#they say it with a smile too so it's not like they came to me crying | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

daryltwdixon · 3 days ago

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Joel Miller x Reader Just Coffee II

part two to this fic

Summary: Joel picks you up after a long day, taking you somewhere small and familiar, where conversation flows as easily as the wine. As the night winds down and Joel insists on driving you home, neither of you are ready to say goodbye quite yet.

warnings: some plot mostly smut 18+ MDNI

notes: this fic takes place in fantasy land where pinv doesn't end up in pregnancy ok thank you have a nice day. wrap it up in real life ok? im obsessed with this pre-outbreak Joel. I feel like I read & edited this til my eyes were bleeding, please lmk if you find mistakes

The evening rush had just died down when Joel walked through the door of the coffee shop again that day, his presence filling the small space. It felt easier, more relaxed now that he’d gotten used to coming around more.

You glanced up from wiping down the counters, already feeling the exhaustion from a long shift settling into your bones.

“I thought we were meeting later?” you asked, arching a brow as you tossed the rag over your shoulder.

Joel leaned his hip against the counter, arms crossed, his hazel eyes flicking over you—messy apron, sleeves pushed up, hair slightly frizzed from the long day.

“Figured I’d pick you up,” he said, ever casual. “Walk you out.”

You let out a small groan, rubbing your hands over your face. “But I smell like coffee and milk and—” you sniffed your sleeve dramatically, “—probably cleaning supplies. Real cute first date material.”

Joel smirked, one hand rubbing along his jaw. “Well, I smell like sweat and sawdust, so maybe it’ll cancel out.”

You snorted. “If you say so,”

He shrugged. “Guess we’ll just have to suffer through it together.”

That made you smile, warmth creeping up your neck despite yourself.

“Don’t worry,” he added, his voice dipping a little softer. “Second date, I’ll take you somewhere fancy. But tonight, I got somewhere I think you’ll like,”

You swallowed, your heart giving a little unexpected flutter. A second date. Meaning he had plans on seeing you way more than just for one night. And damn did you like the sound of that.

“Fine,” you sighed, pretending to be more put out than you actually were as you untied your apron. “But if I smell like an espresso machine all night, that’s on you,.”

Joel just chuckled, stepping back to let you close up.

You expected him to take you to some hole-in-the-wall diner or maybe just grab a quick bite somewhere. But instead, he walked with you down the quieter streets of the small downtown, until he stopped next to a small, tucked-away Italian restaurant with a hand-painted sign and a cozy glow spilling from the windows.

It wasn’t flashy, wasn’t trying too hard—it was the kind of place people probably came to for years, passing it down like a family secret.

“You ever been here?” he asked as he held the door open.

You shook your head. “Didn’t even know it existed.”

The second you stepped inside, warmth wrapped around you—the scent of garlic and tomatoes simmering low, fresh bread baking, the low hum of conversation filling the intimate space. String lights hung loosely across the ceiling, casting a soft golden glow over the rustic wooden tables. A candle flickered at every one, pooling small halos of light between plates of pasta and glasses of deep red wine.

“You eat here a lot?” you asked him as he stepped in behind you.

Joel shook his head. “Did some work on the building a few years back. Owners fed me a few times.” He shrugged, like it was nothing. “Keep comin’ back when I can.”

As if on cue, an older man in a white apron emerged from the kitchen, his eyes lighting up as soon as he saw Joel. He walked straight up to him, clapping him on the shoulder with a familiarity that made your brows lift.

“Miller!” the man greeted, grinning wide. He rattled something off in rapid, affectionate Italian, gesturing around the restaurant. Joel huffed out a low laugh, shaking his head.

“Good to see you too, Sal,” Joel said.

Sal patted his shoulder again, his thick fingers pressing into the fabric of Joel’s shirt like he was testing its strength. "Still workin’ with that stronzo fratellino, eh?"

Joel chuckled. “You bet.”

Sal scoffed, shaking his head. “Tsk. He was never as good with his hands as you.” He turned to you with a wink. “My best man here, best muratore in town! Fixed this place up when the siding was fallin’ off my dannata walls! Quick, clean—like an artista, eh?”

Sal laughed when Joel only shook his head, a red flush creeping up his face as he looked at you apologetically.

"Sit, sit! Please, eat whatever you like! I get you wine—" Sal finally let go of Joel, waving over the hostess with an urgency like he was hosting royalty.

“You’re quite the celebrity, Joel,” you teased, glancing up at him as the two of you followed behind to your table.

Joel sighed, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck, “I promise I didn’t bring you here for that—the food’s just real good,”

“Uh-huh,” you smirked, amused, as the hostess stopped at a cozy table by the window.

Sal came back over with a bottle of wine, winking at you before heading back toward the kitchen. “Enjoy dinner, eh?”

You watched him go, then turned back to Joel, arching a brow. “So, you’re with your hands, huh?” remembering what the man said a few minutes ago.

Joel picked up the menu and hid his face. “Don’t start.”

You bit your lip, amused, and looked down at your own menu.

The dinner itself was nice.

The kind of nice that snuck up on you, unfolding in a way that felt natural, easy, like you’d done this a dozen times before.

Joel was quiet, soft spoken, but asked a lot of questions. Not just the polite kind, but ones with weight, ones that made you pause before answering. He wanted to know how you got into coffee—if it was something you always loved, or if it just happened. What made you decide to open your own shop instead of working somewhere else. If you liked being your own boss, if it was worth the stress.

And he listened, really listened, nodding as you spoke, his hazel eyes steady on you. Every now and then, he’d ask something that made you stop and think, something no one had ever really asked before.

“You ever picture yourself doin’ anything else?” he asked at one point, twirling the stem of his wine glass between two fingers.

You blinked, caught off guard. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “I guess I never thought about it. The shop is mine. My whole world’s kind of wrapped up in it.”

Joel hummed, watching you carefully. “But it makes you happy.” It wasn’t quite a question, but more an observation.

“Yeah, yeah it does.” you answered with a smile, then tilted your head. “What about you? Do you like what you do?”

Joel exhaled through his nose, thinking. “Don’t know if anyone likes workin’,” he admitted, then nodded a thanks to the waiter as he set down your meals. “But can’t think of anythin’ else I’d be doin’. Ain’t the type to be sittin’ in a stuffy cubicle and all.”

You smirked, picking up your fork. “Oh, I don’t know… I think you’d look real nice in a suit and tie.”

Joel let out a quiet huff, shaking his head as he cut into his food. “Yeah? And what, you see me sittin’ at some fancy desk, makin’ phone calls all day?”

“I dunno,” you teased, shrugging. “Something about you in a tie just works for me.”

Joel shot you a look, amused, before taking a sip of his drink. “Maybe I’ll show up to your shop one day in one, just to surprise ya,”

“Oh, that’ll be the day,” you giggle.

The rest of dinner went by too quickly for your liking.

Joel told you about the different jobs he’d done over the years—how he liked working with his hands, how there was something satisfying about building something solid, something that would last. There was a quiet kind of pride in his voice, nothing boastful, just a man who knew the value of hard work, of making something real.

In return, you traded stories about your most memorable customers—the regulars, the weird orders like the ones who asked for 50 different flavors in one iced coffee. Joel countered with tales of difficult clients, stubborn contractors, and one particularly bad job where a homeowner swore they knew more about construction than he did.

And when Joel chuckled at a particularly funny story, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners, you began to realize—God, you liked seeing him like this. Relaxed. Comfortable. Like maybe, just maybe, he liked being here with you, too.

And before you knew it, the waiter was coming by with the check, and the night was ending far sooner than you wanted.

The evening air was warm as you stepped out of the restaurant, your cheeks still flushed from the wine and the lingering glow of good company. Sal had insisted on treating you both with large helpings of his homemade tiramisu—claiming you couldn’t leave until you were properly fed.

Joel had muttered something about not needing dessert, but you’d watched him polish off his plate without complaint.

Outside, the street was quiet, the warm light of the restaurant spilling out onto the sidewalk as the door swung shut behind you.

“That man is dangerous,” you groaned, placing a hand over your stomach. “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so much in my life.”

Joel huffed out a small laugh, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Could’ve said no.”

You scoffed. “And risk offending him? No way. I’d be blacklisted for life.”

Joel smirked, shaking his head before glancing around. “Where’s your car?”

You blinked up at him. “Oh, I walked.”

Joel’s brows pulled together. “You walk to work?”

“I live close by,” you shrugged.

Joel exhaled sharply, already looking like he was making up his mind, “Let me drive you—”

“Oh, no, it’s really okay—”

“I insist,” he said, and before you could argue, his hand found the small of your back.

Heat shot through you, electric despite how warm and gentle his palm was. You exhaled, smiling, and knew there was no point in arguing. Not when he was looking at you like that—stern, certain in a caring sort of way. So you didn’t fight it.

He walked beside you, his stride slow, deliberate. The night air was perfect with summer warmth and a cooling breeze, the quiet hum of the city stretching out around you, but you couldn't help the way that everything else had narrowed down to him—the sound of his boots against the pavement, the occasional brush of his hand near yours, close enough to feel the warmth but not quite touching.

He made a little conversation, but he was quieter now, more thoughtful. He asked about your family, where they were, if they ever came to visit. If you had much of a life outside of the shop or if it kept you too busy.

You answered easily, finding that with him, it was just...easy.

Joel didn’t fill the silence just to talk—he let it linger, let you breathe, let it settle into something comfortable, something that felt like it had always been there.

By the time you reached his truck, you realized just how much you liked that about him. And how much you liked him.

Joel reached for the handle, about to open the door for you, ever the gentleman.

But then he hesitated. His fingers curled around the handle, but he didn’t pull. Instead, he exhaled, slow and measured, his jaw ticking as he turned to look at you.

His gaze flickered—your eyes, your mouth, then back again—just in time for you to feel it, that slow-building heat simmering between you.

“Screw it,” he muttered.

And then his hands were on you.

One at your waist, the other coming up to cradle your jaw, his rough thumb sweeping over your cheek as he pulled you into him, his lips crashing into yours with the kind of weight that sent your heart slamming into your ribs.

The breath hitched in your throat, and for a second—just a second—you forgot how to do anything but feel.

It was slow but heavy and intentional, like he’d spent all night trying to fight the urge and finally gave in. He kissed like a man who knew exactly what he wanted. It was steady, claiming, not the kind of frantic desperation you’d expect from someone who couldn’t hold back.

No, Joel took his damn time.

His lips parted against yours, deepening the kiss, pulling you further into him. His hand slipped from your jaw, fingers threading into your hair, holding you exactly where he wanted as he kissed you again, his tongue venturing past your lips, sliding along yours in a way that made you turn molten.

You gasped softly, pressing closer, your hands gripping the front of his shirt, needing something to hold onto because God—he was overwhelming in the best way.

Joel groaned low in his throat, like he’d finally let himself indulge, like this was something he’d been starving for. His grip on your waist tightened, guiding you until your back hit the truck, his body bracketing yours against the cool metal, broad and solid and so damn warm.

“You gonna open the door or what?” you teased breathlessly, between kisses, your lips brushing against his.

Joel huffed, his nose dragging along your cheek. “You in some kinda hurry?” Joel’s lips ghosted along your jaw, trailing down the column of your throat, pressing slow, lingering kisses against your skin, each one making you melt further into him.

You let out a soft, breathy sigh, and Joel chuckled low against your neck, his breath hot. “Didn’t answer my question.”

You barely remembered what he asked. Your brain was fogged, drowning in the way he felt against you, the way his body crowded yours against the truck, solid and warm.

“No,” you managed, voice breathless. “No hurry.”

“Good to hear,” Joel muttered.

And then, in one fluid motion, he scooted you over, swung the door open, and hooked an arm around your waist—lifting you effortlessly, like you weighed nothing. A startled gasp left your lips as he set you down onto the worn leather seat of his truck before you could even process the shift.

You barely had a second to catch your breath before Joel climbed in after you, the door shutting with a heavy thunk, sealing you both inside. The space between you was nonexistent—all heat, all him, his presence pressing into you, crowding you in the best way.

You thanked whatever lucky stars you had that it was dark, that Joel’s truck had tinted windows, because none of it would’ve stopped you anyway. Not when you were already leaning back into him, your fingers trailing up, brushing over the scruff along his jaw.

Joel’s hand slid up your thigh, fingers curling, anchoring himself as he kissed you deeper, tilting his head to taste you fully. His other hand found your jaw, rough fingertips dragging over your skin, tilting your face toward him like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between you.

You sighed against his mouth, pressing closer, nails scratching lightly against the denim of his jeans. He groaned, low and deep, swallowing the sound. Then, suddenly, his grip shifted, strong hands wrapping around your waist as he pulled you forward until you were straddling his lap.

A breath hitched in your throat, hands bracing against his broad chest as your knees pressed into the seat on either side of him. The new position had you flush against him, heat radiating between you, the space inside the truck growing impossibly small.

Joel’s eyes flickered up to yours, searching, giving you a chance to stop this before it went any further.

But you didn’t want to stop. So you kissed him again. Deeper. Hungrier.

Joel groaned, his hands sliding up your thighs, rough palms trailing over denim now, gripping just enough to make your breath catch. His mouth was hot, insistent, kissing you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your lips, the taste of you, the way you sighed his name when he tilted his head to deepen it.

“I don’t usually—” you began, panting as you broke from the kiss for just a moment, lips still brushing his. “I don’t usually do this on a first date, just so you know.”

“Me neither,” Joel muttered quickly, voice rough, his breath warm against your skin. His fingers laced through your hair, tangling at the base of your neck as he pulled you closer, like the space between you was too much to bear.

His other hand trailed down, squeezing at your waist before gripping the waistband of your jeans. His fingers dipped just under the fabric, teasing, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Think you can get these off for me, sweetheart?” he rasped, his voice thick with want.

Your breath caught, “H-here?”

Joel huffed, smirking just a little, his thumb brushing back and forth over the waistband, slow and teasing. “Ain’t nobody around. Just us.” His eyes flicked up to meet yours, steady, certain. “Unless you really wanna stop.”

He was giving you another chance to pull away, to tell him no, and you knew if you said the word, he’d back off immediately.

But hell no. You shook your head, breathless. “No. No stopping.”

Joel’s smirk deepened, approval flashing in his darkened gaze. “That’s my girl.”

Your fingers trembled as you reached for the button of your jeans, fumbling slightly. Joel exhaled a soft chuckle, amused but patient, pressing another slow, open-mouthed kiss to your throat as his hands ran up and down your thighs, steadying you.

You finally got the zipper down, lifting your hips slightly as you started pushing them down, but Joel’s hands took over, firm and unhurried, hooking his fingers under the waistband and dragging them down your legs in one slow, smooth motion.

The second the denim was gone, his hands ran back up your bare thighs, gripping at the flesh of your ass, his gaze locked on you like he needed to commit this to memory.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel muttered, his voice wrecked, pupils blown wide as he devoured you with his eyes. “Knew you had a great ass—couldn’t stop starin’ at it this mornin’.”

A flush spread through your body at his words, pooling low in your belly, but you could barely focus, too wrapped up in him, in the way he felt beneath you. Despite his claim earlier that he smelled like sweat and sawdust, you thought he smelled addicting—pure masculine heat, sweat and musk, with the faintest hint of whatever cologne or deodorant still clung to his skin. It was him, and it made you dizzy.

Heat curled low in your belly, especially when he tugged you down against him, pressing you right where you needed him, letting you feel all of him—hard, thick, pressing into the thin barrier of your panties.

A quiet moan slipped from your lips, and that sound did something to him.

“Oh, you make the sweetest little noises, baby,” he groaned, his grip tightening as he rocked you against him, his hands guiding your hips so you could feel just how much he wanted you.

His lips found your neck again, kissing, nipping, working their way lower, and you whimpered when they reached your shoulder, his fingers toying with the hem of your top.

“Think I wanna see more of you,” Joel muttered, voice thick and rough like gravel. His hands dragged up your sides, thumbs skimming the curve of your ribs. “Lift your arms for me.”

And you did—because you wanted more too. Needed it.

Joel peeled your top off slowly, taking his time, hissing when your bare skin was revealed beneath the dim light filtering through the truck’s fogged windows. His hands ghosted over you, calloused fingertips brushing along your collarbone, down to the tops of your breasts, his eyes dark as they devoured you.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he muttered, mostly to himself, his rough fingers slipping beneath the band of your bra, teasing. You squirmed in his lap, eager, desperate for something, arching into his touch.

Joel huffed a quiet chuckle, his lips curling as his fingers came up to pull the cups of your bra down and began palming your breasts in both hands, squeezing just enough to make you gasp.

“That feel good, baby?” he rasped, watching your reaction as his thumbs brushed over your nipples, circling, teasing.

“Y-yeah,” you breathed, fingers digging into his shoulders.

Joel smirked, then pinched lightly, rolling the sensitive flesh between his fingers. You moaned, head tipping back, arching into his hands.

“That’s it,” he murmured, leaning in, dragging his lips down the exposed column of your throat, over your collarbone. Then he licked along the swell of your breast before finally closing his mouth over your nipple, sucking slow and deep.

You gasped, gripping his hair, your hips instinctively grinding down against him. The friction sent a rush of heat pooling low in your belly, the hard line of him pressing right against you.

Joel groaned against your skin, releasing your nipple with a wet pop before switching to the other, giving it the same slow, torturous attention.

“Joel,” you whimpered, rolling your hips against him again, the need in you growing unbearable.

He hummed, his hands sliding down, gripping your ass, grinding you down harder against him, “You’re so needy, baby,” he muttered, his lips ghosting along your jaw. “Bet you’re already drippin’ for me, huh?”

You nodded frantically, panting, whimpering, grinding against him, desperate for more.

Joel’s hand slipped between you, his fingers slipping to cup your covered mound, feeling the dampness that had seeped through the fabric. He sucked in air through his teeth as his fingers pressed firmly, rubbing slow, teasing circles. “You’re fuckin’ soaked, baby. This all for me?” he teased, “Huh?”

You gasped when his fingers would press and sometimes skim along your bare skin, running along the lace, teasing, pressing just enough to make your thighs shake.

“Please,” you breathed, writhing against him, desperate for more.

Joel hummed approvingly, slipping beneath the fabric, his fingers spreading through your slick folds, teasing your clit before dipping lower, barely pushing inside.

“Look at you,” he muttered, voice rough. “Takin’ my fingers so easy.”

You moaned, body shuddering as he continued to rub gentle circles around your clit before finally pushing two fingers inside, stretching you just enough to make your breath catch in your lungs. Joel groaned, watching you, drinking in every sound, every gasp, his fingers working slow and deep, curling just right to have your whole body shaking.

Your hips rocked into his hand, grinding against the heel of his palm, pleasure building fast, coiling tight in your belly. He smirked, his thumb pressing against your clit, rubbing tight, slow circles that had your legs trembling around his hips.

“You gonna come for me, already, sweetheart?” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “Come on my fingers before I fuck you?”

You gasped, “Yes, yes–” your fingers digging into his shoulders, your body locking up as the coil snapped in your belly, pleasure ripping through you in waves as you cried out, coming hard against his hand.

Joel groaned, his head falling forward to kiss your sweaty skin, feeling the way you pulsed around his fingers, his cock twitching hard beneath you.

“That’s my girl,” Joel muttered, his voice wrecked as he slowly pulled his fingers from you, slick and shining in the dim light. You stopped breathing as he brought them to his mouth, his eyes locked on yours, watching your reaction as he licked them clean, his tongue dragging slow over his fingers. “So fuckin’ sweet,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly, like he was ruined by the taste of you.

Once he licked his fingers clean, he brought them to your lips and rasped, “Open,”

A wicked smile crossed your lips as you parted them obediently, letting him slide his fingers onto your tongue. Joel groaned low in his throat, watching you intently, his pupils blown wide as your lips closed around his digits.

You didn’t just take them—you sucked, hollowing your cheeks, your tongue teasing along his fingertips, slow and deliberate.

Joel’s smirk fell as his whole body tensed beneath you, muscles going taut as his free hand dug into your hip, hard, like he was barely hanging on. A low, guttural groan tore from his throat, and suddenly, his slick fingers left your mouth, his hand moving to your throat—firm but careful—pulling you down to him, kissing you again. It was hungry, needy, open and wet, all tongue and heat, like he had to taste you again, like the last few minutes of teasing had finally broken something in him.

You moaned against his mouth, shifting in his lap, feeling the thick, solid length of him pressing right where you needed it most. Joel hissed at the friction, his fingers tightening on your waist. Then his hands moved, gripping your hips, holding you there as he worked open his belt, the soft clink of metal making your stomach tighten. The zipper came next, slow and deliberate, the sound loud in the thick silence between you. You watched as he freed himself, his thick cock pressing hot and heavy against your inner thigh.

Joel’s eyes flicked up to yours, dark and dangerous, his jaw tight with restraint, “Still want this baby?”

“Yes,” you breathed, kissing his face, his neck, nipping and biting at his throat as his hands worked himself. You lifted yourself up to give him better access to you. “Want you so badly, Joel.”

He grunted at the sound of his name on your lips, so low and wrecked and needy for him. Reaching down, he hooked his fingers beneath the soaked fabric of your panties, dragging them to the side. His other hand gripped his cock, dragging the tip through your slick pussy, teasing, pressing just enough to make you whimper.

“Joel—”

“I know, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with restraint, positioning himself right at your entrance. “Go on. Take what you need.”

You didn’t hesitate, sinking down onto him slowly, gasping as he stretched you, filling you inch by inch until he was seated deep inside you.

Joel’s head fell back against the headrest, his hands flying to your hips, his fingers digging into the flesh there.

“Jesus fuck,” he gritted out, his thighs tensing beneath you as he held himself still. “You’re—fuck, baby, you’re squeezin’ me so goddamn tight,"

You moaned, feeling every inch of him pulsing inside you, stretching you in the most delicious way. You barely had a chance to catch your breath before he rocked his hips up into you, and your head snapped up at the force, making you look up just in time to see a familiar face out the back window.

“Oh shit—Tommy.”

Joel’s entire body went rigid, “Please do not tell me you just—“

“No—Tommy,” you hissed, ducking down as far as you could, but it only added more friction, making Joel’s cock pulse inside you.

He grunted sharply, his fingers digging in harder to steady you, his jaw clenched like he was trying so hard not to react to the way you just squeezed around him.

Then, a truck door slammed shut.

“Hey, ain’t this Joel’s?” Tommy’s voice rang out, just outside, “Thought he left hours ago,”

Joel’s eyes snapped open, wild and alert. In an instant, his arm shot out, slamming the lock button with a sharp click.

Your heart raced, your hands scrambling to tug your shirt back over your head as Joel shifted beneath you, one hand still firm on your waist, the other reaching toward the door controls.

“Is he in there?” Tommy muttered to himself. The sound of boots crunching against gravel got closer.

Joel rolled down the window—but only a few inches, just enough for Tommy to see his face and nothing else.

Joel’s expression was thunderous. “The fuck do you want?”

Tommy’s brows raised. “Damn, hello to you too,” he muttered, squinting between the tinted glass. “I been callin’ you. You never got back to the landscaper—”

Tommy blinked. His brows lifted slightly.

“Well, hell,” he said, smirking. “That the coffee shop girl?”

You, still catching your breath, gave a little nod, “Hey Tommy,”

Tommy grinned. “Joel never shuts up about your coffee.”

Joel groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ.”

Tommy’s smirk widened, shifting his weight onto one hip, arms crossed over his chest. “Well, you guys comin’ or what? Bout to head down to Jameson’s Bar down the street with some of the guys.”

The good thing was—from Tommy’s point of view—it probably just looked like a hot and heavy makeout session in the truck. He couldn’t see that Joel was, in fact, inside you. Your eyes flicked up to Joel’s face, still locked in frustration, his jaw clenched, his breathing ragged. And just because you could, just because you had to—you rocked your hips just a little. Joel choked on his own breath, his whole body seizing, his hands flying to your waist in warning. His eyes darted to you in a look that might kill you if you didn’t feel the betraying feeling of his cock twitch inside your cunt.

You bit your lip, eyes flicking down at Joel, voice sweet as honey, “Was just about to.”

Joel’s eyes flashed, his fingers pinching your ass hard in retaliation. You yelped, causing your body to twist up and into him, and he had to swallow his groan.

Then, suddenly, Tommy’s expression shifted.

His eyes flicked between the both of you—Joel looking wrecked, breath uneven, a little too flushed for the cool evening breeze, and you, doing your best to keep your face neutral while subtly adjusting yourself in his lap.

Tommy’s head tilted. His mouth parted.

And then, slowly, a knowing smirk crept onto his face.

“No way,” he breathed, realization dawning. “You are not—”

“Tommy—” Joel ground out, voice low and warning.

But it was too late.

Tommy burst out laughing, doubling over, hands on his knees.

Joel exhaled sharply, hands twitching on your waist, his patience hanging by a thread. “Swear to God—”

You, on the other hand, were trying very, very hard to keep a straight face.

Tommy finally straightened up, wiping at his eyes, still grinning like an idiot. “Man, you gotta be kidding me.”

“Get outta here,” Joel said between his teeth.

Tommy held his hands up in mock surrender, taking a step back from the truck. “Hey, hey, I ain’t judgin’—I just never thought I’d see the day my big brother was gettin’ it on in a goddamn parking lot like a damn teenager.”

Joel groaned, glaring daggers at him. “You done?”

Tommy smirked, but started backing toward his truck. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone.” He shot you a wink. “You take care now, darlin’.”

You smiled sweetly. “I will, Tommy.”

Joel huffed sharply, clearly done with this entire situation.

You kept an eye on Tommy as he finally slid into his truck, still shaking his head as he fired up the engine. Before he pulled away, he called out—

“Don’t do nothin’ I wouldn’t do!”

Joel slammed the window up before you could reply.

The second Tommy’s taillights disappeared down the road, Joel let out a long, deep breath, his grip on your waist still iron-tight.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he muttered, shaking his head.

You giggled, biting your lip, still settled in his lap, still pulsing around him.

Joel’s gaze snapped to you.

“You think this is funny?” he asked, voice thick, dark.

You blinked at him innocently, then, just to test him, you rolled your hips slowly, feeling his cock move deep inside you again. Both of you moaned at the feeling.

“You’re playin’ with fire, sweetheart,” he warned, his voice low, rough.

“Mmm but you love it,” you smiled.

Joel growled, his patience finally snapping. His hands tightened, yanking you down against him, grinding your soaked heat over him slow and deep.

You gasped, your fingers flying to his shoulders, nails digging in as he began to set a rhythm, his hips rocking up to meet yours, filling you over and over again.

“Fuckin' hell, girl,” Joel gritted out as your forehead dropped against his, “You love this, don’t you?”

You could barely breathe, pleasure pooling low and hot, winding tight in your belly, “Y-yes, feels s–s–so good,” you gasped, rolling your hips faster, chasing the high that had been aching inside you since the moment he first touched you.

Joel’s lips crashed into yours, swallowing the moan that tore from your throat as his hips snapped up into you, deep and slow at first, like he wanted you to feel every inch of him. You whimpered, fingers fisting in the shoulders of his shirt, clinging to him as the pleasure started to coil, winding tighter and tighter with every drag of his cock inside you.

“Oh god,” you gasped, barely able to breathe, barely able to think beyond the feel of him filling you, stretching you, hitting the perfect spot over and over.

“That’s it, baby—just like that,” he murmured, his voice rough, his arms wrapping around you as he rocked up to meet you.

You moved with him, rolling your hips, your body seeking more, chasing it, the friction and heat spiraling higher, hotter, pleasure building until it felt like you were seconds from snapping.

Joel must’ve felt it, the way you were trembling, the way your body clenched tighter around him, because his grip on you tightened, guiding you faster, pushing you closer, until—

“Come on now, hunny–you all talk or you really gonna cum?” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with need. “Let me have it, wanna feel you.”

And that—his words, his voice, the command in it—was what undid you.

A sharp, wrecked moan tore from your lips as the pressure snapped, pleasure crashing over you in waves, your whole body shuddering and twitching as you clenched tight around him, pulsing, shaking, coming undone in his lap.

Joel groaned loudly, his head tipping back against the headrest, his jaw tight, his breath shattering as he thrust up into you, once, twice—

And then he followed, his grip bruising on your body as he buried himself deep, a low, guttural sound tearing from his throat as he came, spilling hot inside you, his whole body locking up before relaxing, spent, wrecked.

The truck fell into silence, save for the sound of your ragged breathing, the sticky heat between you, the feel of his arms still gripping you, like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, forehead dropping to his shoulder. “Holy shit.”

Joel exhaled sharply, a huffed-out chuckle against your chest. “Yeah.”

You stayed like that for a moment, neither of you moving, just breathing each other in, the moment settling between you.

Finally, Joel ran a slow, warm hand up your spine, his voice still gravelly when he spoke.

“So.” A beat. “We ain’t goin’ to Jameson’s, huh?”

You laughed, shaking your head against his shoulder. “Not a chance.”

Joel smirked, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple.

“Good.”

#just coffee joel #Joel miller #Joel miller x reader #Joel miller x you #Joel miller smut #smutty one shot #Joel miller tlou #tlou #Joel miller the last of us #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfic #Joel miller fanfic #Joel miller one shot #Joel miller fanfiction #Joel miller smutty #Tommy cameo

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wosoloml · 2 days ago

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crawling back to you II leah williamson x reader

warnings: toxic, hidden relationship, jealousy, angst

summary: After hiding their relationship for years because Leah was still in the closet, they eventually broke up. Yet, they always found their way back into each others lives.

wc: 1,3k I based on this request

"it´s been two years, Leah. Why are you still referring to me as your best friend and roommate to your teammates? You didn´t even tell Keira about me?! She's your best friend!" I yelled at Leah, more out of frustration than anger. I'm so tired of hiding this relationship, of hiding myself behind the 'best friend´ label.

leah being in the cloest was never a problem for me - for us. But since rumours about her dating her male best friend were a thing it as hard to keep everything private. Growing up in milton keynes it was hard to be openly gay.

"Y/n you know its hard for me to tell everyone we are dating. We both know how they reacted after Keira came out to them. She still suffers from it and i dont wanna experience it please undertstand that." leah tries to explain her situation to me and i wish i could understand her the way i want to. But im too hurt.

"I should understand you? Have you ever tried to understand me? I can't do this anymore, Leah. You deserve someone who can handle this - but I can't. I'm sorry, Lee. It's for the best if we break up."

I say the words with tears in my eyes, my voice barely holding steady. It's a hard decision, but itt's one I have to make.

Being with Leah from the time I was 14 to now, at 17, has meant everything to me. I'm so grateful for the past three years, but I just can't do this anymore.

---------

"Y/N, I BOUGHT US TICKETS FOR THE NEXT GAME AT JOIE STADIUM!"

My girlfriend's excited voice echoes through our shared apartment. It's been seven months since I moved to Manchester and three months since we started living together.

"I'm already excited!" I shout back while checking who City's opponent is. Of course - it's Arsenal.

It feels strange to be thinking about football again, especially after breaking up with Leah almost a year ago. But maybe she's not even playing anymore.

Little did I know, she's been captaining the squad for the past year.

Our seats are incredible, giving us a perfect view of the pitch. As the teams walk out, my eyes immediately land on the captain's armband wrapped around Leah's arm. A strange sense of pride swells in my chest. Playing for the Gunners - leading them - had been her dream since she joined the club so many years ago. Seeing her live that dream now brings an unshakable smile to my face.

My thoughts are interrupted when my girlfriend starts chanting loudly, her passion for the game contagious. For a moment, I forget my ex is even on the pitch.

I never told Sarah about my past with a certain blonde Arsenal player.

I could feel Leah's eyes on me the entire game.

A part of me wanted to tease her, so every time she came over to take a corner, I laughed extra loud at whatever Sarah said or kissed her deeply-just to make a point.

I wanted her to see what it felt like to be in a relationship that didn't have to be hidden. To know how beautiful it is to be loved loudly and openly.

Later that evening, my phone buzzed.

leahwilliamson wants to send you a message. My heart started racing. My eyes widened as I read her message.

'Cute little show you put on earlier today.'

I had no idea how to respond to that, so I just sent back a few question marks. It didn't take long for her to reply.

'The way you laughed extra loud at whatever that girl said. The way you kissed her while checking to see if I was watching. I don't care, Y/N' . My blood starts to boil.

----

"Y/N!!"

I snap out of my thoughts as my coworker calls my name. I hurry over to the counter, my eyes widening.

'Can you serve them? I need to make a quick call.'

I manage a nod, but then I notice here - Leah. Sitting in my cafe. With another girl.

I take a deep breath, forcing a polite smile. "Hey, what can I get for you?" I ask, keeping my tone professional.

Leah smirks. "ll have a matcha latte. And what about you, babe-?" She turns to the girl beside her. "A flat white, please. Thank you" the girl says with a warm smile.

I already don't like her.

"Give me one second"

I know exactly why Leah is here - to get under my skin. And it's working. But beneath the teasing, beneath the smug attitude, it just hurts.

Seeing her be so open, so affectionate with someone else. calling her pet names, touching her without hesitation - it stings in a way I can't ignore.

Whenever we were out together, she barely even said my name, let alone held my hand. Now, she's making sure I see how different things are.

Every time I glance at their table, Leah is already looking at me, eyes filled with something I can't quite place. But I do notice how touchy she is, how overly flirty she's being.

And it makes my blood boil. I text her 'now we are even'. Her eyes darkened as she read the message.

-------

The club was alive with loud music, the clink of glasses, and the smell of sweaty bodies. It was my best friend's 25th birthday, and we decided to celebrate it in our hometown, London. I was also hoping it would serve as a distraction from my recent breakup. After two years of dating Sarah, she ended things last weekend because I couldn't bring myself to tell her I loved her. It's not that I didn't care about her or that I wasn't in love, but things felt different. The only woman I will ever truly love is Leah. Forever.

Suddenly, someone bumped into me, spilling their drink all over my shirt. "Oh god, I'm sorry!" They said as I looked up, meeting their eyes. It was Leah. Who else could it be?

"I didn't know you were here" she said, sounding surprised.

"Yeah, it's Anna's birthday today, and I thought Id come back to London for the occasion" I replied. "What about you?"

Leah seemed taken aback by how easily I kept the conversation going. "Actually, we won the league today. It was the last game of the season against Aston Villa, and we won."

The conversation flowed naturally, and then, unexpectedly, she asked THE question.

"So, is your girlfriend here?" she asked.

"No,â€ I said "we are not together anymore." "Oh, really? Im sorry to hear that. Funny enough, my girlfriend broke up with me two weeks ago" she replied, a look of surprise crossing her face. I was stunned, my eyes widening in disbelief. The tension between us shifted, and an unfamiliar but unmistakable feeling of missing her washed over me.

After that, we kept texting and even FaceTimed a few times. The vibe was strange but oddly familiar, as though we had never stopped talking, despite having broken up over 3.5 years ago. Nothing had really changed.

---------

"Happy one year, baby!" Leah greeted me with breakfast in bed and the most beautiful bouquet of red roses. I couldn't have been happier with her by my side.

Even though she had a game on our anniversary , it didn't make the day any less special. I cheered her on from the 'Friends and Family' section, proudly wearing her name on the back of my Arsenal jersey. When she scored the winning goal, she celebrated by making a special gesture just for me.

Right person, right time.

#arsenal #woso community #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso #leah williamson #leah #leah williamson reader #leah williamson imagine #leah x reader #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson angst #leah williamson fluff

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prettyfilmz · 2 days ago

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SWEET LIKE CANDY • JEY USO

author’s note: did someone say new mini series ? 👀 well yes! although writing is gonna be quite slow due to school starting backup, I wanted to leave you guys with something cute starring our 2025 royal rumble winner jey uso🤭 forgive me for not giving you smut in this first part but trust me when I say it’ll be worth it in the long run. I hope you enjoy this my loves, and happy reading💗 (p.s. I made a playlist to go along with it, you can shuffle it up too🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ you can find it here)

synopsis: in which a celebration at the strip club leads to the beginning of a love affair between a wrestler and a dancer.

pairing: jey uso x black fem oc!cherise aka candy

tags: 18+ (there’s no smut but still has suggestive themes), slow burn, drinking, lap dances, lewd conversations, teasing, lots of touching, kissing, pet names (baby, mama, pretty girl. baby girl), flirty banter, jey falls for her at first glance.

word count: 2k words (somethin’ short n sweet😌)

The bass reverbs through the strip club, rattling the walls like a second heartbeat. The air was thick with marijuana smoke, spilled drinks, and anticipation. It was the kind of place that dared you to loosen up, a melting pot of the desperate, the indulgent, and those just looking to forget about the realities of their day to day lives.

Jey, sitting on the edge of a low velvet couch, nursed a glass of hennessy, his dark brown eyes surveying the scene with feigned disinterest. Jimmy, on the other hand, leaned back beside him, grinning like the damn Cheshire cat, a few shots in and already loving every second of the night.

“This the spot, Uce,” Jimmy drawled, gesturing at the stage. “Told you. Ain’t no better way to celebrate your Rumble win than seeing a few bad ones tearing it up on the stage.”

Jey wasn’t convinced. He leaned forward, elbows on his jean covered knees, his silver chain glinting in the low light. “Man, you know this ain’t my scene. I only came ‘cause y’all don’t shut up. Coulda stayed home, kicked my feet up, and played my game.”

Jimmy clicked his tongue. “Nah, Uce. This is a night of celebration. Tonight’s the night we get you to let loose.” He raised his glass in a mock toast.

Across the room, Trinity —or her stage name called her—Naomi. The long-legged, dark skinned goddess with waist-length black & neon green braids and thighs to die for worked her magic. She straddled some middle-aged white guy in a button-down, grinding with a confidence that made her the club’s crown jewel. She caught Jimmy’s eye and gave a sly smile with a wink for good measure.

“Yo, there she go!” Jimmy grinned, practically bouncing in his seat. “My girl, Trin. You see that, Jey? That’s art. Respect the glow.”

Jey rolled his eyes but couldn’t help smirking. “Bruh, you actin’ like she your girl for real.”

“She is though,” Jimmy shot back, the grin never leaving his face. And it wasn’t a joke. He wasn’t even subtle about it. Whenever Jimmy showed up, Trinity made a beeline for him, and they always disappeared into the VIP section.

Jey chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “You wild.”

But his attention shifted when the next dancer strolled onto the stage.

“Alright fellas, hold onto your Benjamin’s ‘cause it’s about to get sweet up in here! Coming to the stage, she’s sugar, spice and everything nice, with curves so delicious you’ll forget your own name. Be careful though, she might leave you with some cavities by the end of the night. Give it up for the lovely Candy!”

The second she stepped out, the crowd of men leaned forward, like hungry sharks. She wasn’t like the others though. She was new, fresh-faced, and a bundle of nerves. But that didn’t matter right this second. She played the part, masking her shyness behind a seductive smile that could melt anyone with a pulse.

Candy was beyond gorgeous. Her smooth, brown skin shimmered under the stage lights, and the crimson two-piece she wore clung to every dip and swell of her body. Her hips swayed to the R&B song, deliberate, teasing.

“Goddamn,” Jimmy whistled low. “New girl got somethin’ fierce, huh?”

Jey was speechless, he couldn’t look away. Her curly hair was pulled into a updo, soft coils framing her soft, heart-shaped face. Full lips painted glossy pink parted into a playful pout as she ran her hands down her figure, playing to the crowd. But her eyes. Those big, dark, and doe-like eyes held a hint of innocence she couldn’t quite shake.

“Yeah, somethin’ for sure,” Jey muttered under his breath, heat pooling low in his groin.

Candy noticed him immediately. She was used to clients ogling her—most of them practically drooled or disgustingly grabbed their crotch in front of her—but he was different. He had this calm, magnetic energy, like he was letting her come to him. It made her stomach flip, even as she forced her most sultry grin.

When her set ended, and the applause faded, Candy slipped off the stage. But not before glancing over her shoulder and locking eyes with Jey.

♡

"You heard who's out there tonight, right?" Trinity grinned, her deep brown eyes glinting with mischief as she adjusted the thin straps of her bra. "You about to be real blessed, baby girl."

Cherise arched a perfectly sculpted brow, feigning disinterest. "Oh yeah? Who?"

Trinity sucked her teeth, nudging her shoulder. "Don’t act cute, Cher. The man of the damn hour is in VIP. Your VIP, might I add."

Cherise played coy, but her stomach did a little flip. She’d already heard that Jey Uso was here tonight. And apparently, he was her very first private dance.

Her pulse raced.

"He cute or whateva,” she said, glossing over the fact that she was a fan. She’d watched him claw his way to being a singles star. And now he was here, in her club, about to have her in his lap.

Trinity laughed, low and knowing. "Oh, he real cute, baby. And he got that mouth on him. Knows how to talk to a woman, make her feel good." She winked, nudging her shoulder with her own.

Cherise rolled her eyes but smiled. "You sound like you speaking from experience."

"Nah, Jimmy got my full attention," Trinity purred, licking her lips. "Speaking of which, you know that man is gonna be deep in this pussy before the night over. So if you hear me make any noise, mind your business."

Cherise giggled, shaking her head. "Y’all so damn nasty."

Trinity flipped her braids over her shoulder. "Mmhmm, and you 'bout to be nasty too. Just don’t let Jey have you falling, mama. These wrestlers? They dangerous."

Cherise smirked. "I can handle myself."

Trinity just laughed, giving her ass a playful slap before strutting off toward VIP.

Cherise exhaled slowly, fixing the sheer, sparkly robe draped over her curvy figure.

Showtime.

♡

The VIP room was warm, lit with soft purple lights that shined against the dark leather couch and mirrored walls. Private, sensual. The kind of space that invited sin.

Jey sat in the middle of it, legs spread, shades still covering his eyes, hands resting on his thick thighs.

He looked too good, too comfortable, like he belonged there with his chains glinting under the dim lighting. And he was waiting for her.

Cherise stepped inside, hips swaying slow, the confidence she wore so well settling around her like perfume. She was used to this, knew the game, knew how to keep them entertained just enough to keep ‘em hungry. But this was Jey.

And she already knew—he was different.

Jey’s gaze dragged up her body, slow like drizzling honey, lingering on her thick thighs, the way her curves filled out the soft red lace she had on. He smirked, licking his lips. "Damn, mama… that’s what they lettin’ you walk around in back here?"

Cherise stopped in front of him, rolling her hips to the bass-heavy R&B music vibrating through the walls. "You like it, baby?”

"Shit…" Jey let his head tilt back against the couch, eyes dark, hooded. "I love it."

Cherise bit back a grin. "Flatterin’ me ain’t gon’ get you nothin’ extra, baby."

"Who said I was tryna get somethin’ extra?" He grinned. "I’m just speakin’ my truth.”

She let her hands trail over chest, feeling the solid warmth of him and the occasional thump of his heartbeat. "Mmm…I bet you be runnin’ game on every girl in here.”

"Nah." Jey licked his lips. "I’on even be in places like this, baby. My brother dragged me."

"Mmhm." She slid onto his lap, her thighs bracketing his, their faces inches apart. "So if I ask the bouncers how many girls you pulled back here, they gon’ say none?"

Jey exhaled a laugh, fingers flexing on her hips. "They gon’ tell you I been sittin’ in that VIP all night, mindin’ my business."

Cherise hummed, her fingers playing at the chain around his neck. "So what makes me special then?"

Jey tilted his head, watching her close. "You tell me, baby girl." His voice was deep, lazy, smooth as melted honey. "I ain’t the one who picked this dance. You did."

She smirked. "That’s cute."

"Ain’t it?" His grip on her hips tightened, dragging her a little closer. "Nah, for real, I can tell. You move different. You one of them girls that don’t let just anybody dude here, huh?"

"Mm-mm." Cherise dragged her nails lightly over soft curls on the back of his neck. "I’m picky."

"Yeah?" His fingers slid up her back, teasing at the base of her spine. "How I make the cut then?"

"I dunno…” She let her lips brush his jaw, just barely. "Maybe I got a thing for wrestlers."

Jey chuckled, low and deep, squeezing her waist. "You watch me, huh?"

"I keep up."

"Ain’t that somethin’." He leaned in, pressing his nose against her cheek. "And here I was thinkin’ I had to make you a fan."

"Mmm, you still might have to work for it." She pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, slow and teasing, right before she rolled her hips against his.

Jey sucked in a breath, his grip turning just a little rougher. “Aye, don’t play wit’ me, pretty girl.”

"Who’s playin’?" She dragged her lips down his throat, slow and deliberate, her hands traveling up his body, feeling the soft tonedness of his stomach. "You like that, Joshua?"

Jey froze.

His hands tensed on her ass, and she felt the shift, the way his whole body reacted to the way his real name left her lips.

"Damn…" He exhaled a quiet laugh, pressing his forehead to hers. "That’s how we doin’ it, huh?”

"Mmm…" She kissed the corner of his mouth. "That’s how I’m doin’ it."

"You somethin’ else, Candy…” His lips grazed hers, barely there, his breath warm against her mouth. "You gon’ drive me crazy, ain’t you?"

"Guess you’ll have to wait and see."

Jey groaned, squeezing her thigh. "You know what’s wild?"

“Enlighten me.”

"You sittin’ on me, talkin’ shit, got me damn near ready to risk everything in this bitch… and you still ain’t tell me your name."

Cherise laughed, slow and sweet, sliding a hand up his throat to his jaw. “You ain’t ask right."

"Oh, so I gotta ask nice?" His lips ghosted over hers again, teasing, taunting, barely touching but still driving her crazy. "That what you want, baby girl?"

"Mmm… maybe…" She let her tongue flick out, just barely tasting his lower lip.

Jey growled, deep in his throat, and finally…finally closed the space, his mouth capturing hers in a kiss that was slow, deep, and damn near dangerous.

Cherise melted into it, letting herself enjoy the way he tasted—Hennessy, something minty, something just Jey. His grip on her waist turned possessive, fingers digging in the flesh of her ass, rolling her just right against him.

His tongue slid against hers, slow and deliberate, like he was trying to memorize her taste.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Time’s up!"

They both froze.

Jey groaned, pulling back, licking his lips like he was pissed about the interruption. "Damn…"

Cherise smirked, slipping off his lap, dragging her fingers down his chest as she stood. "Guess you’ll have to come back if you wanna finish."

Jey leaned back, legs still spread, watching her. "You somethin’ else, girl."

She paused at the door, hesitated then turned back, biting her lip. "Cherise."

"Huh?"

"That’s my name."

Jey exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he watched her walk to the door. She gave him one last look with a small smile perched on her kiss-swollen lips, “Get home safe, Joshua.” and finally exited the room.

"Cherise…" he repeated under his breath, the taste of her cherry flavored lip gloss still plaguing his taste buds in the most amazing way. "Yeah, I’ma see you again, baby girl.”

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#jey uso x reader #wwe smut #wwe imagines #the bloodline x reader #jey uso #jey uso smut #jey uso fic #jey uso one shot #jey uso fluff #jey uso imagine #jey uso fanfic #jey uso fanfiction

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ghouljams · 2 days ago

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I’m really trying but you’re not making this any easier on me Ghoul D: Because after this:

"So," Price says over the rim of his glass, "'O else is fucking the girl?" It's only too bad that the sergeants both stiffen at the same moment Ghost does.

Not only is my mind reeling with what the others do, which trust me it is. Because the implication of the Captain finding you dripping with Ghost’s cum… However, I’m also thinking about how everything clicks for Ghost.

How you took his cock so well every single time, how you seemed to get that victorious little glint in your eye and a self-satisfied smile every time you walk with shaky legs out of whatever bathroom, supply closet or wherever his fucked you within an inch of your life. That goddamn sweet voice you use every time you call him sir.

This whole time he has been played by his plaything.

And his NOT going to let it stay like that.

He’s 100% teaming up with the others to teach you a lesson… maybe falling for exactly what you had been hoping for this whole time…

- Morph

You snag a champagne flute off a passing tray, if only so you look like you're doing something. Faux social as your mother would say.

You don't get a chance to drink it. Thick fingers grab the rib before you can press your lips to it and pluck the glass from your hand, passing it off to another server. You pout at the oldest of the four men that seem to orbit you, mostly because he always seems to enjoy it. This one likes when you're girlish. You think he'd ask you to call him daddy if he ever let you say anything, probably gets off on you being young and pretty.

The hand he slides over the small of your back is insistent, but the words that drip from his smiling lips are meaningless. Fancy things that sound like he's saying something important and not leading you to the nearest locking door.

They're all so easy to figure out. The older one wants to humiliate your father by placing himself in a position of authority over you, mohawk wants to humiliate your father by dirtying you up, the big one wants to humiliate your father by taking something from him, and the pretty one... ok you went after the pretty one, but he's just as happy to try and convince you to whisper in your father's ear. Really if they're all so obsessed with your dad you don't know why they aren't fucking him, but you're not going to complain about free sex.

You are going to complain about the way you're pressed hard against a utility shelf in a supply closet. A package of urinal cakes digs into your back and you make a face. The older one knocks your legs apart with his foot as he rolls your skirt up.

"Lemme see those eyes sweet'eart," He coos at you, "want to see my favorite pet f-" His fingers rub over your wet panties. Oh right, you forgot the big guy came in them. You meant to change your underwear but you haven't had a moment to get away. You're already fantasizing about the fresh pair you have in your purse.

You only squirm because he's rubbing your clit each time he dips his fingers into your cunt to dig the still leaking come out. If he wants to keep doing that-

"Someone get here first?" He asks and you hum noncommittally. Mohawk doesn't ever seem to mind. "Who?"

You blink and squint at the hanging ceiling light trying to remember if the big guy ever told you his name.

"Dunno," You conclude, "All of you look the same."

You don't think he likes that answer.

#cod x reader #x reader #captain john price #captain johnathan price #captain price x reader #captain price #captain price cod #captain price call of duty #john price x reader #john price cod #john price mw2 #sorry price but girl does not give two shits about any of you #lol. lmao even #f!reader

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zeroseuniverse · 3 days ago

Note

please give haneul's dad a love life 😔🙏 he's miserable, I can hear him sighing all day and night and I don't even live nearby. please help a young nurse be well fed with fluffy warm pancakes in the morning 🥹🥞

please make a silly old anonymous reader happy by writing a part 2 of "My Dad is Single!" ☝️

You ask and you shall receive my darling Asks are my number 1 priority so I typically try to only take 2-3 days in writing them, I enjoy providing what my readers want so I hope this came out in a timely manner for you!

My Dad Is Single II

S.Coups had no idea how he ended up here.

One moment, he was just a devoted single dad trying to survive his six-year-old's chaotic antics. The next, he was standing in his kitchen, flipping pancakes while Nurse Pretty—sat at his dining table, chatting with Haneul like they were old friends.

Haneul had orchestrated this whole thing, obviously. After her legendary text message, she had laughed it off but agreed to come over—"just for pancakes," she had said. But from the way she kept smiling at him over her coffee, he knew she was enjoying his flustered state way too much.

"So, Haneul," she said, resting her chin on her hand. "Tell me—why are you so determined to find your dad a girlfriend?"

Haneul sighed dramatically, like this was a burden only she could bear. "Because Appa is so lonely."

S.Coups groaned from the stove. "I am not—"

"He sighs all the time," Haneul interrupted. "Like, so much. And he watches sad movies at night."

She smirked. "Ah, the sighing. You told me about that before."

"Right?!" Haneul threw her hands up. "It’s a problem."

S.Coups turned around, pointing a spatula at his daughter. "You’re making me sound like a tragic drama lead."

"You are a tragic drama lead," Haneul said, dead serious. "But don’t worry! This is the episode where you find love again."

She burst out laughing while S.Coups slumped against the counter, defeated.

"Unbelievable," he muttered for what felt like the hundredth time.

"You say that a lot," She teased, taking a sip of her coffee.

"Because this keeps happening!" He gestured at Haneul, who was happily munching on a pancake like she hadn’t just thrown him under the bus.

She just smiled. "Well, I have to admit—this is probably the most unique way I’ve ever been asked out."

S.Coups nearly dropped the plate he was holding. "Wait—was this… an ask out?"

she tilted her head, pretending to think. "Well, I was invited to your house. You cooked for me. There’s a cute child who’s very invested in our future. Sounds like a date to me."

S.Coups blinked, completely thrown. "I—uh—what—"

Haneul leaned forward and stage-whispered to her , "He’s shy."

she grinned. "It’s cute."

S.Coups groaned again. "I am not shy!"

"You’re blushing," Haneul pointed out.

He pressed a hand to his face. Oh my God, I am.

She reached for a pancake, her smile softening. "Relax, S.Coups. I’m just teasing. But… I wouldn’t mind getting to know you better. If that’s something you’d be open to."

S.Coups stared at her, completely caught off guard. He hadn’t expected this. At all. And yet, with Haneul beaming up at him and her looking at him with those warm, patient eyes, he found himself… considering it.

Slowly, a small smile crept onto his face. "I guess… I wouldn’t mind either."

Haneul exploded into cheers, nearly knocking over her juice. "YES! Finally!"

she laughed, and S.Coups couldn’t help but chuckle too, shaking his head.

"Unbelievable," he muttered one last time—but this time, it felt different. Lighter. Like maybe, just maybe, his little drama lead moment was turning into a rom-com after all.

209 notes · View notes

witchywithwhiskey · 3 days ago

Note

say yes + andy barber

(for your fantastic sweethearts game!)

🩷♥️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜

the demon of your dreams

pairing: soft!dark incubus!andy barber x female reader

summary: you catch the attention of an incubus on the day before valentine's day—and it turns out your fates are more intertwined than either of you expected.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), true mates, dubcon/noncon (in this fic an incubus requires consent for certain things but it technically starts off as noncon), somnophilia, teratophilia/monsterfucking, smut, masturbation (m), fingering (f receiving), finger sucking, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, come play, cock warming, choking, breath play, biting/marking, thigh fucking, some overstimulation, dirty talk, praise kink, very brief degradation, pet names (sweet thing/sweet girl), aftercare, referenced marathon sex, happy ending

word count: 5.5k

a/n: thank you, Aspen, for letting me flail at you because i had SO many ideas for this particular character + prompt combination. what i love about Andy is that he can fit into a super fluffy or soft dark or super dark story very easily. (i mean, that's true of a lot of characters, but i feel like i usually lean one way or the other with most characters and with Andy, i'm never quite sure where i want to go.) anyway, this one might require a bit more suspension of disbelief than normal and sorry if the ending is a bit rushed, work was BRUTAL today 🫠 thank you for playing my sweethearts game, i hope you enjoy this filthy little fic!! ♡♡

For an incubus like Andy Barber, Valentine’s Day was his favorite day of the year.

There was something particularly decadent about the yearning he sensed among lonely, single women on Valentine’s Day, and he always fed well in the days leading up to the actual holiday. Though the demon had to be careful not to feed too much on any one woman, he never failed to gorge himself on the offerings in the city.

But then he came across you in a coffee shop on the morning before Valentine’s Day, and he hadn’t sensed yearning quite so exquisite as yours in all his many years walking the earth. Watching you from across the shop, he knew you would make an especially delectable meal, his eyes following you closely as he sipped on his Americano.

You hid your emotions well, Andy noticed, keeping them masked beneath a friendly exterior, a welcoming smile on your pretty face while you chatted with the barista making your drink. To all the world, you looked like anyone else with a charming—if tired—disposition, but to the incubus, you were churning with all the emotions that made you a meal.

The demon could sense the sadness lurking beneath your smile from the moment you’d stepped into the establishment, and he could practically taste the desperate longing clinging to your soul like a drop of hot chocolate caught on the corner of your lip.

You wanted, more than anything, to be the object of someone’s lust, to find someone you felt safe enough with that you could be turned into the lustful creature you yearned to be. You wanted someone to lick the chocolate from your lips and sate your desire.

And Andy Barber knew he was the demon for the job.

In generations past, Andy might’ve used his magic to slip into your dreams, seducing you with images of lust until he received the acquiescence he required to join with you and feed on your soul. But, as the incubus’s years had worn on, he’d found he enjoyed a more physical approach.

There was something so much more satisfying about touching a woman with his fingers, feeling the warmth of her body and breathing in the scent of her skin. He enjoyed the feeling of a woman’s soft curves beneath his palms, groping her and learning what made her gasp gently in her sleep.

Then, the demon would use her slumberous, disoriented mind and her aching, needy body against her to get what he needed—that permission that allowed him to sink into her body and feed on her soul.

It was so much more satisfying, and so much more fun, too.

Of course, that didn’t mean Andy didn’t use his magic to get into your apartment. He unlocked your door with a wave of his fingers, closing and locking it behind him before he masked the footfalls of his shoes as he made his way to your bedroom.

There, he paused in the doorway and took a moment to look at you, appreciate you while you slept, completely unaware that there was a demon in your room.

A smile curled Andy’s mouth when he discovered that you were far from an elegant sleeper, your body sprawled across your bed beneath the blankets, one leg hiked up while the other curled around a pillow clutched close to your chest. Your face was buried in another pillow, your indelicate snores muffled by its softness.

And yet…you were cute. Precious even.

Andy felt something fluttery deep in his chest, somewhere in the vicinity of his black heart. Instead of looking too closely at the feeling, he ignored the sensation, chalking it up to the excitement he felt knowing you were going to make for a particularly delicious meal.

The demon slunk into your room, clinging to the shadows as he moved around to the side of the bed where you lay and tried to gauge whether you were a light sleeper. You didn’t stir when he deliberately stepped on a squeaky floorboard, so he decided to ease closer, his fingertips trailing up your body over the blankets piled on top of you.

When he pulled them carefully from your slumbering body, a little whimper slipped from your lips, a shiver wracking your shoulders as the cold licked against your skin. Andy quickly used his magic to warm up your room, making it a much more comfortable temperature for your nearly naked form.

He watched you settle, his eyes roving over the curves of your body. Hungrily, he took in the dip of your waist and the flare of your hips, the way your thin nightshirt had ridden up to tease a glimpse of your perfectly rounded ass. Your thighs were parted, and Andy could just glimpse a hint of your panties, hiding your pretty pussy from sight.

His cock hardened behind his zipper and he nearly groaned at the sinful way your body called to his. Even if the yearning in your soul hadn’t been so enticing, Andy knew he would’ve been drawn to you by the desire you inspired just by existing.

Once he was sure you were comfortable and had fallen back into a deep slumber, Andy finally allowed himself to touch you.

His fingers trailed gently over your arms, skimming along your skin before smoothing down your side to your hips and thighs. There, he resisted the urge to dip between your legs just yet, instead learning the curves of your calves and the delicate contours of your ankles.

All the while, Andy watched your face, monitoring your breathing to make sure you didn’t stir again.

As he observed you, he noticed you relaxing even further, as if his touch soothed you. He felt another flutter in the proximity of his black heart, and, that time, he couldn’t ignore the way it started beating slightly faster.

The organ often felt cold and dull in his chest, especially when he was in need of feeding, but it felt like it was coming to life in a way he’d never experienced before, not even after a satisfying meal. And it was all because of the way your body was instinctively relaxing into his touch.

The demon could almost pretend it was him specifically you were melting for, that even though you hadn’t woken and hadn’t seen his face, he was the only one whose touch could have that effect on your body.

Andy deliberately ignored the fact that, in all likelihood, you would’ve been soothed by a gentle touch from any man who might share your bed, because that thought inspired a concerning level of rage in him. No, he refused to think of anyone else in your bed but him. You were his.

For the night, at least, he reminded himself, pushing his possessive thoughts to the back of his mind to analyze later. He had much more important things to attend to with your warm body, which would soon be willing, splayed out in front of him like the most tempting meal.

Finally, Andy allowed his fingers to slip beneath your nightshirt, tugging off your panties and nearly groaning when your hips raised instinctively to allow him to ease them down your thighs. He pulled them off and slipped them into his pocket, thinking nothing of the fact that he’d never taken a souvenir before.

He was too busy focusing on the feel of your body beneath his fingertips. His hand slipped eagerly between your thighs, and he was surprised to find your soft pussy was already drenched. It felt fated that your body would have such a reaction to him since Andy’s cock was straining painfully against his zipper, aching to sink inside your perfect cunt.

The demon cupped your pussy in his palm, a ferocious possessiveness tearing through his chest as he felt you drip into his hand. You were his. His. His.

His heart beat harder in his chest, the feeling of yearning in his own black soul so all-consuming, he didn’t have the wherewithal to notice it was completely out of character.

After all, an incubus like Andy Barber didn’t get attached to his meals. He didn’t feel possessive or territorial over the women he fed on, like a wolf who might tear into anything that threatened to take his most precious lifeline away.

But the demon could feel himself falling willingly into an obsession with you that wouldn’t be sated from just one night. He just didn’t know it yet.

Acting on instinct more than his typical intention of easing a woman into what he had planned, Andy freed his cock from the confines of his pants, taking himself in his palm while the fingers of his other hand explored your wet, warm pussy.

You were so soft, so hot, and so responsive when Andy sank a finger into your tight hole, a breathy moan slipping from your mouth. The demon felt the newly-familiar beating of his heart in his chest, and he suddenly craved even more of your sounds of pleasure, he wanted them to fill his ears for all eternity.

Andy stroked his cock dispassionately, needing to take some of the edge off his arousal, but he made sure to squeeze the base tightly to ensure he didn’t cum too soon. All the while, he teased your body open with his deft fingers, preparing you to take his thick length.

When he slipped a second finger into your pussy and saw how easily you took him, he had to bite back a groan. His cock was leaking precum all over his fingers, as if it knew there was a warm hole to push inside and was begging Andy to finally put himself out of his misery by sinking into your sweet, pliant body.

The demon had to force himself to make sure you were ready, Andy carefully pushing a third finger into your pussy, and letting out a restrained growl at the sight of you taking three of his fingers.

His mouth filled with drool as he watched you take him, the sudden desire to feast on your pussy nearly overwhelming him. He wanted to make you cum on his tongue and mouth for being such a good girl and taking everything he gave you.

But he told himself that could come later—after he got the answer he needed to give you everything you deserved.

To tide himself over, Andy eased his fingers from your pussy and licked your juices from where they dripped down his hand, savoring the sweet taste of your arousal. You tasted so fucking good, better than anything Andy had ever tasted in his long, long life.

His groan was so loud in the quiet room that he nearly missed the little whimper of need you let out, your hips shifting like your body was seeking the intrusion that had been filling your tight hole. The sound reached Andy’s ears and his cock jumped in his hand, the amount of blood rushing to his dick nearly making him light-headed.

Finally—finally—Andy joined you in your bed, gently shifting your body into the center of the mattress so he could fit behind you. Your nightshirt was rucked up around our waist, and his cock slipped between your thighs like it was sliding home. The stiff length rubbed against your dripping slit while he pressed flush to your back, his arms gently curling around your body and pulling you into his chest.

A soft, sleepy moan spilled from your mouth and Andy wanted so badly to kiss the sound from your lips, to drink it down and feel it fill his lungs.

Soon, he told himself. Soon he could kiss the moans from your lips and devour your mouth and ravage every inch of your body until you were well and truly his. But first he needed to get your acquiescence, and he needed to be careful with you until he got it.

You’d already been laying mostly on your belly, and Andy shifted, covering your body with his own, rocking his hips gently to fuck your soft thighs. His cock dragged against your leaking slit with every smooth thrust, coating himself in your desire and making his heart beat furiously in his chest with the need to push inside your cunt, to claim you, to feed on you until he was more sated than he’d ever felt in his life.

Andy could sense the yearning in your soul deepening as your desire ratcheted up, even while you slept. Your swirling emotions thickened in the air around the bed until the demon felt nearly drunk on you.

Your yearning, your soul—you yourself—were headier than anything Andy had ever experienced and it took all his self-control not to lose himself and rut you like the beast he was.

First, he needed your permission. An incubus could only fuck and feed on a willing woman, and Andy needed you to be willing more than he’d needed anything else in his entire life.

“Give yourself to me, sweet thing,” Andy murmured in your ear, the words coming easily after so many eons as an incubus—though the pet name was new. “Let me sink inside your divine cunt and let me drink on the longing in your heart. Let me feed on the lust in your soul and I’ll reward you with pleasure beyond your imagination.”

The demon could feel you stir beneath him, and his heart thudded painfully in his chest with a desperation he couldn’t remember ever feeling before. But it only pushed him to rock his hips faster, to grip your hip possessively while he fucked between your thighs, dragging the fat length of his cock against every inch of your dripping pussy.

Because of the rules of his kind, Andy needed your permission before he could push inside your body, but he could use every trick at his disposal to tempt you into giving him your acquiescence. An incubus wasn’t above using magic or trickery and though Andy preferred to seduce you with just his touch and his words, he would resort to magic if he needed to.

But something told him he wouldn’t need to with you. Something told Andy that you were his, and he just needed to ask you sweet enough and you’d grant him the privilege of owning your body and soul for the rest of your natural life.

“Please, my sweet girl,” he rumbled in your ear, letting you hear how badly he wanted you, needed you. “Say yes.”

Thankfully for the demon, you hadn’t roused enough for your mind to wonder why there was a strange man in your bed begging to fuck you. It was clear from your soft, sleepy whimpers that you were still asleep enough to think it was simply a very real-feeling dream.

Your hand reached back clumsily, your fingers curling around the back of Andy’s neck, using your hold to arch your spine and push your ass deeper into the demon’s lap. A keening sound spilled from your lips, your pussy gushing around the thick cock wedged between your thighs, and you finally gave your answer on a drowsy moan.

“Yes.”

The word falling from your lips tipped you over the line from sleeping to waking, and you finally realized that what you were feeling wasn’t a dream. It was really happening. There was a man in your bed and, for some reason, you’d given him permission to be there.

Andy could feel the change in your body, the way your body tensed in fear and confusion. It was natural, of course, and the demon had expected it. But what surprised him were the intricacies of your reaction—the way you still instinctively pulled him closer, your nails digging into the back of his neck, your legs squeezing together and trapping his cock against your pussy with your plush thighs.

You wanted him, Andy was sure of it, even if your mind was struggling to come to the same conclusion your body had already reached. Oddly, Andy found himself wanting to soothe you, his hand skimming down your side like he was attempting to calm a wild animal.

“Shh, sweet thing, it’s alright, you’re alright,” Andy purred, feeling your muscles slowly relax beneath his hands.

Every caress of his palm and sweet stroke of his fingers had you softening further, your body surrendering to his soothing touch. Soon, you were even letting your thighs fall open again and Andy rewarded you with a pleased rumbling sound and a kiss brushed to your cheek.

He shifted his hips back, moving until the tip of his cock was pressed against your tight little hole. That made the muscles of your thighs go taut again, but the demon also heard the way your breath hitched in your throat, like you’d sucked in a gasp of anticipation, not fear.

Andy gently kneaded your hip, his mouth grazing against the shell of your ear and tickling your skin with his beard. “Let me in, my sweet girl,” he cooed, prodding at your dripping cunt with his leaking tip. “I’ll make you feel so good, pretty thing.”

The soft, whispered pleas and praise from Andy’s lips had you relaxing again, your thighs spreading and your hips lifting in wordless offering. It was too perfect—you were too perfect. The demon couldn’t wait any longer.

Andy pushed inside your wet heat, letting out a grunt of pleasure when he felt your tightness wrapping around his stiff length. You felt so good, your pussy clinging to his cock and sucking him deeper into the warm depths of your body. He slid home until he was buried to the hilt.

As soon as he was inside you, the world tipped violently on its axis, spinning around the demon in a vicious dizzying swirl that he knew was all in his head.

It lasted only a second and by the time your bedroom came back into focus, Andy instinctively recognized that his entire universe had realigned, with you—your delicate human body and your fragile beating heart and your precious glowing soul—at the center of it.

“You’re mine—mine,” Andy growled, his voice preternaturally deep and dark, his arms closing so tightly around your body that he heard the breathe exhale from your lungs and felt your heart beating against your ribcage.

A startled squeak fell from your lips and Andy suddenly realized he was holding you much too tightly, and that he was no doubt scaring you. His grip loosened, his hands moving to comfort you, kneading your soft flesh and groping your curves until you let out a soft, happy sigh.

“I’ll take such good care of you, sweet thing,” the demon vowed in a husky voice filled with warmth. He nuzzled his face into your cheek, pressing sweet kisses to your jaw and neck, listening to your breathy little giggles at the rasp of his beard. “I only want to make you feel good, I won’t ever hurt you.”

“You…” Your voice was raspy with sleep, giving out on you before you could say what you wanted to say. Andy waited patiently while you swallowed and tried again. “You promise?”

Andy could feel your pulse fluttering wildly beneath his lips and he smiled into your skin. You were human, so you hadn’t felt what Andy had when your bodies had joined, the fusing of your spirits, and if you needed reassurance with words that he would cherish you and protect you for the rest of your days, then he would happily give it to you.

“Of course, my sweet girl, I swear it.”

The last of the tension that had been lingering in your muscles finally drained out of you, and Andy’s cock pushed another inch deeper, the tip brushing against a spot inside you that had your walls clenching down hard on his length.

The demon groaned in pleasure, pulling his hips back and sliding into you again, muffling a groan into the crook of your neck when you squeezed him so exquisitely.

“You feel so good, sweet girl, so perfect,” he murmured into your skin, fucking you in short, rocking thrusts that had you gasping and whimpering softly. “You’re taking me so fucking well, such a good fucking girl.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Andy caught the pleased smile that curled the edges of your mouth at his praise. But then you were turning your face into your pillow and muffling your moans into its softness.

Andy didn’t like that one bit. He wanted to hear all of your sounds of pleasure—they were his, just like the rest of you—so he wrapped his hand around the front of your throat. Gently enough so he he didn’t hurt you, he lifted your head from the pillow, rumbling a pleased sound in his chest when he could hear every whimper and moan that fell from your lips.

“Good girl, let me hear you—let me hear how good I’m making you feel,” Andy urged, rocking his hips harder into you, his cock spearing deep into your tight cunt with every thrust.

The tips of his fingers dug a little deeper into the sides of your neck and you moaned even louder, your cunt clutching at the demon’s cock like a vise while the rest of your body melted further into his hold. It was like you’d been waiting for him to come along and take control of you, of your very breathing, and it sent Andy reeling once again.

You were perfect. Perfect. So perfect that even that word didn’t feel like enough. It felt like you’d been made for Andy, and he’d been made for you. A perfect match. A true mate.

“Oh god, wh-who are you?” you asked, your breathy, pleasure-soaked voice pulling Andy back into the moment.

The demon nearly chuckled at the question. It was a little late for you to be asking such a thing when his cock was buried to the hilt in your cunt and every thrust of his hips pushed you closer and closer to the edge of your release. But he didn’t want you to take offense, so he wracked his lust-drunk brain for an answer, finally settling on something close enough to the truth.

“I’m the demon of your dreams, sweet thing,” he rumbled in your ear, picking up the pace of his thrusts. “The one you conjured with the desperate longing in your soul—the yearning to be fucked, to be taken, to be owned, thoroughly and fully.”

“I didn’t, I didn’t conjure anything—I swear,” you babbled, but Andy’s fingers tightened around the sides of your throat, cutting off your protests. The way he choked you only made your cunt gush and flutter between your thighs, and Andy reveled in the feeling of your slick channel gripping his hard cock.

“You don’t have to pretend with me, sweetheart, I know exactly what your soul yearns for, and I’m more than happy to oblige,” Andy purred, raking his teeth down your cheek before nipping at your jaw.

He was holding onto your neck too tightly for you to make a sound, but he felt your throat work against his palm and your pussy spasm around his cock at his filthy words. He choked you a little harder and sank his teeth into your shoulder through your nightshirt, going crosseyed and nearly cumming when you clenched down hard around him.

“What your soul yearns for is a good hard fucking,” Andy rasped when he pulled his teeth away from your shoulder, moving back to murmur in your ear. “Now, take it like a good slut and I’ll let you thank me later.”

Andy picked up the pace of his hips, pounding harder into you. The demon fucked you into the mattress while he choked the breath from your lungs, giving you only enough air to remain conscious while he savaged your soft, warm cunt with his brutal cock.

It wasn’t long before he felt you reaching the edge of your release, and he dug his other hand beneath your body, pinning you to the bed with his hips while he fucked you ferociously and rubbed your clit. You were helpless when the demon demanded you give him your pleasure.

“Cum for me, my sweet thing, cum for your demon,” Andy urged.

You shattered apart on a silent scream, your mouth wide open and eyes rolling back into your head while your pleasure consumed you. Your body shook beneath Andy’s larger form, your tight pussy strangling his cock and dragging him over the edge right after you.

Andy buried his face in the curve of your neck, groaning his release loudly into your skin while his hips stuttered and finally pressed flush to your ass. He buried his cock in your pussy and spilled his cum into the depths of your womb, flooding your body with his seed while he fed on your soul.

Out of habit, he was careful not to take too much, but he could sense that there was no such thing when it came to you. That realization made him groan all over again, another spurt of cum spilling into your cunt while he gorged himself on you until he was sated, your pussy still fluttering with the aftershocks of your release.

For a long moment, the two of you caught your breath together, Andy’s hand having loosened around your neck, though he still held you with your back pinned against his chest. He almost tightened his hold again when he felt your head moving, but you only turned your head to nuzzle your face into his beard and he rumbled a pleased sound in his chest, a smile curving his mouth.

With a gentleness he’d never known himself to possess, Andy eased his softening cock from your pussy, enjoying the way your combined releases spilled across your thighs.

He paused, scooping up his cum with his fingers and pushing it back into your hole, making you shudder and whine at the overstimulation. The demon shushed you softly, pressing kisses to your cheek and the edge of your jaw until he was done.

Then, he rolled onto his back and tugged you with him, tucking you under his arm and propping his head up with the other hand. You still wore your nightshirt, and he was still clad in most of his clothes, his pants only opened enough for his cock, but he wanted to hold you a little bit longer before he forced himself to move from the bed.

You lifted your head and looked at the demon, the two of you hanging in a suspended silence while you regarded each other.

For the first time since he’d slunk into your bedroom, Andy got a good look at your face, and his heart thumped heavily in his chest at the beauty of you. The slope of your nose, the curve of your mouth, and the intelligence in your eyes—it was all gorgeous to the demon.

As he stared at you, you looked at him in return, your eyes darting over his face while you took in his features—his crystal blue eyes and straight nose and the dark beard framing his soft mouth. Your expression was unreadable, but then a small smile curved the edges of your soft mouth, and your eyes warmed. You didn’t seem to hate what you saw, at least.

“I’ll answer all your questions,” Andy promised, his gaze falling to your lips, the desire to kiss you gripping him and refusing to let go. “But first…” He trailed off, dragging you up his body while his hand cradled your head, moving you so he could slant his mouth to yours.

The incubus kissed you gently at first, with just a brush of his lips, as if he was asking for your permission all over again. When you sighed happily and melted into him, your fingers curling in the short hair at the nape of his neck, he knew you were giving yourself to him willingly, gladly, wholly.

Andy kissed you harder then, tracing his tongue along the seam of your lips and seeking entrance that you eagerly gave him. He slid into your mouth, groaning at your sweet taste, and explored you thoroughly while you clung to him and kissed him back.

When your hips began to rock greedily against Andy’s thigh, your slick pussy leaving a wet spot on his pants, he finally pulled away and gave you a wolfish grin.

“Does my sweet girl need her demon’s cock again?” he teased playfully before nipping at your lip and drinking down your moan while he soothed it with his tongue.

“Yes, please,” you murmured sweetly, making Andy chuckle.

But the demon wasn’t about to let your plea go unanswered. He rolled you onto your back and took the opportunity to kick his pants off his legs before sliding home with one thrust. The slick of your combined releases made it easy and you both groaned as he filled you up.

“Good,” he growled, clutching you tight beneath his body and encouraging your arms and legs to wrap around his broad, muscular form. “Because I need to be buried in your cunt for the rest of my fucking life.” His voice was a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine and made you clutch him tighter, meeting every thrust with your hips while he fucked you into the mattress.

It wasn’t until the sky began to lighten from a midnight blue to a softer shade of sapphire, the sun dawning on the morning of Valentine’s Day, that the two of you were finally sated enough for you to ask all the questions that had been rattling around in your head since you woke up to the demon in your bed.

Andy answered you with the truth—every bit of it—not even questioning that he didn’t have it in him to lie to you. He told you about what he was and how he’d been drawn to you from the moment he’d sensed you.

You were skeptical at first, of course, but when he flashed you a look at his true eyes—dark pools of inky blackness like the pits of hell—and showed you a glimpse of his tail, he could tell that you started to believe him. It surprised him how much he wanted you to believe him, so it was a relief when you finally did.

Then, Andy told you about the stories of an incubus’s true mate. He hadn’t believed them until he’d met you, he explained, but a true mate was the one person in all the world that an incubus could feed on and never harm. They were literally made to be together.

Gently, as if worrying that it would be the part you couldn’t accept, he told you that he believed you were his—his true mate, the one person meant for him.

It took you a long moment to process that information, but once you did, you laughed wildly, happily, and pulled him in for a kiss. You were smiling too much to deepen it, so you settled for brushing butterfly kisses all over Andy’s face, making him smile, then grin, then laugh along with you.

“Y’know, I would find out my soulmate is a demon on Valentine’s Day,” you said, giggling and falling back down against Andy’s chest. You curled into his side, pressing your face into his sternum and brushing another kiss over where his heart was beating in his chest.

Your comment reminded Andy of what day it was and he squeezed you in his arms. “Be my valentine?” he asked playfully, pressing a smile into the crown of your head. But he couldn’t wait for your answer, urging you, “Say yes, sweet girl, say yes.”

“Yes, of course, my sweet demon,” you purred, throwing a leg over Andy’s body and sliding on top of him.

Andy’s cock, which he’d thought for sure needed at least a few more hours of rest after the long night of fucking, valiantly stirred to life between your thighs. You reached between your bodies, slipping his half-hard length into your warm pussy and settling down on his chest, breathing a soft sigh of contentment.

The two of you fell asleep like that, your soft, perfect body keeping Andy’s cock warm while you held each other close. As he drifted off, the demon felt a sense of peace and satisfaction that he’d never even dreamed he could achieve in his long, long life of walking the earth.

From that day on, Andy’s life was never the same. It was happier and more fulfilling and he never wanted for anything, not while you were in his life—and in his arms and in his bed. Together, you celebrated holidays and birthdays and life achievements as you grew together, but one day was still the most special.

For an incubus like Andy Barber, Valentine’s Day was his favorite day of the year. Not because of all the lonely, single women in the world, but because it was the day he’d found his true mate, the love of his life—it was the day he’d found you.

#andy barber #andy barber fanfiction #andy barber smut #andy barber x reader #andy barber x you #andy barber imagine #andy barber au #incubus andy barber #andy barber one shot #chris evans #chris evans characters #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans smut #witchywithwhiskeywork #witchywithwhiskey's sweethearts #buckets-and-trees

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rhaeheartzsquirrelz · 3 days ago

Text

General Sevika Headcannons

Sevika x Female Reader (Fluff)

Content (w): You’re horny in like.. once? Angst at the end, but its short.

Proofread || Note: I didn’t mean to disappear, writers block got to me :( Kinda short and this is, a tiny bit, rushed.

MEN DO NOT INTERACT!!!!

Random

Big on whistling. Does it when she needs your attention, when she’s checking you out, even when she’s teasing. She likes seeing the look on your face. Especially eye rolls, do one with a face and she’s giddy.

Insanely good at Sudoku. She picked it up a while back when Silco taught her the magic behind the numbers. Now, she’ll challenge the old man and watch as he pinches the bridge of his nose while she’s smiling smugly.

Loves when call her, or anything that belongs to her, cool. She likes being cool. That’s probably why she lets her cape fly off during fights.

Hates her glasses, mainly because they lack functionality, but enjoys seeing you thirst over them. She’d going blind and you’re over here drooing over her, she loves that. And, just for fun, she’ll wear a turtleneck; which, gets you hornier than ever.

Expression

Is she good at being romantic? No. She’s never had someone to be.. soft with. In a way, you’re the first person she’s ever opened up to. Be it letting you know her interests, her dislikes, her favourites, or just small, “not so very tough” things about her. However, she’s only just getting used to those things.

Flowers is all Sevika really knows. On her way back from her backbreaking job, she’ll grab you a few flowers from the market or straight up pluck one she randomly saw and surprise you.

Not so good with words. That woman doesn’t have a clue on how to comfort you. Why? Because she’s never been in a situation where she’s had someone talk her through her problems. Where she’s been able to let slip an ounce of vulnerability. Tragic, but she’s learning.

Things she does that she doesn’t realize

Stares so much that, before the two of met, it scared you. You thought you were her next target and lived in fear for the next week or so until the woman, finally, decided to talk to you. And, after a few months of dating you finally brought it up. She denied it at first but, when she caught herself staring at you a million more times she came clean.

“I was only appreciating you.” She brings it up so abruptly that you’re confused, “what are you talking about?”

With a sip of her whiskey, she rolls her eyes and sighs.

“Nothing..”

Her grip’s a little too hard. Her flesh fingers always end up digging into your waist whenever she’s trying to keep you close. Your girlfriend never noticed it until you had to talk to her about the slight redness she had left on your skin. And, for the next week, Sevika brought home boquets of flowers— not the cheap kind— every day until you told her you forgave her. (You didn’t know she wanted you to say so.)

So sassy that you sometimes have to take deep breaths in order to not tell her off. It’s not on purpose, she’s just so used to having that tone. One time you thought she was pissed at you when, in reality, she was just trying to find the next row for her Sudoku round.

Snores loudly. Jannah have mercy on your soul because that woman will not stop snoring for the love of her life. You’ve tried giving her different pillows, different positions, anything and everything, but nothing seems to work. Somehow, over time, you found a way to fall asleep with her deep snores beside you, even though, sometimes, you want to smack her in the face with a pillow.

Dislikes/Hates

Being ignored. Sevika will, quite literally, go insane if you ever give her the silent treatment. She’s not used to being treated like she’s not there— hell, she’s one of the most respected woman in Zaun, why would she be alright with not being acknowledged? Just to get back at you, she’ll annoy you until you break. Chewing loudly in your ear or shaking you up by heavily sitting on the couch beside you, she’s determined, and she knows you know that.

Her own overthinking. She’s been through a lot, and she doesn’t know why you still stick around with all her problems. Even the risk of you being in danger, because of her, makes her stay awake at night, she doesn’t want to lose you and she hates how her mind needs constant reassurance that you want the same thing. Even though she rarely says the amount of doubts she has, she’ll hit you with this look that only you can read. It’s a silent need that you, happily, provide. Murmuring soft words she’ll end up being embarrassed about later.

The saddest one of them all: her face. :(((( Seeing herself in the mirror makes her feel a sense of shame that she’s never fully able to verbally express. It’s the scars that make her feel self conscious, the wrinkles on her face that makes her groan, the masculinity of her jaw that makes her question herself. But, luckily for her, she’s got this amazing girlfriend, you, who will reassure all her problems away. You swoop in when you hear how quiet the apartment has gotten, follow behind her and give her a few looks of awe and comment on whatever she needs you to. Tell her she’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen and she’ll melt. Smiling like some teenager while looking away in embarrassment; in that moment, she’s thinking about how lucky she is to have you with blush on her cheeks.

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heliosunny · 3 days ago

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LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Sunday x Reader

You had always been curious about the Lucky Egg Dispenser, a mysterious device rumored to grant adventurers a lifelong companion. Most people who used it received magical creatures, loyal beasts, or helpful familiars.

“It doesn’t hurt to try” you muttered, inserting the required currency and pulling the lever.

With a soft clunk, a smooth white egg rolled out, settling at your feet. You picked it up, weighing it in your hands. The display indicated it would take three days to hatch, not an issue for you. You had raised creatures before, and you always loved trying new things.

But when the time came, and the egg finally cracked open… Instead of a creature, instead of an animal or familiar, a man stepped out.

Tall, elegant, dressed in pristine white with a knowing smile curling at his lips. His bright golden eyes gleamed as he stretched, as if waking from a long dream.

Then, his gaze landed on you.

“Ah” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk. “So you’re the one who called me.”

Before you could react, he took a step forward, grasping your hand gently but firmly, bringing it to his lips in a slow, deliberate kiss.

“You may call me Sunday” he said, smiling sweetly. “And from now on—” his grip tightened, his golden eyes never wavering from yours “I belong to you.”

Baby duck syndrome is not what you expected.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

Sunday remained close, his golden eyes studying you with a quiet fascination. There was something unsettling about the way he observed you, like you were a puzzle he had already solved but still wanted to take apart piece by piece.

Then, his expression shifted. A small, tired sigh escaped his lips as he leaned ever so slightly against you. “I feel… strange” he murmured, his voice soft, almost vulnerable.

Your instincts kicked in before you could think.

“Are you feeling weak?” you asked, scanning him for signs of illness or exhaustion. He had just been born, after all.

Sunday only gave a slow nod.

You hesitated before gently guiding him to the bed. “You should rest” you said, pulling the blanket over him. “I’ll go out and buy some food. Stay here and sleep.”

Sunday blinked up at you, his golden eyes half-lidded, his lips curling just slightly at the corners.

“Okay.” he whispered.

You left, unaware of the way his gaze lingered on your retreating figure. Unaware of the way his fingers lightly traced the sheets you had just touched. Unaware of the way he let out a quiet chuckle, his exhaustion nothing more than an act, a simple game to see how easily you’d care for him.

How quickly you’d let your guard down.

When you returned with bags of food, he was exactly where you had left him, still curled beneath the blanket.

The next morning, as you prepared for work, Sunday sat up with a slow, lazy stretch.

“Take me with you” he said.

You blinked. “You want to go dungeon crawling?”

He tilted his head. “You’re my partner, aren’t you? I should be by your side.”

You hesitated. Taking an inexperienced person into a dungeon was dangerous, even if he had come from the Lucky Egg. But from the way he looked at you, so expectant, so patient, you found yourself agreeing before you could think too hard about it.

“Alright. But first, we need to get you supplies and a weapon.”

Sunday smiled. It was a slow, knowing smile, like he had expected you to say yes all along.

The weapon shop was one of the best in town, known for testing adventurers to determine what kind of weapon suited them best.

Sunday walked in beside you, his golden eyes sweeping over the neatly arranged weapons, his expression unreadable. The shopkeeper, an older man who had seen countless warriors come and go, greeted you with a nod.

“New recruit?” he asked, looking Sunday up and down.

You hesitated before nodding. “Something like that.”

Sunday said nothing, only offering the man a polite smile.

The shopkeeper gestured toward the testing area. “Alright, kid. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Unlike most adventurers, Sunday didn’t reach for a sword or staff.

Instead, he walked toward a shelf lined with old spellbooks.

He stopped in front of one, tilting his head before picking it up. The moment his fingers brushed the cover, the book shuddered, glowing symbols unraveling from the pages, floating in the air like restless spirits.

A deep hum filled the room. Sunday's golden eyes gleamed as the magic coiled around his fingertips. He flipped the book open, running his hand over the text.

Then, with a flick of his wrist, he spoke a single word.

A shockwave burst through the shop, every candle flickering, every item rattling on its shelves. A surge of energy shot forward, splitting the testing dummy apart with precise, clean cuts, the edges of the wood scorched from pure magical heat.

The shopkeeper let out a slow breath. “…You sure he’s a beginner?”

Sunday turned to you, his smile small but unmistakable.

As if he was expecting your reaction.

The dungeon entrance loomed ahead, an eerie cavern pulsing with an unnatural glow. You had been here before, countless times, even. But this time, you weren’t alone.

Sunday walked beside you, his book tucked under one arm, golden eyes bright with curiosity. Unlike most newcomers, he showed no hesitation. If anything, he looked amused.

“Stay close” you warned as you stepped in. “Dungeons aren’t predictable.”

Sunday merely smiled. “Of course.”

The first wave of monsters lunged at you.

You raised your weapon, already preparing to fight, but before you could react, Sunday murmured something under his breath. The spellbook in his hands flipped open on its own. Ethereal pages glowed, symbols lifting into the air like drifting embers. A pulse of invisible energy rippled outward. The monsters stopped instantly. Their movements slowed, their eyes unfocused, as if they had forgotten what they were doing. Then, one by one, they turned, lumbering away, their aggression erased from their minds.

You stood frozen. “Did you… just make them forget they were attacking?”

Sunday hummed, flipping another page. “Mmm. Something like that.”

Before you could question him further, a second group of monsters appeared. This time, Sunday didn’t wait. He spoke another spell, his voice lilting, almost gentle. The creatures turned on each other.

They screeched and tore at their own kind, their minds completely overwritten, their perception of friend and foe altered in an instant. By the time you stepped forward to deal the final blow, there was nothing left to fight.

“Was that helpful?” he asked lightly.

You didn’t answer immediately. Because no matter how useful his magic was, no matter how effortless he made it seem, there was one undeniable fact. Sunday’s power wasn’t just about attack or defense. It was about control.

After emerging victorious from Sunday’s first dungeon dive, you decided to celebrate.

The bar was lively, filled with adventurers boasting of their conquests over drinks. You found a table for two, ordering food and drinks, letting the adrenaline from the dungeon finally settle.

Sunday sat across from you, golden eyes watching your every move. He hadn’t touched his drink much, merely swirling the liquid in his glass, seemingly more interested in you.

"You did well today" you admitted, taking another sip of your drink.

His lips curled slightly. "Mmm. Did I?"

You gave him a look. "You know you did."

Sunday hummed, tilting his head. "Then… will you keep me by your side?"

Something about the way he said it sent a strange shiver down your spine, but before you could respond, a loud scoff interrupted.

You turned, eyes narrowing as a group of men approached your table. You recognized them, regular adventurers, ones who never liked newcomers.

"Never seen you around before" one sneered, looking at Sunday. "A fresh recruit, huh? Got yourself an easy ride with a partner like that?"

Sunday blinked at them, expression unreadable.

You sighed, already annoyed. "We're just here to eat."

"Yeah?" Another man chuckled, resting a hand on your shoulder. "Then maybe you can spare some of those dungeon points for us, sweetheart."

Before he could finish his sentence, he froze. His eyes went blank. His fingers twitched before he abruptly pulled his hand away, stepping back as if he had touched something burning.

The other men stilled, confusion flashing across their faces as the atmosphere shifted.

Sunday was still seated, his book closed, his expression pleasant.

"You're being quite rude" he murmured.

The men stiffened. Their faces twisted as if they were struggling to understand something, as if their own thoughts weren’t their own anymore. Then, without another word, they turned. And walked straight out of the bar.

You stared.

Sunday smiled at you. "Shall we continue our meal?"

You didn't reply immediately. Because once again, he had done something—something unnatural.

By the time you returned home, the alcohol had settled in, leaving you slightly sluggish.

Sunday followed you closely, perfectly composed despite drinking with you earlier.

"You should rest" you mumbled, pushing him toward his own bed.

Sunday let himself be tucked in, golden eyes watching you with quiet amusement.

You turned to leave for the other room, but suddenly, an arm wrapped around your waist. You barely had time to react before you were pulled down into Sunday’s embrace. Your breath hitched as he buried his face into your shoulder, his grip firm.

"Stay" he whispered.

You tensed. "Sunday—"

"Just for tonight" he said. "You're warm."

Your body was too heavy from exhaustion, too sluggish from the alcohol to argue properly. Eventually, sleep pulled you under.

The next morning, you woke up sore.

Your body ached from the awkward position you had slept in, Sunday’s arms still loosely wrapped around you. You groaned, shifting slightly. That was when you felt his fingers brush against your back.

“…You're in pain?” His voice was quiet.

You sighed. “Kind of. You held on too tight.”

“I see. My apologies.”

His tone was light, casual, even. But when you turned to look at him—He was smiling. And somehow, you got the distinct feeling that he wasn’t sorry at all.

It wasn’t surprising that Sunday’s abilities had drawn attention. After the dungeon raid and his effortless control over enemies, it was only a matter of time before a guild or authority figure took notice.

They approached the two of you after a routine dungeon run, their uniforms crisp, their expressions unreadable.

“You there! Sunday, was it?”

Sunday barely spared them a glance.

“We’d like to speak with you. Your abilities are… unconventional.”

Sunday smiled. Not his usual playful one. Not his amused, knowing one. This one was cold.

“I’m not interested.”

The guild members exchanged glances, clearly not expecting such a blunt dismissal.

“You should reconsider. If you join, you’ll have access to—”

“I said,” Sunday cut in smoothly, “I’m not interested.”

The conversation ended there.

You didn’t press him about it. Not yet.

A few days later, you finally had some free time. Deciding Sunday needed to learn more about this world, you took him through the city, explaining how things worked, the market, the trading system, the different factions of adventurers. He listened with interest, though he often focused more on you than on the surroundings.

Then, while passing by a street vendor, you noticed something. Sunday had stopped walking. He was staring at a display of rings, delicate, polished bands, some plain, some adorned with small gemstones.

You raised an eyebrow. “Interested in jewelry?”

Sunday blinked, as if caught off guard. “No” he said, too quickly.

You smirked.

Ignoring his weak denial, you picked up a simple silver ring and handed it to the vendor.

“I’ll take this one.”

Sunday’s eyes widened slightly as you took his hand, slipping the ring onto his finger.

“There” you said. “Consider it a gift.”

For a moment, he just stared at it. Then, he flexed his fingers, golden eyes unreadable.

“…You shouldn’t give things like this so easily.”

You shrugged. “Why not?”

His lips parted as if he wanted to say something.

But before he could, a familiar, sinking feeling settled in your gut.

You weren’t alone.

You barely had time to react before figures appeared around you, their movements precise, their presence unmistakable.

Guild members.

And they weren’t just here to talk this time.

Sunday stepped in front of you immediately.

One of the guild members raised a hand. “We don’t want trouble. We just need him to come with us.”

Sunday’s fingers curled. You felt it before you saw it. The shift in the air. The way reality itself seemed to bend around him. One moment, the guild members were standing firm. The next, their movements turned sluggish, hesitant.

Some faltered entirely, eyes unfocused, their minds clearly muddled.

“Leave” he said

And they did.

Not because they wanted to

But because Sunday had made them want to.

By the time you got home, the tension had finally faded.

You let out a relieved breath, turning to Sunday. “That was… intense.”

He simply smiled. “I handled it.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Then, softly, you asked, “Sunday… why were they after you?”

He hesitated. His usual ease, his usual playfulness—gone.

“…Does it matter?” he murmured.

“Yes.”

Then, with a small chuckle, he looked away.

“Let’s not ruin the mood.”

And just like that, the conversation was over.

But the weight of your unanswered question lingered. And you couldn’t shake the feeling that Sunday was keeping something from you.

You couldn’t ignore it anymore. Sunday was too strong, too intelligent, too unnatural.

His level skyrocketed after only a few dungeon runs. His magic wasn’t just powerful, it was absolute. He could alter minds, erase memories, bend reality in ways no normal adventurer could.

And now, the guild wanted him.

But for what reason?

And why wouldn’t he tell you?

You decided to start with the Adventurer’s Registry.

Every adventurer, no matter their origin, had an entry in the system. Even those spawned from the Lucky Egg Machine would at least have basic data—name, level, class, stats.

But when you searched for Sunday, something strange happened. There was no record.

Not incomplete data. Not a hidden file.

Just… nothing.

As if he didn’t exist.

A cold feeling settled in your gut.

Something was wrong.

Determined, you dug deeper.

If the registry didn’t have his records, then maybe the guild—

Error

Your access was blocked.

That was odd. You weren’t a high-ranking adventurer, but you should have been able to see basic guild logs.

Why would Sunday’s information be classified?

Unless…

It was dangerous to know.

That night, you confronted him.

“Sunday,” you said firmly, stepping in front of him. “Who are you?”

He blinked, golden eyes gleaming in the dim light.

Then, he smiled. “Your partner.”

“Don’t do that.” Your voice was sharper than intended. “I looked you up. You don’t exist. Not in the registry. Not anywhere.”

He sighed.

“…You just couldn’t leave it alone, could you?”

“Sunday” you whispered. “Tell me the truth.”

He tilted his head, studying you, fingers tracing the ring you had given him.

Then, softly, almost regretfully—he murmured:

“I was never meant to be found.”

And just like that, you realized

Sunday wasn’t just powerful.

He was something else entirely.

Your investigation led you to an unlikely source, an old researcher who had once worked with the guild. The meeting was secretive, hidden within the ruins of an abandoned archive.

"You’re looking into that boy, aren’t you?" the researcher murmured, flipping through aged documents. "Sunday… That’s what you call him?"

You nodded. "You know something, don’t you?"

A sigh. The researcher slid a file toward you. The papers inside were yellowed with age, some pages missing, others barely legible. But what you could read chilled you.

[Project: Daybreak]

An artificial entity, created through forbidden magic. Designed to manipulate perception, rewrite reality itself. A prototype abandoned before completion—

—escaped from containment—

—no known weaknesses—

—do not engage without extreme caution—

Your hands trembled as you turned to the researcher. "This… This means he’s not-"

"Not human" the researcher finished. "Not even from the Lucky Egg Machine. He’s something far more dangerous."

And you had been traveling with him, trusting him, without knowing any of this.

Your breath came fast, panic setting in. "I have to—"

A shadow loomed behind you.

Too late.

A gentle hand rested on your shoulder.

A familiar, comforting voice whispered:

"You shouldn’t have seen that."

Your body tensed, magic seeped into your mind, curling like soft whispers in your thoughts.

Forget

The world blurred.

When you woke up, you were in your bed. Sunday sat beside you, reading a book, his golden eyes calm as he noticed you stir.

"Morning" he said, voice light. "You were out for a while."

Your head felt… strange.

Something was missing.

Hadn’t you been—?

You blinked. What were you even trying to remember?

Shaking the strange thought away, you sat up. Sunday smiled, reaching out to brush your hair from your face.

"You should rest more," he murmured. "I’ll take care of everything."

You nodded slowly, the unease already slipping away.

Because Sunday was your partner.

And there was nothing to worry about.

Right?

#yandere x reader #yandere #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #sunday #sunday hsr #yandere honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #yandere hsr x reader #hsr x you #honkai star rail sunday #heliosluckyegg

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bluehoodiewoozi · 22 hours ago

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I don't think there are enough words in the world to describe how much I loved this fic. Like, magical cozy romances are literally my favourite genre of writing, ever, and this was such a perfect version of it??

I apologise for the lengthy commentary but when I read the fic, I found myself compiling a list of my favourite sentences and such, and I just have so many thoughts and here they are (and this is kind of the short version, because istg if i had a physical copy of this fic, it would be covered in pink highlighter and doodled hearts and underlined lines and you get my point):

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.

ASFHSAD the fact that he was down bad for her from the moment he opened his freaking eyes makes me kind of feral. I love it. I love it. I love it. And the fact that he only seems to fall deeper and deeper for her? I am so soft for Vernon.

“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.”

I screeched! I love Seungcheol but he was really testing my patience in this fic (even if his intentions were noble) and when this scene came, I quite literally cheered. Yes, Vernon, freaking tell him! Protect your girl's honour! (Did I mention I love this portrayal of Vernon?)

“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.

Listen. I've read like 20 romance novels since last summer and this scene lowkey tops all of them. Oh, to have a gorgeous sweetheart of a man compare me to spring -- the season of beauty and youth and warmth! I am weak at the knees! I am melting!

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.”

What if I told you I squeaked in delight??? Like actually???

“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?”

He's just an affectionate guy, your honour! Nooo but this was so cute! And so funny -- I swear I spent like half the fic laughing and the other half kicking my feet and giggling. Also did I already mention this is my new favourite, most beloved portrayal of Vernon?

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?

Hansol being awkward with kids but becoming every kid's favourite guy is so on brand actually.

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.

I have nothing to say except that I was absolutely cackling at the description of Soonyoung.

“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.”

The fact that the 'you're the prettiest person alive' thing came full circle??? The fact that they're so in love? That it feels so sweet and natural somehow? Like it was meant to be?

And can I just say that your descriptions of the magic is so incredibly beautiful? Like I was in freaking awe. I am obsessed with it.

TL;DR I might become physically ill from how goddamn sweet and adorable and heart-fluttering this whole thing was oh my god. If you should ever decide to write a fic in the similar genre or something, please please please let me know and I'll forever be in your debt, you amazingly talented person <3

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.

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!”

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.

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

#avy recommends #recs: vernon #i think this is the most excited and in love i've ever been with a fic and i'm not even exaggerating

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fanzou · 1 day ago

Text

I Can Love You

♡ A Valentine’s Special

✗ Pairing: Law Trafalgar x Fem!Reader

✗ Summary: You insist that Nico Robin is the right one for him, but he wants to show you why you’re wrong.

✗ Total WC: 6.5K

✗ CW: SMUT! Reader is a little jeeeeelly of Robin and Law’s friendship, reader is also a Straw Hat, LAW HAS A BIG DICK, p in v sex, Law teases too much [let me know if I missed any]

✗ A/N: Enjooooooy!

“You know I was thinking,” you start, and he's ready to rolls his eyes. “Robin and you’d make a great couple.”

Even though he was facing the opposite direction of you, you can tell Law’s face was littered in a scowl.

After spending over 2 weeks with him, he was easier to read. It came with its perks and, well, Law was Law and there wasn’t much else.

“And why’s that?” He feigns interest in what you say, raising his head in your direction while throwing the blood littered gauze pads in the trash can next to the desk. “I think you both would complement each other pretty well. She’s quiet, you’re quiet, she’s pretty wise, you are too.” You pause for a moment, then continue, “She’s also very gorgeous.” You wiggle your eyebrows, with a mischievous look.

“I suggest you take care of those wounds on your body before you worry about who I should or shouldn’t be with.”

Known for your blunt and straightforward manner—he respected it, in truth—pirates weren’t known to talk so formally amongst each other anyways, but this, he would be lying straight out of his teeth had he said he wasn’t taken aback by today’s new invasive question you’d ask him. You’ve said some weird things, never anything about his love life—which was… nonexistent, in your own words.

And yes, you make that very clear to him. A lot.

He looks over to you with your finger to your chin as if deep in thought, like you Straw Hats even had anything to give thought toanyway, and you finally speak, "Yeah... she might be too good for you. Scratch the thought."

He chuckles, “You wound me.”

“But if you had to choose from any woman in your entire life to ever marry, who would you choose?” And he has to remind himself that you are completely and entirely under the influence of painkillers, otherwise he would have mistook you for a 5-year-old with the way the question was structured.

“Definitely not you.”

“Law!” You pout. He makes sure that his back is facing you again so he could sneak in a little smile. “That’s actually a good thing. I’m out of your league.”

He turns around to look at you, hand on his heart, “My heart truly cannot take anymore heartbreak.” He says in the most monotone voice you’ve ever heard from him.

For most, it was weird that you were left behind by your captain, but in this case—and with a whole lot of begging from the Straw hat himself—you were rushed to Law’s medical aid. Mindlessly running into battle to protect your friends from a life or death situation wasn’t so appealing when you had to face the consequences for the next month.

But you insisted that you didn’t regret your decision if it meant that everyone was safe; or in Law’s words, you were just careless and dumb.

Even though Luffy himself had to be pried away from your side by the swordsman and the cook while you were unconscious for the first few days, Law had explained to you that they had to get a move on (In your crews complete and utter reluctance) for the next up and coming battle when you came to. And when you found out, you were a bit upset to be parted away from them, but quickly found comfort in Law's presence while you were bed-ridden, cracking jokes about how you’d call him captain until your time was up on his submarine.

He looks over to your bandaged condition, high off your ass, and he almost wants to laugh. Even in your drugged out state, you talk about your friends in such high regard, and try playing wingman with him.

You disrupt the comfortable silence while he looks over some of the stuff on his desk, “You’re not gonna believe this, but I’m feeling much better. Y’think I can go back on my own ship yet?” You’re already stretching your arms out. He calls your name with his signature “-ya” attached to it in a scolding manner, “What did I say about moving?” Damn Straw hat.

You immediately deflate and look down, “You’re not letting me do anything. I feel fine.”

“It feels that way until you move a little too much and start to open your wounds again, give it another week and we’ll see how you’re doing.” He’s looking through some pages on his desk. “We can go on another walk tomorrow if you really wanna move that badly.”

“Thank you, Cap!” You beam at him, he feels his heart jump a little bit.

Another week has passed and you’re itching to go back to your found family. It’s been this way for the past three weeks, but as the month goes by, you’d just grow more and more eager.

You made him question why he was even doing this often times.

He was a little offended by your verbalized pleas to get out of here, like he wasn’t helping you. In his own little ways, he tried satiating your boredom by doing things that were almost out of character for someone such as himself. He’d even let you tell him about your fellow crew members to make you a little happier.

You’d talk about Luffy quite often, maybe because he knew him way better than anyone else.

You talked about Robin and Nami as well, about how you felt like they were the sisters you never had growing up, about how close you were to them, about how you each met, he was almost sick of how much you talked about them. But if it meant that you were doing okay then that was all that mattered.

Is that why you said that thing a couple weeks ago? About Nico-ya? There was a sincerity in your voice. Robin was a beautiful woman just as you proclaimed, she was around his age, and all the things you said about her held truth.

Maybe it was true—Nico Robin was the woman perfectly crafted for him. And he couldn’t deny her beauty.

He brushes his hand over his face--maybe out of confusion or frustration, he can't decide. But he hated the conflicting feelings that resided in his mind, they made no sense. He never had an issue with women. He didn't want to.

From the day he met you, his beating heart understood an appeal his mind couldn't, you had an annoying personality. You made dumb decisions. You said things too brutally. You never thought about yourself and it was bound to get you killed one way or another. He didn’t know if it was because he’d been spending extra time with you and getting way too familiar with you, but he’s letting himself enjoy it far too much. And he doesn’t know how he’d feel once you parted your ways. He’s never been this close to a woman before, be it the lack of female subordinates on his ship, or his lack of intimacy with just about everyone, it’s a lot for him.

When he has his arm on your hip to assist you in walking and you have yours on his shoulder, he feels his heart rate picking up a little more.

Sometimes when you get tired you beg him to carry you back to your room, he pretends that he hates it, as he leans over for you to get on his back.

And the first week was hell for him when he had to wash you, because bloodied bath and scars aside, your body was beautiful. Every inch of it. He didn't want to be a pervert. He kept chanting the words; this is a doctor and patient relationship, this is a doctor and patient relationship, this is a doctor and patient relationship in his head when his mind almost slipped to unholy places. If you weren’t in so much pain at the time you’d probably have teased him for how red he looked.

But right now you seem fine, and you and Law (sometimes Bepo) have been going on walks around the submarine every morning now to get you used to physical activity again, you fall into the routine pretty quickly and you don’t seem as depressed as the first few days you were here.

A day ago the submarine ascended out of the water and met with dry land. He was conflicted in telling you— he didn’t know how you’d react. You’re in a completely different place now, different from where you were almost a month ago, it must've be a little weird to come outside after 3 weeks.

It was something that Chopper was extremely adamant on, only because he knew your tendency to wander and extreme desire to explore anywhere you went. You were quite the adventurous one, which is why the Straw Hat himself was probably so upset over your departure.

He sits next to you in a chair from your bed, mentally preparing himself and thinking on how he’d formulate the way he would go about telling you.

Would you stay by his side? Would you immediately go someplace else, and without him?

You’re sat upright in the bed waiting for what he had to say, “We’ll be getting some stock in this new place and I want you to come with us. Just to see how you do.” Your eyes get wider with every word that comes after the next, and you’re smiling. You hadn’t smiled this hard ever since you got here.

What he doesn’t expect, is you to throw yourself onto him. “Thank you Law! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Your embrace is warm, and easy to get lost in and he refuses to let himself have that pleasure. "Do they have a carnival? Can we go out to eat?"

He rests his hand on your waist in an effort to pull you off.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, you just got your stitches off.” And he does well to hide the small smile that starts to form.

Law insists that you have to be with him, no questions asked.

If not him, then Bepo—the usual routine. It kinda made you mad, I mean, why not go with the other crew mates? You needed the new faces, but he insisted that he wasn’t as confident in their skills to take care of you versus his. Bepo was far more comfortable to be with given his warm and fuzzy embrace. And you envied the captain for having him be apart of the Heart pirates instead of the Straw hats.

You’re excited to finally go out and enjoy the traditions of this new place, you’re wearing a tight dress that looks almost too good on you.

You made a joke to him earlier and told him you were surprised that he didn’t make you wear one of his jumpsuits the rest of the crew worse, then you’re calling him Captain Law to egg on the joke further. All he does is tsk and roll his eyes, like all the time. But you can tell he’s gotten more comfortable with you, and you appreciated it.

Anyway, the town’s food was delectable, you grab some food to-go and eat it while taking a stroll through the busy streets, the smell of more food, presumably some fresh-baked bread met your nostrils and you sighed out of pure satisfaction.

Your partner, on the other hand, all but scowled.

Which gave you an idea.

“Law, let’s go try some bread. I bet they have it freshly baked the way it smells so good.” You hang off of his arm to try and get him to come with you. And he swears the close proximity shouldn’t make him feel weird. He’s been much closer and he’s seen you in much more vulnerable circumstances, but this was different.

He kinda regrets telling you about the bread thing.

“C’moooonnn, you’re a liar if you say you hate bread.” You’re pulling him by his arm now, insisting on getting him into the bakery to try some sweet bread. “I never said I hated it, I said I didn’t like the taste.” This is practically a push and pull game now, “People are looking at us. We’re keeping a low profile, remember?”

You pull away from him in complete and utter defeat and tuck your hands over your chest.

He doesn’t want to miss your touch, but once again, his heart betrays him. “You’re no fun.”

He doesn’t have to miss the skinship for long, almost instantly you’re body is hanging back off of his bicep, talking about the next subject of your absolute fascination, which now happened to be a huge teddy bear plushy that was on display at a ‘convenience’ store. Not only are you closer to him but he can feel your breasts pushing onto his arm. He shudders.

And he tries remaining calm and reminding himself to not be a pervert, you always did this. You always touched him, he touched you. You were doing this as a means for support to walk better (even though you’ve been walking fine for a while now). That’s it.

You interrupt the awkward silence between you two before he starts to feel the immense guilt come over him and he thanks you in his head. His very perverted head. “I feel so much better now that we’re on land again, I feel like I haven’t had fresh air my whole life.” You breathe in and breathe a heavy breath out. “You’re exaggerating, you were on deck not too long ago.”

Your next movement makes him tense, you lay your head on top of his tattooed shoulder. “Thank you so much for taking me out, Law.” And give his captured arm a little squeeze, inevitably making him feel your breasts so much more.

He wants to die.

Collecting himself, he clears his through, “You’re making it seem like this is a date. I’m just here to monitor your progress.” He looks at you then looks ahead.

“Why can’t it be a date?” You ask him, still hanging off of his arm.

If you didn’t feel him tense then, it was especially obvious now. And he was trying to mask how weird he felt when you said that, but every part of him felt really hot, and he prayed that his cheeks weren’t tomato red right now.

“Aww! Look at them, young love, huh?”

“Ooooh, they’re an attractive couple…”

“They’re so cute!”

He calls your name a little coldly, “Get off of my shoulder, you’re sending people the wrong message.” He actually didn’t mind it, but he swears he might die if he feels your breast push up on him one more time. “Sorry…” So you withdraw your body completely from his, (which he totally doesn’t regret at all) and you start your walk with him again, minus your body on his this time.

Letting your eyes wander once again and away from Law, you settle on a trinket store, and the idea of buying Usopp a little gift pops into your head immediately. Just because.

You walk into the store full of weird things galore. You settle on a super shiny thing first and when you pick it up, the salesmen is immediately by your side, “This is a one of a kind (doo-hicky) which can only be found on this here island! (you saw this thing at the convenience store as well) Usual price would be 20,000 berries, but for your pretty little self, I’ll make it 19!”

“Yeah, no.” He immediately deflates.

You continue your walk through the store and not shortly after you land on something that you immediately found more intriguing than the last.

“Law look at this! You would love this!” You turn around,

But there’s just one problem.

Law isn’t with you anymore.

Oh.

And when you wave the salesmen off empty-handed, he seems a little angered but bids his goodbye and fake come again! as well. You look towards the street and it seems like it’s gotten busier.

“Law’s going to kill me!”

You try fishing through the crowd and scanning for a white spotted hat, or fuzzy white fur, but everyone looks plain and simple. Which makes you think about how you guys kinda stick out like sore thumbs… anyway.

You search and search until you find that signature hat you’re looking for, excuse yourself in between what felt like hundreds of strangers and you catch up to him. You grab his hand in excitement, “Law!” Only for it to be quickly taken back, it was a stranger, with eyes that you’re sure could burn holes into you. You say your little sorry and resume your search.

After a long period of searching you’re drained, physically and mentally. You’re sure that if he found you he’d probably strap you down to your bed and not let you leave.

Well, that doesn’t sound too bad.

You’re defeated, extremely, entirely. Maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t been outside like this for what felt like forever, maybe it was the fact that the sun was setting now, or even maybe it was ‘cause you needed Law with you the most right now. You find a near bench and just sit.

And maybe that exhaustion finally got the better of you, because you swore you could see his big muscular tattooed figure paired with Bepo's white fur walking towards you as you dose off into a really, really nice sleep.

The sound of one—no, two muffled voices wake you from your slumber, your vision is blurry, and if you were right about him saving you, you could hear what you assume to be Law’s medical instruments clacking together. A sound you’ve grown all too familiar with.

“Captain, you don’t think that’s a little harsh?”

“Do you see what she pulled out there?”

Bepo is silent for a bit, then sighs, “If you think it’s best for her.” He leaves the room on his own accord, leaving just you and the very scary man alone.

“I know you’re up.” He calls you with a firmness in his tone.

Much to your unwillingness, you sit up straight, tail between your legs. He looked a bit unkempt, and you couldn't pinpoint if it was because of you or something else. In whatever way, you felt a little guilty.

“Just plain reckless and obnoxious.” He towers over you, “I have a job to complete, and that requires you being taken care of.”

He's pacing around in your room-- the room, of his ship. Not yours. You've never seen him like this. Like he was distressed. He stills and looks at you.

“You’re not coming out the rest of the week. You can wait until Straw Hat comes and picks you up.”

“What am I, a child?" You swing your legs around to meet the floor and pick yourself up.

"With the shit you just pulled, maybe."

With a scoff, "That's low, even for you, Law. It was an honest mistake and you're making it seem like I almost got us killed? You knew what you were getting into when you took me out!" you pinch your nose in a mix of frustration and some previous dizziness. "Sorry I can't be like Robin!"

Huh? Like who?

He immediately looks at you, and sees a little a tiny but of regret in your face. Like you had just got caught with a big secret.

Well maybe, that’s what it was.

“What is your deal with me and your crew mate, huh?”

Your confident demeanor is quick to fade away and if he didn’t know better, he would say that you were almost a bit embarrassed now. He really couldn’t tell what it was. You weren’t angry anymore, that was for certain. You’re not looking at him with those harsh eyes, you’ve been reduced to silence.

It makes him think a bit. He says your name in an attempt to get you to look at him and he succeeds.

“You wouldn’t happen to be…”

“Jealous?”

If there was ever a more dramatic gasp, it certainly couldn’t have topped the one that just came out your mouth. “How dare you! Not one bit!” Suddenly he has this new profound confidence to him, and his frustrations suddenly wiped clean off his mind. He looks at you with his grin all-knowing, and by God you hated when he did that. You wish you could have wiped it off and smacked it off of him.

“So explain to me, what’s the point of mentioning her again?” You don’t realize it, but he’s inching a bit closer while you’re avoiding any and all contact with him, you’re red. Red all over. Cheeks, ears, neck—everywhere. And you don’t know what to do with your hands, you can feel them collect sweat now. You don’t know why. Because his accusation was false.

He’s in front of you now.

“W-What are you doing? Law?” You scan his face because his stare down is relentless and unforgiving, and his hand finds its way up your neck and soon your chin. He’s awfully quiet. It’s unsettling. You put your hands on his chest to hopefully put a halt in the proximity. “Can you please te—”

His mouth is on yours. It’s a little shocking at first but you’re not pulling away.

And you don’t remember closing your eyes and snaking your hands around his neck, and pulling him in, but you do. His own tattooed hands found caressing your body. And the kiss was really, really passionate. He didn’t think it was gonna be this good, but he was wrong.

He was always wrong about you. Wrong about how he didn’t think you were right for him, wrong about your personality, attitude, everything. He really wanted to stay wrong until you would leave and he’d hardly have to see you again. He’s almost pissed he’s letting himself bask in your warmth and intimacy.

But now that he has it, he can’t go without it.

Few words are exchanged, but what he can do is guide you and put you back on your bed with your lips barely still connected trying to reach for each others and you think to yourself, for a man who claims to not have had so much going on in his love life he sure was skilled in whatever this was. He doesn’t want to take them off of yours. He can’t now. Your hands are under his shirt caressing every part of his torso. The feeling of his abs turned you on so much more and you felt your cunt throb a bit. You were aching for his body and he could tell, he takes his lips off yours with a whine from you that follows suit and immediately licks, sucks and kisses your neck, your audible satisfaction letting him know that he’s made you feel great.

“I need you… so bad.” You say in between huffs.

“How can I be so sure you deserve it?” He gets up, and takes his body off of yours, lips glossy. “How do I know that you won’t pass out on me, either?” He disguises his slight worry in a taunting statement, he’d try being as gentle as possible but he couldn’t make any promises.

“I won’t do that, and please Law. It was a mistake, honest. I need you inside. I wanted this so bad. Please!” You tug him by his shirt, urging him to come back down, he doesn’t. He thinks on your words a bit. You wanted this just as much as he did.

“Take your clothes off.”

He laughs at the very quick work you make of taking every single article of clothing, save for your bra and panties, off. There it was, the very image that kept him up for nights, shamefully touching himself to the thought of you on top of him, and him on top of you. Soon he joins, dropping his shirt and jeans and all else except his boxers, to the floor. He returns to your neck, his body on top of yours and you can feel his clothes dick pressing onto your clit ever so slightly, it draws a shaky breath out of you. “Do you know what you do to me?” He slides down your bra to continue his trail of kisses and licks on your nipples. “And you’re worrying about someone else. You’re so pathetic.” You arch impossibly closer into him and start to buck your hips into his crotch.

“Need it sooo bad, put it inside me already, pleaaaaase!” His dick is throbbing in his boxers now. He shakes his head “You’re not prepped.”

“I’m wet enough, please baby. I need you inside of me.” You claw at his chest in an attempt to get what you want.

But he refuses, he can’t. He goes down on you anyways, taking off your panties and the string of wetness that connected from your underwear to your cunt validated your statement. This was straight out of one of his wet dreams; you sprawled out and begging to be filled with his aching cock. He wanted more than anything to make you beg for him like your life depended on it to carry out the fantasy but, he was afraid he was just as desperate as you were right now. He continued and gently presses your legs up, swiping his thumb across your slit to test the waters (literally), your slick gathered onto his thumb and made a great lubricant, but he still wanted to make you feel good.

He licks his thumb clean and settles between your legs and gives your throbbing heat a few lips and sucks on your clit. He can feel you shake underneath him, and he separates your legs by your inner thighs to get a better angle.

The image in front of you made you hot, that’s all you could say about it. It made you hot and shaky and you thought you were going to die if you didn’t feel him inside of you soon, Law hears your pleas, and to temporarily compensate for it, he sticks two fingers into you while he’s practically making out with your clit. You look down with an almost drowsy expression, your moans get so much louder but you don’t even care anymore. He was sexy and he was eating you out. That would be your excuse to anyone who dared to get too close to the door.

His two fingers were pretty big enough to even cause you a bit of trouble alone, and his constant prodding and scissoring made you seethe a bit, but you didn’t care because the pain and the pleasure mixed together made you feel the growing orgasm in your stomach. You shout his name, “I’m gonna— I’m g-gonna cum… mmm~” your whines and moans are breathy.

But he pulls away, and you look to him in shock. He gets up from his position and he’s on his knees in front of you, and he’s threatening the hem of his boxers, you quickly forget about your failed orgasm, knowing the main course was yet to come.

It almost feels like when he pulls down his boxers, time is in slow motion. Maybe because you wanted him extra due to the lack of action you were getting, and your inability to masturbate for the longest time, were you so eager to get him in your pants, nothing prepared you for when he pulled down his underwear.

And now you understood why he wanted to prepare you.

When he pulled them down, his cock shot right up and bounced a little bit before it was like it was staring right at you. You gulp. Because that’s all you could do. And you didn’t even want to look at Law in the eye because you know he was gonna give you some smug and shitty smirk. Like a hypnosis, you get in position and spread your legs further.

“You ready?” He puts one arm next to your head and crouches down a little bit, you can’t even speak. You just hum. You’re expecting him to get it over with, but now he’s just stroking your slit with that absolute beast, “You sure you’re ready?” And now you’re forced to look away from the heavenly scene and into his dumb and beautiful eyes.

“W-What was I saying for like the past 10 minutes? Put it in!” He only chuckles at how you jump at him, demanding him like you have any control. So he slides it in, head only. With your hand on his bicep, digging nails as you’re squeezing him both down there and with your hand that looks for some kind of help in his arm.

He removes his hand that pushes his cock inside and rests in on your chin to bring your eyes up to him, the action was so gentle it could’ve made you forget what was just going down. “Just look at me.” It makes your heart flutter.

And while you do, you feel so much better about the monster that’s sliding into you inch by inch. You furrow your eyebrows at him and chant his name like some sort of ritual. He’s almost all the way in, and the beads of tears in the corner of your eyes make him twitch inside of you with a groan. He looks at you like you hold the answer the all of his problems, like he just wants to be here with you only, and that’s exactly what it was. Like he’d pass away peacefully if it meant he passed away in between your legs.

Once he bottoms out, he stays there a little bit. He gives your lips a quick kiss before he moves into you, elbows on each side of your head. Each thrust is more powerful than the last, and he mentally curses at himself for not removing your bra so that he could see your tits jump freely. You’re on a different planet at this point, nothing has ever felt better. You look into his eyes, then down at what’s connecting you and you swear you could cum right there.

“‘F-Feels… so… good. Hah…” his thrusts find a comfortable pace now, “I feel full and good. Thank yoooouuummmm!” This is what you had been reduced to, thanking him for fucking you.

“Such a fuckin’ slut. Maybe I should keep you all to myself. For good.” His thrusts pick up a little bit now, “Straw Hat’s gonna have to fight me for this.” You whine in response. It took pretty quick for you to start to get cock-drunk off of him. He didn’t take you for the overly sensitive type but here you were, begging him and thanking him for some dick. He would so use that against you later.

He kisses you again, and he’s settled into you a whole lot more. The position changed a little for his body to be closer to yours, and almost in an instant does your skin start slapping against each other. You were a moaning mess, the new position held so much intimacy and so much of him was on you. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Don’t stop. I’m almost there, I need it. Need it so bad. Let me have it!”

“Beg a little more.”

“Please, Law! Please! I need you to make me cum! Please, make me cum. Please please please…” and they don’t stop. It looks like his fantasies came to life after all.

He lets you have it because he needs it just as much as you do, the last few thrusts come a little more quick-paced and it’s hitting you in the exact spot you needed to let yourself unfold.

With a loud call to his name, you cum. You came so hard you saw stars. And he just kept fucking you through it.“‘Gonna fill you up.” He grunts and groans in an effort to reach his own moment of bliss and it’s quicker to hit him than he can comprehend, he cums inside of you and shivers a little bit in doing so, finding comfort in the crook of your neck in an effort to cover up how vulnerable he felt in that moment. No women could ever compare. He was a mess for it.

As for his fill inside of you, he’d just use his devil-fruit power to remove it, but right now he absolutely relished in the way it so effortlessly leaked out of you. You were his, officially.

Collecting his own self, he pushes himself off of you, “You’re not going cold on me, are you?” He gets up off of the comfortable position once again, peering down at your fucked-out state.

“Would you give me a second? I thought you fucked me into another dimension for like half a minute.” You huff. He gives you your time while you catch your breath, he’s rubbing circles on each side of your hips to help alleviate the strain—well that’s the doctor for you. He’ll fuck you into the mattress and then help your muscles de-stress. You couldn’t deny the gentleness and how kind the gesture was and you soften up a bit.

“Get on your hands and knees when you’re ready.” You’re up hilariously quick. And he’s already half hard from waiting for you. Your figure from the back was something he’d think back on for many nights, but getting to see your face was beyond compare.

You whimper, “I’m ready, c’mon!” You comedically and desperately wiggle your ass in front of him, he wants to laugh but it was really fucking sexy, the way you yearned for him, and he holds your hip with one hand, lining himself up once again. The hard part wasn’t so difficult this time around, and he pushes himself inside of you a little too eagerly, almost giving away his own very need. He starts to thrust into you again, and being inside of you was like heaven on earth. Though it wasn’t even 2 minutes that he was fucking you before, he was sensitive this time around, and he had to go slower to start.

“Fuck, that feels so good.” You hum a moan in a little more than approval. He’s sliding into you, watching how his cock disappears into you.

The best thing about this position is how you wouldn’t be able to see his face, how pussy-whipped he looked. If he went any faster he could cum, so he needed to start slow.

You were far past the sensual and slowness. You needed it fast and hard. “Law, go faster!”

“Don’t call me by my name. What do you call me in this room? On this ship?” Very bold in his proclamation. But he can feel your hesitance.

He smacks your ass, and you jump a bit, clenching around him very tightly. “I said, what do you call me?”

“C-Captain, please… please go faster.”

But he stops. And he swears he might be torturing his own self more, if it meant for how much you begged and whined for it, though, he wasn’t disappointed.

“If you want to go faster so bad, fuck me yourself.”

You almost want to cry from how brutal he sounded, but the vulgarity of his words makes you clench around him again. And so, you start to thrust back into him, fucking him while he watched you.

With the first few thrusts you’re already clutching the sheets below you, and it’s taking more power than you thought it would. You can’t bring yourself to stop, though. The way it felt, it was too good.

“How does it feel?”

“S-So good, Cap.” Your eyes rolled into your skull.

“You gonna make your captain cum?”

“Mhhmm~”

With a breathy voice he says, “Guess this is my reward for taking such good care of you, huh? All paid off. I don’t usually get this special treatment from my usual patients.”

“I’m n-not a usual… patient.” You hardly breathe out.

He grips both sides of your hips to make you stop in your movement and he shuffles a bit, not long after is he asking you, “Are you gonna be good from now on?”. You say yes, a thousand times over. He moves like he did before, only just picking up his thrusts quicker and quicker. The sound of his skin meeting yours makes its return only louder. “Yeah, guess you’re right. Couldn’t possibly be. You’re too special. Made just for me.”

“Yes *thrust* Captain! *thrust*”

His leg is raised to the side to get a better angle into your cunt and he feels a second orgasm quickly approaching. He’s so sweaty, drenched. His hair clings onto his forehead and his hands can barely take grip on your skin anymore. Fuck, he moans. He’s getting dizzy now. This is the best he’s felt in a while.

You, on the other hand, have your face pressed in the sheets with your orgasm on quick approach. You’re sensitive, too sensitive. And you cum with a loud whine, all your liquids spraying onto him like it was comical. He came not so far after you, with his head falling back and a breathy moan.

You both try to catch your breaths before he felt on top of you. He kissed your shoulder as his own little thank you and rolled over on the very much drenched mattress. You lay on top of him while your whole body shook and he quickly wraps his arm around your figure.

You both sit in a comfortable silence go try catching your breaths and try to pace yourselves so you could relax. And surprisingly, Law is the first to speak.

“Never pinned you for the jealous type.”

“Oh would you quit it already? You’re so good at ruining soft moments!” You push him lightly, you roll over on the other side of the mattress and he immediately grabs you back. He was so annoying.

If he asked you to stay with him, would you have done it? No, that was wishful thinking. He’s seen with his own very eyes how much Straw Hat loved you. This is the thing he dread the most about this, he shouldn’t have done it. He brought you into his own sick and dark fantasy of keeping you here just for him and now he regrets it completely. It was wishful thinking on his end, all of it.

“‘This a one time thing?” He asks to try and ground himself.

But you’re quick, “No, better not be!” You get up and sit on the bed, and he doesn’t understand how you’re up. He should be the one to get up. “Unless you declare me your enemy once I leave.” Your fingers are dancing on his chest, tracing the tattoos on his body, “But I’m fine with being with you like this. It can be our little secret anytime we see each other. Especially that captain thing, you freak.”

He laughs, and your words do bring him that relief. He pulls you by your arm for a tender kiss, something you were a bit surprised by.

He was fine with it, he’d take what he can get for now, as long it meant he could be with you.

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