, and Hansol lifts his head up briefly to check on the children. He can still see all of them, actually, dotted about the edges of the market as they build their snowmen. He watches them thoughtfully, and then down at the snow at his feet.

It only takes a moment for a snowman of his own to begin to form, aided by his magic as the snowballs roll themselves to become bigger and more round.

“That’s really cool,” Joshua comments, and Hansol had almost forgotten he was there. He’s so quiet, feather-silent, but when he catches Hansol’s eye and smiles, there’s a twinkle to his presence that makes him wonder how he could have ever forgotten him. “I’ve never seen anyone other than Y/N be able to do that.”

“Hm?” Hansol looks at the snowman that’s slowly being built. “Oh, well, it’s nothing, really.”

Even as he says so, his tail fluffs up in pride at Joshua’s words, and he begins adding more and more intricate frost details to the snowman. The feathery patterns wind through the body of his creation, like embroidery, and Joshua whistles, amazed.

“It’s very cool. Your magic is very cool.”

Hansol shrugs, bashful. “Thank you. But really, it’s nothing.” As the snowman continues to construct itself, he leans over to Joshua as if confiding a secret. “In the wild, there are yokai who can create literal monsters out of ice. In about five seconds flat. But I mostly just deal with frost and snow, so it’s a lot more difficult for me.”

Joshua tilts his head, genuine interest written all over his face. “Oh. I didn’t know there were differences in yokai magic.”

“Of course there are,” Hansol says, like it’s obvious. “Like there are differences in humans’ skills, there are differences for yokai, too. We are not unlike you, you know.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Joshua says thoughtfully. And then he looks Hansol in the eye again, smiling. Joshua is honestly so friendly, and even though they only met two minutes ago, he feels like he’s known him for years. “So you won’t object to being friends with a human, right?”

Hansol blinks, surprised, and Joshua’s smile just widens. It’s obvious what he’s asking, and Hansol feels… touched, that he’d even suggest such a thing.

“Yeah,” Hansol says, and his magic finishes off the snowman with an intricate flourish of frost. “I’d love to be your friend.”

“Joshua!”

The calling of the human’s name makes both Joshua and Hansol turn around, and they see one of the elder villagers coming over to them, the skirts of her robes swishing as she walks. She’s terribly intimidating, greying hair pulled back into a bun with a pointy hair stick, marching over with incredible grace even through the ankle-deep snow that has gathered. She squints at the yokai and how close Joshua is sitting to him. 

“Mrs Choi,” Joshua greets, apparently oblivious to the sharpness of the woman’s gaze. “Hello. It’s very cold today, isn’t it?”

She eyeballs Hansol for a moment before nodding at Joshua. “Very. Frightful weather, but at least the children are enjoying the snow.” Mrs Choi lifts her gaze and squints into the distance, where the children are playing. “I hope someone is supervising them.”

“Oh, well, Hansol is, so don’t worry about it,” Joshua says with a smile. 

Mrs Choi snaps her gaze back to them. “Is he really?” Hansol nods, doing his best to look as earnest and trustworthy as possible, and she hums. “I see.”

“He has them doing a snowman competition, actually,” Joshua says. “He’s very good at making them himself, too. Look. Don’t you think his creation looks amazing?”

He points to the snowman in front of them, glistening with frost and embroidered with thin ice, clearly a work of his magic. Hansol swallows, expecting Mrs Choi to fly into a tizzy over the presence of such witchcraft, but she just scrutinises the snowman, and then—

She smiles.

“It’s very pretty,” she says, and in the blink of an eye, her expression has turned warm. She’s smiling so nicely at Hansol, and then she leans down and brushes a hand over the top of his head, gently dusting away the snow that had landed in his hair. “Just like you, my dear.”

Hansol blinks up at her, open-mouthed. “I— thank you, ma’am.”

She chuckles, straightens, adjusts the skirt of her robes. “No need to thank me. I’m simply telling the truth.” Mrs Choi nods in the direction of the children, before turning away. “Thank you for taking care of the children, also. Keep up the good work.”

Hansol watches her go, feeling a little dazed. She had looked so sharp and stern at first, but something about him sitting there harmlessly and making a harmless snowman with harmless snow gathered in his hair must have done something to convince her that he’s, well, harmless. Which is good. Very good. Hopefully she’ll let everyone else know, too.

“Yeah, she looks scary, but Mrs Choi is anything but,” Joshua says with a laugh, when Hansol directs his wide-eyed gaze to him.

“She’s terrifying.”

“Her son takes after her,” Joshua chuckles. “Choi Seungcheol. He looks scary, but he’s a right softie on the inside, trust me.”

Hansol’s eyes widen further. “She’s Seungcheol’s mother? The village leader?”

“The one and only,” Joshua affirms. He laughs. “Don’t worry about him. His own mother found you cute. I’m sure he’ll be won over by you in no time. Especially if you keep making snowmen that rival Y/N’s in their intricacy. Seriously, I think yours are the best I’ve ever seen.”

“Shua, I hope I didn't just hear you dissing my amazing snowman building skills.”

Hansol looks up at your voice, and sees you slowly treading over to them, a drawstring bag dangling over your shoulder as you pick your way through the snow. The tip of your nose is red from the cold, cheeks a pretty pink with an amused smile on your face, and the moment he sees you, it’s like you’ve stolen his breath away.

Whilst Hansol’s too busy being starstruck, Joshua laughs, leaning back on his hands.

“So what if I was?” he teases, and nods to Hansol’s snowman. “Doesn’t it look amazing?”

You look away, directing your gaze to the snowman. Humming thoughtfully, you eye Hansol’s creation, and he begins to grow a little nervous under your critical silence, fiddling with his fingers and digging them into the snow, wisps of cold air seeping from his skin.

And then you smile, a lopsided smirk that makes Hansol feel a little dizzy.

“I can certainly do better.”

Before he can say anything, you set down your bag, and with a flick of your wrist the snow begins to swirl and gather itself before you. Under your command, golden streaks of magic begin to press the snow together, creating larger shapes that you obviously plan to sculpt into a showstopping piece.

You look almost relaxed in your movements, the entire process taking nothing more than a slight twitch of your fingers as magic sparks zip around the sculpture that’s gradually beginning to form. Hansol can only watch in awe, amazed at the fluidity and effortlessness of your power. By his side, he thinks he hears Joshua chuckle softly.

After a few short moments, the three of you are staring at a large, smoothly finished sculpture of a winter fox, and you smile and cross your arms, satisfied.

“What do you think?” you say, smug, confident in your belief that you’ve proved yourself.

Hansol’s jaw is on the floor. Delicate pointy ears, a fluffy-looking tail all made out of snow, and wow, are those whiskers? Did you really make whiskers?

“Wow,” is all he can say, staring at this lifelike fox that’s made entirely out of snow. “Wow.”

Just then, there are high-pitched exclamations from somewhere in the distance, and the children that Hansol’s been supervising come bounding over, shouting in amazement at the fox that you’ve made. 

“Hi, kids,” you say when they’re close enough, laughing when Yeowon barrels into your legs to give you a hug. “Quick question, which snow sculpture do you think is better? The fox, or the Frosty the Snowman?”

They all look very thoughtfully at the two snow pieces in front of them, before unanimously pointing to your creation, and you grin triumphantly at Joshua and Hansol. Hansol just smiles back, totally expecting such an outcome. You’d beat him any day when it comes to stuff like this, and he’s totally fine with that.

“That’s not even a snowman,” Joshua protests, but it’s clear he’s arguing just for the fun of it. “Y/N, that’s not a fair competition.”

You shrug flippantly. “I’d win anyway.” And then you wink, pleased, and Hansol feels like burying himself in the snow just to try and get rid of his red cheeks.

“Mister Fox, we wanna play with you now,” Minjun says, and he looks up to see the children standing around him, red-cheeked and damp-haired but still eager to play more. “Can we play a game with you?”

“It’s getting late,” Hansol tries to say, but apparently, that had been a rhetorical question, because they’re hauling him up to his feet so they can play with him. “The market’s already closing. Shouldn’t you all go back to your parents now? Joshua? Y/N?” He looks back pleadingly as he gets dragged away, and you and Joshua just laugh, waving him goodbye.

“Have a nice time!” Joshua calls, standing up from the snow and brushing down his clothes. He stands closer to you, smiling as you both watch him begin to play. “He’s good with them, isn’t he?”

You smile too. “He really is.”

“The best,” another voice adds, and you look over your shoulder to see some of the villagers also watching Hansol. They’re all the parents, and yet they seem perfectly content to let their children play around with the yokai, any trace of hostility gone from their faces. 

That makes you smile wider. “I’m glad you think so, Mrs Lee,” you say, and the woman smiles back. “Don’t worry. He’ll keep your children safe.”

Mrs Lee bows her head in acknowledgement, eyes turning soft as you all watch Hansol let the children punt tiny clumps of snow at him. “We know.”

They stay with you for a little longer, chatting about Hansol’s gentle nature and how wonderfully he gets along with the children, before eventually they disperse and begin packing up the market for the day. Next to you, Joshua is also smiling, looking fond, which is really weird because he barely knows Hansol but there’s definitely a clear look of admiration and affection in his face. Before you can comment on it, though, he pats you on the shoulder, and begins to step away.

 “I better go,” he says. “Cheol’s coming your way. I think he wants a talk.”

He bids you goodbye then trudges back through the snow, and you look over your shoulder to see that Seungcheol really is coming your way. Instead of greeting him, however, you look back out at Hansol, and wait until the village leader is by your side.

“Hello, Y/N.”

“Hello, Seungcheol.”

You don’t offer him anything else, and so the two of you stand there in silence, continuing to watch Hansol play with the children. It is an adorable sight, though, and makes the corners of your lips twitch upwards the longer the silence goes on. He’s totally lenient with them, letting them pull his tail and ambush him with damp gloves and shrieking laughter. His head whips back and forth constantly between the two sides of kids that have inexplicably formed, somehow finding himself in the crossfire as snowballs get flung around him.

It’s cute, and it makes you laugh, heart warming with fondness. You can feel Seungcheol watching you out of the corner of your eye, and when it’s clear he’s not going to say anything until you do, you sigh and turn your back on Hansol at last, raising an eyebrow.

“Well?” you prompt. “What’s up? You didn’t come find me just to say hello.”

Seungcheol pauses, and looks down. “No. I didn’t.” A beat. “My mother actually told me you were here.”

“Okay. And?”

“She talked to Hansol,” he says, and both your eyebrows raise this time, in surprise. “She said to me that she liked him, and she wanted me to open my eyes and finally realise how much of a good person he is.”

Seungcheol clasps his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels. He looks over your shoulder, at where Hansol is undoubtedly doing something silly to entertain the children, and his eyes go gentle. They don’t soften, and they certainly don’t melt, but his gaze becomes a little more mellow, like a layer of hardness has finally given way.

“And he is a good person,” Seungcheol says, looking at you again. “I’ve been watching him all day. All week, in fact, and even if my mother hadn’t said anything, I would’ve sought you out to tell you this, because I think I owe you an apology.”

You breathe a laugh. “You certainly do,” you say, but there’s no real bite. Seungcheol’s actions were understandable. You’ve already forgiven him.

Seungcheol seems to know that too, because his lips quirk up into a half-smile. Nevertheless, his words are genuine when he says, “I’m sorry. I was too rash, and too harsh. Any worries I had over yokai did not excuse the way I talked about Hansol. Do you think you can also tell him how sorry I am?”

You draw in a long breath, cross your arms and lean back, staring down your nose at Seungcheol. His smile wavers, a little, but then you relax, breaking out into a grin.

“You can tell him yourself. He’d love to talk to you,” you say, and Seungcheol smiles too. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. You’re just looking out for the village, like you always do. But…” You shrug. “I was looking out for my kind, also. I was frustrated that you were treating Hansol like that just because he was a yokai.”

Seungcheol breathes out, wisps of white spilling from his lips. “I get that. It makes sense that you felt that way.” His eyes lighten with mischief suddenly, his smile taking on a teasing edge. “Especially considering the fact you’re in love with him, too.”

The world grinds to a halt. You stumble, taken aback by Seungcheol’s words. “I’m sorry, what?”

Nothing else gets to be said about the matter, though, because a small child goes zooming past you right at that moment, brushing against your side. And then, half a millisecond later, a fat clump of snow hits you square in the back.

The child continues running off, bubbling laughter fading into the market square. Slowly, very slowly, you spin on your heel and come face-to-face with the culprit.

Hansol’s still frozen in his throw position, one hand incriminatingly covered with snow. The moment he sees your face, his face breaks into a wide grin, that beautiful, big grin that shows the slight point of his yokai fangs. His eyes are glowing, alight with amusement and another, warmer emotion you can’t quite name.

He tilts his head to the side, eyeing the snow gently tumbling down your back. “Whoops?”

“Whoops?” you echo, breathing a laugh. You look at Seungcheol, as if saying Can you believe this guy? before turning back to Hansol, a handful of snow magically making its way into your hands. “Oh, you’re going to be saying a lot more than ‘Whoops’ in a minute.”

Hansol laughs, holding his hands up placatingly. “Now hold on a minute—”

Abruptly, his head jerks back, and he gets knocked off his center of balance by the force of the snowball you’d just lobbed at him.

You burst into laughter as Hansol, sitting on the ground and with snow in his hair and up his nose, wipes his eyes with a grin. “Now you’re just asking for it, I think.”

Still laughing, you snap your fingers, and several more balls of snow float up around you. “Oh, it’s on.”

Cut to several minutes later, and somehow, the snowball fight between the two of you has devolved into a village-wide thing, children slipping and sliding in the snow alongside their parents as Seungcheol yells at his team to close ranks and you yell at yours to focus their sights on Hansol. The icy air stings your cheeks, and at some point it begins to snow again, hard, blurring your sight, but the whole thing still continues, the square filled with the laughter of the villagers.

And throughout it all, Hansol manages to find your gaze no matter where he is, gold eyes seeking your gold magic, and the beautiful sound of his laughter leaves you breathless every time.

───────────── ‘✽, 

All things considered, perhaps it’s totally expected that you end up falling for Hansol.

You don’t get to truly mull over Seungcheol’s last words until much later, when you and Hansol have both changed out of your sopping wet clothes and are sitting curled up together on the sofa, both of you blinking sleepily at the fire you’ve lit in the fireplace.

The snowball fight ended incredibly amiably, with everyone agreeing that Seungcheol’s team had obliterated everyone else’s, despite the lack of magic users in his group. You’d helped some of the villagers dust themselves off, and used magic to dry off the people who had gotten the most wet. Soonyoung, inexplicably, looked like he’d been dunked five times in a swimming pool, rather than emerging victorious from a snowball fight.

Finishing with Soonyoung, you’d looked back, and of course—Hansol was playing with the children, again, as if he had endless reserves of energy to spare. But in between letting the kids climb his legs and play with  his swishing tail, he was chatting with the rest of the villagers, helping them tidy away their things.

It made you smile. 

And then Hansol had looked back at you, as if sensing your gaze, and his entire face had lit up, brighter than the brightest summer’s day, and he’d quickly said goodbye to the villagers before coming bounding over to you, face so open and comfortable and warm and—

Yeah. You like him a lot. And you’re sure that he likes you a lot too.

Hansol yawns, big and wide and content, his tail flicking lazily as he rests on your shoulder. Outside, the snowfall has increased to a snowstorm, complete with howling winds and dark, looming clouds, but inside, your cottage is warm, and you have a sleepy yokai pressed against your side, and life is, admittedly, kind of perfect.

There’s just one thing, though.

You need to tell him.

Lost in thought, you shift around absentmindedly, and Hansol looks up questioningly at the movement. The warmth of your magic prickles softly in the air around you, and when he takes your hand, you can feel his own magic murmuring softly in tandem with your own. 

He continues to look at you, and then smiles, eyes glowing. Goodness, he really is so pretty.

“I like you,” you whisper, the words falling from your lips as if he’s enchanted you, bewitched you into saying how you truly feel for all to see. “I like you, Hansol.”

Hansol blinks, slow, cat-like. He lifts his head up, pulls away slightly from your shoulder so he can sit up and look at you properly. His eyes are shining, slitted pupils widening and rounding in adoration.

“That’s good,” he says. “Because I think you’re the prettiest person alive.”

It’s almost a direct copy of the first words he’d said to you, almost a lifetime ago, when he had been out of his mind with a fever, red-cheeked and hazy-eyed and fixated on the way you smelled like chrysanthemums. The memory makes you laugh, heart squeezing with fondness, and you reach forward to cup Hansol’s cheeks, smiling wider when his eyes flutter shut briefly and he leans trustingly into your touch.

“That’s funny,” you say. “Because I think you’re the prettiest person alive.”

Hansol’s eyes crinkle as he smiles, showing those yokai fangs that you adore so much. His ears twitch with happiness, light speckles of frost covering his cheeks as he blushes. He’s so pretty, and you love him so much.

Slowly, you inch closer until the tip of his nose brushes against yours. So close that you can count the snowflake-shaped freckles on his cheeks.

“You forgot to say it back, though,” you murmur. “Hansol, you didn’t say you like me back.”

Hansol breathes a soft laugh. “I thought it was obvious.” His smile widens, so enamoured that it warms your heart. “Y/N, I like you too. In fact, I think I’m in love with you.”

You beam. “You know what? I think I’m in love with you too.”

And then you lean forward, and Hansol leans in too, and your lips meet in the softest, sweetest kiss. He tastes like magic, like love, like soft snow that numbs your senses but leaves your heart alive and alight and oh, this is everything you never knew you needed and more.

Hansol’s silver-white hair is falling into his eyes when you pull away, his golden irises shining brightly through them like dazzling, gorgeous sunlight peeking through the translucent colours of snowfall. The sight makes you instantly lean in to kiss him again, dizzy with adoration because goodness, this happiness is for you. He looks like this because he loves you.

And you love him too.

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @haodore @tulsa24 @melodicrabbit

[captainfantasticalright]

1967: you go too fast for me Crowley, or the year the Wolfenden report actually came into effect.

It is no secret that in 1957 the Wolfenden Committee recommended the decriminalisation of private homosexual activity between consenting adults over the age of 21, but with heavier penalties against homosexual activity in public places.

This is precisely what Anathema thinks of when she comments in the book that her book had been left in the back of the car of 'two consenting cycle repairmen'.

Not only does that inform us as readers that the characters within the book perceive Crowley and Aziraphale as being a couple, especially by the (arguably) cleverest witch in the book, but also that their appearances (physical corporations) do in fact look older than 21 years old. (the age of consent)*

*It would take until the 2000s for the age of consent to be equalised, and for lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender personnel to be able to serve openly in the armed forces.

But coming back to the term 'consenting' and the significance within the overall plot of Good Omens series-wise is the fact that they chose 1967, precisely 10 years later after the Wolfenden report and the year the Sexual Offences Act was passed (which decriminalised private homosexual acts between men aged over 21 in England and Wales, while at the same time imposing heavier penalties on street offences) as a crucial point in storytelling.

This is the last scene we see of them after the montage; this is precisely the point where Aziraphale makes that big, first move towards Crowley and manifests himself inside of the Bentley to protect him from a burglary that could have ended in disaster. This is Aziraphale stepping outside from his own box and venturing into admitting that yes, he would enjoy Crowley's company as more than just an Arrangement. He would like the picnics, he would like to dine openly with him.

And this comes precisely at a time, a real world setting where even the Archbishop of Canterbury agreed, saying: “There is a sacred realm of privacy ... into which the law, generally speaking, must not intrude" (referring to homosexuality).

Although we know Aziraphale and Crowley are not men, but rather men-shaped beings of the world, there is something to be said about how the 1967 act reflects on Aziraphale's 'heavenly' beliefs and how that can be attributed not only to homosexuality*, but also a realm of privacy where neither Heaven or Hell (religion itself) need to interfere with his affairs.

*we do know, however, how much the book and tv series lean into Aziraphale being 'gay', at least in our human understanding of labels and categorizing even though he is not; "pansy" "nancy boys" "gayer than a treeful of monkeys on nitrous oxide" (this one specifically marking Aziraphale canonically in the book as appearing to be a homosexual) "you've got the wrong shop" among others.

A real life anecdote from the time says: John Carter was 17 at the time and doesn’t have a clear memory of the bill passing; he only realised the significance of the change with hindsight. He came out in the early 70s, after making contact with his university’s gay society, which wouldn’t have existed were it not for decriminalisation. “It meant that people could meet … and freely associate.” That was crucial, he says, because, “if you don’t even have a space where you can go, then people are cruising, they’re cottaging * ... It took many years for people who had been constantly looking over their shoulder, being worried, to develop proper ways of relating to each other. Ways that were not just based on sex or compromise or fear.”

*(No, cottaging is not living in a cottage)

No matter that the law had been passed, there was still a lot of stigma surrounding the word 'homosexual'. It wasn't until the 80s and 90s that it stopped being a crime in Scotland and Ireland; being further stigmatized with the AIDS crisis in the late 80s.

Regardless of the nature of the open confession Aziraphale lays bare to Crowley in 1967, it most definitely can be read as a 'coming out' for him. Perhaps not dealing with sexuality directly, but with religion layered on top of that. It is still too fast despite of the year, in spite of the millennia worked together under false pretenses. But it is an exterior, real life push that reinforces the idea for him to see that- if humans are able to recognize that man could be with man and not call it a crime, why could that same thinking not be applied to an angel and a demon living on Earth?

Aziraphale is doing more than blurting his heart out, he is openly hoping for the time that matches 1967 in its decriminalisation of homosexuality to one that applies for him and Crowley. So the thermos, the "better not" say thank you just yet, is a lingering promise to be there for when it finally happens. One which Crowley accepts with bare, open hands.

[imagine-darksiders]

Old Habits.

Nick Valentine X Sole Survivor. Set during Get a Clue.

--------------------------------

There are a lot of things Nick Valentine can’t help about himself.

He can’t help the way he looks, all peeled apart at the seams, and full of holes like a cadaver stuck in a state of perpetual decomposition.

He can’t help the way people react to him when they get their first glimpse of his big, ugly mug, be it with contempt, aggression, or simple curiosity.

And perhaps above all else, he can’t help but worry.

Ellie says it’ll be the death of him, that he’ll worry about the wrong person one day and wind up six feet under. And Hell, she was half right, wasn’t she? Went and worried himself straight into an ambush, and an Overseer’s office with a shoddy lock that he couldn’t pick from the inside.

And now, here he is, doing it all over again as if he’s never been burned a day in his life.

But the woman sitting across from him on the other side of his desk - all beleaguered and owly-eyed – is currently stoking whatever mechanisms cause his brow to furl and his empty chest to give a slow, hollow squeeze.

Belatedly, he realises he’s lifted his metal hand to prod a few, curious fingertips against the front of his shirt, as if he might find something there that’s amiss.

Echoes, he supposes, from a bygone life he never technically lived.

Ah well.

Maybe he’s softer than he realises, softer than Ellie accuses him of being all the damn time. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t be so worried if his fresh-faced new friend wasn’t giving him every reason to be.  

---------

The warm inner wall of your cheek tastes like iron between clenched teeth, and you realise distractedly that there’s going to be a nasty ulcer there in a few days if you don’t stop chewing on it. But worrying at the spongey flesh is currently the subtlest way you can think of to distract yourself from that old, familiar sting building behind your eyelids.

You have to be subtle. Because there’s a luminous, golden gaze scrutinising you from beneath the brim of a tattered fedora, and you’d really rather not let on that you’re teetering on the World’s thinnest tight-rope – composure if you fall one way, hysteria the other.

With rigid fingertips, you’ve been clinging to that pre-war poise you used to pride yourself on, actively benumbing yourself to the tragedy of losing far more than your family. You very much abhor the notion of letting your guard down now, all too aware that even the smallest slip might cause a crack in the dam that’s been keeping you upright and placing one foot in front of the other for the last few days.

And so, here you sit, perched politely in the hard, plastic chair on one side of an untidy desk, whilst on the other, leaning forwards attentively in his own seat, is Diamond City’s resident Detective. Nick Valentine.

He had been…. a surprise.

A synth. Strange and uncanny and human and alien all at the same time.

You’d damn near let out an undignified shriek when he stepped from the shadows of his makeshift cell in Vault 114, and it was only thanks to years of practicing how to most effectively bite your own tongue in the court room that you managed to wrestle the sound back down your throat.

Awkwardly, you even thrust a hand out at him in greeting to try and cover your almost faux-pax, and he’d blinked those inhuman eyes at you, uttered the gentlest chuckle you’ve ever heard from a man, and taken your hand in his.

For a synth who seemed only too pleased to trade quips during your escape from the vault, he’s been awfully quiet since he brought you to the agency, evidently content to sit back and allow you some time to gather your thoughts.

Save for the near-undetectable ‘clicks’ and ‘whirs’ of his internal mechanisms, and the ceiling fan whooshing overhead, the office is deafeningly silent.

The girl – Ellie, you seem to recall – has opted to stand at his side, a clipboard tucked against her stomach and a pen balanced delicately at the top of the page. She’s very pointedly trying to keep her eyes on the paper, a direct contrast to Mr Valentine, whose stare is as dogged as a bloodhound’s nose, searching your face for… something.

You’re making a concerted effort to level your expression so that it mirrors his.

Neutral. Safe.

You’re concentrating so hard on controlling the rise and fall of your chest that you flinch when he finally shifts in the chair. Privately, you reprimand yourself for jumping. He’d only raised an arm, moving it from his lap to drape it on top of the desk, but he pauses at your response, holding the limb perfectly still in the air as he studies you, the strange, malleable ‘skin’ on his forrid creasing little by little.

Finally, for the first time since you entered his agency, you clear your bone-dry throat and speak.

“Sorry,” you croak, offering him the sheepish tilt of cracked lips, “Suppose I’m still a bit jumpy.”

An easy hum rumbles up from somewhere deep inside his chest, and you wonder if whoever made him took the time to fashion synthetic lungs in there, or if they just stuck a couple of speakers in his gullet and called it a day. You don’t miss the way those eerie, amber eyes wander down to the collar of your blue jumpsuit either, as if he knows only too well how jumpy you’re bound to be.

Ellie is the first to come to your defence.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she soothes, her voice light and friendly, breaking through the room’s stagnant atmosphere, “Heck, anyone would be in your situation.”

Situation…

That’s one word for it.

The smile pulling at your lips is starting to strain the muscles.

“Speaking of….”

At the sound of his voice, your gaze drifts back over to the mechanical man.

Beneath the rim of his tatty fedora, he meets your eye and ducks to give you a searching look. “You sure you’re feeling up to this?” he asks, reading between the lines of your reticence. Before you can reply, he raises his metal hand and pinches the brim of his hat, tugging it down to half cover his eyes.

It only occurs to you later that he might have done so to try and offer you some reprieve from his unnatural stare.

“Look, if you need another few minutes to collect yourself-“

“-No!”

Now it’s his turn to recoil, and Ellie’s.

The pair of them tilt backwards at your outburst, the latter’s eyes wide and uncertain while Nick simply cocks a brow, and you’re immediately mortified to find that you’ve risen halfway from the chair, not angry, but desperate.

“Sorry!” you blurt, blinking in surprise at yourself, “Sorry – I… I’m just-“

Sucking in a deep breath, you let yourself sink down to the seat beneath you once more, making a show of folding your hands neatly over one another on the desk. “I just… can’t afford to waste any more time coming to terms with what’s happened,” you explain diplomatically, avoiding the piercing stare of the Detective as it bears down on you all over again.

Instead, you try to focus on the faded, black tie dangling from his neck. It’s obviously been tugged loose by his idle hands, sloppily folded to hang below the open collar of his shirt. Your fingers twitch at the memory of helping Nate with his own tie, sliding it up to fit snugly against his throat so as to avoid a reprimand from old Mrs Parker at the neighbourhood parties.

A mist starts to descend over your eyes, so you give them a harsh blink and force your head up again, aiming another smile at Mr Valentine whose downturned mouth is halfway open, on the cusp of saying something before you bulldoze over his response.

“Please,” you gesture loosely towards him, “Ask away. I’m all right.”

You’re not the most convincing liar, and if the Detective’s ever-deepening frown is any indication, you’re not fooling anyone.

But if he has sniffed out what might be the biggest exaggeration of the century, he’s at least decent enough to keep it to himself.

“Well… If you say so,” he concedes, giving you a final once over before he sighs, leaning his elbows on the desk and subjecting you to a businesslike stare, “Now then, why don’t you start from the beginning. Back at the Vault, you said you’re looking for a missing kid?”

“My kid,” you nod solemnly, fighting to keep your voice even, “My baby boy, Shaun. He was… kidnapped right in front of me. I… couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.”

“Oh, Hon,” Ellie utters, her tone soft even as she scribbles something down on the clipboard.

Nick’s gaze wanders to the side, and he lets out a gentle sigh, or what constitutes for a sigh from someone without lungs. Then, roving his eyes back to yours, he murmurs something that causes your breath to hitch.

“I’m sorry, Doll.”

A chip in the dam… Your lip starts to quiver, so you stuff the flesh of your cheek back between your teeth and clamp down. Hard.

“I just… don’t understand,” you breathe after a moment, slowly releasing the tender sore, “He’s barely a year old. Why would someone steal him?”

“Good question,” Mr Valentine appraises, “They’d be taking on all of his care. And a baby needs a lot of it… Were they after anything else?”

With a shake of your head, you reply, “No, I… I’m pretty sure they were only there for him… We were, um, in a vault when it happened.” Letting out a humourless laugh, you gesture at yourself, more specifically at the suit you’re wearing – have been wearing for centuries. “Obviously.”

Ellie purses her lips, another note scribbled on the clipboard.

“Yeah, figured as much,” the Detective says, “Even without the suit, you got that fish-out-of-water look about you.” Catching himself, he shoots you an apologetic grimace. “Ah, hope you don’t mind me saying. Kept staring at the world around you like it was your first time seeing it.”

“First time seeing it like this,” you admit, waving his apology aside with a flap of your hand.

At that, both he and Ellie perk up, undoubtedly curious.

Seeing the shift, you rub your temple and blow a noisy breath through puckered lips. “Wanna know what year it was when we went into the Vault?” you ask flatly

The Detective’s eyes narrow as he starts to survey your face, calculating your age through looks alone. Deciding to spare him the effort, you heave a worn sigh and say, “Twenty-seventy-seven.”

“……”

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that ensues.

“Excuse me?” Ellie blurts out at last, forgetting about the notes on her clipboard in favour of gawking openly at you instead.

“The year the bombs fell…” Nick realises as his expression opens up in awe. The glow of his eyes seems brighter when he darts them all over what he can see of you, giving his head a slow shake. “But how is that possible?”

It’s remarkably touching that he doesn’t call your claim into doubt straight away.

“Vault Tec,” you try not to spit the name from your lips, “They were running some kind of experiment down there… They had these… cryo pods ready for us all, told us we had to go in them to get ‘decontaminated.”

Huffing out a breath, you give a hard sniff and snatch your eyes from the Detective’s, hoping he hadn’t seen the tell-tale gleam of tears behind your lashes. “I was so stupid… I didn’t even....Huh. Guess they were banking that we’d be too shocked about the bombs to ask questions.”

“Bombs?” Ellie pipes up, swallowing roughly, “You mean they’d only just…?”

Neither she nor Nick miss the haunted shadow that passes across your face.

“Skin of our teeth doesn’t even begin to describe how close it was,” you whisper.

“That’s…” Unable to come up with a suitable word, her mouth opens and closes like a goldfish for a moment before her expression turns grim and she finally settles on, “That’s awful.”

“It is,” Nick agrees distastefully, “Everyone knows Vault Tec's hands ain't exactly squeaky clean but that's.... Well. It explains a few things. Twenty-seventy-seven, huh?”

A gear in his neck spins audibly as he leans more weight against the desk, propping his chin on sharp knuckles and giving a thoughtful hum. “So, you’ve been on ice for over two centuries-"

A pill that never gets easier to swallow, no matter how often you hear it.

"But more importantly," he continues, "You were underground. Most vaults’re sealed up tight. It’s hard enough breaking out of one.” He nods at you indicatively. “Let alone breaking in. That’s a lot of obstacles to go through just to take one person. What else can you tell us about the kidnappers?”

“They weren’t just kidnappers,” you croak, “They were murderers.”

There’s a catch in your voice on the last word, and while you try to swallow, Ellie once again steps in to fill the silence.

“Take your time,” she says, prompting an agreeable nod from the Detective.

It’s hard not to scoff at that. You’ve been taking your time. Every second spent ‘taking your time’ is another second that Shaun isn’t safe at home in your arms. Once you’ve found him, then you can worry about taking your time to breathe, to start building a life here in the Commonwealth. But trying to build that life without your son, without Nate…?

“My husband…” you utter, idly picking at a loose bit of skin on the side of your thumb, “Nate. He was holding Shaun when we were put in the pods. He was the one still holding him when that… that man came in and opened it. Nate tried to stop them from taking our baby, and they… they just…”

A gunshot echoes somewhere at the back of your mind, so clearly that you dart a glance between Nick and Ellie, wondering if they’d heard it too. You know it’s in your head when the latter only pinches her eyebrows together and cuts in, “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything else…”

Catching her lip between her teeth, she worries at it for a second, looking you up and down before she adds, “You’ve really been through the ringer, huh?”

Your gaze lingers on her, then moves over to Nick, then up at the room around you, taking in the cracks in the walls and the general rundown state of things that seems to be so par for the course in this wild new Commonwealth you've woken up in.

“No more than anyone else has in this place, I’m sure,” you reply quietly.

The Detective’s amber stare hardens, though you’re too busy looking at the empty mug on his desk to notice.

‘Downplayer, huh?’ he muses, ‘Oh, kid.’

“So,” he says out loud, “We’re talking about a group of cold-blooded killers, but they waited until something went wrong to resort to violence.”

Placing the tip of her pen back on the clipboard, Ellie asks, “What’re you thinking, Nick?”

For a few moments, he just sits in contemplative silence, mulling over the information you’ve been all too forthcoming with. Until at last, he gives his head a tiny nod and glances up, meeting your gaze across the desk and holding it tightly, unwilling to let it go.

“I’m thinking…” he starts, “That this wasn’t just a random kidnapping. Whoever took your baby had an agenda. And I don’t want to jump to any conclusions yet, but my caps are on the Institute.”

The tiniest flicker of recognition sparks in your eyes, a far more subdued reaction than he’s used to when people are brave or blasé enough to bring up the Institute.

“I’ve heard them mentioned,” you say, “Uh, the news lady… Piper? She said if people go missing, it’s because of the Institute.”

“Well, they are the Boogeyman of the Commonwealth,” Nick responds darkly, “Something goes wrong, everyone blames them.”

Suddenly, your stomach flips, and for a split second, you dare to let yourself hope.

A name. You have a name, and a new lead. It isn’t much, but it’s a Hell of a lot more than you had to go on five minutes ago.

“Do you know where I can find them?” you bleat, eagerly lifting yourself halfway out of your seat again. A little too eagerly, judging by Valentine’s grunt of disapproval and the very pointed way he flicks his chin down at the chair, wordlessly asking you to sit.

“Now, just hold your horses, Doll,” he tells you sternly, eyeing you until you’re seated once more, “I’m afraid it’s not that easy.”

“Nobody knows where they are,” Ellie chimes in, “I don’t think anyone has ever found their headquarters. We don’t know who’s running things, why they’re doing it, or what they do with the people they… take.”

“Well, somebody must know something,” you stress, trying so hard to ignore the uninvited burn in your chest where the flutter of hope had just gone to die, “The trail can’t go cold here! I need to find Shaun.”

That’s all there is. That’s all you have. Anything beyond that is so hard to think about, you’ll probably have an aneurism if you let your mind stray from the Goal.

Mr Valentine is staring at you again with those ever-probing eyes, yet his tone maintains its low and easing lilt as he nods and says, “You’re right. Someone knows where they are, and I’m betting that if we can identify the perps you saw, we’ll be one step closer to finding your kid.”

You don’t pick up on the emphasis he packs behind the word ‘we,’ but he sure as shit took note that you’ve been using ‘I’ far too much for his liking.

It’s a tough job to toe the line between being patronising and being rational, and Nick has learned to walk that line with the grace of a seasoned acrobat. He learned fairly quickly after catching hell from Ellie when she realised he'd been doing background checks on the men she’d taken an interest in.

But he’s not about to outright tell you that he doesn’t want you doing this alone, so he simply won’t present it as an option. He’d have to be some kind of cad to turn a wet-behind-the-ears, prewar woman out into the Wasteland all alone to hunt down the shadiest, most unscrupulous organisation the Commonwealth has ever churned out.

He already figured you weren’t a fighter, even before you managed to sweet-talk Darla into going home. By your own admission, you couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with any type of firearm, so you have no choice but to be an up-close-and-personal kind of gal.

The old, mahogany baseball bat normally slung over your shoulder now rests on its end at your side, leaning against Nick’s desk within easy grabbing distance. There’s dried blood seeped into much of the wood, harder to see against the darker grain.

And yet despite the amount of crimson liquid you knocked from the skulls of Malone's goons, Nick had instantly noticed something quite peculiar as he watched you fight.

You’d pulled every single one of your punches, even when the thugs tried to swing their submachine guns around in time to riddle you with bullets.

It seemed only by sheer, dumb luck that you beat them to the kill every time with one hard crack across the cranium, sending them all down like sacks of bricks.

And yet, he also noted that you never did it, not once, without a frantic grimace tugging the muscles of your face back, like you hated doing it. Hated having to hurt someone who wouldn’t think twice about killing you.

He remembers the heaving sigh you let out when Skinny gave the pair of you ten seconds to walk, remembers the way you’d all but shoved Nick in front of yourself to get him moving, not harshly, but urgently, your warm palm trembling against his back for those brief seconds before you withdrew it, and he lead you from the vault’s entrance and back through the station.

He knew then that you weren’t built for the Commonwealth Wasteland, even had the suit not been a dead giveaway, he’d have known. So, why then, he’d asked himself, was this frazzled young dame cavorting through a subterranean vault to rescue him?

Seems the answer just became obvious.

You’re a woman quite literally out of time, fixated on one noble yet do-or-die goal.

To save your boy, you’ll dive into ominous vaults to follow a lead, you’ll take on raiders, super mutants and feral ghouls, you’ll face the wasteland and all of its horrors. And the tragedy, he realises, is that you’ll do it because right now, you think it’s all you have left to live for. He doesn’t need to be a detective to work that out.

Guilty recognises guilty, and all that.

But he’s beginning to wonder if you’re not going to dig yourself into an early grave before you even get to see Shaun again.

You’ve been so focused on finding the kid that you haven’t done much of anything else. Don’t even have a cap to your name.

Nick only discovered that sad fact when you both got back to Diamond City and he asked if you wanted to grab some noodles from Takahashi before going to the agency. He didn’t say anything at the time, but he’d noticed the quaver of your hands, your unsteady footfalls and, more pressingly, the numerous gurgles from your stomach that had been complaining at you all the way back from the vault.

‘When was the last time you ate, kid?’ he’d fretted privately, uncertain whether voicing the question aloud would be received well by a near total stranger.

He watched as you stood there and turned out the shallow pockets of your jumpsuit in search of something of value. He saw your carefully placid expression quiver for just a second before you clenched your jaw and looked up at him, offering him a shrug and a half-cocked smile. Then he saw that smile vanish from your face when he marched over to Takahashi and tried to buy the noodles for you.

‘Tried’ being the optimum word.

Short of slapping the caps out of his hand, you did everything you could to deter him, nearly screamed in his face when he waved Takahashi over. And it was that crack in your frightened voice that gave him pause. Were you afraid of owing someone? An understandable concern in this world. Owing a favour to the wrong sort can get a person killed out here.

Nick knows he isn’t the wrong sort, but you don’t. Not yet anyway.

He can’t be sure why you’d rather stay hungry than take his caps, but he’s damned determined to find out. So, against his better judgement, he pocketed the measly change and elected to try again at a later date, perhaps after you’ve had a moment to collect yourself in his office and get your head clear enough to remember that you need to eat.

And sleep, now that he thinks about it. Those eyelids of yours have been drooping more and more with each passing minute, lashes fluttering against your cheeks only to spring open again as if you've been startled.

Right, back to business then, before you conk out on him and he has to find a way to get you horizontal without Ellie waggling her eyebrows at him.

“Really, Nick?” he can already hear her sly teasing, “Always been a sucker for a damsel, haven’t’chya?”

With a grunt, he scrubs the image of her smirking face from the forefront of his processor and zeroes in on the face right in front of him instead.

“Okay,” he begins, “Let’s talk about those kidnappers. Is there anything you can tell us about ‘em? Distinguishing features? Even if you don’t think it’s important, the smallest detail can crack a case wide open.”

It’s like watching a radstorm sweep in and smother lovely, clear skies, the way your eyes darken underneath testily-furrowed eyebrows.

If he had flesh, he might have shuddered at the out-of-place glower aimed at him by a woman like you, but he doesn’t and he knows the expression isn’t meant for him anyway.

If he had to guess, you’ve got the faces of those villains seared like a brand in your mind’s eye.

And sure enough…

“One of them came right up to me,” you bristle, mouth twisting at the edges, “A man. Middle-aged, I guess. Had some stubble but was otherwise bald, and there was this scar - big and nasty – went right down through one of his eyes.”

Recognition sparks like a bolt of lightening through Nick’s wires. He sits up straight, hands moving to brace against the edge of his desk like he means to push himself away from it.

From the corner of an eye, he sees Ellie twist quickly to face him.

“Couldn’t be…” he murmurs softly, raising his voice to ask, “You didn’t happen to hear the name ‘Kellogg’ at all, did you?”

In the blink of an eye, that overcast storm swirling around your face suddenly lifts, and you’re back to looking lost.

“I… don’t think so?” you say, screwing up your face in a way that reminds him of little Natalie when he nags her to wear a coat, “Everything was so muffled after the gunshot…”

Nick pretends he doesn’t see those soft, uncalloused hands of yours curl into fists on top of his desk.

Once again, he mumbles under his breath before addressing his assistant directly. “Say, we still have those notes on Kellogg?”

Ellie has already spun around and marched for the old filing cabinet sitting flush against the far wall, her clipboard abandoned on top of it. With practiced ease, she rifles through the middle drawer, muttering, “Kellogg… Kellogg… Ah! Here.”

Almost of its own accord, Nick’s gaze drifts back towards you, and he finds you suddenly looking far more awake. Alert even, staring hard at the back of Ellie’s head with sharp, unblinking eyes, not unlike a shark that’s just smelled blood in the water.

‘Easy, kid,’ he tries to convey through a slight furl of his brows, tapping a fingertip on the desk, but there’s no pulling those eyes of yours off his assistant’s hands when she finally extracts a worn, manilla folder from the drawers and turns back, leafing through the flimsy papers with her index finger.

“Well, the description certainly fits,” she hums, pulling one from the bunch, “Bald... Scar... Reputation for dangerous mercenary work. But nobody knows who his employer is.”

“He bought a house here in town, right?” Nick ponders aloud, “And he had a kid with him? Quiet, never let ‘im outside to play with the others.”

The last word is barely out of his mouth when there’s the screeching scrape of chair legs against the floor, and before he can even turn towards you, you’re already out of your seat again and slinging your bat over a shoulder.

“Where?” is all you ask in a surprisingly even voice despite how you teeter sideways as the blood rushes to your head.

Nick hardly registers that he’s vacated his own seat and is halfway around the desk with his arms held aloft to steady you by the time his words catch up to him.

“Now, just hang on a second,” he reprimands gently, pulling up short of grabbing your elbow, “I can tell you right now, he hasn’t lived in that house for about months now, and the kid wasn’t an infant. Gotta’ve been at least ten years old.”

“So he kidnapped someone else’s kid!” you exclaim, letting your carefully curated composure slip a few inches, “All the more reason for me to get out there and find this place!”

Snapping your gaze to Ellie, you only manage to keep yourself from barking sharply at her when you see the conflict in her expression. You have to make yourself take a breath that doesn’t feel like it’s enough to fill even half of your lungs.

“Please, Miss Perkins,” you implore, sad eyes drooping with exhaustion as you tip one palm up towards the ceiling, “… Where do I go from here…?”

Valentine tries not to read too much into that, how such a simple question can make a person sound so lost, adrift, unwittingly sending an SOS and wondering if there’s anyone out there who will receive the signal.

Christ. Maybe he is a sucker.

Conflicted, Ellie presses her lips into a thin line and shoots him a look.

And ‘okay,’ he nods to her. He’ll take the helm, try and steer this wayward ship safely back into port.

Because from the looks of things, you’re going out there whether he’s with you or not, and you’re going now. And Nick would much rather be with you when you do.

“Alright,” he appeases, garnering your attention again as he jerks his head towards the door, “Alright. Why don’t you and I take a walk over to Kellogg’s last known address? See if we can't snoop out where he went.”

There’s the tiniest huff from his assistant, who regards him knowingly as he leans past you and pushes the agency’s door open, gesturing for you to go ahead with a sweep of his arm.

“Security doesn’t really go to that part of town,” Ellie calls after him, biting back a comment about ‘old men’ and ‘chivalry,’ “But still… you should be careful.”

And Nick, ever concerned with everyone’s safety except his own, turns to flash her that signature smile over his shoulder, the same one he gave her two weeks ago before he up and vanished on her and made her sick with worry.

“I always am,” he tells her gently.

And then he’s gone, chasing after the footfalls of the unlucky lady with a kind face but eyes that are plagued by seeing too much, too quickly.

Shit, at least the pre-war ghouls had two hundred years to adapt to the world as it shifted around them.

Thankfully for Ellie, the door has already swung shut, deafening the grizzled synth to her muttered, “My ass you are.”

She doesn’t think he’d really wash her mouth out with soap, precious as that resource is, but… well….

She wouldn’t put it past him.

[leyavo]

| The Bite | 4

Part 4

Previous parts -> [series Masterlist]

Johnny confronts Human!reader and you try to figure out your place in the 141 pack with new found information. Confused about the new dynamic, Gaz steps in to help you.

[18+] MDNI

Ever since you got the alpha’s bite, it felt like lightning surging through your veins. The blood pulses in your ears, heart beat drumming against your chest faster than you’re used to, as if it was trying to escape. The withdrawal symptoms Price had warned you of. Something that would calm down and return to your normal human self soon.

“You reek of him.”

The beta in front of you though, you don’t recognise. His nose scrunched up,lip curled in disgust as he flinches away from your outstretched hand. You know something’s missing though, not just his soft gaze whenever he used to look at you but your chest feels like there’s a gaping void that cannot be filled. A part of you missing. Him.

You’ve been ignoring the crushing weight on your chest for days, chasing whatever high with Price or Ghost. In hopes of finding that feeling again. You don’t think that’s possible anymore though, not as you blink back at Johnny.

“Do you realise what you’ve done?” He snarls, jabbing a finger to your neck. A growl tearing from his throat and you stumble back, head dropping in submission. Something you’d never done in his presence before.

He releases a deep breath, dropping his duffle bag to the floor. “You’re not mine anymore, you’re his. I can’t just bite you and override an Alpha’s mark or your instincts.”

Your tongue heavy, mouth dry as you let his words sink in. Johnny had never called you his, vowed not to treat you like an object or someone to fill his needs. The complete opposite of Price and Ghost.

You glance at the one bag by his boots. “I can’t come home with you?” Home, the MacTavish’s had been your only safe space since you’d left the human collectives behind. You didn’t know any different. Didn’t want to.

“No,” he snaps, snatching his duffle from the floor and slinging it back over his shoulder. “That’s not your home anymore or your pack. You stay here with your Alpha.”

“Huh?” You blink, willing yourself to stand as Johnny stalks towards you.

“Price will tell you to jump and you’re wired to ask how high. That knot in your stomach,” he pokes the area, his other palm resting on your hip. “That’s your bond, every time he looks at you, that knot tightens and it’ll tug you towards him. There’s no fighting an alpha, even I can’t.”

“Please,” you beg, fingers grasping the fabric of his hoody, but he shrugs you off. Won’t even look you in the eye as if it’ll anger her even more. It’s like he’s trying not to breathe around you, the space increasing as you stumble back.

“You’ve made your bed, now lie in it.”

Oof, that hit you in the gut. He might as well as hit you because it hurt just the same.

He grabs you by the elbow and guides you out of his bedroom, touch brief as he lets go to lock his door.

“Don’t want your scent in my room,” he mumbles, he taps your chin as if second guessing whether or not Initiate a hug but thinks better of it. “Be good for your Alpha.”

Alpha, you hated the way Johnny spat the word at you. Not used to his harsh side.

You watch Johnny disappear down the hallway, your finger tracing your stomach and the new bond that tightens. Nothing felt real, your whole being numb. How the fuck were you going to navigate Johnny’s world without him? He was the one that brought you into it.

You’re not accustomed to the cold, the radiating heat that rolled off Johnny used to keep you warm.

Now, you were forced to seek that warmth from Price or Ghost. Hopping in and out of their beds, leaning into the bond to ease the knot in your stomach and satisfy them. You’re out of your depth and they’re making the most of teaching you certain things.

You sit on the edge of Price’s bed, the tapping of his fingers clicking the keyboard of his laptop as he hunches over his desk. A pile of paperwork calling his attention, but every now and then his large hand reaches back to you, pawing your knee, his knuckles tracing the side of your thigh. You hate to admit it, but you find yourself edging closer to him each time, chasing the heat of his touch.

Different from the relaxed nature you had with Johnny. No, you could lounge around whilst he did his own thing. With an Alpha you now understood the way the beta had described the bond to you. How Price would say something and you were quick to act, no push back or whining. You couldn’t understand how Ghost managed to pique your interest though, how he knew what to say and how to command the tug.

It’s like there’s an invisible string and they’re pulling on it whenever they’re near. There’s no tug of war though, you can’t help but want to follow, to figure out what an alpha really is. You’d heard stories as child from the humans about how they tore apart villages and hunted those wandering their lands.

“Why don’t you go rest tonight,” Price grumbled, not looking back at you as he nudges your leg off the bed. You linger for a second before he nudges you again and exit his bedroom, closing his door behind you.

Rest, you don’t know where exactly you’ll be doing that as you stare at the open closet of the hallway. The one thing you were allowed from Johnny’s room was your pillow, his scent still clinging to fabric. You hugged the lumpy pillow to your chest and pressed your nose to that last scrap of comfort.

Johnny’s been gone nearly a week now and all you want to do is lay with him. You don’t deserve that though.

“Take it you’ve never been around alpha’s till now?”

You flinch, those damned shifters too silent that you couldn’t hear him creeping down the hallway. Another pack member, Gaz who thankfully has given you space to settle in before approaching you.

He raises his palms, slow and deliberate steps as he inched closer. “Night off?” Like your some frightened deer, maybe you are in their eyes.

Nodding, you glance to Johnny’s door wishing for someone to just open it so you can sleep without any interruptions. That and because it has been home for you these past few months whilst at the residential house. Johnny used to be home too.

“Come on,” Gaz says, taking your pillow and scooping your hand up in his. You don’t know why, but you let him guide you to his room savouring the heat of his palm on your cold skin. There’s something soothing in the way he holds you, a whisper telling you to trust him. So you do.

He peels back the thick duvet on his bed, flinging one of his pillows to the floor so he can place yours there instead. He begins to plump the feathers, but pauses and looks back at you.

“I don’t want anything from you,” Gaz says as he climbs over the mattress and slips under the covers. “We just sleep, nothing else.” The first shifter you’d met who remained gentle and soft when it came to you. And didn’t want to bite you.

You crawled under the duvet, Gaz tucking you in beside him. “Thank you,” you whisper, lying on your side, eyes fluttering shut as you get a whiff of Johnny.

“It takes a while to get used to an alpha’s overpowering presence…” Gaz whispers, his pointer finger smoothing your furrowed brow. “Probably why you’ve got a headache too, well that and…” his words trail off, teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

“You can just say it.”

He shakes his head. “I’m a delta, I don’t need all that.”

“A delta?” Alpha, beta, omega how many more were there? Johnny never did quite run through the whole ranking system of a pack with you. You knew some, but not in detail. Your lack of knowledge going against you.

He tilts his head, hazel eyes flitting the curves of your face. “Goddess, did Johnny not teach you the fundamentals? The basic biology and hierarchy of a pack?” Gaz sits up in bed, leaning over you to flick the lamp on. He rests his back on the headboard, the shake of his head telling you he was annoyed.

At you, you weren’t sure. He turns his body to face yours and waits for you sit up too. Least with Price and Ghost, you could feel the bond pulling you to them. Gaz didn’t give you much to go on though and it reminded you of the human connections you left behind years ago.

“Alphas have way more energy, they need a pack to guide and you know, they also have to give into those instincts more,” he glances down to your hand, fingers twisted in the sheets. “You’re familiar with Beta’s though, as Johnnys family, the pack you were first in were yours and you theirs.”

Yeah, the MacTavish’s were all beta’s. They flowed easily and you settled in with no problems. A family pack a whole lot different to one like the 141.

“There’s a reason you felt called to the Alpha, it’s natural. Johnny forgets that even though you are human, you’re not immune to their influence. He should have prepared you more. The moment Johnny joined this pack, you also did unknowingly too because you had his mark.”

You wondered if Johnny had known that in bringing you here, you’d have this fate.

“You know that bites don’t turn you humans into one of us,” he says, smile tugging his lips as you nodded. “The intent behind the bite makes all the difference. Johnny, a beta he marked you to protect and look out for you. Price did it to overrule his beta, alpha’s don’t like being told what they can’t have and Johnny said you’re off limits.”

Your heart skips a beat, “I can’t say no to the alpha?” You whispered. Shit, maybe you should have listened to the humans more growing up. Why did Johnny have to be so nice when you were younger? Kinder than your human family.

Gaz scoffed, “of course ya can! Although the bond with an alpha makes it harder to do so. You’re gonna have to explore it in order to control it.”

If you can learn to control it maybe you could manipulate it to go in your favour. You can’t override an Alpha’s bite, nor can you fight it.

“Great,” you mumbled, scooting closer to Gaz who’d squeezed himself against the wall trying to give you space. “I’m so cold can I?” You asked, still moving closer. He nods, lifting his arm and draping it over your hip, the heat of his body washing over you.

“I’ll talk to them in the morning, what I’m for. A delta balances out the stronger energies and keeps them in check. The moral compass of the pack.”

Human!reader 🤝 Delta!Gaz teaming up…still lots for them to figure out.

I’m dyslexic so there might be mistakes/errors even though I do edit multiple times -Leya

[mopslusher]

SORE LOSER

NSFW

Hamzah was raging. Seething. How could he lose the fight? How? After all the hours of human labour he did to get to this point, torture almost, just to get here and lose. No. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t right and he had to do something about it while the adrenaline was still pumping through him. Or maybe it was pure anger that began to consume him, pure anger that he tried his hardest to cloak as the camera curled around him, capturing every angle of the rage that began to bubble beneath his seemingly calm surface , his tongue poking his cheek as he tried to keep himself in check.

You could see right through his act as you sat pretty in the crowd, watching his eyes darken as they announced the true winner, seeing the disappointment transform into rage right before you, his eyes clouding with a dangerous glint, there were no signs of acceptance of his loss. You could tell all he wanted to do was get out of there as fast as possible the way he began to fidget, he was getting frustrated.

He was determined to win something, anything. He didn’t care what it was. He wasn’t resting his head on his pillow that night with only a loss hung over his head, he didn’t want the loss to linger, to play on his mind like a broken record. He couldn’t live with that. No. He needed to win something and he needed to win it today. That’s what you were here for, his eyes zeroing in on you sitting in the crowd, tuning everything else around him out. You knew that look all too well, his stare was heavy, piercing. Words didn’t even need to be exchanged for you to understand.

It’s why you were patiently waiting in the back of your own car, you had promised to drive Hamzah home after the fight. He had texted you “meet me in the car in 10”, after his essentials had been checked after the fight, and from that alone you began to say your goodbyes to everyone, giving some lame excuse as to why you were leaving so early. You sighed, staring out the tinted window. It wasn’t a sigh of annoyance that he was taking longer than 10 minutes, no. It was a sigh of realisation that your shit was about to get completely wrecked by this man as he approached you, walking with purpose, intent, you swore you could hear his heavy footsteps from inside the car.

Your heart sped up at the sound of him pulling at the handle, a small part of you hoping he would walk back into the venue and take his anger out on someone else, the other part mostly exited to be treated like a ragdoll. Oh well, the door was open now. For the first few seconds all he did was stare down at you in complete silence, his eyes slowly and shamelessly running over your outfit. It was wild how fast your hands became clammy and damp, your cheeks burning up as you shifted under the weight of his gaze. My god he made you so nervous.

You gulped. “So…how are you feeling?” It was all you could think of at the moment, your lips thinning in an awkward smile. He scoffed, kicking at the ground a smirk on his face.

“I didn’t come here to talk about the fight” his voice was rough, deep. He enunciated every single word. You could feel the vibrations of his voice in your pussy. His movements were slow and calculated as he ducked his head to enter the car, forcing you to back up and lay across the backseats his eyes never leaving yours as you leaned up on your elbows.

The car shook when he closed the door behind him before he moved his thick beefy arms to either side of your head as he knelt over you, his eyes clouded with darkness, an incredible juxtaposition from his usual soft gaze whenever he looked at you. But he didn’t want to look at you really. Not tonight anyway. He needed something to pound and destroy, missionary just wasn’t fitting enough. He kneeled up, flipping you over without a word, not even a kiss.

The way he manhandled you only made your panties soak even more, his hands roughly pulling down your leggings and panties in one motion, a wide smirk spreading across his face at the sight of your plump bare ass before him. All you could hear was the hefty rhythm of your own heartbeat ringing through your ears , trying to psyche yourself up before he ruined you before the sound of him unzipping his pants caught your attention. You gulped louder than intended.

“You ready baby?” You could hear the smirk in his voice. “I need to hear you say it” he practically growled, he was already getting impatient, he had you ripe and ready right in front of him and he was horny and angry. And a sore loser who just lost a boxing match. You were an outlet right now and he was about to reach his limit for how much he could bottle inside.

“Yes, yes im ready” you answered. But were you? Were you really? By the looks and sound of it you weren’t. Definitely didn’t seem like it when you practically squealed when he pushed his fat tip into your tight hole, your toes curling from the stinging pain. It didn’t hurt for long, it never did as the rest of his thick dick entered your wet creamy pussy, your eyes rolling into your head.

He didn’t have any mercy tonight. None at all. The way he fucked into you, grunting loudly with one hand firmly wrapped around your neck, the other gripping tightly onto your ass that already had a pink hand mark printed onto it, he was taking it all out on you. And you loved it, you loved getting slutted out like this in your own car, mouth open and strings of shameless moans dropping from it, your eyes squeezed shut as your sensitive cunt got continuously pummelled, juices dripping onto your car seats but neither of you cared for now.

Trust he already had you quivering and twitching beneath him in the first twenty minutes , but he wasn’t done yet. And if he wasn’t done then neither were you, no room for arguments on that the way he gripped your hair, firmly pulling it back as he leaned forward so your lips could meet in a sloppy kiss as his dick twitched inside your warm walls, filling you up with the warm substance for the third time now, you could feel him smile through the kiss. This was his happy place, and you loved making him happy.

Windows foggy, seats sticky and car shaking, your soft ass recoiling off his pelvis with every thrust giving him the round of applause he wanted but didn’t get from the crowd he had just left. You were clapping for him and only for him. This was the win he wanted. This was the only win he needed, to be able to fuck his beautiful girlfriend like this was better than a lot of things, and it definitely meant more to him than winning a boxing match, and he knew that now.

From completely seething to content, he was happy now. After cleaning you up and peppering your sore body with sweet kisses, he somehow manoeuvred your sleeping body into the passenger seat, driving your car home with you completely knocked out, a smug smirk playing on his lips as he glanced over to admire your sleeping form. 1-0 to Hamzah.

[fawnme1]

hi mei, could you please write about arthurtv (friends to lovers fluff), where he asks if he can rest his head on your lap while watching tv?

STAY AWHILE || ARTHURTV

summary; the request.

a/n; thank you for this, i hope you like it!!

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

The cushions dip beside you just as you’ve settled in, and you don’t even need to look to know it’s Arthur. That familiar smell of coffee and clean laundry, the quiet shuffle of his socks on your carpet — it’s all become second nature by now. You glance over at him, a smirk pulling at the corner of your mouth as he dramatically flops onto the sofa like he’s just completed some epic quest instead of, you know, walking from the kitchen.

“You good?” you ask, one brow raised.

Arthur groans in response, flinging his arm over his eyes like a Victorian damsel. “Absolutely shattered. I swear, filming today aged me about a decade.”

You snort, tucking your legs up beneath you. “Oh no, poor old man. Should we start looking at retirement homes now or after dinner?”

He peeks at you through his arm, grinning. “Rude. I’m a delicate soul and you mock me in my time of need.”

You roll your eyes but your smile softens a little as you shift to make more space. Even though the two of you have been friends for years — through bad haircuts, questionable crushes, and about a thousand cups of tea — there’s still something about these quiet evenings that feels a bit… different lately. Like you’re both hovering on the edge of something neither of you has dared to name.

Arthur sits up for a second, glancing between you and the empty space on the sofa before hesitating. His hand rubs the back of his neck — a tell he probably doesn’t even realise he has.

“Hey,” he says quietly, voice suddenly more unsure than usual. “Is it weird if I ask to, um… rest my head on your lap? Just for a bit. My neck’s killing me.”

Your heart does this stupid little flip, but you manage to keep your expression casual.

“Yeah, of course,” you say, trying not to sound too breathless. “That’s not weird.”

He lets out a breath like he was half-expecting you to say no, and you bite back a fond smile as he slowly stretches out, settling his head gently across your thighs. It’s tentative at first, like he’s testing to see if you’ll flinch or pull away — but you don’t. You wouldn’t dream of it.

Your fingers hover awkwardly for a moment before they find his hair, brushing through it gently. It’s softer than you expected. Arthur sighs — like, audibly sighs — and you swear you feel him melt into you just a little more.

“This okay?” you ask softly, not sure if he’s already half-asleep.

“Mhm,” he hums, eyes fluttering closed. “Feels nice.”

You glance at the TV but can't focus on what's playing. Not when his face is right there, tucked so close, his lashes casting tiny shadows on his cheeks, the faintest trace of stubble on his jaw. He looks peaceful, more relaxed than you've seen him in days.

The silence is warm. Safe. Your fingers keep moving through his hair and he leans into the touch like he's been waiting for it for ages.

"Y'know," he says eventually, voice low and a little scratchy, "this might sound mental but... I've thought about this before."

Your fingers still.

"What, lying on someone's lap?"

He opens one eye, and there's this lazy half-smile on his lips that makes your stomach do a somersault.

"No. I mean — your lap. You."

Your breath catches, the world narrowing to just this tiny space between the two of you.

“Oh.”

Arthur watches you, still smiling, but there's something tentative there too. Like he's testing the waters, unsure if he's gone too far.

"I've been thinking about us a lot lately," he admits quietly. "How it's always felt... easy. Good. And maybe I'm an idiot for saying this now, while using you as a human pillow-but I like you. Not just as a mate."

You blink, fingers unconsciously resuming their soft motion through his hair. He closes his eyes again, maybe to avoid the look on your face, maybe because he's scared of your silence.

But you're not shocked. Not really. Maybe you've known all along, buried the feeling under too many movie nights and inside jokes.

"I like you too," you say finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes open again, slow and searching.

"You do?"

You nod, your smile growing without permission. "Yeah. Not just as a mate."

He grins then, full and genuine, and it lights him up in a way that makes your chest ache.

"Well," he murmurs, settling in again, "this is definitely the best nap spot I've ever had."

You laugh, swatting lightly at his shoulder. "You're ridiculous."

"Maybe. But I'm your ridiculous now, right?"

“God, that was so cringe.”

“And yet you’re still playing with my hair.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t stop. You don’t want to.

The TV flickers on in the background, but you both ignore it, content to stay just like this — finally, impossibly, beautifully more than friends.

[pankowcrumbs]

You wanna kiss me X Eddie Munson

MasterList

Stranger Things and Cast Masterlist

If there was a record for the worst day to come home early, I’d just shattered it.

I’d planned to curl up with my book and a bag of crisps, maybe watch a bit of Doctor Who while the house was empty. But the universe clearly had other plans.

As soon as I pushed open the front door of the Harrington household, I was greeted by noise. Loud, obnoxious, cackling laughter that echoed down the hall like a thunderclap. I followed the sound, already regretting my decision to come home.

Sure enough, there they were. The Motley Crew. Robin sprawled out on the floor with a bowl of popcorn on her chest like some sort of offering to the gods. Nancy perched primly on the arm of the sofa, giggling into her hand. And my lovely twin brother, Steve, looking far too pleased with himself, clearly enjoying the chaos.

And then, in the middle of it all, feet up on our coffee table, rings glinting in the dim light, sat Eddie bloody Munson.

Ugh.

He caught sight of me first, tossing his head dramatically like I’d just walked in and ruined his one-man show. “Ohhh look who it is,” he announced, voice dripping with mockery. “The Lady of the Manor returns!”

“Oh, brilliant,” I muttered, brushing past him toward the kitchen. “Didn’t realise we were hosting the village idiot today.”

Robin snorted from the floor. Steve just sighed.

“Oi, play nice,” Steve warned, but I could already hear the grin in his voice. He lived for this. Loved watching me and Eddie wind each other up like kids in the playground. I’d never understand it.

“Just saying,” Eddie called after me, “you should be thanking me. I bring vibes to this house. Energy. Spice.”

“You bring a migraine,” I shot back, yanking open the fridge. Nothing exciting. Milk, a half-eaten yoghurt, and something that might’ve once been lasagne. Great.

“Do I live rent-free in your head, sweetheart?” he called, still far too smug for someone wearing a Hellfire tee with a suspicious-looking mustard stain on the hem.

I poked my head round the corner. “You wish. I don’t make time in my day for trolls.”

He gasped, hand over his heart like I’d personally wounded him. “A troll? This face? Rude. Uncalled for. Deeply offensive.”

“You are offensive,” I said, walking back in with a can of Coke, trying not to notice the way he watched me with that annoyingly amused look in his eyes. Like he’d already decided how this conversation would go, and it would end with me wanting to scream.

Steve groaned. “Can you two not start, please? Just sit down, shut up, and be nice humans.”

“That’s a big ask,” Robin mumbled from the floor.

“Oh, c’mon Stevie,” Eddie said, tossing a piece of popcorn at his head. “You can’t tell me this isn’t the highlight of your day. Watching little miss sunshine try not to fall madly in love with me.”

I nearly choked on my drink. “What?”

“Sorry,” Nancy said, biting her lip to keep from laughing. “But that was kind of hilarious.”

Eddie looked far too pleased with himself, the absolute menace. “You should see the way she looks at me when she thinks no one’s watching.”

“I look at you like I’m trying to set you on fire with my eyes,” I snapped.

“Exactly.” He winked. WINKED. “Hot.”

“You are insufferable.”

“You are obsessed with me.”

“Alright, that’s it” I lunged for him, fully prepared to yank the smugness right off his face, but he leapt off the couch and danced out of my reach, laughing like a maniac.

“What is your damage, Munson?”

“Oh, I dunno,” he said, hands up in surrender, but that bloody smirk never left his face. “Maybe I just love winding you up. You’re like a little wind-up toy. So easy to push. So cute when you're angry.”

I nearly screamed. “I’m going to kill you.”

“You’re going to kiss me.”

And that was the moment everything froze.

The room went quiet. Even Steve stopped mid-sip of his drink. Robin blinked slowly like she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.

I stared at Eddie, cheeks suddenly burning. “What did you just say?”

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, like a predator who knew the exact effect he had. My brain screamed at me to move, say something clever, anything. But all I could do was stand there as he got closer.

And closer.

Until we were barely inches apart. I could feel the heat of him, the smell of leather and smoke and something warm and oddly comforting.

His voice dropped, low and taunting. “Ohhh… you wanna kiss me so bad, don’t you?”

My mouth opened and nothing came out.

He grinned wider, clearly revelling in the chaos he’d just unleashed. My face felt like it was on fire, and the worst part? I had no retort. No comeback. Just my rapidly melting dignity and the sound of Robin’s very audible gasp behind me.

“Speechless?” Eddie teased. “That’s a first.”

I opened my mouth again, determined to salvage my pride, but all that came out was a sound that could only be described as a squeak.

And that bastard he stepped back.

Like he’d just won the world’s most annoying game.

“Caught red-handed,” he said smugly, turning away like this was just another day at the office.

Robin clapped once. “Okay, that was… iconic. I’m sorry, Y/N, but it was.”

Steve shook his head. “Eddie, mate, you’re gonna end up with a black eye.”

“Worth it,” he said, plopping back onto the sofa and stretching like a cat in a sunbeam. “So worth it.”

Nancy leaned in close to me, whispering, “You alright?”

“No,” I hissed. “I’m humiliated.”

“Ah,” she said, trying not to laugh. “But you’re also a little bit into it, aren’t you?”

I scowled at her. But my silence betrayed me.

Because, deep down, I couldn’t deny it. The rush, the heat, the way he’d looked at me like he knew. Like he’d been waiting for that moment for weeks. Maybe he had.

Maybe I had, too.

“God help me,” I muttered.

Across the room, Eddie met my eyes. Raised his brows. And winked.

I spent the next ten minutes pretending I hadn’t just been verbally undressed by Eddie Munson in front of all my closest mates. Which, in case you’re wondering, is not easy to do when your face is still bright red and said verbal undresser is lounging about with a stupid little smirk on his stupid beautiful face.

I stood by the bookshelf, flipping through a random novel I’d already read twice, trying to look casual and unaffected, which was impossible because Robin kept snickering every time she looked at me.

“You good?” Steve whispered as he walked past with a fresh drink.

“Peachy,” I muttered.

He tilted his head. “You look like you’re about to combust.”

I rolled my eyes. “Can we not?”

But, of course, Steve could. And would. Because he was my twin and delighted in my suffering. “You do know he only winds you up because you’re the only one who bites back, right?”

“I don’t bite back, I...” I caught Eddie watching me from the sofa, his arm thrown across the backrest like he owned the place. When our eyes met, he raised one brow, lips twitching. Again.

“I loathe him,” I finished lamely.

“Uh huh,” Steve said, and walked away like that settled the matter.

Eventually, Nancy and Robin started talking about some book they were both reading something tragic and romantic and Steve got up to answer the phone when it rang in the kitchen, leaving me and Eddie more or less alone in the living room. Well, as alone as you can be with other people in the next room, distracted and not paying attention.

I debated leaving the room, but that would’ve meant admitting defeat, and I’d rather walk barefoot through Mordor.

So I sat on the arm of the sofa opposite him, arms crossed, eyes pointedly on the fireplace.

“You’re awful quiet,” Eddie said after a beat.

“Enjoying the silence.”

He grinned, shifting to face me more directly. “You sure? Thought you’d still be coming up with a witty comeback or something. You were always quick on the draw.”

“I was caught off guard,” I snapped, glaring at him.

His eyes twinkled with mischief. “You liked it.”

“I didn’t!”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You blushed, sweetheart. You don’t blush. I’ve never seen you speechless before. It was adorable.”

I turned away, biting my lip so hard it almost hurt. My skin still tingled from how close he’d gotten earlier. The heat of it lingered like a fingerprint on glass.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he said, and this time his voice was quieter. Less smug.

I looked at him then. He wasn’t grinning now. Just watching me, brows slightly drawn, fingers fiddling with a ring on his thumb.

“It’s just… you’re fun to rile up,” he admitted. “But I don’t want to actually upset you.”

I blinked. “Is that… sincerity I hear?”

He gave a sheepish little laugh. “Don’t tell anyone. Ruin my rep.”

I couldn’t help it I smiled. Just a little.

“I’m not really mad,” I said eventually. “You’re just… the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

He beamed. “That’s high praise.”

“And you’re cocky.”

“Charming,” he corrected.

“Smug.”

“Confident.”

I rolled my eyes, but it was lighter now. The tension had shifted. Less volatile, more… playful. Like we were on the edge of something neither of us wanted to admit.

I looked at him properly for the first time all evening. His hair was a little wild, as usual, one curl falling into his eyes. There was a tiny scar on his chin I’d never noticed before. And his eyes brown, warm, so very alive they weren’t mocking now. Just… soft.

“Why do you even bother?” I asked before I could stop myself. “Why go out of your way to tease me?”

He hesitated. Then shrugged, glancing down at his hands. “Because you see through my bullshit. Most people let me perform. You don’t. It’s… annoying,” he said with a grin, “but kind of refreshing.”

That shut me up.

“I like getting a rise out of you,” he added. “Not because I want to make you feel small or anything. Just… because when you look at me like you want to strangle me, it’s better than when you ignore me.”

I stared at him, trying to figure out if he was actually saying what I thought he was saying.

“I don’t ignore you.”

“You try to.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. He wasn’t wrong.

“I don’t mean to,” I admitted. “It’s just… you’re a bit much sometimes.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. I get that a lot.”

There was a silence between us, not uncomfortable, but thick with unspoken things.

Then he said, quieter now, “You really don’t hate me, do you?”

I looked at him. Really looked at him. His knees bounced nervously, one ringed finger tapping against the side of his thigh. He wasn’t cocky now. He was uncertain. Vulnerable, in a way I hadn’t seen before.

“No,” I said softly. “I don’t.”

And I didn’t. Maybe I never had.

Eddie smiled small this time, real and nodded once, as if that meant more to him than he wanted to admit.

Robin called from the kitchen about something to do with ice cream, and the spell broke.

But for a moment, just a moment, we sat in the quiet. No insults. No witty comebacks. Just me and Eddie Munson, and the unspoken thing hanging between us like smoke in the air.

And I swear just before he got up to help them in the kitchen he looked at me like he knew.

Like we both did.

Later that evening the bowling alley smelled faintly of stale popcorn and that strange waxy scent of rental shoes. It was loud neon lights flickering above us, classic rock blaring through crackling speakers but honestly, it wasn’t the worst way to spend a Friday night.

Robin had roped us all into it. Said we needed a proper night out before “the inevitable soul-crushing weight of adulthood” came crashing down on us. Classic Robin.

Nancy and Steve were already competing like it was a televised championship, Robin was dancing to the music more than she was bowling, and Eddie well.

Eddie had spent the past twenty minutes doing increasingly ridiculous trick shots, including one where he spun around dramatically before launching the ball straight into the gutter.

“You’re hopeless,” I said, sipping my drink from a plastic cup and watching him theatrically mourn the death of his bowling career.

He collapsed onto the seat beside me. “Admit it you’d miss me if I weren’t here to make this night less tragically normal.”

I gave him a long, unimpressed look. “I think I’d survive.”

He gasped. “Cruel.”

We grinned at each other, and the moment hung again like it had in the living room, but lighter this time. Easier.

“You’re up,” I told him, nodding at the scoreboard. “Let’s see if you can break double digits.”

“Oh, now that sounds like a challenge.” He stood, cracking his knuckles like he was about to enter a wrestling ring. “Prepare to witness history.”

“You said that last round,” I called after him. “And the ball nearly hit the snack bar.”

He glanced back, winked, and lined up his shot.

To be fair, he didn’t completely whiff it this time. He knocked down four pins, which was practically a miracle for him. He turned back with arms raised like he’d just won the lottery.

I gave him a mocking round of applause.

“Alright then, let’s see what you’ve got, princess,” he said, handing me the ball.

“Oh, you don’t want to challenge me,” I said, standing and stretching my arms in the most obnoxious show-off-y way possible. “I’ve got hidden talents.”

“I’m quaking,” he deadpanned.

I stepped up to the lane, took a breath, and with a smooth, calculated throw knocked down every single pin.

The strike echoed loud, a satisfying crack followed by a chorus of groans from the others.

Eddie’s jaw actually dropped.

I turned back slowly, eyebrows raised. “What’s the matter, Munson? Cat got your tongue?”

He stared at me, momentarily speechless.

I savored it.

“Oh no,” Robin called from the seating area. “He’s malfunctioning. Someone reboot him!”

I leaned in slightly, smiling sweetly. “You alright there, Eddie?”

He blinked, visibly trying to recover. “That was… lucky.”

“Three times in a row?” I held up the scoreboard as proof. “Face it. I’m better than you.”

“You’re evil,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked so thrown off, I almost felt bad.

Almost.

“Now you know how it feels,” I said, smirking. “Tables have turned, haven’t they?”

He pointed at me, like he was trying to form a comeback and couldn’t find the words.

“Speechless?” I teased. “At this rate, I might start to think you actually like me.”

His mouth opened. Then closed.

Then he blushed.

Not much just a faint pink along his cheekbones but I saw it. And I won.

I turned, smug as hell, and flounced back to my seat like a victorious queen. Robin held her hand up for a high-five. “Absolute annihilation.”

Eddie sat beside me again, still trying to gather his pride. He was quiet for a full thirty seconds. Then, in a completely casual voice, he said:

“So, uh. Hypothetically speaking. If someone wanted to, like, maybe… go somewhere with you. That wasn’t here. And maybe there was food. And possibly feelings involved”

I turned to look at him, brows raised.

He pressed on. “would that be, like… a thing you’d be into?”

I stared at him.

He stared back.

I laughed.

“What?” he said, slightly defensive. “That made sense.”

“No, it didn’t,” I said, still laughing. “Just ask me out properly, you idiot.”

He flushed deeper now, grinning despite himself. “Okay, fine.”

He cleared his throat, dramatically, placing one hand over his heart.

“Y/N Harrington, would you do me the immense honour of accompanying me on a date? Preferably one where I can attempt to redeem my tragic reputation?”

I smiled.

“Yeah,” I said. “I would.”

He blinked. “Wait seriously?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” I teased.

“I’m just I mean cool.” He sat back, pretending to be casual, but the grin on his face was blinding.

“I hope you know I’m going to destroy you at mini golf too,” I added.

He groaned. “You’re never gonna let me live this down, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

And just like that, the teasing started all over again but this time, it felt different.

This time, it felt like something beginning.

I was halfway down the stairs, one earring in and clutching my boots, when Steve’s voice cut through the Living Room TV on, legs sprawled, snack bowl balanced on his chest like a raccoon hoarding treasure.

“Oi,” he said, frowning up at me like I’d just walked into the room wearing a chicken suit. “Why do you look like that?”

I blinked. “Like what?”

He gestured vaguely in my direction, squinting. “Like that. Like you’ve got some weird disease on your face.”

“Excuse me?”

“All that makeup and shit.” He sat up straighter now, bowl teetering. “Is it contagious?”

I groaned and stepped into the hall mirror, touching under my eyes just to check. “You’re unbelievable. God forbid you just say, ‘Wow, Y/N, you look really nice tonight.’”

“That’d be weirder,” he muttered. “You’re my twin. Complimenting you feels like incest.”

I rolled my eyes. “You are so dramatic. I barely put anything on.”

“You’ve got… sparkles on your eyelids.”

“They’re shimmer,” I said, like it was obvious. “Besides, you used to steal my moisturiser before dates.”

He waved me off like that had never happened. (It absolutely had.)

“Anyway,” he said, folding his arms now like some kind of dad. “You’re dodging the question. Where are you going? And why do you look like you're about to be interviewed on the red carpet?”

I slipped my boots on, casually avoiding eye contact. “Out.”

“Out where?”

I made a face. “On a date.”

His reaction was instant.

He straightened so fast the snack bowl hit the floor. “A DATE?! With who?!”

I winced. “Could you not shout?”

“I’m your brother. twin, actually. I’m genetically obligated to shout when my sister leaves the house looking suspiciously fit.”

“You make it sound like a crime.”

“Depends who the guy is.”

I hesitated.

His eyes narrowed.

“Don’t say it,” I said, finger pointed in warning. “Don’t be weird about it.”

“I’m never not weird about it,” he said. “Who is it?”

I grabbed my coat.

“Y/N.”

I stalled.

He stood, hands on hips now.

“Y/N.”

I groaned. “Alright! It’s Eddie. Eddie Munson.”

Silence.

Then

“You’re dating Eddie Munson?”

“I didn’t say I was dating him. I said I was going on a date with him.”

Steve’s nose wrinkled like I’d told him I was going to lick a bus window. “Eddie our friend....The one who used to convince freshmen he could curse them with his guitar?”

“Yes, that Eddie.”

He ran a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ. Of all the people.”

“Don’t start.”

“No, no, I’m not judging. I’m just… digesting.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Do you even like him? I thought you two hated each other. Last week you called him a goblin with too many rings.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t hate the goblin as much as I thought.”

He squinted at me.

I squinted back.

Finally, Steve sighed, leaning on the back of the couch like the weight of the world had just hit him.

“I knew there was something between you two. You’ve been bickering like it’s foreplay.”

I choked. “Oh my god”

“Don’t even deny it. The way you two argue? It’s suspiciously flirty. Like enemies in a soap opera who end up shagging in episode three.”

“Can you not?”

He smirked, annoying older brother mode fully activated. “So what, he called you pretty and you forgot how much you wanted to punch him?”

I glared. “He did not call me pretty.”

Steve just grinned like he’d caught me red-handed. “So you’re saying he will?”

“I’m leaving.”

“You gonna kiss him?”

“Steve!”

“Just saying, if he hurts you, I’m putting spiders in his van.”

“I’ll let him know,” I said flatly, pulling on my coat.

He stepped forward, gentler now. “Just be careful, yeah? I know Eddie’s a bit of an idiot, but I also know he’s got a good heart under all that metal and eyeliner.”

I blinked. “Was that… sincere?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Don’t get used to it.”

I smiled at him as I reached the door. “Thanks, Steve.”

“Still grossed out though,” he muttered. “You and Eddie. Ugh.” he fake gagged.

I gave him the finger and shut the door behind me, heart thudding in my chest.

The night was just getting started.

The mini golf place was decked out like a knockoff medieval fairground plastic dragons, crumbling stone towers, and a pirate ship for absolutely no reason. It was kitschy, ridiculous, and very on-brand for Eddie Munson.

He was already there when I arrived, leaned against the dragon statue like it was his throne, spinning a bright neon pink golf ball in his hand.

When he spotted me, he grinned like the cat who’d swallowed the canary and set the house on fire.

“Well, well, Harrington,” he said, pushing off the statue with a theatrical bow. “You’ve arrived to lose with grace, I hope.”

I crossed my arms raising my eyebrow.

He held out his arms. “Is this not the most romantic venue in all of Hawkins? Look at that knight statue over there he's literally proposing to a squirrel.”

“Are you planning on proposing tonight, Munson?”

He blinked. “I mean, if you sink the windmill shot in one try, I might have to.”

I rolled my eyes, biting back a smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re here anyway. What does that say about you?”

“That I’m a glutton for punishment.”

“Or that you secretly love it when I annoy you.”

We bickered through the first six holes like it was our full-time job. Every time I missed a shot by an inch, Eddie would gasp dramatically and hold his heart like I'd stabbed him. When he managed a hole-in-one purely by dumb luck he pranced around the hole like he’d just won Wimbledon.

“You’re literally unbearable,” I muttered, watching him twirl his club like a cane.

He grinned, eyes bright. “You’re smiling.”

“I’m grimacing.”

“You’re blushing.”

“That’s the neon lights.”

He stepped closer then, a little smug, a little daring. “You’re imagining kissing me, aren’t you?”

I narrowed my eyes. “If I were, it’d only be to shut you up.”

“Hot.”

God, he was exhausting. And stupid. And kind of adorably stupid. Which was the problem.

We reached the pirate-themed hole complete with cannonball obstacles and a parrot animatronic that kept screeching “Walk the plank!” every thirty seconds and paused to take a breath (and eat the terrible vending machine chocolate he'd insisted on buying for us).

As we sat on the rickety bench nearby, the chaos melted for a moment. Eddie’s fingers brushed mine when he handed over my half of the chocolate bar, and instead of some dumb joke, he looked at me quietly.

“This is nice,” he said, voice softer than I expected.

I glanced at him. “You surprised?”

“Kinda.” He shrugged. “You know, I thought maybe you’d get sick of me halfway through and run off screaming into the Hawkins night.”

I tilted my head. “I did consider it.”

He chuckled, then looked down at his hands. “I didn’t think you’d actually say yes, you know.”

I blinked. “What, to the date?”

“Yeah. I mean… you’re you. Smart, sharp, terrifying when you want to be. And I’m just… well, me.”

I frowned, suddenly wanting to shake him. “Eddie.”

He glanced at me.

“You’re not just anything.”

He looked at me like I’d slapped him but in a good way. Like no one had ever just said that to him straight.

I reached over, took the stupid golf pencil from behind his ear, and tapped it against his forehead. “Don’t get all emotional on me now. I’m still gonna beat your ass on the pirate hole.”

“Doubtful,” he smirked, confidence reloading like a shotgun. “But you’re welcome to try.”

I went first and somehow nailed the trick shot between the cannons. I raised both arms like I’d won the lottery.

“Boom!” I crowed. “Take that, Munson.”

He stared at the ball as it dropped neatly into the hole, then back at me. His jaw dropped.

“You...you hustled me.”

“Maybe I just got good while you were too busy showboating.”

He pointed at me accusingly. “You let me think I had the upper hand.”

I grinned. “Sweetheart, you never did.”

He looked stunned for a second. Flustered, even. Like I’d just out-Eddied Eddie.

I started to walk away to the next hole, smirking, but he grabbed my hand not rough, just enough to pause me and pulled me back.

“Wait.”

I turned. “What?”

He looked… nervous. Then steeled himself like he was about to leap into battle.

“Would you maybe wanna… do this again? Like… something else? Not just mini golf. Like… more dates. With me.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking me to date you, Munson?”

He looked like he’d been caught shoplifting in a nun’s handbag. “I mean, yeah? If that’s not completely bonkers.”

I laughed actually laughed, half from disbelief, half from pure affection.

“Jesus, Eddie,” I said, “just ask me out, you idiot.”

He huffed a breath, stepped forward, and gave me a shy, crooked grin.

“Y/N Harrington, would you like to keep dating the annoying, overly dramatic metalhead who can’t mini golf to save his life but might just be absolutely into you?”

I grinned. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

We were nearing the last hole some ridiculous castle setup with a drawbridge and LED torches and I was still riding the high of absolutely crushing him on the pirate ship hole. Eddie, for once, wasn’t talking. Just watching me. Too quiet.

I turned to him, suspicious. “Alright, what’s your deal? You look like you’re about to propose or faint. Possibly both.”

He scratched the back of his neck, eyes flicking to my mouth for the briefest second before quickly darting away. “I’m not… I mean. I was gonna…” He stepped closer, barely a breath away. The smirk was gone. Just those dark eyes, all mischief swapped for nerves.

I arched a brow. “Gonna…?”

He opened his mouth like he might say something, like he might finally kiss me and then he chickened out.

Literally froze.

I watched his jaw tighten slightly. The muscles in his face doing that dumb, adorable twitchy thing they always did when he didn’t know what to say. And he never didn’t know what to say.

I let the moment hang there, then sighed loudly, dramatically and tilted my head.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I muttered, before grabbing his shirt and pulling him down into a kiss.

He made a surprised little noise at first, like he couldn’t believe I’d actually done it. And then he melted into it, fingers curling lightly around my waist like he didn’t want to push his luck.

When we finally pulled apart, he blinked down at me, dazed.

I smirked. “You really gonna leave me hanging like that, Munson?”

He blinked again, then grinned shy and crooked, somehow smug and stunned at the same time. “I was building tension.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling cowardice these days?”

“You wound me, Harrington.”

“Only your ego.”

He shook his head with a soft laugh and bumped my shoulder with his. “Remind me to let you take the lead more often.”

I nudged him back, my smile tugging at the corners of my mouth whether I liked it or not. “Remind me to not wait around for you to grow a pair.”

“Deal.”

And with that, we moved on to the last hole, fingers brushing together until they weren’t just brushing anymore.