#mild intentional neglect

[soullessjack]

as corny as i think it is to say “X character would hate Y fan because of Z opinion” (depending on the context) , jack would indefinitely hate anyone that said Mary deserved to die or called him killing her the best thing he ever did

[heejake-hoon]

Please officer ...

S: The one where Officer Jay makes sure to fuck all the senses out of you. Warnings: Jay is anything but gentle, very mean Jay, very desperate reader, spitting, choking, begging (a lot), names calling, very messy and kinda nasty sex... A.N: this is pure smut, there is barely a plot.

You sank obediently to your knees before the stern-faced officer, hands trembling with a heady mix of arousal and trepidation as they hovered over his belt buckle. Meeting his intense stare, you unconsciously wet your lips in a silent plea, hoping to convey your desperation for him to claim you.

But Officer Jay was unmoved by your blatant attempt at seduction. His expression remained impassive, brows raised in a mild show of bemusement as he simply stared down at you, making no move to aid or deter your efforts.

Swallowing hard, you slowly untucked his crisp shirt from the waistband of his trousers with quivering fingers, forcing yourself to hold his gaze all the while. You were determined to prove your utter submission, to shatter that maddening veneer of control until he couldn't resist ravishing you utterly.

With each button you undid, you leaned in closer, your warm breath ghosting in a teasing caress over the trail of toned abdomen you gradually exposed. Your lips brushed feather-light against his heated skin as you worked your way lower and lower still, until finally nuzzling against the coarse hair of his groin.

His length was a heavy, throbbing presence straining against the front of his trousers, begging for release from its confines. You nosed boldly at the prominent bulge, mouthing hot and slick along the outline as best you could through the barrier of fabric. All the while, your eyes remained locked on his, silently challenging that iron grip he had on his restraint.

A muscle ticked sharply in Officer Jay's clenched jaw as he stared back at you, his hands fisting rigidly at his sides. You could see the barest flare of his nostrils as you brazenly outlined every ridge and vein of his immense girth with your lips and tongue, leaving behind a shining trail of saliva on the material.

But still he refrained from touching you, from burying himself in the welcoming heat of your mouth as you knew he was aching to do. Never mind that his piercing gaze was bruisingly intense as it roamed your features, that his chest was heaving just the slightest bit more rapidly with his shallow breaths.

Another piteous whine slipped free as you realized just how unaffected by your efforts he appeared. Wetness seeped from your neglected core, trickling in shameful rivulets down your inner thighs as desperation swiftly eroded any shreds of self-restraint.

Grabbing his hips in your hands, you rutted your cheek shamelessly against the rigid line of his cock, your entire body trembling with need. "Please..." you rasped, sparing one pleading glance up at him through the veil of your lashes. "Please, Officer...I need you."

He said nothing, made no move to touch you as he simply drank in your disheveled, craving form for one torturously protracted moment. Just when you were certain you would go mad with lust for him, another guttural groan slipped unbidden from between his clenched teeth, the sound vibrating in that gravelly timbre that had haunted your fantasies.

And then, before you realized his intention, one corded forearm lashed out in a blur. You felt a sharp pang of discomfort as your hair was gripped in an unforgiving fist, wrenching your head back at a punishing angle to gaze up at him. His face was utterly thunderous, cheeks flushed and pupils blown wide as he finally relinquished the last shreds of his vaunted control.

"You wanton little slut," he seethed, each word ground out between grit teeth. "You'll get what you're begging for, and more..."

Jay's grip was unrelenting, bordering on brutality as he used his fistful of your hair to roughly yank you even closer to his straining erection. His free hand made short work of his trousers, allowing his throbbing length to spring free at last.

"Open," he growled, the steel in his voice making it clear it was an order, not a request.

You immediately complied, lips parting in eager obedience. But just before he could sheath himself in the welcoming heat of your mouth, he paused. His lust-glazed gaze roamed boldly over you, drinking in the desperate sheen of arousal glazing your features.

"You wanted this, didn't you?" His words were sandpaper rough, visceral and dripping with unchecked desire. "To get caught and punished like the depraved little slut you are?"

A piteous whimper slipped free at his brutal phrasing, your thighs unconsciously shifting in a silent plea for friction, for anything to alleviate the molten ache between them. But Officer Jay was merciless, ignoring your wanton display and tightening his grip in your hair in pointed warning.

"Answer me when I ask you something," he thundered, his free hand roughly gripping your chin to hold your focus when you simply whimpered again.

"Y-Yes!" you finally managed, the single word emerging high and reedy and utterly desperate. "Please, Officer... I need it. I need you inside me so bad!"

His eyes and nostrils flared at your explicit admission, drinking in your lewd supplication with naked hunger. For one tantalizing instant, his control seemed to waver before reassembling itself, his expression hardening once more into an imperious mask.

"You're going to have to beg better than that if you want to feel my cock stretching that greedy little pussy," he sneered, dragging the broad head along the seam of your lips, smearing the glistening bead of arousal there in an obscene tease. "Show me how desperate you really are for it."

Your moan was shamelessly loud at the blatant promise laced into his rough words, sounding broken and incoherent even to your own ears. Any remaining vestiges of pride or propriety burned away under the searing onslaught of your lust. You would've professed your fealty to Satan himself if he asked in that moment, so long as he rewarded you with that thick, painful-looking length sheathed fully inside you.

Jay's grip tightened further, to the point of pulsing pain as he leaned in until his face was just inches from yours. His scorching gaze skewered you, pupils swallowing up nearly all the brown of his irises as molten lust and vicious control warred for dominance.

"Well?" He rumbled, voice like gravel ground underfoot. "I'm waiting..."

The hint of challenge, of threat, in his resonant tone snapped the final thread tethering you to coherent thought. With a broken, garbled cry, you strained up as far as you were able in his unrelenting grip, mouth stretching wide in mute, mindless entreaty.

A snarl twisted Jay's features into something fiercely primal as he watched your submission play out. He released your hair abruptly, only to fist both hands into the sweat-dampened strands and yank your head back until it was nearly bent in half.

Then, without any further preamble, he shoved himself fully into your waiting mouth.

A raw, hoarse sound of mingled pleasure and relief rasped from his throat as he bottomed out against the back of your constricted airway. You gagged indelicately around his punishing girth, eyes watering and throat convulsing in a desperate bid to accommodate the thick invasion.

But any protest you may have attempted was ruthlessly silenced as he immediately established a ferocious tempo, slamming into your mouth with piston-like thrusts. Spittle and errant strands of your hair whipped wildly with each savage drive, his testicles slapping with emphatic cruelty against your chin.

"That's it, take it like the cock-hungry slut you are," Jay snarled, his voice utterly wrecked with lust. "Feel how hard your desperation's made me, you filthy little one."

You sobbed around his punishing length, saliva spilling obscenely down your chin with each ruthless impalement. But the cruel degradation only inflamed your arousal further, your core clenching with each molten pulse in shameless yearning to be claimed next.

As if he could sense the depths of your depraved cravings, Jay wrenched back abruptly and shoved you away with enough force to nearly topple you over. You instinctively flinched back from him with a broken, keening cry of distress, fearing he planned to leave you hanging on the precipice once more.

But his ferocious gaze swiftly disabused you of such notions as his eyes roamed over your disheveled and thoroughly ravaged form with naked hunger.

"Get on the fucking table," he barked, already shrugging off his jacket and flinging it carelessly aside. "Hands against the wall where I can watch you try not to scream for me."

An electric thrill zipped down your spine at the unyielding command in his tone, wholly eviscerating your plans to begin pleading once more. You scurried to obey without hesitation, nearly stumbling in your haste to clamber atop the metal table and press yourself against the concrete wall as he'd ordered.

Your fingers splayed helplessly against the rough surface, trembling with equal parts trepidation and frenzied anticipation. Before you could so much as draw your next breath, you felt the rough caress of his palms gliding up the sensitive backs of your thighs, dragging deliciously along your sensitized flesh.

Deftly, his hands hooked under the hem of your skirt and shoved the restricting material up over your hips, bundling it around your waist and leaving you completely exposed to his ravenous stare. Your panties were similarly stripped away with one sharp, impatient tug, ripped off and fluttering forgotten to the floor at his feet.

You whimpered at the vulnerable position he placed you in, undeniably on display for his lavish consumption. Your slick, glistening folds were utterly bare to his intense scrutiny, your arousal undoubtedly coating your inner thighs in a mute testament to your complete desecration under his touch.

"Fuck, look how fucking soaked you are for me," you heard him grate, the growling words punctuated by the crinkle of a foil packet being ripped open behind you. "Like a bitch in heat, just desperate to be bred and pumped full of my seed."

A piteous whimper was your only reply, your arms already trembling with the strain of holding position under the onslaught of his filthy praise. The wet heat between your splayed thighs grew slicker and more insistent with each crude phrase falling from his lips, your body urging you towards the pinnacle of release you craved.

"Hold still," was his only brusque warning before the rounded head of his cock notched itself with unerring accuracy against your weeping entrance.

Then, with one blindingly vicious thrust, he sheathed himself fully inside your scorching, velvet depths.

You cried out in a strangled melange of pained shock and wanton relief as Jay's considerable girth speared into your scorching walls. Not an inch was left unfilled, the stinging burn of your pussy's brutal parting only stoking the inferno raging within you higher.

He gave you no quarter to adjust, no chance to savor the exquisite penetration you'd been yearning for. With a bestial snarl, he immediately set a pace so harsh, so ferocious that your cries evaporated into a mantra of breathless whines.

"F-Fuck...oh god,yes!" Each savage thrust punched the words from your lungs, sweat-dampened palms scrabbling for purchase against the unforgiving concrete. His hands were vicelike on your hips, nails scoring crescent moons into your flesh as he used his brutal grip to yank you back onto his jackhammering cock.

The shock of penetration soon mellowed into a delirious, mind-shredding pleasure that sizzled with delicious friction. Your cunt clenched and fluttered wildly around Jay's invading length, desperately milking him as if to draw his seed from the very depths of his being.

Each wringing constriction of your inner muscles was met with a punitive slap of his hips that jarred you viciously against the unforgiving surface, uncaring of the abrasions and bruises surely blossoming along your front. Every grunt, every profane curse and fragmented exhortation tumbling from his lips in that gravelly rasp only served to incense your lust higher.

"That's it, you cockwhore...fucking squeeze me. Take what you wanted so fucking bad!"

Unable to form any semblance of coherent response, you could only whine and shudder against the merciless onslaught. The tiny bit of give the table permitted allowed Jay to change the angle of his strokes, until he was prodding against that swoolen, ripened knot buried deep at your core.

Blindingly intense rapture ripped through your overwhelmed senses with each brushing against that magic button. A tidal wave of euphoria crested ever nearer, threatening to drag you under into sweet, welcome oblivion.

"Please...please I'm gonna..." You could barely gasp the disjointed pleas, head thrashing in mute entreaty for the release you so desperately craved. To your shock and dismay, Jay reacted by abruptly withdrawing his length from your clenching sheath with an imprecation.

Before you could so much as vocalize your confusion, you were being forcefully manhandled. With enough strength to make your bones protest, he hauled you backwards until your knees impacted the unforgiving tabletop with bruising force.

Your head lolled back helplessly, jaw hanging open and chest heaving with exertion as his hands remained fisted in your hair. The position arched your spine at an obscene angle, leaving your weeping pussy lewdly displayed and utterly vulnerable to his merciless assault.

"Needy little slut" he snarled, dragging two calloused fingertips along your swollen, flushed folds. "You'll come when I tell you to come."

Then, without further warning, he hilted himself to the throbbing root in one punishing snap of his hips.

Your rasping mewl of stunned pleasure was abruptly silenced as Jay's large palm wrapped itself around the slender column of your throat. Not choking, at least not initially, but rather a full-handed vise caging your airway with the mere promise of asphyxiating cruelty.

His fingers clenched almost idly, stealing your breath in erratic, gasping hitches with each languid flex. The lack of oxygen only made you grow lighter-headed, more pliant and malleable as he took his barbaric pleasure from your body.

"Look at you," he sneered in a tone dripping with vicious scorn. "Just a cock-starved set of holes for me to use and discard when I'm done."

Drool leaked freely from the corner of your lax mouth at his degrading taunts, spit pooling obscenely on the surface beneath you. You were utterly helpless to do anything but buck and writhe mindlessly along his pistoning length as he held you perfectly immobilized.

Every slick retreat of his girth granted you only the barest whisper of relief before he would surge forward once more. The squelching cacophony of flesh meeting flesh echoed lewdly, punctuated only by your gurgling whimpers each time the pressure on your airway spiked.

"You wanna come, whore?" His face was a rictus of lust-maddened cruelty looming over you. "Think you've earned the privilege of squeezing down nice and tight on my cock?"

The paltry dredges of your rationality screamed at you that any sounds you attempted to make would be the final wisps of oxygen leaving your lungs. But the insane frenzy of desperation had you nodding frantically anyway, jaw working soundlessly in feverish desperation.

His smirk was absolutely feral as his grip shifted from vise-like to full constriction, crushing your throat with merciless strength. You immediately flushed crimson, vision tunneling to pinpricks as he sustained the pressure beyond the brink of blacking out.

When he did finally release you, it was with a negligent flick of his fingers, as if casually swatting a gnat. You sucked in a ragged, wheezing gale of air, chest lurching violently as you gulped for breath. Only the sound of his gruff laugh grounded you, sharpening your focus back to his hulking frame still buried to the root inside of you.

"Pathetic," he scoffed, giving a rough shove that sheathed himself impossibly deeper. "Gonna have to do better than that if you want my load glazing those pretty little tits of yours."

Your piteous whimper was cut off as a fat rope of saliva abruptly arched from his sneering grin to splatter against your cheek. He shifted his stance, wedging your legs even more obscenely apart as his pace grew more punishing...

The sweat-slick valley of your cleavage bounced and jostled with each violent collision of his hips, your tightly-clenched nipples a shocking crimson against the ivory of your skin. You were nothing more than a plaything, a selfish source of friction for his own gratification as he railed you into insensibility.

And somewhere in the dissolute wasteland of your fractured psyche, you reveled in the abasement of it all.

When his next contemptuous glob of spit landed hot and thick against your parted lips, you instinctively swept your tongue out to lap up the degrading offering. The copper-bitterness of his saliva only seemed to add an extra thrill of shame, your swollen inner walls clenching in feverish spasms around his plunging length.

"That's right, been waiting for you to show me what a greedy little cumslut you are," he taunted hoarsely, punctuating the sneered words with an especially brutal ram of his hips that punched the breath from your lungs and sent stars exploding before your vision.

You were so perilously, achingly close...pleasure building and winding ever tighter like a compressed coil spring. All it would take was one more elemental force to send you careening over that dizzying edge into the abyss of oblivion.

Your surrender must have been scrawled plainly in your lust-glazed features, for Jay's expression twisted into one of wicked triumph. With his free hand, he wound the tangle of your hair around his fist once more, pulling your head back in an excruciating arch that left your throat a taut, tempting column.

His lips brushed the feverish skin there, maddeningly gentle in stark contrast to the feral hammering of his hips as he growled, "Then you'd better fucking come for me, whore."

Before you could so much as process the order, the merciless heel of his palm slammed squarely against your exposed windpipe.

The explosion of pain and asphyxiation was glorious in its intensity. What little remained of coherent thought shattered into a kaleidoscope of white-hot bliss as your world narrowed to his  punishing cock and the exquisite torture of his iron grip constricting your airflow.

Even as you choked and thrashed under the debilitating onslaught, the barbaric cadence of his strokes never flagged for an instant. A high, reedy whine you could scarcely believe was issuing from your own abused throat threaded through the darkness encroaching on your consciousness.

Somewhere in the whiting-out tempest of blinding euphoria, you became vaguely aware of the molten clench of your inner muscles fluttering wildly along his invading length. You were cumming...shattering into a million kaleidoscopic fractals of pure, incandescent rapture as your climax crested in a dizzying wave.

The punitive pressure on your windpipe crested in a singular, explosive squeeze right as your release peaked, choking off what little air remained in your lungs. Vertigo and delirious elation conflated into a disorienting vertigo that had you bucking and writhing like a thing possessed.

How long the excruciation of blacking out lasted, you couldn't say. But when the darkness finally receded, you found yourself slumped limply across the tabletop in a sweaty, boneless sprawl. Ribbons of spit and mucosal strands clung obscenely to your gaping mouth and hollow cheeks, utterly debauched proof of your ruination.

A low, raspy chuckle from somewhere above you cut through the lingering cotton wool wrapped around your senses. You managed to crack your eyes open just enough to make out Jay's imposing silhouette looming over your prone form, sleeves shoved up to his elbows and cheeks still hectic with exertion.

"Fuck..." he grunted in a tone caught between disgust and grudging admiration. His large palm connected with your clammy cheek in a dull slap that had your eyes rolling back in a fresh frisson of euphoria. "That's how a desperate little slut begs for my load."

Latent vestiges of his thick, musky arousal still clung to every shallow inhale, overpowering and intoxicating. You instinctively licked your lips to chase the rich, heady flavor even as he threaded his fingers back through your disheveled strands and hauled your head up off the surface with a merciless yank.

At some point, he'd sheathed his still-rigid cock from within your clenching, sloppy depths. The bloated, twisted length hovered mere inches from your slack features, dribbling thick ropes of pearlescent fluid from its bulbous crest onto your tongue as he aimed the final pumping contractions of his release.

"Open up," he growled, the words emerging strained and guttural as he fought the throes of orgasm shuddering through his muscular frame. "Gonna fill that pretty cocksleeve of yours with every fucking drop..."

The commanding rasp of his voice brooked no disobedience, not that you could have mustered anything resembling refusal at this point even if you'd wanted to. No, the taste of his briny, salty issue flooding your palate was the culmination of your most primal desires.

With a sob of pure, wanton bliss, you stretched your jaws wide and allowed Jay to guide his weeping length onto your tongue. You swallowed around the generous streams he pumped directly down your abused throat in reverent, subservient gulps, tears of rapture leaking freely down your ravaged features.

He grunted sharply with each protracted pulse, his balls drawing up tight and tight as he emptied his copious load straight into the succulent hollow of your mouth without mercy. Only once he had drained himself to the very last clinging drop did he withdraw, leaving you to lap and dribble like a bitch in heat at the lingering dregs.

"Messy fucking whore..." was all he seemed able to grind out, his voice sandpaper-rough but utterly sated.

This was not supposed to be this long but i guess m just so horny *-*

[dark-konohagakure2]

i’m so glad you’re back! your blog is like the only imagines blog i like 💖 could you write overprotective dad hashirama with his daughter? he barely lets her out of the house or do things by herself because she’s too precious to him, plus he always tells her she’s not capable of doing anything by herself so she needs him to control her and tell her what to do

tw: incest, parent/child, daughter complex, possessiveness, infantilization, isolation, grooming, mild misogyny, age difference, blowjobs

All characters depicted are 18+

Ever since his daughter was born, Hashirama understood his new purpose in life, not just to protect his village, but to keep his child safe from the world at all costs, Hashirama was obsessed with her from the moment she was born.

Right from the very beginning he's overprotective, only allowing himself and Mito to be around their daughter, and even then Hashirama still hogs her from her mother, sometimes even neglecting his work to spend time with his precious little princess.

At first Hashirama's intentions are purely innocent, at least as innocent as a possessive obsession with his own flesh and blood can be, but when she reaches adulthood, his feelings begin to change. There has always been an underlying desire for her in everything that he did, but now that she's a woman, those twisted desires are brought to the forefront.

By this time Hashirama will keep her inside nearly at all times, making sure she sticks to more proper, womanly duties, it's more appropriate for a girl like her to stay inside with her daddy all day, not going outside like some sort of rebellious tomboy.

"Dear, you know you can't go outside, it's far too dangerous. Why don't you try cooking something instead? That's a good, girl hobby."

He also has a tendency to treat her like a child despite her age, going almost every little thing for her, like cutting her food and tucking her in. If she calls him out on this incredibly strange behavior, he'll simply smile and tell her that he loves caring for his little girl.

He's always had thoughts about using her for his own pleasure, but Hashirama never even thought about acting on it until she reached maturity. He would spend many nights fisting his cock to thoughts of his own daughter, all while in bed right next to his sleeping wife.

When he can finally no longer control his dark urges, he'll convince his daughter to give him a blowjob. He can easily talk her into it, he's made himself the center of her entire universe since the day she as born, so convincing his good girl to give him head is very easy.

Hashirama praises her excessively throughout the entire act, holding her head gently and stoking her hair as he slowly thrusts into her mouth, taking care to make sure she doesn't gag or experience too much discomfort while he uses her for his own pleasure.

"A-Ah~ G-Good girl... You're making daddy feel so good, baby girl~ Daddy loves you very, very much..."

Hashirama loves his daughter more than anything, so that's exactly why he keeps her all to himself. She shouldn't worry herself with being a shinobi or an independent woman, she's better off being Daddy's girlfriend instead.

[frankingsteinery]

there are many interpretations on just what the “nervous fever, which confined me for several months” that victor experienced was, but i don’t think anyone has yet put forward the idea that it was based on hypochondriasis. (in general i will refer to this source, a practical treatise of hypochondriasis written by john hill in 1766, in regard to just what hypochondriasis is–it’s a very interesting read and i would recommend it!)

hypochondriasis (which now carries a different meaning–i am not referring to hypochondria i.e. abnormal anxiety/fear about one’s health) was a non-specific condition that encompassed many varieties of the “nervous illnesses” of the 18th century. the concept was derived from theories of bodily humors and was once considered a special form of melancholy resulting from an excess of black bile, or alternatively that it was an obstruction in the body caused by high emotion, among many other explanations–but in hypochondriasis, and in the 17-18th century in general, the idea that the health of the mind and the body were inherently linked was HUGE. while it’s not readily definable it was generally seen as the masculine equivalent to hysteria in females, which is thematically important in ways i’ll get into later.

in short, hypochondriasis: 

is caused by grief and/or “fatigue of the mind” i.e. intense, prolonged study or focus on one thing, particularly night studies

those who are educated, studious, isolated, sedate and inactive (not among nature), are more susceptible

typically begins and reoccurs in autumn months

results in self-isolation, depression, a “disrelish of amusements,” wild thoughts or overthinking on one subject, and a sense of oppression in the body

physically, it causes low appetite, heart palpitations, dizziness, confusion, night sweats, emaciation, convulsions, etc

fits of high emotion, excessive exercise, and shock can cause relapses, even months or years after the first event

is said to be cured by mild medicine, but no chemistry; but above all, it is cured by the study of nature, and hypochondriac people should get frequent air and exercise

the parallels to victor are rather blatant. the study of natural philosophy becomes victor’s “sole occupation,” and he describes being “animated by an almost supernatural enthusiasm.” in the treatise, those subject to the disease are said to be those who have “greatly exerted [the mind’s] powers” and have ”determined resolution…intent upon their object [of attention]”. It’s also noted that “whatever tends to the ennobling of the soul has equal share in bringing on this weakness of the body.” 

it is this focus on creating new life, and later, this self-isolation, that results in his “cheek becom[ing] pale with study,” and his “person had become emaciated with confinement” and he “seemed to have lost all soul or sensation but for this one pursuit.” it is to the extent that his eyes become “insensible to the charms of nature” and he neglects correspondence with his friends and family. he becomes “oppressed by a slow fever…and nervous to a most painful degree” and, like those with hypochondriasis, believes that “exercise and amusement would then drive away incipient disease.”

it’s also notable that the height of victor’s illness–directly after the creature’s creation–occurs, like in hypochondriasis, in autumn. during it, he describes many of the physical symptoms attributed to hypochondriasis: weakness, heart palpitations, dizziness, wild thoughts and paranoia, convulsions, etc. it’s only after henry’s care that he is able to recover, and in particular, after viewing a scene of nature:

I remember the first time I became capable of observing outward objects with any kind of pleasure, I perceived that the fallen leaves had disappeared, and that the young buds were shooting forth from the trees that shaded my window. It was a divine spring; and the season contributed greatly to my convalescence. I felt also sentiments of joy and affection revive in my bosom; my gloom disappeared, and in a short time I became as cheerful as before I was attacked by the fatal passion.

throughout the novel, these symptoms will reoccur (relapse) in times of high emotion, shock and stress–justine’s trial, the confrontation at the alps, during the creation of the female creature, etc. overall he meets the marks of hypochondriasis nearly down to a T.

and, returning to the idea that hypochondriasis is essentially the male equivalent of hysteria, which was only attributed to females at the time, this is relevant because frankenstein is a female narrative synthesized through a male narrator. by extension victor also meets many of the marks of hysteria. in general, the creature’s creation feminizes victor: victor remarks that he becomes “as timid as a love-sick girl” during his illness and describes his fever as “painfully nervous” and alternating between “tremor” and “passionate ardour.” during and after the creation process, victor exhibits what was then perceived as “feminine” emotional freedom–anxiety, weakness, self-doubt, fear, etcetera. considering this in-context that 1) victor’s labors allude to mary shelley’s own traumatic experiences with childbirth 2) this was written in a turning point in history where high-class men who had "nervous" senses/feelings were beginning to be seen as effete instead of stylish (they used to be thought fashionable because they were more in-touch with their senses than the lower classes or something to that effect), this all seems very intentional.

now, what do i think victor actually had (since humorism has, obviously, since been disproved)? a 2-for-1 psychotic disorder + whatever concoction of germs he acquired from sticking his hands in corpses for weeks on end combo. but that’s for another day!

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart, Chapter 13 (Human Alastor x Married Reader)

Chapter Trigger Warnings: Domestic violence Chapter warnings: Domestic violence (mild?), references to addiction.

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Alastor plagued your thoughts during the day, and you found little reprieve in the depths of slumber. The very idea of him was a ghost that danced across your mind whenever it grew still. You would close your eyes and his smile would light up the darkness behind your eyelids. The ever present idea of him promised peace. 

It was a refuge you were terrified to seek shelter in and yet in the darkness of your sleep he was still there, holding his hand out to you. The version of him in your dreams was a sweet devil, promising kindness and warmth for your soul in return. 

“You dumb bitch,” The boom of Laurence’s voice shocked you out of your thoughts. How long had he been raging? When had he started? You’d been so lost in your thoughts that you hadn’t noticed him starting in on you as you stood, a plate of toast in your hands, in the kitchen. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, not sure what you were sorry for but knowing that you certainly would be if you had just been paying attention. Pulling his arm back, he wound up and launched the apple at you in a way that looked too much like a baseball pitcher. He wasn’t a man for playing sport, but you prepared for pain, anyway. It didn’t wouldn’t take much to land a powerful hit from across the small kitchen. 

It landed with a sickening splat against the wall, saving you from a bruising blow. His poor aim wasn’t enough to save you from the splatter of slimy apple flesh. Cold apple mush dotted your arm, churning your stomach as your mind desperately tried to catch up. 

“Who the fuck lets food rot in the basket?!” Laurence loomed closer, anger blazing in his eyes.

Oh. 

That’s what had set him off and you told yourself it made sense. You told yourself it was a perfectly reasonable thing for him to be this upset over. It was a waste of food and a waste of money. It was disrespectful to your husband and his hard work to provide for you to allow waste. 

It hadn’t been an intentional act of waste, though. You had dropped the apple a few weeks ago, and it bruised. It hadn’t been your intention to neglect it. It just ended up being at the bottom of the basket. You intended to bake with it since it wouldn’t be good for raw eating any longer, but it slipped your mind. Time went by and it just hadn’t gotten used, that was all. 

A simple accident. A slipped thought from the busy brain of a housewife. 

“It was just one,” you protested, resisting the urge to wipe the cold splatter from your arm. It would only anger Laurence more. He was an angry beast, and you knew your only defense was in your stillness. “I was going to put it out with the scraps after I finished the washing up.” 

“You think I just fucking give you money to waste?!” It didn’t matter how still you kept your body when you could not still your treacherous tongue. The blow of his fist delivered to your ribs knocked the air from your lungs. He hardly put any force into the hit, not needing to in your already injured state. The still healing fractures screamed in pain, throbbing with each beat of your heart as you fell to the ground in a crumpled heap. 

You waited, eyes closed and hands clutching your side. Each slow, deep breath brought waves of nausea inducing pain. You tried to focus on the feeling of the hard tile under you while listening for any sounds of your husband advancing on you. Muscles pulled taut while you waited, unsure if this was going to be the end of the discipline he would dull out for the infraction or not. 

The pain in your side was immense, blinding, but it didn’t feel like the still healing fractures were re-broken. Laurence was shouting over you, words lost to the sea of pain your mind was floating in. With every breath you struggled to take, you took stock of how it felt like the bones in your chest were moving. Would you really know if he had shattered the fragile healing? 

While Laurence yelled, you thought about Alastor. He had wormed his way into your thoughts again while Laurence dominated your attention as best he could. You hadn’t been aware of it. First you were thinking of your ribs and then the soft touch of his hand, brushing lightly against your skin as he had wrapped them in thick bandages. 

If Alastor had a wife, he wouldn’t be the type of man to hit her. You know that. You didn’t know how you did, but somehow, deep in your heart, you knew it was true. Behind your closed eyes, you pictured Alastor with his eyes bright and hair lit up with sunlight. The smile on his face was peaceful. It was the smile he had worn when he talked of his mother. 

While Laurence’s footsteps faded through the house, you replayed the sound of Alastor’s laugh in your head. It was rich and warm, full of mirth. The front door opened and closed while you listened to Alastor call you Darling, watching the way his mouth formed the word, corners upturned as he spoke. 

As Laurence’s car roared to life out front, you thought of the warmth of Alastor’s hand resting on your lower back. It was such a sinful thing to indulge in. You had no business thinking about the way your heart beat a little faster at his too casual touches. 

It was early in the evening; the sun having only just tucked itself behind the horizon line. The band was in full swing, vibrant music infusing the patrons of the speakeasy with an energy far greater than what was typical in other settings during the still early hour. 

People danced, drank and talked. Women flung around the dancefloor, trust in their partners and the well practiced moves to keep them from crashing into each other or the tables scattered around the edge of the dancefloor. The air was alive with the reckless joy that good drink and better music brought. 

Mimzy was up on her feet, fluttering around the floor, talking to anyone and everyone. She was an under recognized master at the craft of entertainment and hospitality. It didn’t matter to her at all if they wanted to talk to her, she would ensure every one of her guests got what they wanted from their night out if it was within her power. 

Alastor didn’t mind the lack of personal attention for himself. Tonight he wanted to be alone with his thoughts, his drink, and the band. 

On the other side of the lounge, Laurence moved through the crowd. It was hard not to notice his bright blond hair or annoyingly loud voice. 

Alastor knew Laurence was aware of his eyes on him, following him as he made his greetings and flirted with women. They had locked eyes shortly after the man had arrived and since, Laurence had been deliberately avoiding locking eyes with Alastor. 

Why? 

Alastor’s smile twitched higher as he took a drink from the glass he had been absentmindedly holding, amber swirling and catching the light. The rye ran down his throat, settling warm in his abdomen. He was on his second drink of the night and doing little more than nursing it. He wanted his mind clear, just in case he needed it.

“Dear Laurence,” Alastor wondered aloud, “are you struggling to come up with funds for the first payment?”

Laurence draped his arm around a redhead’s waist, kissing her neck with the comfortable ease of a long-term familiarity. He spared no thought for those around him, patrons who may know he was wed to another. 

Alastor couldn’t help but wonder if you knew where your husband was right now? 

Clearly, he wasn’t working late, trying to earn the funds to repay the loan. Was that what he had told you he was doing? Did you smile at him and wish him a good evening when you saw him off for the day? Did you kiss him goodbye, trusting that he would be where he said he was, doing what he said he would be doing? Did you save him a plate of dinner, cooked with affection he did not deserve? 

Alastor looked forward to ruining Laurence’s life. For the bruises he had left upon you, for every shattered rib, no one deserved destruction as much as Laurence did. He would revel in watching the man crumble, losing everything he held dear. It was the least Alastor could do, considering the sins of the man, at least for now. 

How disappointing it would be if he failed to make the payment, putting an end to the game so soon. It wasn’t often Alastor got to indulge in a slow torture. Perhaps that was for the better, though. 

A quick end to Laurence’s financial and social life would lessen their entanglements. It would allow him to put distance between them. With distance and time, he could remove the stain of a man from the earth without raising suspicions. He just needed enough time for their association to fade into the background. 

You would be free then and Alastor wouldn’t have to tangle himself up in this little game he was playing with you. The idea of you wouldn’t occupy his thoughts any longer. There would be no need to follow you, stealing you away for coffee. 

Alastor’s smile twitched, corners falling for a fraction of a second. The idea of not having a reason to see you again didn’t please him as much as it should have. What a curious conundrum. He hadn’t expected a bond of… what was it? Friendship? It didn’t feel quite like the bonds that bonded him to Mimzy. Perhaps it was different. He was less a boy now. Regardless, he had expected nothing to build between him and you. 

After finishing off his glass, Alastor signaled the bartender for a refill. Just one more and then he’d be off to hunt. Staining his hands red and ending the toxic existence of a beast in man’s clothing, he would surely feel better. All he needed was to vent some steam. 

“Oh, my golly!” A woman’s voice, high and musical, accompanied an encroaching hand on Alastor’s shoulder as he turned to give her his attention. “You’re Alastor Moreau from the radio!” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Alastor moved out from under her hand as he took the glass from the bartender, tilting it toward the man in thanks.

“I love your show. A voice so divine.” She slid up to him, light reflecting off strands of beads and tinsel hanging from her frame. The sound of them rattling against eachother was almost drowned out by the band’s music. 

“Thank you,” Alastor smiled and tried to ignore how she moved closer yet. The overly floral scent of her perfume was thick, rolling off her in waves that had his nose wanting to scrunch. 

“We simply must dance,” she said, resting her hand on his chest. 

Alastor plucked it off him with his long finger and thumb, pinching and lifting, while trying to touch her as little as possible. “I simply must do nothing of the sort.” 

“I’m sorry?” Her mouth opened and closed. Alastor thought she looked rather fish like, gulping on her words. 

Alastor laughed, not finding it in him to pretend to care about what hurt feelings she may have. “Apology accepted, my dear. If you’ll excuse me, I’m not in the dancing mood tonight.” 

Alastor did not wait for whatever else she had to say as he rose from the barstool, pushing a few bills across the bar top to settle his tab. He counted on the dim lights and the bodies in the speakeasy to allow him to become one of the crowd while he made his social escape. 

Tonight wasn’t a night he felt like performing the courting dance or dealing with the mess that would inevitably follow it. It had been a while since he had last flaunted a woman on his arm, showering her in displays of affection for society to judge. He knew such performances were needed, lest people talk as Mimzy insisted on reminding him, but it could wait a while longer still. 

Alastor detested the show it required him to put on. He hated the way the woman he picked would hang off of him, hands over him. They were always so eager to have their lips on him, clinging to his body and his space as they sucked the air from around him. 

While he sipped at the drink in his hand, Alastor’s thoughts turned back to you as he caught sight of your husband with the red-headed flapper sitting on his lap. How were you passing your night while your husband’s hand climbed higher on another woman’s thigh?

You sat at the small workstation in the kitchen, dim gas light shining down over you. The ticking of the clock was loud in the silence, soft music playing from the radio doing little to drown it out while you read the morning’s newspaper. 

Laurence was working late again tonight, or at least that’s what he had said he would when he left in the morning. There was a plate sitting on the shelf in the icebox, his share of the dinner you had dutifully made and packed up for him knowing he would likely not eat it. 

You didn’t know if you believed what he said. It was a struggle to convince yourself that he was working late. Each day that passed, it was harder to believe that the pink on his shirts was from ink. 

Was it worse that you were not sure if you cared? 

If he got caught, if someone found out, perhaps you could divorce him. If that happened, you could be free from the pain and the yelling. Would your family take you back into their home if that were to happen? 

It didn’t matter; you told yourself. You didn’t think that was going to happen. You were a lot of things, but dumb was not one of them, no matter what Laurence said.

Society would look the other way in the case of an affair. Without the support of your family and his, you wouldn’t be able to push for a divorce yourself. You were trapped. There was no way out and worse, you knew it was a matter of time before you fell pregnant. That was, unless you were barren. 

You could run away. Take a new name, pretend to be someone else. While Laurence slept, you could take all the money from his wallet and just leave, not sparing a second to look back. 

Where would you go? The world was a dangerous place; you knew that. That was even more so true for a woman on her own. Would your family accept you back? Hide you? Look the other way?

Not likely. 

What would Alastor say if you just waited in the alley by the tailor shop and ambushed him with your plans to flee? Would he help you? He seemed like the type of man that might. Could you ask so much of him? A man you hardly knew?

Running away would mean leaving him behind as much as it would mean leaving Laurence behind. You were not sure if you could do that. You could live without Laurence, you were sure, but the idea of never seeing Alastor’s warm brown eyes made your heart ache.

It was wrong, you knew, how much Alastor had occupied your thoughts. The idea of him alone sent your heart beating faster, but you couldn’t help it. You were not even sure if you wanted it to change. 

Closing your eyes and setting the newspaper you’d hardly been reading aside, you imagined Alastor was sitting there with you. How different it would be to be spending this evening with him instead of alone. How different it would be to have him as your husband instead of Laurence. 

That was something you could never have as long as you were married. You would be married until either you or Laurence died, you feared. Imagining such things was doing little more than stabbing yourself in the heart with a small knife, again and again. 

With a sigh, you stood from the table. It wasn’t doing you any good, sitting here and thinking about him. There were dishes that needed washing, a task easier now that they’d had a good soak. 

While you set to the task, you let your mind wander freely. You expected it to dance around the thought of Alastor again but that wasn’t what ended up happening. While you washed dishes, you remembered tales of woman who disposed of husbands with harsh hands by putting a little poison in their food. 

Could you do that? Did you have murder in your heart? Could you take that secret to your grave? If it meant you could be free from Laurence’s anger, could you? 

You didn’t think so.

But what if you did?

Alastor refused to question what his motivations were as he hoisted himself into the apple tree. With each shift of his weight, the branch rustled, occasional leaves fluttering to the ground. The tree was at the edge of your back garden, where your land and the small forest met. 

There was no reason for him to be here. It was miles out of the way from where he had killed the pathetic excuse of a man he had been hunting. It was a waste of time to be here and yet here he was, scaling the tall tree. 

He needed to get the body back home before it got too much later. The body needed to be hung before rigor mortis set in or getting him out of the trunk would be a challenge. The last thing Alastor wanted was to dismember a body in his car. That would make for a large mess that he wasn’t eager to clean. 

Not waiting to butcher until it passed would leave the meat tough and flavorless. If the fool in his trunk turned stiff, he may as well just feed him direct to the bayou. He didn’t need the meat that badly. 

What a waste that would be, though. 

Alastor pulled himself up onto the thick branch he had thought of as his seat. In the distance, an oil lamp bloomed in the window. He watched, hidden by darkness, leaves and branches as your frame, dressed in a nightgown, came into view. 

You disappeared again, but that was alright. A few moments later, he could just see the glow of the lamp as you walked down the stairs. Did you know how much of your home could be seen through the large windows? Did you believe the forest and crumbling fence provided some security from prying eyes?

There could be killers lurking in the forest. You needed to be more careful. There was a serial killer on the run. Why not draw the curtains closed?

Alastor wasn’t going to be the one to tell you to do so, though. To do that would raise too many questions, none he was ready to answer. Plus, if you started drawing the curtains closed, how would he be able to check in on you?

Sitting on his branch, in his apple tree, he watched as you entered your kitchen. You looked tired, Alastor noted, but that wasn’t surprising. It was late. What were you doing awake? You should be asleep in your bed, next to your disgusting pig of a husband. 

His jaw ticked as he watched you take a knife out of the block, standing bathed in darkness and firelight. You were beautiful, just like that. It was a moment that deserved to be captured by the world’s greatest artists. The fire light shone off the knife and your hair. 

Alastor stunned by the simple beauty of you at that moment. Laurence did not know what he had locked away in his home, wilting under his harsh touches. 

You picked up the oil lamp and walked slowly, knife in hand, through your kitchen. Alastor watched as the glow disappeared, fingers running over the rough bark of the tree. 

Where were you going with that knife at this hour? What were you going to do with it? 

The glow entered your bedroom ahead of you. Alastor’s smile grew wider as he watched the knife glitter, the blade catching the light of the lamp as you moved toward the side of your bed. The lamplight jumped as you set the oil lamp on the bedside table before turning your attention to the bed. 

Alastor held his breath as the knife rose, gripped tightly in both hands. Oh, how you trembled. He could see it in the way the light reflected off the blade, even from where he sat. If he was there, he’d tell you to steady your hands, take a few breaths. It was better to steady yourself than to make a move when you were unstable. 

You were the most beautiful statue as you stood there. His lungs screamed for air as he continued to hold his breath, waiting to see what you would do. Oh, the sight you made! It was one he never wished to forget. 

After a few more heartbeats passed, you lowered the knife and Alastor’s breath whistled through his teeth. He watched as you looked around, as if you had just suddenly snapped awake from a dream. Your hand ran over your face and you looked around, head moving slowly. 

What would you do next? 

Alastor waited as you rushed to pluck up the lamp, flame jittering and flickering in the rush of movement. You scurried around the bed, stumbling for a moment as your feet caught on something he couldn’t see. You were in a rush to get away from what Alastor could only assume was Laurence’s sleeping figure. 

The light shook as you fell to your knees on the other side of the bed. If you were not careful, you’d drop that oil lamp. You were down, out of sight for a few moments before you rose again, this time without the knife. A moment passed as you cradled your face in your hands, shoulders shaking. 

“Don’t cry,” The sound of his whispered voice startled Alastor, “We can do it together.” 

Laurence was in a poor mood, but that wasn't new. In the last few weeks, he had been in a poor mood more often than not. He was tired, working late night after night. The long hours spent behind his desk had his back aching and his head pounding. 

His hands came, more often than not now, too. It was becoming rare that a day would pass without at least one strike against you. Thankfully, his anger didn’t come with the same harshness. Often his rages burned hot, but it burned out quickly, leaving you scared, shaken but fairly unharmed. 

His affections too, came less often, but for that you were even more thankful. The downside is when he wished to take you; it was often harshly. There was little courting or pretty words, you were just an object for him to use. You missed the nights when he took you without the pain, without striking you first, just for the simple pleasure of seeing your pain. 

“Are you listening to me?” Laurence slapped you, not giving you a chance to answer. 

“I’m sorry,” you said reflexively, sitting down hard on the bed. You didn’t know what you were sorry for, but you were sure you were sorry. You tried to focus on the feeling of the bed under you, the blankets bunched. “I’m still tired. What was that?”

“Pay attention this time.” Laurence waved the tincture bottle in front of your face. The label was stained with spilled liquid, dark brown that looked more like dried blood. He’d gotten messier in the last week. You had noticed but not said anything about it to him. It wasn’t a wife’s job to critique the cleanliness of her husband. 

“Yes, Laurence.” You looked up at him, shoulders pulled high as you waited for whatever would come next. 

“Take this bottle to the pharmacy on the corner of 5th and West. Give it to the man behind the counter and ask for two more.” He put the empty bottle in your hand. 

“Yes, Laurence.” You answered, wrapping your fingers around it.

“You think you can manage that?” He glared down at you as he finished tying his necktie. “Or are you too dumb?”

“I can do it.” You assured him, eyes following him as he moved through the room. 

“I’ll leave the money by the door.” You followed Laurence out of the room, a few steps behind him. 

“When will you be home?” You asked as you followed him down the stairs. While you were out, you could pick up a few things for dinner. Maybe if you made him a nice dinner he would-

Laurence turned and slapped you, the force of the blow sending you crashing against the railing, breath wheezing out of your lungs as you fought not to cry out. You gripped the polished wood, using it to keep yourself upright. Clinging to it, you struggled to put your feet under you again. The last thing your still healing body needed was to fall down the stairs. 

Laurence did not stop to help you. Your husband didn’t even look back to see if you were going to fall. He just walked down the stairs, fixing his tie as he made his way toward into the living room. 

“It’s not the wife’s job to manage her husband. That’s a fucking nag. Nags get beat. Do you want me to beat you?” Laurance called over his shoulder.

“No, Laurence.” You answered, taking a few tentative steps down the remaining stairs. 

“Since you want to know so fucking bad, I’m working late tonight. Got a business dinner. I’ll be home around ten. Don’t save me a plate. Don’t bother waiting up.” Laurence didn’t even look at you as you stepped into the living room, keeping yourself just out of his reach. 

“Yes, Laurence.” You said simply as he opened the front door. 

The spring brought warm sunshine that pulled a smile to your face. It felt good on your skin as you walked down the sidewalk. Birds chirped as they fluttered in the few trees that dotted the street. The pleasant day and good weather made for good mood, even with the rather disastrous start of the day.

Would it be strange to stop by the tailor and see if you could catch Alastor there? It was strange, but you realized that was where you had caught him most. You had no reason to stop by the shop, other than perhaps to thank Susan for her worry when you had been too hurt to get your dress, but that would just be an excuse to be there. 

“Well, fancy meeting you here.” Alastor’s warm voice washed over your ear, breath just sending your hairs dancing. 

You hadn’t heard him come up behind you. The sudden sound of his voice over your shoulder startled you, sending your heart jumping against your ribs as you jerked forward, away from him. You clamped your hand over your mouth, stifling your scream into a muffled squeak. 

“Alastor,” you hissed his name as you turned to him, “I was just thinking of you.” 

“Good things, I hope.” It felt like his chuckle wrapped around you, caressing the nerves he had set ablaze with his sudden appearance. 

“Of course,” you smiled at him before realizing that perhaps you were being too friendly with him. The corners of your mouth twitched as you tried to tame your smile, to take the girlishness of it from your face. 

“And what are you up to on this fine day?” Alastor took up walking at your side, a respectful distance between you but keeping himself between you and the road. As he spoke to you, he leaned forward slightly so that he could still look to you, between glances ahead. You struggled to push down the urge to preen under his attention, fingers growing restless as you picked at your nails. 

“Just an errand before I’ll set about the house chores this afternoon,” You had been wanting to see Alastor so badly but now that you were the center of his attention you realized you had no actual plan. 

“So late to start your wifely duties?” Alastor smiled wider as he leaned forward further to ensure you his teasing grin. 

“I did some before leaving,” you protested, laughing lightly as Alastor nearly tripped over a raised portion of the sidewalk. His teasing felt barbless when you knew the same from Laurence would have felt outright cutting. “But there’s no rush today.” 

“No?” Alastor let his attention fall from you for a few seconds as he straightened his jacket. 

“Laurence has a late dinner meeting tonight and is working right up to it.” You shrugged as if it didn’t matter to you in the slightest, and in truth, it didn’t.

“And how will you be passing the evening?” His eyes seemed to sparkle as he asked the question you had both hoping and dreading he would ask. 

“Oh, I don’t know.” You shrugged your shoulders as you glanced at the shop sigh, ensuring you didn’t get lost in conversation and had made it to the right place. “Probably listen to the radio and read a book.” 

“I’ll wait for you out here,” Alastor said, opening the door to the pharmacy for you as you stopped in front of. You were thankful for the consideration as he remained outside. It wouldn’t do for him to be following you into shops. 

Making your way to the counter, you fished out the bottle Laurence had sent you to pick up as the man behind the counter turned to face you. “What can I get for you?” 

“My husband sent me to get two of these?” Handing the bottle to the man, you continued, “I’m not sure exactly what it is, but he said you’d know? He takes it for his sore back occasionally.” 

“Landanum.” The man rolled the bottle in his hand for a moment, shoulders slumped. “Yeah, I know what it is.” The man set the bottle on the counter before turning, talking over his shoulder. “And he’s only taking a little, right? And occasionally?”

“Yes, sir.” You cocked your head to the side as you watched him dig through bottles on shelves.

“Good, this is strong stuff. People get hooked on it and it’s no good. Makes good men turn sour. I won’t usually sell more than one at a time and I out right won’t sell more than two.” The man turned, wrapping the two small bottles in crinkled paper before slipping them both into a small bag. 

“I thank you for doing so, sir.” You felt anxiety flood through you. It made sense. The tincture had put your mind on a pleasant cloud. It wasn’t hard to believe someone could become hooked on it. 

“I’m only doing it because your husband sent you,” the man grumbled under his breath. 

“Excuse me?” You were unsure if you had heard him right. 

“No one that’s not already hooked on the stuff buys two bottles.” The man looked at the bag disapprovingly. “Ma’am, I’m doing you a favor because when men run out of their fixes, they get real mean. But you’ll do good to tell him that this is the only time I’ll sell you two bottles.” 

“I assure you, Sir-”

“He’s got it all taken care of, all under control.” The man scoffed. “They always say that. It’ll be three dollars.” 

You pulled three neat dollar bills from your coin purse. Laurence had left you exactly the amount of money you needed, not a penny more. There was nothing but your pocket change for any shopping you may have needed to do. 

He had been more tight with the purse strings, but you tried to trust him. If you couldn’t trust your husband, who could you trust? You struggled to justify the half wired house and the lack of landscaping in the back garden. 

“All set?” Alastor asked as you stepped outside, clutching the bag in your hands. 

“That was all, yes.” You forced a smile on your face, trying to avoid allowing your mind to linger on the warning of the pharmacist. 

“Good,” Alastor’s smile grew wide, “Would a lady be interested in passing the afternoon with me?” 

It sounded like a date. It sounded like something courting couples would say. Blood rushed to your face as he looked down at you, a smile small while he allowed you time to think. 

“What do you have in mind?” you whispered, looking up at him. 

In the morning sunlight, his smile bloomed into something far brighter than the sun. It made your heart stutter and stop in your chest, only to kick itself into a rapid rhythm. 

You allowed him to take your hand, tucking it into his arm as he pulled you along the sidewalk. This was wrong, you knew. There wasn’t any real justification for allowing such casual touches. You told yourself it was only to allow him to take some of the weight off your still sore hips.

What you should do is go home and clean your home. Instead, you let Alastor lead you down the sidewalk. You didn’t know what the day would bring, and you found you liked that. 

Next?

[hanasnx]

❝ talk huttese to me. ❞

── anakin skywalker x reader

MINORS DNI 18+ WORD COUNT: 6k SUMMARY: intent to get his mind off of his hard work, you ask to learn more about anakin’s native language: huttese. when he talks dirty to you in it, you can’t help but beg for more. and he gets off to the fact you have no idea what kind of depraved things he’s saying to you while he pleasures you. NOTES: i used the huttese dictionary linked here just a little, the rest i made up bcos hayden made up a bunch of shit when he spoke it in episode 2 cos george told him to so i’m rolling with that energy | if clarification is needed, there is at one point in the fic that anakin’s dialogue is already translated for you (the actual person reading this), thats cos i didnt want to keep coming up with huttese and the reader asking anakin what it meant so you (the actual person reading this) could understand what he was saying. WARNINGS: explicit sex | established (fwb?) relationship | f!reader | dom!anakin | rough sex | degradation | unprotected sex | no explicit ask for consent— things implied | unclean hands touching sensitive areas (always make sure to have clean hands) | oral (m receiving): face fuck | oral (f receiving) | vaginal fingering | anal fingering | breath play | mentions of slave (both sexually and unsexually) but absolutely no ‘slave kink’ it’s used as a figure of speech sexually | heavily focused on dirty talk | size difference | tit smack | ass smack | squirting | mention of breeding kink | mild dacryphilia ── DISCLAIMER: i want to preface this by saying that i do not think foreign languages are barbaric or that just because it’s not english it’s barbaric. huttese is the language of smugglers, slave traders, sleazy businessmen, and started out as a lingua franca. anakin knows it as the language he used when he himself was a slave, spoken by the people that bought him and his mom, and often criticizes it because of his personal vendetta. they do not reflect my opinion of languages other than english

“Here,” Obi-Wan handed you a ceramic cup of warm broth, “this is what we have. You said he hasn’t eaten?” There was a hint of concern in the Jedi’s voice, and you nodded.

“Yeah, it’ll be fine.” you reassured, “He’s busy, you know how it is.” The temperature from the broth spread through the material to your hands, warming them. You offered Obi-Wan a small smile, hoping to ease his worry.

“Unfortunately, in this case, we depend on him.” Obi-Wan replied, fists resting on his hips. “Without his help, I’m afraid we’re stranded.”

“I know,” you said softly, taking your leave. The pressure on ANAKIN SKYWALKER was necessary, but you could tell it was taking a toll on him, neglecting himself in order to stay focused on his task.

When you entered the hangar of the base, you found him right where you’d left him. Underneath the vessel, consumed by his work. A loud clanging sounded, a curse in a foreign language, and your eyes followed the wrench tossed out in anger. It clattered to a halt, and you set the broth down on a drawer stack. The noise revealed your presence to him.

You saw his hand reach out and point to a tool, speaking again in words you couldn’t understand. Unable to get past what he tried to say to you, you idled. “What was that?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he muttered, sliding out from under the shuttle on the mechanic creeper to give you a sheepish look as he grabs the tool he gestured to. “Forgot.” He wagged the tool at you when he raised his hand apologetically, excusing himself back under the ship. You crossed your arms and leaned your shoulder up against the vessel, eyeing his propped up legs. You didn’t know what to mention. Ask about what he’d said, or audibly observe how cute he was shirtless, streaked in grease and shining with sweat. A curl tugged at your lips.

“No, what was that?”

You heard him sigh, resuming his activity on the underbelly. “Huttese,”

“‘Huttese’?” you parrot, the tone awkward. The word felt foreign on your tongue. You were unaware he knew it. “Where’d you learn that?”

“Tattooine. I didn’t tell you?” Another sudden noise, followed by another one of his long winded, indecipherable curses from whatever pain was inflicted on him. You could tell he was rushing himself, ignoring safety procedures in order to get this hunk of junk running again. Obi Wan was right, everyone was depending on him as the person with the most experience in ship repair. However, that didn’t leave him a lot of room for error, or for proper rest. You wanted to get his mind off of it for a while. Distract him so he could come back to this with a clearer head.

“Do you know just the swear words?”

“No. Fluent.” he spoke through gritted teeth.

You thought of a joke and scoffed to yourself. “Do you know any dirty talk?“

There was a quiet moment, save for the din of metal. “It’s a very… coarse language.” He slid out to meet your gaze, breathing hard from the heat of his work. Generously, you viewed the expanse of his chest rising and falling. “It would just sound insulting.”

Carried away with how hot he looked, you bit your lip. “Is that a bad thing?”

He flashed a downturn of his lips, blowing air through his nose, “Not necessarily.” He snatched a new tool, and returned to the underside. “Just letting you know it wouldn’t sound pretty.”

“So?”

You heard him scoff.

“You don’t wanna hear what I have to say about you in Huttese, trust me,”

For some reason, you really wanted to find out even though it was a joke at first. Absentmindedly you rubbed your thighs together at the thought of him degrading you in a filthy tongue. It was nothing new to you, Anakin has always been obscene when it came to dirty talk. How would this be any different? “How come?”

“It’s that it’s… it’s cacophonous. Double voweled. The language of barters, slave traders, sleazebags. To associate it with you- seems wrong.” You wondered if he felt that way about it because of the unfortunate circumstances of his childhood. This was going in the opposite direction you wanted it to. “It’s not beautiful. It’s barbaric. Blunt. It would sound worse directly translating it to Basic.” You listened thoughtfully as he talked, and your eyes drifted over his tool table to the drawer stack.

“Oh!”

“What?”

“I forgot to tell you, I brought you something. It’ll keep up your strength,” Carefully, you retrieved the mug as he shimmied out.

“Something for me?” He raised his brows and he sat up at the recognition you were about to hand it to him. He reached for it, brought it to his lips to sip it. It was flavorless. “Appreciate it.” He decided it was best to ration it, leaving it at his side as he settled against the shuttle, drawing his knees to his chest to rest his arms on them. They were swollen, thick, and veined. Even his metal arm that began at one of his elbows was attractive to you. Reminiscing the many times he’s used it to bring you to your knees. What was it about him that made you want to lick the sweat off him? You sat down next to him, mimicking his position. “What were we talking about?”

“Huttese,”

“Right,”

“Teach me something,” you flirted.

“Teach you something?” A hint of an amused smile ghosted his handsome features.

“Yeah, I’d like to know. Something easy.”

“Something easy…” he parroted thoughtfully, bowing his head as he contemplated. “Kark’s an easy one.” He straightened only to incline towards you.

“Kark?”

“Kark.” he nodded. There was a stark difference between how you two pronounced it.

“What’s that mean?”

“Fuck,”

“No, I mean like a sentence—!” Anakin ignored your true request, continuing on, childish grin growing.

“—You want a sentence? A sentence- Okay, kark. As in, I’d really like to kark you—“

“—Ani,” you scolded playfully, nudging his shoulder with your hand. He snickered.

“Really, it’s only an expletive, it’s not used like we use ‘fuck’.” The way he gazed at you made you feel warm. “There’s a different word for that.”

A pensive moment passed before you piped up, “So, show me something else.”

“You still want to hear dirty talk?” he asked with a knowing glint in his eye. Since you thought it might be funny, you obliged.

“Sure,”

“Let me warn you one more time, I don’t think you really wanna hear it—“

“I do! I do. Seriously, satisfy my curiosity.”

Anakin hummed. “If it’s for curiosity then…” His head bumped the shuttle as he searched the ceiling for answers, “Let me think,”

You waited, toying with the ends of your hair. You eyed the way his curls propped up against the hull where the back of his head rested. You had half a mind to reach over and brush through his locks with your fingers when he interrupted your admiration.

“Okay, I got it,” To occupy his hands, he snatched up a rag hanging from his pocket and started wiping the grease from his fingers, and you noted the length of them. “Uh,” It’d been a while for him since he’d had to piece together a sentence like this. He tossed the rag. “Naga bu eechu,” The words were stiff on his tongue as he was figuring out how to arrange it, until he relaxed, letting the next roll off his tongue more smoothly, “et kah to. Peenta kay rada.” He glanced at you to gauge your reaction, but you looked at him expecting him to continue.

“What does that mean?” you asked with wide, intrigued eyes. There was something inherently masculine about the way he spoke this language. His voice got deeper, the sharp consonants were punctuated with a twitch of his nose as if he was stifling the habit to sneer his lips.

Suddenly bashful, he raised his brows with a single nod. “Directly translated?” He was apprehensive to reveal it to you. In truth, he was planning on saying that and nothing else, leaving it to your imagination. He adjusted in his seat, lifting himself up to face you more and you did the same. Resting his chin on his hand, he ran his fingers over his jawline to fidget as he stared at the ceiling in thought.

He met your gaze, and told you the meaning like you asked for. “I want to put my full fist inside you. Split you open. And sit down to eat.” There was no romance in his tone. It was matter of factly, pressing his lips into a thin line.

You inhaled, mouth opening to say something. You furrowed your eyebrows, “You’re right. It is a little… violent.”

“It lacks a certain decorum, yes.” Anakin nodded.

“Would it be better if I spoke Huttese too?” So you could better understand what he was saying, instead of recovering the words in Basic.

“Not really, no.” As he’d said, it was harsh at every angle. It wasn’t known for being frivolous, it was known for getting a point across. It was impatient. You were getting a little impatient hearing it come from Anakin’s mouth. Especially talk so foul.

Maybe it was the fact he was bare chested, or the personification he took on when he spoke in Huttese, but you found yourself chewing your thumb, and asking for more. “What else would you say about me?” Anakin was taking another sip of his broth when he heard your question, and pivoted his surprised attention in your direction.

“You wanna know more?”

Soundlessly, you shook your head yes.

Anakin chewed his lip as he held your eye contact, having to tear away in order to keep from getting ahead of himself. Answers were already piling up in his mind, “Naga seeta pon nuda— reeta seep.” This time around, you noticed his confidence had heightened, and it only added to your intrigue. “Nudaonnud to soot. Scrit ah seepa fin teese.” That same expectant expression adorned your features, inviting him to clarify for you. He explained, “I want you sticky— slippery with fluids.” You swallowed hard. “You’d look so fuckable with my hot cum glazed on your face. Strung up in your hair and dribbling down your tits.” Biting your lips, your gaze locked with his, as if waiting for the other to make the next move. Anakin stood by his opinion of how ugly this language was, however he saw how your body betrayed you before and after he translated for you. In turn, it aroused him too. The fact you were letting him talk to you like this had his pants tightening.

“Um,” You gained your footing. A shaky breath. “What else?” you said, barely above a whisper.

The turn of events had Anakin adjusting his position, leaning back onto his hands, folding his legs in front of him. You took note of how his stance was more open to you, gaze trailed down his shoulders and scars on his chest, his abdomen and how it curled with his relax, a bulge at his crotch. As if trained, your mouth watered. To be safe, two of Anakin’s fingers raised from the flat of the floor, forcing the door you had come through earlier to be locked from his seat. When he held your gaze through his brows, adopting that intense look you liked so much, he spoke his next words in Huttese, “Pump you so full, you’ll sweat my cum,” You had no idea what he’d said, and you didn’t care at all to ask. It was the mystery of it now, and how he spat the words at you, you knew they had to be nasty.

The two of you exchanged this heated look again, your breath having quickened. Anakin was the first to break it, getting up to stand with a sigh. He offered you his hand in order to aid you in standing too, however you had other plans. “I should get back to work,” he said, a hint of disappointment in his tone. You moistened your lips, a fire igniting in the pit of your stomach, pooling in between your legs when you fixed yourself on your knees. A questioning expression flashed on Anakin’s features, promptly answered when you pushed his hand out of the way, undoing the waistband of his pants to tug just his length free. In an instant, you’d guided him to your mouth, letting it harden fully in the warmth inside. “(y/n)—! (y/n)…” You knew if he wanted this to stop, he’d say it or he’d push you off. Instead, he was rolling his hips into your mouth, throwing his head back. His metal hand you’d discarded moved to cradle the back of your head. He knew it’d pay off to lock the doors.

A sinful sound reverberated from low in his throat, which only served to further arouse you, wet with anticipation. It allowed you to take him farther in, and he flexed his arm, bringing you to meet his thrusts. A steady pace was set, until you started dragging your tongue along the underside of his shaft. His voice was so addicting, his moan made your eyes roll into the back of your head. You braced yourself with your hands on his thighs.

“Filthy little mouth-pussy, made for me.” he purred in Huttese, “Wonder how many other guys would kill for a whore like you slobbering all over their cock like this.” You keened, even though you couldn’t understand it. When his cock twitched, you could tell he liked that you didn’t know what he was saying.

It gave him permission to say anything he wanted to you.

Your jaw went slack, throat relaxed enough to take him, but he desired more from you. By asking to learn about this side of him you had, unknowingly, unlocked something buried in him. His deep rooted hatred for where he came from, was now being worked out with the splendid efforts of your mouth. Rewriting bad memories into an entirely new one. Huttese was vile in his experience, and you welcomed it instead of shying away. However, this side of him was more volatile. The pain that he repressed manifested itself into aggression, and you were more than happy to receive every last drop.

His hand at the back of your head tangled in your hair with a pleasant sting, and when you emitted a noise in surprise, it was strained by his cock shoving deeper inside you. Wide, doe eyes gazed up at him, granting him passage, letting him take the complete lead using you. You hollowed out your cheeks when you could, swirling around him with your tongue when you couldn’t. He whined, and he saw you stifle a smirk. “Choke, whore. Choke,” he cooed at you in the language, increasing his thrusts until you squeezed your eyes shut, gagging on his length, dizzy with excitement. He sensed you liked this, and it thrilled him to no end. His free hand moved from being limp behind him, coming up to pat the back of your head twice forcing himself in minutely. You gagged because of it, and you pushed off of him in order to turn your head to the side, afraid you were about to hurl, drooling on the floor as you hung your head.

You coughed, and he kicked the mechanic creeper out of his way with a clatter. Once able, he dragged you over by his fistful of your hair. The pain, combined with the strength it required for him to move you over made you whimper, faithfully following him keeping your knees underneath you. He pinned your head to the hull of the ship he’d been working on, his flesh hand over your forehead, as his metal cupped the underside of your jaw, diving his cock back in between your lips. You gasped, strangled by his substantial girth bullying its way into you. You couldn’t bob your head anymore, and he fucked your throat exactly how he deemed fit for a slut like you. “You wanted this so bad. Now here it is, and you’re afraid of it. Go on, make me proud.” That wolfish grin on his face was so fucking hot, his scar along his eye, gaze trained on you as you were forced to swallow his every inch. It didn’t matter you couldn’t speak Huttese, you loved hearing him talk to you in it. Helpless to his desires, you held your breath everytime he bottomed out, so big you knew your throat would be sore in the morning. Nearing his finish, he had half a mind to paint your face with his cum like he’d promised earlier. Instead, he got a better idea. When you instinctively tried to back up, halted in your tracks by the hull against your head, he reassured you, his flesh hand stroking over your hair soothingly, “A little longer, I’m almost there,”

You recognized his tone to be surprisingly tender compared to how he’d been acting up to this point. Like he was begging you to keep playing this game with him. You obliged, having found him captivating as this authoritative figure. To be privy to the darker side of Anakin Skywalker was a privilege, and to be on the receiving end was simply an opportunity you’d never pass up.

Hips stuttering, and a long string of Huttese curses, you knew he was close. You felt hot spurts of cum on your tongue as he slowed to a halt, and when he pulled out, strings of it connected you to his cock. “Oh, mwa con schutta,” he cooed with fake sympathy, puckering his lips in a pout. Oh, my poor slut, he’d said. His finish was pooled in your panting open mouth, and your defiant gaze told him you were about to spit it to spite him for his behavior. You broke eye contact, moving to get rid of his milky load. In an instant, he arrested you. His hands came to cup over your mouth and pinch your nose. Unable to breathe and at his mercy, your futile attempts to free yourself went ignored. He laughed as you clawed at his fingers, knowing if you needed an out you’d tap him twice. You were being difficult on purpose, because you liked it.

You knew what he wanted from you, and his visceral wicked expression only confirmed your thoughts. You were strained, you’d never win fighting against his grip but you tried anyway. At your limit, you gulped, swallowing him. Released, you gasped for air. “You mad at me?” he asked grinning wolfishly down at you, but since you didn’t know Huttese, you simply glared at him, a curl at the corner of your lips betraying how turned on you really were from his actions.

He fisted your shirt in his hand, bringing you to stand so he could direct you— more like drag you over to his tool table, and yanked your clothes off. “I want to see those fat tits,” he demanded in Huttese. You moaned from his sneer, aching for him to reintroduce himself to your dripping sex.

The surface of the table was in disarray, littered with stray items like the ship’s original blueprints and apparatus. In one fell swoop, his metal arm swept the contents to the floor, “What are you—?” Without answering you, he circled you over, holding your waist to pick you up onto the table. Once again his show of strength jellied your legs, and you could anticipate what he was about to do to you.

Now tucked against your pussy, he pinned your back to the table with his metal palm gripping your breast tightly, and you keened when he pinched your nipple. You could see the marks of oil where his touch had been, decorating your waist. He admired you like this, streaked in grease like he was. Metal hand moved to hook your leg over his shoulder, the hand he’d wiped with his rag started circling your entrance soothingly, dulling that ache. “Dire schutta,” There was that word again. Picking your head up in order to meet his heated gaze, darkened by lust, you questioned breathlessly.

“What’s that mean?” Your broken voice indicated how desperate you were for him.

“Dirty slut,” he replied in Basic without skipping a beat, pressing an open mouthed kiss against the side of your knee, bowing his head to do the same to your thigh. “Letting me get you all filthy, filthy like I am.” his soft lips spoke against your flesh, pleased to reaffirm in his twisted mind that you and him were the same. You reached out to touch him— the words being so tame compared to all the shit he’s been talking to you in his native tongue, unbeknownst to you— but you were instantly weakened when his fingers entered you. So sensitive, your back arched off the surface, head falling back, and a crooked grin adorned his features, staring at your every shift through his brows as he curled his thick digits inside of you. He knew that you didn’t want to waste time, and he stroked the plush of your thigh with his metal hand to caress you as you cried out for him. The tips of his fingers petting that sweet spot inside of you that had you writhing.

“Anakin!”

He bit your thigh hard at the sound of his name sinfully spilling from your perfect lips. You yelped and looked at him. Your pleading countenance only served to fan the flame in his chest, cock hardening to stand at attention again, ready and waiting to return to where it belonged. He wished to abuse you, in every way you could desire. When he pulled his fingers from you, he answered your questioning expression, “Oh, I’m not anywhere near done with you, schutta,” The name made you whimper now that you knew what he meant by it. Adjusting you as if you were light as a feather, he shouldered your other leg, and wrapped his arms around in order to rub at your clit with one of his hands. Strangling the soft skin of your thighs between his massive biceps, he dipped his head down to start lapping at your wet sex with his hot tongue, devouring all you’ve produced.

You cursed, the pad of his thumb gently circling your pink bud, swelling it with stimulation as his tongue continued to work on you, alternating between flattening against you and diving into your hole. Finally, putting that disgusting mouth to good use after all he’s spat at you. He seemed to sense that thought, digging himself further into you, making out with your weeping cunt as his nose started to brush your clit. You wished you could think of something to say to him on your own, taunt him with malicious talk as he’s done to you, but if this man had one gift, it was how he got you speechless when he ate you out. To egg him on, your hands played with your chest for him, giving him a show as you squeezed and pinched. As if entertaining a god, he hummed in approval, watching from over your mound. You rolled your nipples in your nimble fingers until they were red with sting. His hand came from curling around your thigh to your chest, and you offered one to him by releasing it from your hold. Experimentally, he slapped the flesh, and it bobbed from the strike.

Nobody’s ever smacked your tit before.

Pleasantly surprised, he told you, “That got you so wet,” knowing you couldn’t understand him as he smiled against you. There was no part of you that could deny you wanted him to talk to you in that vile language forever simply because of this personality shift he took on speaking it. Electricity shot through you. His lips placed open mouthed kisses over your spread folds before sucking your bud into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. You cried out, legs shaking involuntarily, and when he added his fingers to your hole, filling it to the brim and nearly sending you over the edge. Immediately, he sought out the button inside of you that had you writhing underneath him. You and him both knew what this led to, and on instinct your hand came to his wrist to brace yourself. In response, he released your clit with a pop, straightened, and spat on your pussy to lubricate it as he fucked you with his fingers. Everything inside you was crying out as you screamed, unable to keep your eyes open, features twisted in pleasure from how he never faltered hitting that spongy spot. He didn’t need to be force sensitive to tell where you were headed, he’s done this to you before.

“Ani— I’m gonna— Oh… oh,”

He exhaled, falling victim to you on the brink of making a terrible mess. His thumb returned to circle your clit. “Yes, yes, let me see you squirt, baby,” In this moment more than any other he wished you could understand his Huttese. However, you didn’t need to in order to do as exactly as he demanded. You released in bursts, and he kept up his pace, watching you squirt all over his arm and chest. “Oh, fuck yes, schutta, fuck yes,” You practically cried as took all you could provide, “Give it all to me,” Why did Huttese have to bring out such a cruel side of him? Why was it working so well on you?

He was no longer glistening with sweat, but a mix of your fluids as well. Slowing to a stop as you went slack from your intense finish, he didn’t hesitate to suck off whatever you left on his fingers. You had drenched yourself, the table underneath you, and by the looks of it his cock and pants too. “Fucking love it when you do that. Maker, I can’t get over the smell of it.” You whimpered even though his words were indecipherable. To emphasize just how much of a mess you made, he drew his soaked hand across your thighs and up your abdomen, and you shivered. His parted lips were downright sinful, plump and begging to be nibbled on by your teeth. Your gazes met, hazy with desire as he fisted his cock, nudging it lazily against your overstimulated entrance.

“Please,” you whined for him to keep fucking you, and he scoffed. There was no please in the Huttese language.

“Nothing but a hole,”

Anakin Skywalker was a very large man, in every sense of the word. By the way he acted, you’d think he forgot that he takes up the most space in a room. Taller than many, broad shouldered, angular muscles cut from the diamond of battle. The Great General Skywalker reminded you how big he really was every time he lead his troops, engaged in hand to hand combat with literal droids, and fucked you. Not necessarily in that order.

He brutalized you. Your struggling cunt could barely swallow all of him. It was no secret the General had a bruising cock, but you were not one to back down from the challenge. “Fuck, Ani, fuck,”

Sinking into you over and over again as he lifted your legs for you with his palm fixed on the underside of your thighs. He could feel the tremors passing through them. While you begged, he merely watched your pussy consume his every inch. “Quiet. Let me enjoy this,” Anakin revelled in his ability to say whatever he wanted to you without fear, feeling you suck him in with every foul word like the greedy bitch you were. When he’d had enough, he pushed your thighs up against the sides of your chest, pressing your flesh together in the most beautiful way as he fucked into you, increasing his thrusts. You scrambled for purchase on the table but there was none as his purple tip kissed your cervix repeatedly. The mating press was by far one of his favorite positions to put you in, one of the reasons being because of the implication of its name. It was a common fantasy for Anakin to revisit how much he wanted to fill you up with his seed until an heir to the Skywalker name was sired. However, he’d much rather you be able to hear that kind of talk. That’ll be for next time.

Finally, your fingers found the edge of the table to grip, still slick with your squirt as he loomed over you, bouncing you from every roll of his hips. You delighted in the way his abdomen curled into you. “Harder, fuck me harder,” you told him, having adjusted to his substantial size. “Keep talking to me,”

Anakin exhaled the breath he was holding, “I should ravage your insides for speaking to me like that,” You keened at him for listening to you, and he did as you’d requested, desperate to see you weep for mercy. “Schutta,” Your voice grew in volume, unintelligible noises spilling from your open mouth as he fucked you, the tool table creaking underneath your combined weights. “Schutta,” he whispered again, focusing entirely on how you were reacting to everything he was doing. “Not even good enough to be my fuck toy,” Oh, that one he longed for you to understand, knowing how you’d double over from the shock of pleasure that would course through you from the degradation. “Lucky I’m feeling generous today.” He groaned as he reangled his hips, making you scream. Unfortunately, a little slut like you couldn’t understand his native tongue, and to silence you he shoved the L-shape of his flesh hand into your mouth. You bit down on the webbing, grateful to focus on something else.

Your wet heat was squeezing him so good, the momentary feeling caused a lapse in judgement, speaking without thinking it through, without correlating what it meant to him. “I’m slave to you, I’m slave to this hole squeezing me so perfectly, so cozy, so good, eager to please me, eager to serve.” Even if anything he’d been saying was in Basic, you were too far gone to hear it.

A devious idea formed in his head, and his metal hand came over to your belly, pressing down so not only was that new angle rearranging your insides, but that spot was met by his thrusts quicker. “Wait, if you do that again, I can’t help it—“ you had begun to warn speaking over his hand, your small fingers splaying against his hot chest as he merely grinned down at you with sick delight, curls falling in front of his eyes.

“If you don’t squirt all over my cock, so help me Maker—“ It’s as if your body responded naturally to him, once again spraying it’s surroundings with the full force of your release, running down the front of his pants and leaking to the floor from where your bodies conjoined. He laughed at you. Becoming shy, you turned your reddening face away from him. “What are you getting shy for, whore? All you’re good for’s a decent fuck. Way to make it worthwhile.” Your velvety walls fluttered around him because you could tell whatever he’d said was horrible. His hand moved out of your mouth when it pinched your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. There they were, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Had to be from your release, otherwise you’d be telling him to stop. He dipped down, poking out his tongue to collect the salty tear on the tip. The act caused you to connect your lips with his, and he mumbled in surprise, swallowing your moans when he parted your lips with his, exploring you with his tongue. His metal hand slipped out from in between the two of you, swiftly smacking the fat of your ass cheek as he kept moving inside of you. You yelped against his mouth. When he broke the kiss, a string of saliva attached the two of you, panting in unison as he felt you quiver underneath him. Perhaps it was time to put your poor legs to work.

Your back having arched, made the perfect space to slot his arm in, wrapping around your waist while his other repositioned your legs off his shoulders, but kept a knee pinned to his hip. He unsheathed, and your poor pussy instantly felt empty as he picked you up off the table and setting you down, spinning you around and planting your hands flat on the table so your heart shaped ass was presented to him. “I’ll never get tired of this,” he confessed in awe, stooping to drag the flat of his hand over your sex, making you jump from the sensitivity. Once he gathered enough slick to lubricate his cock with, he reentered you, and the shock of it caused you to fall forward, eyes rolling into the back of your head. It pleased him greatly. He sucked on his damp fingers as he pistoned in you. The coil in your belly was wound tight, and he was well aware of it.

His hips snapped against the soft flesh off your ass and his metal hand tangled into your hair, using it like a leash to yank you back onto his cock faster. It made you arch, curses falling from your lips in a cant along with his name. Satisfied his fingers were properly lubricated, they traveled from his mouth to your rim, circling it curiously. You shied away from the feeling at first, but relaxed into it once you realized what was going on. That’s my girl, he thought. Carefully, he dipped his fingers inside, plunging into your asshole as he fucked your pussy with his cock. It added a new height of pleasure to you, and you clenched your silky walls around him instinctually. He explored the inside of you with his digits, before moving them in and out. He heard your breath hitch, “You feel about ready to make a mess all over me again. I don’t care what hole it comes out of, you’ll clean me up.”

“Can I… fuck- Can I please cum? Baby, please,” you strained, a lump in your throat.

“What are you asking me for? You afraid of what I’ll do to you if you don’t obey me?” he teased, a sinister undertone to his voice that made you struggle to nod your head. “Go ahead then, if you’re so close.” he spoke to you like it didn’t matter, knowing it only added to your enjoyment. Your orgasm shooting through you without a second to waste. You called out his name, squeezing your eyes shut when your vision turned white. You rode it out with him, thinking he might release with you like you two usually do with his help of the force. Not this time it seemed.

“Aren’t you gonna cum too? C’mon, Anakin,” you whined, wiggling your hips as best you can for him. He leaned over you, bicep flexing with his hand still in your hair.

“Do you really deserve my cum?” You couldn’t find him anything but attractive like this, bullying you while he ravaged your insides. “I should cum in a rag and gag you with it instead of letting you feel me finish inside this tight cunt.” You moaned involuntarily, his movements more erratic as he neared his edge. After this you were going to learn Huttese if it was the last thing you did.

Moans burst out of him as he spilled himself inside of you, bending you over further when his muscle tensed, shoving your cheek against the cold surface of the table still wet from your squirt. He fucked his seed into you as he worked himself through his own orgasm, using your abused pussy to do it.

Only once he’d stilled, did you move. He took the hint, removing himself from you, and you felt your combined essences drip down your legs. Exhausted, he lazily kissed up your back for a start to his apologies. “Let me grab something for you,” You leaned against the table, waiting for him to return with a clean rag. As he wiped you down, you chuckled breathlessly.

“What?” he asked, amused at your reaction.

“You wanna tell me some of the things you said to me?” You stared him down with a raised brow, intent to learn whatever depraved things this deranged man had said to you to get himself off.

He stifled a smile, hanging his head in shame briefly. “Maybe some other time.”

[andraxicated]

Request: [virgin reader who doesn't know what to do. scara guides her through it and he's like really soft. reader knows the process.]

a/n: omygod that request for scara got deleted when i remember saving it to the drafts (I had to collect bits and pieces of the req that I remember) I hope I got the gist though ^^

-hurriedly cleaning up my inbox before I get busy. next up are haitham, artem, and itto! reqs closed btw.

wc: 2.5k

tw: oral (f. receiving) | dirty talk | praise | unprotected sex | riding | creampie

You'd be lying if you didn't say you were nervous. With his hand roaming down your body, following his tongue that wets the shell of your ear teasingly; you have to say it feels damn good getting pleasured.

So this is what it feels like...to spread open your legs and have a man between them. One touch of the warm, wet muscle sends your legs jerking, moving Scara's head out of the way. He sighs and climbs up to your face, staring at you intently like he got a problem with you.

"What is it?" You ask timidly, suddenly finding the plain wall to be more interesting than the pretty boy hovering over you. Scaramouche then moves to mark a nipping kiss to your skin, testing if you'd like it on your neck. "mmph!" Seems you do from the little whimper that escaped.

"Don't move or I'll leave your pussy neglected." He warns, going back to the position he was in before, checking the wetness with a finger. It enters the fleshy hole and makes way for penetration, yet Scara groans upon contact with the sheer tightness of your walls.

This was just one finger yet you're already acting like you're taking dick. It puts a smile on his face at how responsive your body is, thinking you're cute and all as he takes out his finger and notices that it has become glossy with cum.

To your surprise, the wet digit goes into his mouth, sucking the juices off the finger, and removing it with a pop as his eyes drift to your shocked expression. You've certainly read this in books but you can't fathom how this is happening to you right now. Just then, you embarrassingly feel the gush of stickiness from below, feeling it leave you and catching Scara's attention.

He smirks and settles right before your cunt. Observing the way your cum goes out and onto the bedsheets, staining them. His expression turns into a mild seriousness when you catch gazes, hands making soothing circles on your calf. "I'll start now. Tell me if something feels good or bad, don't hesitate."

You nod, staring at the ceiling.

"(y/n), I need your words."

"Okay"

Scaramouche could've replied "good girl" but instead, he chose to place a loving kiss on your pussy, affectionately. Your body shivered at how an innocent act became dirty, you don't even want to look at what he was doing right now. You thought you were a big girl who can handle dirty acts like the ones in fiction, but oh boy...real life was ten folds intense than what you've read.

"Ahhh!" You let a moan escape, knees cowering inwards on the sound you made as Scara spitefully licked a long stripe from down to up. You heard him take a deep inhale before blowing the air on your cunt and diving right in as if to catch the air that he released. Your hips were rising on reflex which proves favorable as he grips your ass to fully dig his face in.

He's loudly mouthing at your vaginal opening, collecting shlick and spit while he flicks his tongue in different ways to know what you taste like. You could vividly trace its movement inside you, with your shamelessness bubbling to a point where you weren't afraid to show how good you were feeling. From the way he's sucking on your hole and directing little licks to the clit, Scara is very much enjoying what he's doing. So why don't you?

"F-feels good. Oh! mmh-Scara!" Like a switch that clicked, you buck your hips further into him like small thrusts, gripping his hair and pushing his face in with two hands. Your eyes were shut closed while he gave another long lick, the soft tongue fucking in and out of your soppy hole as he playfully rubbed his nose on your clit. Scaramouche was damn sure he looked so desperate while eating you out, good thing his face was deeply hidden between your legs while your filthy noises were hardening his cock.

He could feel the pressure building up on his dick, begging to feel what his tongue has been doing in the past few minutes but it was like your pussy has trapped him to not pull away. You were too sweet to leave, he keeps on collecting your juices and opening your hole with his fingers stretching you out, and giving space for his tongue to explore.

You heard him growl and the vibrations travel up to your body like electricity, his wet muscle smushes on the deepest part it can reach and your feet stills yet shake, a stuttered moan coming out of your mouth as the pleasurable feeling slowly washes over you.

"Ah!" You squeal as the tip of Scaramouche's tongue touches the overstimulated bud. You came, a slide of liquid going out from your pussy. He resists licking it up and pulls away from your suffocating thighs. His lungs take time to breathe in the room air and you see from the bed that his hair was sticking to his forehead, a smirk adorning his handsome face while he looks at you with some kind of amusement.

"There you are. That's the good girl that I know." He muses, eyes traveling on your body and then staying fixated on your flushed cunt that he just tasted. You were still reeling from an orgasm, taking in the previous happenings until Scaramouche decided to whip his cock out of his pants, ultimately catching your attention with wide eyes.

It was a bit thicker and longer than average, sporting a flesh color with a shade of pink on the cockhead. Just the thought of being filled up with that clenches your pussy in excitement. Yet you still have some reservations about the penetration especially after seeing his dick. "W-wait!" You exclaim and fear stirs in your chest as you see it hardening with his hands wrapped around it. Moving up and down, eyes closed, and breathy moans coming out of his lips. If his hand was already gripping tight on his cock, how much tighter is your pussy gonna be?

When Scaramouche felt that he had produced enough precum, he stops to open his eyes and sees your lustful expression, mouth agape into a small "o". Biting his lip, his cock twitches at the thought of you giving him head but for now...that'll be postponed.

"Like the show?" He asks with a teasing tone, coming closer to trap you under his arms, and opening your shaking legs to position himself. Despite how hungry he might have gone while his face was buried in you, he knows he can't do that as your first time getting penetrated.

"Yeah..." It comes out as a mewl when you feel the weight of his cock resting against your inner thigh. It's heavy and it's making your pussy throb, followed by light sucklings he makes on your breasts. "Haaah! Scara–mhngg" Your voice fluctuates when the bulbous head centers directly on your hole, you try to keep yourself from tightening too much but the foreign feeling was overpowering your mind.

Anything...just anything for him to put it inside you.

"...Inside" Your voice came out small, thus he didn't listen and kept on circling his tongue on your nub, pushing in a little bit of the tip for pressure then you cried in desperation.

"Please!" Then followed by your sobs as you push your hips upwards only to fall back from the lack of strength in your knees.

"Please what?" You see him closer than ever, hot breaths fanning each other's faces with the sexual tension at its peak.

"Fuck me!" you begged.

"No please?" His eyebrow rose with a questioning tone. He lined himself up with your hole, shaking like a crazed maniac at how much he wanted to push in already.

"Pl-OhhhHh!" You choke out a moan as the cock that's been outside for so long has finally penetrated you, a few inches from the head yet you feel like your vagina can't go any further. It was painful...the kind of pain you can deliciously tolerate yet it's also the kind to bring tears to your eyes.

"Fucking shit!" He exclaimed with his lip bitten so hard, fighting the monstrous urge to slam it all inside you. "(y/n), you're so goddamn pretty." He blurted out of the blue as his view was your hair sprawled out and your fucked out face that's constantly crying for his name.

"Y-you can move!" Scaramouche does so at your bidding, sliding his dick slowly into your convulsing hole and he breathes out as he feels the clamping of your walls around his member, sending the dizzying sensation throughout his body. "You okay baby?" He asks, wiping your sweaty hair away and he swore his heart suddenly jumped when you looked at him.

You were met with soft indigo eyes, genuine concern lacing through them and making you hold your hand out to caress his soft cheek. "I'm okay. Just be gentle."

To that Scara nods and places a kiss on your forehead, watching you take his remaining inches until pressed hips to hips when he knocks on your sweet spot. "Awhhh! Scara!" You moaned as the length inside you throbs, flush against your deepest part, and then pulled slightly only to slam back in.

"You like it?" He starts to thrust slowly and deeply, every pull advances him deeper in your pussy, rocking your body upwards on the bedsheets as you instinctively climb your arms to his shoulders. "Yes!-mhhm! I-I feel soo full!" You struggle to speak between breaths, opening your legs to the widest for him to move into, and he gives a toe-curling thrust with his thick length, the curved tip hitting the roof of your walls as he swallows your scream with an open-mouthed kiss.

It was messy. A spit exchange instead of a proper kiss yet you were both too lost in the feeling of having sex. You try to meet his thrusts but you whine instead, legs giving up as soon as you feel the overwhelming fullness of your pussy.

"Don't push yourself too hard. I'll do the work." Scaramouche's body ripples sexily as he gave an experimental thrust that made you pull him closer enough to your chest, mouth agape and eyes tearing up as the delicious stretch suddenly heightens.

He notices this and all alarms in his mind blare at the sight of you crying. He knows euphoric crying exists but he should confirm at least. "Why are you crying?" He meant to sound caring but it gave off an unintentional asshole voice to which he cringed inwards.

"M'sorry. You...just feel too good." You whisper, your voice too seductive in his ears. "I love you so much." Then you rise to give him a solid kiss that went straight to his dick.

"Ah!" You jumped when you feel him grow, your scared eyes meeting his dazed ones from your smooch. "D-did you get bigger? What the-" He cuts you off by pushing the back of your head, lips crashing as he gets sloppy and changes your position.

You break from the kiss as he readjusts your position, burying your face in his neck as the tension inside you becomes a bit too intense. He moves you on top of him with his cock still inside you, the adjustment position made him groan in your ear, and his strained voice wonderfully turned you on.

You clenched and let out a gasp when Scaramouche's hands gripped your ass, nails gripping painfully on the flesh. "Baby let's try this position. I promise it'll feel good." He shut his eyes close when he saw you nodding then he resumed pounding you, moving up and hitting your womb repeatedly while you continue to whine with every slide of his cock.

You wanted to move, wanted to do what the girls do in the books. Catching your boyfriend off guard, you pull away and slam back down to him, getting the timing right and making him blow his eyes wide. He giggled in disbelief, looking at your pleasure-struck face that was grinding against his length in search of release.

"Scara move!" You sob at every delicious friction you create, positively looking like a whore and Scaramouche loved every bit of it. "You're doing a good fucking job." He hissed at your wetness coating him and went along with the rhythm of your hips, snapping up harshly with his mouth lewdly open from the view of your face. Your body suddenly shivered in his hold, limply leaning against his body for support and he feels the throbbing along with the warm liquid washing over his length.

"Goddamn, did you-" He felt the words stuck in his throat as the feeling of your cum dripped down along him. "I came" You admit, not letting him finish the question. Your voice was mumbled against his skin and he thought it was cute that you were embarrassed. Scaramouche peppered kisses to your hair as he fucked you at an increased pace through your high. "It's alright, wait for me to fill you up with my cum."

You tightened at his words, impending his pounding motion yet he quickly holds your body to maneuver. Your movements were being controlled by him, dropping you down to meet his cock with the squelching noise filling the room.

"I wanna move!" With whatever strength you have in your legs, you prompt to once again move yet all you could do was little humping motions. "No need to move pretty girl, just feel me." Scaramouche coos, throwing his head back, and pushes his hips up in ecstasy. He could not stop thrusting when he felt his release building, it was like an animalistic switch was turned on.

"It's too much-Ahhh!" The head struck your g spot particularly hard, pulling a scream out of you as obscene noises filled the room and his cock worked your pussy open, picking up the pace. Your gone expression mindlessly trying to ride him was what drove Scara to the edge.

He moaned loudly at your neck and hugged you by the waist as if you were his lifeline. He held your hips and bucked his deeply to secure the cum flow goes inside you and nowhere else. To make it better, he gently laid you back to the sheets and you stay there processing what happened, taking his white fluids into your spasming pussy.

"You still there?" His tone was full of amusement once he calmed down from the high, plopping right beside you while he draped the blanket over your body.

Then you stared at him with excitement that took him by surprise, even more so when you suddenly placed your head on his chest. Scaramouche held his breath and all it did was amplify the beating of his heart that you're hearing. It was a nice feeling, something you thought would happen only in dreams.

"I've been wanting to do this for so long"

"O-oh really?" He stuttered, a blush staining his cheeks. Why the hell was he nervous right now rather than earlier?

"Yeah really" You mumble and press yourself closer to him, wanting to feel more of his addictive body warmth. Scaramouche then rests his hand on the small of your back, awkwardly patting you to sleep yet his eyes relax at the sight of you in his arms.

[ohmyeyesmyeyes]

slowly but surely

quinn hughes x f!reader; platonic!petey x f!reader

warnings: smuttish towards the end/suggestive themes; alcohol and drunkenness; swearing; cheating and toxic exes; reader is a chef and has tattoos; the ending might be a bit dodgy

word count: 17k

this gif got me smiling like an absolute fool

You’d only been standing outside in the mild Summer air for a few minutes, mind seemingly intent on conjuring up arguments as to why you should and shouldn’t give in and book a taxi back home, when the door to the hotel swivelled around. You could recognise it because the brush tickles the floor and makes a distinct swooshing sound – you knew no one had walked in because you’d been the only one on the pavement on that stretch of tarmac, so the only other option was that someone had left the party.

It was getting dark, the sunlight slowly crawling back over the tops of buildings, enveloping the entire city in a deep blue haze. The warm lights from the lobby didn’t do much to aid your vision through the blacked out glass when you turned around – out of habit more than anything.

Your bag for the night was hanging from your fingers, a black sparkly thing you’d taken from your mum’s wardrobe when you were seventeen, that she’d never had the heart to ask for it back, and you were dressed formally, in an astonishing scarlett dress. Obviously, you hadn’t exactly thought you’d be at the wedding reception for too long (strangers kept luring you into conversation), so you’d neglected to bring an extra layer. That reminder only seemed to strike gold when your skin erupted in goosebumps – coincidentally at the same time you’d made eye contact with the person that had just left the building.

Where you’d been previously unbothered about your current state of dress and appearance, you suddenly felt the material of the dress against your skin, and where the straps touched your shoulders; where the skirt caressed the backs of your knees. The way your hair was blowing gently in the breeze, and the inevitability of some of your makeup not being as perfect as it was when you first arrived.

“Hey.”

He spun around upon hearing your voice, and the crease between his brows seemed to disappear along with the tension in his shoulders. He was carrying a navy blazer in the crook of his elbow as he slowly made his way over to where you were standing, your phone now switched off as you carefully watched as the corner of his mouth twitched up into a shy smile of greeting.

The top buttons of his shirt had been popped open all night, and although neither of you had had the chance to talk to each other, you noticed that more than just two buttons were now undone.

“Hi,” he said, coming to a stop just a few feet in front of you, one hand comfortably resting in his pocket, “are you okay?” He asked, raising an eyebrow in concern despite the soft look that still decorated the lines in his face.

You could tell he was referring to the way you’d almost whimsically decided to pick up your things and leave the party without even so much as saying anything to anybody. He’d been keeping an eye on you all night, and you him – though you couldn’t really understand why; it seemed to just be a comfort thing considering the fact that he was the only person in the crowd of blurred faces that you knew.

Even saying you knew Quinn would be a bit of an exaggeration. He was a friend of a mutual friend, and you’d barely had a real conversation with him that extended past what sweet treats he’d like to eat from Petey’s cupboards.

You swallowed, something heavy and not unpleasant settling in your chest as you forced a smile for him, “I’m good. I just couldn’t really stomach being there for much longer, but I’m fine.”

You flashed an unconvincing smile, uncomfortably adjusting your stance. Quinn seemed to get the hint, because he nodded. An awkward silence descended between you both – one that seemed to make you even more aware of the fact that you’d both spent time in each other’s presence before today, yet seemed completely incapable of making conversation.

Since you partially knew a bit about Quinn, you had an idea that he wasn’t exactly the type of person to kickstart a conversation, despite being the one to initiate it and seek you out in the first place, so you crossed your arms, and the action seemed to drag Quinn’s attention away from the neon signs of the restaurants down the block. There was a faint hum of music coming from somewhere, and you registered the faint longing in his eyes as he dragged his attention away from the delicious aroma that you now found yourselves ensnared in.

“Are you hungry?” You asked, focused on the tone of your voice so as to not seem like you were accusing him of losing interest in you, but also one that hopefully mimicked the desperation for food that you were also feeling.

The plan had been to go home and put a frozen pizza in the oven, but that had been kicked to the curb when you were joined by Quinn, who also seemed to have found himself in a similar predicament.

His mouth quirked up for a brief moment, something shining in his eyes as he nodded, “I’m starving.”

You pressed your lips together to suppress the smile that was attempting to claw its way onto your face, and instead turned your head to the side, eyeing the tempting restaurants and enticing wafts of a mixture of different cuisines. 

Italian…Mexican…Thai. Somehow you could smell them all, and it was the way your stomach seemed to ache that inspired you to gain the courage to turn back to his awaiting response.

“Me too,” you started, inhaling through your nose, “would you want to maybe get something to eat?” 

You didn’t know why, but in that very moment, your brain had decided that then was a brilliant time to fear rejection from such a trivial question. 

You knew what his answer was going to be, and yet somehow you feared an impossible sting at the mere idea of Quinn turning your offer down. 

“I’d like that.” He replied, arching an eyebrow as he turned back to the restaurant lined block, “Do you have a preference for where, or…?”

He left the question unfinished, and tilted his head in your direction as you swivelled on your heels in the direction of crowded pavements and the inevitable sound of friendly laughter.

“No, you?” 

Quinn shook his head, and upon coming to the conclusion that neither of you would suggest a place for fear of the other declining, you took one last look at the restaurants.

You hesitated for a moment. You knew these streets, you’d lived here for the past four years and had even dined in some of the places Quinn was looking at right now, but due to your indecision (you chalked it down to hunger – any food would do), you knew of a place.

So you turned to Quinn, “Do you trust me?”

“That depends.” Was his immediate answer.

“On what?” You found yourself asking, curiosity getting the better of you for just a moment. You were intrigued in what his answer would be. If you were being honest, you hadn’t even expected him to say he didn’t not trust you – in certain circumstances – and the admission, though small, warmed you slightly.

For the first time ever, you felt you were getting somewhere with him.

“Well…” Quinn started, his brows knitting together as his mind raced, “I wouldn’t trust you if I left my open bag of M&Ms out on a table and left the room. I think you’d eat some.”

You couldn’t restrain your smile or the short, shocked burst of laughter that flew past your lips before you could catch it and reel it back in. You couldn’t help but blush slightly when he turned his attention from a spot behind you and broke into a smile when he caught you laughing. 

It barely took a couple of seconds before you’d calmed yourself, though the grin on your face hadn’t dimmed one bit.

You knew Quinn had a sense of humour – you’d even seen it in his bickering with Petey, but it was somehow different when the teasing was directed at you. It was more amusing and slightly endearing.

You found yourself nodding, “That’s probably a smart idea, actually.” You agreed, voice soft, “But would you trust me if I told you I know a nice place to eat?”

He paused – momentarily – as if he was caught off guard by something, and then he nodded, “Absolutely.”

“Okay–”

“Sell it to me.” He interrupted you, and when you turned your attention back to him from the direction you intended on taking him, it seemed even he was shocked by the blurting of his words. His eyes were wide and his mouth was pressed shut, as though he was on the brink of fighting sudden laughter, or mortification. Judging from the way he seemed to part his mouth and narrow his eyes, he looked as if it was the latter – and as though he wanted to take what he’d just blurted out back, but you were intent on keeping him out of his shell.

You cleared your throat, and he stopped his movements.

“Do I have a time limit?” 

He chewed the inside of his lip, “Ten seconds.”

You raised your brows, feeling a surge of competitiveness and adrenaline enter your system. You had limited experience in selling things to people, but you knew the key was a unique selling point – an angle.

It didn’t take long to settle on one, and you knew if you chose this specific angle, Quinn would probably be even less inclined to trust you than he was before, but you were willing to risk it.

“Tell me when.” 

There was a moment’s silence as he held you in anticipation, and you found your mind wandering to how you’d managed to get from A (being invited to the wedding of your ex) to B (discussing dinner plans with Quinn Hughes – of all people). And how you’d both forgone the previous awkward aura and slipped into an easier flow of conversation that seemed to be filled with secretive smiles and blushes gratefully hidden by the coveted curtain of night. Granted, you couldn’t exactly say that you were both completely comfortable to be in each other’s presence; you’d never been alone with each other longer than the time it took Petey to have a piss – and that awareness hung above your heads like a dangling bone, but it didn’t feel like you had to try too hard or think too much about making small talk.

Christ.

“Go.”

Quinn made you nervous.

You took a deep breath, thoughts slightly scattered upon the realisation, but persevered, your angle stuck at the forefront of your brain.

You held out your hand, flicking up your fingers as you listed off several points, “A five minute walk, it’s always quiet, good quality food, a nice drinks menu, friendly staff,” you were nearly out of breath, “and there’s another shocker element but it’s gonna be a mystery because I’m not telling you—”

“And stop.” 

You’d been making eye contact with him the entire time. You hadn’t realised how intensely you’d been looking at him – mostly out of concentration – until you realised that you’d been watching him silently count to ten because your eyes were already on his mouth when he stopped you.

He gave you no time to overthink your actions, “A mystery, huh?” He rocked back on his heels slightly, his shoe kicking the back of the opposite foot as his eyes skittered around you, intent on not looking you in the face.

You nodded, folding your arms across your chest as a chillier breeze whipped past you. Your bag clipped your arm, so you lowered the hand holding it, still ensuring you kept a grip on your other arm as your goosebumps seemed to intensify somehow.

“Do I get a clue?” This time his eyes trailed back to you, and you missed the way his gaze flickered to your arms and the way the arm holding his blazer twitched.

You tilted your head at him, quizzically, “What part of ‘mystery’ and ‘not telling you’ do you not understand, Hughes?”

He shrugged, “All of it. Please woman-splain it to me.”

You froze. Mind blank. 

You wanted to laugh, you really did, but a small part of you couldn’t move from your spot, mind intent of playing the tone of his voice over and over in your head until you were dizzy. His voice sounded…You didn’t know how to describe it, but it sent shivers of a different kind down your spine and your mouth went dry.

You covered your tracks fairly well and pretty quickly despite the fact that your brain seemed to short-circuit for a second, because you rolled your eyes, trying not to smirk at his words.

“Or I could just show you?” You offered, beginning to take slow steps away from him, your hand pointing in the direction you knew the restaurant to be.

He followed your hand to where it pointed, then his gaze flicked back up to your hopeful face slowly – he seemed to trace you from your outstretched hand, all the way up your arm and to your face, and you felt ashamed at how much a single look was affecting you.

So you increased your pace and dropped your hand, spinning on your heel as you pretended to walk away without him. You took three steps before looking over your shoulder, seeing him still planted to the spot right where you left him. 

Until he caught you looking at him, and a bashful smile seemed to overtake his lost expression as he realised that, no, you weren’t leaving him behind – you were just waiting for him to catch up to you. He took quite a few long strides and, to your surprise, managed to cover the distance between you both, until he was walking alongside you, the soft material of his shirt brushing against your arm.

It was only when he nudged your arm that you realised he was holding out his blazer to you, “You’ve got goosebumps and I’ve seen you shiver a couple of times…And I’d rather have you alive and breathing because I’m actually pretty excited about seeing this place.”

You swallowed, eyes zipping between the obviously expensive navy blazer in his grip to his face. For some reason you were hesitant to accept his offer.

Accepting the blazer felt like committing to something else.

“Oh, it’s okay, we’ve not got long before we get there–”

“Five minutes, fifty minutes – either way, it’d ease my mind if I knew you weren’t cold.”

You slowly nodded, not bothering to argue with him as you both stopped on the sidewalk and he helped you into his blazer, his hands gentle as you threaded your arms through the sleeves.

“Thanks.” You muttered, feeling slightly sheepish that you’d try to deny it in the first place. You could feel the remnants of his body heat in the fabric from where he’d hugged it close to his torso carrying it.

He must have been pretty warm if you were almost instantaneously cured of your chills.

“You don’t have to thank me.” He smiled sweetly.

You carried on walking, unable to even look in his direction as you tugged the blazer tighter around your body, desperate to maintain as much heat as possible. The temperature seemed to drop even further in the next couple of minutes, and you almost felt guilty at taking Quinn’s only source of protection against the night temperatures, but once you remembered the sincerity in his tone and the firm glimmer in his eyes, it seemed to vanish.

“So,” Quinn started, both his hands now in his pockets as he kept his focus on the pavement, “were you there for the bride or groom?”

You sighed, a sudden pit of nerves settling in your chest. There was a reason you’d left the wedding reception shortly after the speeches. 

Even thinking about it now makes you feel nauseous.

“Groom.” You said, “What about you?”

Quinn winced, “I was a plus one for someone on the Bride’s side, so neither, really.”

“And were they okay with you leaving?” You breathed a laugh, feeling a stab of guilt for being partially responsible for Quinn running out after you.

Quinn bit the inside of his cheek, the gesture immediately accentuating his cheekbones further, “Honestly, I only agreed to go because of the open bar, and he only invited me to go with him because he’d name dropped, and I’d pledged myself on a path to self-improvement, and part of that commitment was getting out more…So, here I am, I guess. And to answer your question, no, he didn't mind. He’s been trying to pick up a bridesmaid all night so he wasn’t paying much attention to me anyway.”

You’d found yourself trying not to smile at his behaviour since he’d first approached you, and it seemed this was one of the times you were struck dumb with how surprising Quinn was at times. It had barely been fifteen minutes in his presence and he’d already subverted most of what you thought you knew about him. You couldn’t help but laugh at his choice of words.

“You’ve pledged yourself on a path to self-improvement?” You weren’t condescending in any way, more curious as to the specifics of his vow, but you couldn’t help the slight teasing tone that edged its way into your voice. “What does that involve?”

He twisted his torso mid-step so he was partially facing you when he answered, and the tell-tale slight pink flush to his cheeks gave it away that maybe he was being completely serious after all, “Oh, you know…Stuff like saying yes to more plans with my friends, putting myself out there. Nothing too major, but enough to rescue my hermit crab status in society.”

Adorable.

That was all that was running through your mind, and you didn’t have it in yourself to get rid of it.

He said everything with such sarcasm that it contradicted his real meanings that just ended up seeming unsure of everything he was talking about. 

You found yourself thinking back to whenever you’d been in the same room at Petey’s or out with a group of friends, and it felt like you’d missed something, because how could he have been right under your nose and you didn't notice? It could be the haze of alcohol that meant he didn’t hold back as much, or maybe it was the fact that there were less people around and more room for him to express himself, but he seemed like a different person than the Quinn you’d got to know with your friends.

Two years. Two years you’d known Petey, and a year and a half you’d known Quinn, and only now were you having a real conversation.

You could almost feel Petey’s evil laughter in the back of your mind.

“You’re not a hermit crab, you’ve come out with us plenty of times before.” You argued.

“Tell that to my family,” Quinn shook his head, a melancholy smile now on his face, “they think that because I don’t take pictures of anything that I don’t go out.”

“So on this path to self-discovery, you didn’t think to just take more pictures instead of forcing yourself to go out?” 

Quin stopped in the middle of the pavement, clenching his jaw as he swung his head in your direction, a sigh of exasperation passing his lips as you too stopped, blinking in confusion.

“If only I’d have thought of that sooner.” He was being sarcastic, the drawl in his voice giving so much away, and you rolled your eyes as he started back up again.

“Funny.” You muttered back, grabbing him by the arm as he continued walking down the street, unaware of the way you’d stopped on the sidewalk, prepared to cross.

He didn’t say anything or convey surprise at your actions, and almost immediately you retracted your touch, before looking both ways and crossing the road, him hot on your heels. The restaurant you’d picked was small; built on two floors, with the windows of the bottom floor half blocked by the sidewalk. There seemed to be fairy lights hung in strips behind the glass, with posters of some sort of print on the front. 

There were steps right in the middle of the building, leading to a door bracketed in by two large windows on either side, also decorated with string lights of different colours: red, blue, green, yellow. Behind those, the silhouettes of sparkling cardboard stars could be made out, blocking the view inside the restaurant.

It was quaint, and in the light – you knew by experience – anyone would walk straight past such a charming little diamond, but at night when the city was shrouded in darkness, it was hard to miss it; the twinkling lights acted as blinking stars and it was charming to look at. Tacky, maybe, but charming nonetheless.

You both came to a stop, necks craning to look at the building. It was a sight you’d seen many times before, and one that you never found yourself growing bored of, but you couldn’t help sneaking a glance at Quinn out of the corner of your eyes.

His mouth was parted slightly, but his eyes were difficult to read – Quinn was difficult to read. He was wearing that dumbfounded look – one that often reminded you of an exaggeration of being dazed and confused. 

“Is it lit only by string lights?” Quinn asked, not tearing his eyes away from the view.

You shrugged coyly, nodding your head in the direction of the steps, silently asking the question.

He nodded, and you both made it up the steps, you heading through the door first and holding it open for Quinn – who audibly let out a low breath when he stepped into the threshold.

You guessed he must have been mildly impressed by the exterior, but judging from the way his eyes seemed to widen and his gaze kept flicking almost wildly from the ceiling, to the tables and back up to the ceiling again. It was almost as though he couldn’t make up his mind on where to look.

Even after a waiter had approached and even after you’d requested a table for two, Quinn hadn't stopped gawking at everything. You had no choice but to resort to poking him in his side to get his attention, and even when he was following behind you, you had no doubts he kept looking at the ceiling.

Like in the window, the ceiling was packed with lights. Some flashed, some softly glowed, and some remained one colour. The waiter had paused at a table tucked towards the back, and just like you’d previously promised, there was barely anyone else inside. A couple of lone stragglers sat huddled in their chairs, but apart from that, the only sound above the occasional clinking of cutlery was the soft hum of background radio.

“Thank you.” You took the menu from the waiter and got settled in your seat, shrugging Quinn’s blazer off and placing your bag on your lap.

You scanned the menu half-heartedly, not having the willpower to read the descriptions of the food after your stomach was already churning up a whole load of nothing. You already knew what you’d order, and putting yourself through the added torture of imagining dish after dish of steaming food only seemed to make that ache in your stomach even more painful.

“Is this the mystery you were talking about?” His finger pointed towards the ceiling, where illuminated chilli’s hung down above your heads, all different colours.

“Part of it.”

“What’s the other part?” 

You pulled a face, shrugging your shoulders, “Have you looked at the menu?” 

He shook his head, furrowing his brows in confusion, until his eyes began scanning over the text. Then his face switched, brows shooting upwards in mild shock, “There’s something from nearly every cuisine here.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty awesome.” You agree, feeling proud of yourself for impressing him.

“What’re you having?” His eyes flick to yours over the top of his menu.

“Moroccan spiced pie.” 

He nodded, thinking for a moment.

“Do you have any recommendations?” 

“Shit, you really do trust me with your food, don’t you?” You breathed a laugh, arching a brow in his direction. 

Quinn lowered the menu, an incredulous look on his face, and it suddenly dawned on you that maybe he knew more about you than you initially thought, “You’re a chef.” He stated, blinking once dramatically for effect, “I’d be stupid not to.”

You ducked your gaze, unable to control the way your cheeks warmed. You weren’t embarrassed by any means, just somewhat flattered that he’d remembered that; you were sure you’d only mentioned it once in passing when you’d been asked about work, and even then you weren’t aware that at the time Quinn was even listening.

Was he even there that day? You couldn’t remember.

“Just because I’m a chef doesn’t mean that you’ll like the food I suggest.” 

“Oh, no, I think I will.”

“In that case,” you straightened, leaning over your menu. You didn’t know if Quinn had any specific dislikes or likes in food, so him putting you on the spot did put a little pressure on you – you wanted to get him something he’d like, something safe? But if he wanted to be safe, wouldn’t he have just chosen? You sighed, “I’d suggest a fusion dish? Maybe the teriyaki tacos with sesame nori?”

“Sounds good.” He put his menu on the table, and you were able to see his face properly under the new lighting. Despite the brightness of the lights and their combined effort, there always seemed to be a dimmed glow about the place – a soft illumination that somehow made the man in front of you look somewhat…enticing? You pulled your eyes away from his soft smile before you allowed yourself to change your mind or allow it to wander too far.

“I can’t believe they didn’t order enough food to feed everyone.” You found yourself talking, wondering exactly where that comment had come from considering the fact that your brain seemed hellbent on trying to distract itself from Quinn, therefore sending you into an inevitable whirlpool of not being able to think of anything but him.

“Right?” Quinn mumbled, his brows furrowing in something akin to concern as he remembered the night’s previous events, “Did you eat at all?”

You shook your head, “I had one slice of the small toast things they had, the ones with salmon and cream cheese on, but I didn’t have anything else. Did you manage to get anything?”

“I had two of what you had, and I tried to drink a couple of beers, but on an empty stomach? Didn’t think it was a great idea.” He shook his head in disbelief, trying not to smile at the ridiculousness of it all.

“It was pretty brave of you to even attempt the beers in the first place. How many did you have?”

“I had one and was halfway through the other and I think someone stole it – it was on the table and I went to the bathroom and it wasn’t where I left it when I came back.” He leant forward across the table, resting his crossed arms on the surface as though he was telling you a secret. He played into the notion, eyes scanning the room as if to suss out anything suspicious, before shielding his mouth with his left hand, “I heard they hired a wedding planner, and they were sure there would be enough food for everyone.”

Your jaw dropped, “Did they miscount their RSVPs or something? I don’t know how there was no food left when only half the people had gone up to the tables.” 

“I have no idea, but if I ever get married I’m personally making sure everyone gets fed.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

There was a lull in conversation, and just as you went to adjust the straps of your dress, a hot plate was put in front of you.

Your stomach churned, and you didn’t think either you or Quinn even spoke when you were tucking into your meals. Judging from the way he nodded and didn’t stop to breathe through bites of taco, you could only rejoice in the fact that he obviously liked what you'd picked. Or, it was possible that his hunger had blinded his taste completely, but you relished in the former.

A win's a win.

It was when you’d both finished and were sitting back in your chairs that he’d spoken.

“I didn’t know you had tattoos?” He asked softly, and when you followed his line of sight, you noticed he was staring at the skin under your collarbone. Your neckline on your dress had warped slightly as your strap must have slipped when you were eating, providing him with a snippet of black ink.

You blushed unintentionally; you’d never considered your tattoos to necessarily be private to you, but not many people had seen them or even knew you had them, and for Quinn to know? It felt a little odd.

There was a voice in the back of your mind, and you didn’t know where it had come from or what its intentions were, but it muttered something briefly – and it sent your head spinning slightly.

It said: but it’s Quinn.

You didn’t know what it meant, but you offered Quinn a small smile, tucking your strap back up. 

“Not many people do.” You hesitated. Usually you wouldn’t have expanded on the topic and just left the conversation in the dust, but he was looking at you earnestly, as though he was waiting for you to start talking – you knew he would listen as intently as he possibly could. You came to realise that he might have been quiet in group settings, but he absorbed every little piece of information like an everlasting sponge; he’d proved that much tonight, “I got that one,” you pointed at the patch of skin now covered by your dress, “when I was nineteen, and I’ve got a few now. Seven in total.”

He crossed his arms and leant on the table, eyes tracking down your arms and any exposed skin as though trying to spot another peek of ink. He settled on the crook of the inside of your elbow as you tilted your arm so he could get a look at the two that were on that side, “Do they have a meaning?”

“Most of them. I have one on my ribs that doesn’t mean anything, I just liked it in the shop. One of my friends in high school went on to do an apprenticeship for a tattoo shop back in Toronto and I let her practise a stick and poke design that she drew…It was risky but she was incredible, and I still go to her for all my tattoos.”

“They’re really pretty.” 

You looked at him, only to find his brown eyes boring into yours, the flush from his new glass of beer pinking his cheeks – probably spurring on his boldness as well. You distracted yourself by taking a sip of your wine and playing with the stem to avoid his gaze.

“I know.” You replied.

There was a comfortable silence.

“I’ve had fun tonight.” You broke the silence.

“Me too.”

_ _ _ 

Petey didn’t have many parties, but when he did it was usually a small gathering anyway, and he always hosted in his apartment. His birthday bash was probably the craziest, though he’d once told you that somehow there were always more people that arrived than he’d invited. This time seemed to be no different.

You'd texted him on your way over, asking if he needed you to pick anything up from a store, so you’d arrived armed with a bag full of alcohol and another full of snacks – only to walk into chaos.

It reminded you of the Community episode you’d watched the other day where Troy walks in through the apartment to see several things on fire, furniture broken, and everyone trying their best to put out the chaos but only successfully making it worse.

That was the comparison that immediately came to mind when you shoved your way through the front door. Petey’s place wasn’t exactly small, but it was still packed to the brim with people. There was music playing somewhere, but over the chatter and shouting, you could barely hear it anyway. You had to push your way through the thick throng of drunkards to even make it to the table that Petey had clearly designated for snacks and drinks and even then you didn’t even have the room to pull everything out of the bags and onto the table; you’d displayed about half of what you’d bought when people started reaching in and taking stuff for themselves, at which point you’d given up even trying and moved around to the other side of the table to pour yourself a drink.

You downed it immediately.

When you’d gone to pour another, a hand gently touched your shoulder, and it was barely a moment later when Petey appeared, sliding in next to you.

“Thanks for getting supplies.” He yelled into your ear, and you could smell the alcohol on his breath already. 

Petey didn’t drink often, and his party was barely about him anymore, more about the spectacle surrounding it, and it was hardly an hour in already. It gave you a pretty solid idea of what tonight would be like.

“This is insane.” You yelled back, knocking a gulp down. Your eyes were frantic, desperate to seek out a familiar face among the unrecognisable, and upon seeing no one but the blonde next to you, you took another gulp.

“I know. I might head out at some point—”

“It’s your party.”

“This is not my party; it’s out of control.” He held up his hands, tongue poking the inside of his cheek in apprehension. “I would say I’m surprised no one’s called the police, but even my fucking neighbours are here.” 

“Is there anyone I can talk to?” 

It was a vague and thinly veiled question – not entirely specific. It could have meant a million different things; you and Petey had quite a lot of friends in common for some very odd reasons, and you’d not said it with any particular motive at all. But Petey was looking at you weirdly, and it wasn’t because of the amount of alcohol already in your system.

He blinked, jerking his head away from yours for a minute and regarding you with suspicion.

“What?” You asked, furrowing your brows.

“Nothing.” He shrugged.

“I was just asking if there’s anyone I can talk to apart from you—”

“I know. You don’t have to defend yourself.” He smirked, leaning back slightly as he took a sip of his own drink, an eyebrow flicking up.

He fucking knew something.

You clenched your jaw, “I don’t like that look.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got.” He shrugged, his smirk widening.

You tilted your head, the alcohol not helping to numb your growing frustration. You’d had a stressful day at work – even more so than usual; you’d heard rumours about a highly regarded food critic apparently planning to dine in your restaurant, so everything had been clamped down on to each miniscule detail. The last thing you’d really wanted to do tonight was come to a party with loud music, strobe lights and people you didn’t know. You didn’t particularly have the effort for social interaction, but you’d held out – for Petey’s sake.

And not only was it worse than you’d originally imagined, but the birthday boy himself was even planning on ditching, and you had yet to spot someone you were comfortable with.

Suffice to say, added on from your previous irate manner, you were a little pissed. It wasn’t Petey’s fault, or anyone’s really, but you just didn’t know if you wanted to stay.

“Quinn’s in the kitchen. It’s locked and he’s a little drunk too, but he told me the secret knock – watch, just do this.” He held up his hand, mimicking a pattern that you committed to memory.

“Why is he in the kitchen?” You asked, not intentionally pretending like you weren’t at least looking forward to seeing him – the last thing you wanted was for Petey to jump to conclusions, but you were going to have to at least put up with some teasing, because he’d most definitely noticed the recent dynamic change lately.

It was hard not to, considering you and Quinn went from not speaking a word to each other unless absolutely necessary, to Quinn approaching you and instigating a conversation – one that Petey had noticed neither of you seemed to shy away from. There were hesitant smiles and slightly awkward silences, but he’d noticed Quinn looked less distressed, and actually more like he wanted to be there.

But, of course, Petey didn’t voice that to you; he resorted to the odd teasing glance – very much like the one he’d given you earlier when you asked after a familiar face.

Now, however, he lifted his cup to his face to mask the smirk he was unable to control, and answered you carefully.

He didn’t want to be accused of ruining whatever it was that was going on, so he’d vowed to not meddle in your business – no matter how tempting it might be.

“He said, and I quote, ‘I need some me-time’, and I think he’d been here about forty-five minutes? He’d only just gone in by the time you arrived.”

You nodded, “I need some me-time too.” You patted him on the arm, “Happy birthday, Petey.” And kissed him on the cheek in a friendly gesture, and he nodded his head towards the locked kitchen door on the other side of the hustle and bustle in the living room.

“Thank you.” He muttered in response, before flashing a brilliant smile and turning his body to let you get past.

It took a lot of energy and shoving of elbows to make it through the living room. People seemed insistent on not budging when you’d politely asked them to move, though you did give them the benefit of the doubt that a, they were too drunk to comprehend anything anyone said, and b, couldn’t hear you shouting over the noise.

By the time you had made it and completed the secret knock that Petey had given you – you were sure the rhythm was familiar – there was nothing left to do but wait rather impatiently as someone knocked into your shoulder, sending you a little off balance. It was like being in an overly packed club, but the lights were on and you were on the verge of running out entirely.

Just as you were about to give up hope, and just as you raised your fist to repeat the pattern again, the door flew open, your hair momentarily whipping into your face. You barely had a moment to remove it from your face before a hand was gripping your wrist and leading you inside. Over the thumping of the bass, you vaguely registered the sound of a door slamming shut behind your head and the click of a lock sliding back into place.

After that, the music and noise from the other room seemed to dissipate, and you were standing in Petey’s kitchen – only the countertop lights on – with your heart pounding and head recovering from the sudden whirl of motion. You were sure you were blinking your eyes to clear the sudden fog, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the stark contrast from the mess in the other room to the absolute cleanliness of the kitchen. Sure, there were a few empty glasses near the sink, and a box of beer on the marble surface, but other than that, there wasn’t much to look at.

Until you registered the sound of a voice on the phone, and you looked to the floor, just a couple of feet in front of you.

Quinn was resting against the cupboards, his legs outstretched in front of him, and there was a phone held up to his face, a tinny voice exuding from the device.

“Who was that?” 

Jack.

You averted your eyes from the scene in front of you, but your slightly tipsy frame of mind seemed intent on staring after Quinn. He was wearing a dark cap, placed backwards on his head, and a simple short-sleeved henley with jeans. Simple, but it didn’t stop your heart from quickening in your chest.

The guilt seemed to overpower that, though. You knew Quinn missed his family, and the knowledge that you’d stepped in on a FaceTime call with Jack? You wanted to walk back out into the party and let them have some time in private. 

You did feel awkward standing there, looking a little dumb without a drink in your hand, and when Jack had asked who he’d let in, you had to turn your head, because suddenly Quinn was looking straight at you, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“Oh. I see.” Jack answered quickly, and Quinn turned back to the camera. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his cheeks flush under the low light of the kitchen. The alcohol you’d drunk seemed to embolden your actions, because upon seeing how flustered Quinn was as he stuttered to get his words out, you planted yourself on the floor next to him, a reasonable gap between your bodies.

He had no choice then but to tilt his phone so you were both in Jack’s eyeline, and the kid was already grinning from ear to ear, his hand coming up to wave in the frame, “Hey, Y/N. How are you?”

You smiled back at him. You’d spoken to Jack before on the occasion the Devils would play against the Nucks – neither Hughes brother seemed to pass up an opportunity to see each other when they had a game, and the two of you had had your fair share of interactions. Ironically, you knew more about Jack than you did Quinn up until the wedding a couple of months ago. The younger Hughes was friendly, approachable and incredibly smiley – somewhat the opposite of Quinn, though you were beginning to see that they were similar in more ways than not.

“I’m good, you?” You asked, pulling a knee up to your chest to rest your chin on.

“I’m very good. I’m fabulous, in fact,” he nodded, smile never fading, “but now that I see Quinn isn’t so lonely anymore, I think I’m gonna go…” He trailed off, and took a swig of a drink as you felt Quinn look at you out of the corner of his eyes briefly.

Jack took no notice of the action, “Anyway, miss you, Quinny, love you.” He blew a kiss through the phone, and Quinn smiled.

“Love you, miss you too, Jack.” This time Quinn waved at the camera, before Jack grinned again.

“See you soon.”

“Bye.”

Quinn dropped his phone in his lap and the silence that engulfed the both of you was achingly loud.

Until Quinn broke it.

“Hi.” Was all he said, turning to face you, his cheeks still slightly flushed.

You forwent the usual greeting, “What’s this about you being lonely?” 

He breathed a laugh, adjusting the cap on his head, “Just that I got bored sitting here by myself, so I called Jack.”

“Did you prove you were ‘getting out’?”

Quinn nodded, folding his arms, “I put the phone next to the door so he could hear everything.”

This prompted a laugh from you, and you lent your head back against the cupboard door, “What did he say?”

“He told me that I’m too introverted for my own good, and that by hiding in the kitchen, I wasn’t putting myself out there, I was keeping myself in.” He answered with a good-natured eye-roll.

“He does have a point.” You admitted, rolling your head against the door to look at him, only to find he was already looking at you.

“Yeah, but you’re here too.”

“I haven’t vowed to socialise more.”

“Yet you still sought me out?” He raised both brows, laughing softly at the way you furrowed your brows and leant away from him as if you were disgusted by the accusation.

Intrinsically, yes, you had sought him out, but you’d outwardly asked Petey if there was anyone you knew and he happened to point you in Quinn’s direction, and you weren’t about to give either man the satisfaction of proving them right.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” you started, holding out your hands in surrender, “I’m only here because I asked Petey if there was anyone I knew, and he pointed me in your direction–”

“And you gladly followed.”

“Some might say that you were my last option because I was actually having fun out there. I just felt guilty for you being by yourself.”

“Some might also say that I was your first option and you immediately ran with it.”

“What are you drinking that’s making you so difficult tonight?” You deflected his statement, and you knew he’d picked up on the way you’d purposefully dodged actually answering what he’d said.

That had been the dynamic between the both of you recently: awkward starts when neither of you knew how to approach a conversation, but falling into a comfortable, teasing rhythm within minutes. It was weird how you’d gone from not talking to each other to being quite good friends within the span of four months.

You could have kicked yourself – this guy was right in front of you the entire time and you were only just realising it.

“Water.” He deadpanned and you tilted your head, not entirely believing him…until he reached above his head and produced a glass full of clear liquid, that upon smelling, you came to realise that he was indeed pumping himself full of water.

“I’m impressed.”

“That was my intention.”

“It was? I’m flattered.”

“Good.” He broke into a smile, and it was so infectious you couldn’t help but replicate it, “Would you like a drink?”

Your throat dried upon hearing those words, and you realised that even through the drinks, you’d not actually had anything that had quenched your thirst from dragging up two massive bags full of supplies, so you nodded, grateful for his offer, “What are the options?”

Seeing as you were both still comfortably sitting on the floor, Quinn had to slide himself over to the other side of the kitchen. You’d both been in Petey’s fridge many times before, but it always seemed to be a lucky lottery as to whether he had anything of real interest – a sentiment that you both seemed to take into account as you found yourself trailing after him.

The light from the fridge did more in illuminating the entire room than the lighting itself, and you both had to blink to allow your eyes to readjust to the sudden harsh, cool tones.

Your eyes landed on a bottle of electric blue smoothie and your mouth started watering.

“I fucking love this thing.” You found yourself reaching in and extracting the entire bottle before Quinn had the chance to comment, and this time you stood up, ducking under his arm as he held the fridge door open, and placed the bottle on the countertop, extracting a glass from the cupboard above.

It wasn’t long before you felt a presence press against your side as you poured the smoothie into the glass. Quinn was warm, and through your still tipsy haze, you could faintly make out his hot breath fanning your neck as he leaned over your shoulder to look at the bottle.

“What is it?” He asked, curiosity lingering in his tone.

“Pineapple, apple, guava and spirulina extract. And it is gorgeous.” You didn’t wait to screw the top back off before chugging half of the glass down, relishing in the coldness as it soothed your thirst.

Quinn moved closer, his torso pressing into your arm and the contact had you swinging your head to look at him. He held out his hand, clearly hesitating in saying something, and it was through the quick flick of his eyes between you and the glass had you connecting the dots before he could even open his mouth.

“Would you like to try some?”

He nodded.

“Want me to pour you a glass or…?”

He shook his head, “Can I just–”

“Yeah, sure.” You handed him the glass, feeling something foreign burrow itself in your chest.

He took a gulp, furrowing his brows as he tasted it properly, “Shit, this is good.”

“Right?”

He nodded, and before you could yank it back, he quickly tipped the rest of the glass into his mouth before you could protest.

You jaw fell open, and a short burst of uncontrolled laughter escaped you, “What the fuck was that?”

He shrugged, smirking as he placed the glass back down on the counter, “I was thirsty.”

You eyed the pint glass of water that he was slowly pushing out of your view with his fingers with distaste. 

“How was your day?” The question caught you off guard, and you found yourself freezing in your spot.

It was so simple, yet domestic. A question your family used to ask when you’d come home from school, or what your friends would ask after a hard day at work. Coming from Quinn, though, the question seemed to take on an entirely new meaning.

To you, it meant something along the lines of ‘I care about you enough to ask about the trivial things’. It was simple, but it meant more than you thought it would.

He was probably just being polite, and now wasn’t the time to dissect everything he said and did.

You swallowed, your expression melting into one of neutrality. You’d opened your mouth to answer him, but nothing was coming out, and when you could feel the intensity of his gaze turning into something akin to recognition – as though he could sense the cogs turning in your mind – he seemed to soften, and nudged you gently in the arm in reassurance.

Truthfully, your day at work had been difficult.

And unlike Quinn, you hadn’t vowed to make more of an effort in the social scene, but after taking inspiration from the sentiment of his promise of self-improvement, you’d silently decided to somewhat draw from his idea.

Yours was to be more honest.

“Kind of stressful, actually,” you replied, “we’re supposed to have a food critic in at some point and everyone's strung pretty tightly…it’s a fast paced environment and one mistake could potentially be the difference between a good review and a bad one. If we get a bad one, there’s always that risk of not maintaining customers; it’s kind of a pivotal time right now.”

You couldn’t look at him when you were talking. You felt like an open wound with the threat of salt water on the horizon: terrified. 

You’d always had a little trouble in talking about the personal stuff – it was why not a lot of people know about your tattoos. Yet, Quinn did.

And you were finding out that you trusted him more than you liked to let yourself – more than you’re comfortable with.

You found the strength to look at him, and were pleasantly surprised by the way he was looking at you. It wasn’t pity, or repulsion, or patronising in any way – it wasn’t any of the things you’d been scared to see. If anything, his brown eyes were soft, but held a glimmer of something you couldn’t recognise or associate with him just yet, and you knew right away that he was hanging onto every word you said. 

When he noticed you looking at him, his mouth twitched into a hopeful half-smile.

You turned around and resumed your previous position on the floor, and he took the precious liberty of following suit, only instead of sitting right next to you, he chose to sit directly opposite. Your legs were still touching, but it meant you could see each other clearer instead of having to crane your necks at awkward angles.

“Where do you work?” He asked, using his arms as leverage to push himself against the cupboard again.

If he noticed your gaze stray from his face to the contours of his arms, he chose not to react. 

“That place on Hornby Street.” You answered.

He tilted his head fractionally, his mouth parting in shock. You could tell he knew what you were talking about because he started to smile, “Holy shit, you work there?”

You nodded, feeling sheepish.

“And you’re the chef?”

“One of them.”

“I ate there three weeks ago.”

This time it was your turn to act shocked, “What?”

“Yeah, the best meal I’ve had in ages, and I’m not even exaggerating.”

“What did you have?”

He winced, “Basic. I had pesto pasta.”

“When?”

“I want to say…Thursday?”

“And you liked it?”

“Loved it. Like, I want to have it in an IV, I loved it that much.”

“Thank you, I think.”

He froze, his eyes slowly drifting from the countertop above your head to your smug face, “Fuck off.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

He let out a sharp burst of laughter, one that made you jump. It must have shocked him some too, because he looked mortified for a moment after, until he’d remembered what he was reacting to.

“You cooked that?” 

You nodded, “I make the pasta and pesto fresh, that might be why it was nicer than the usual pesto pasta.”

“Or maybe it was nice because you made it?”

You shrugged.

You knew the food you made was nice – it had to be if you cooked for a living, but you were never one to shy away from compliments of how good it was. You rarely did; you lived by yourself; whenever you’d go to a friends house, the last thing you wanted to do was cook even more food after a suffocating ay in the kitchen, so you tended to just order a takeaway; your family hadn’t even tried your food in a couple of years. To top all of that off, it was even rarer that you’d get recognised for your work when it was plated and fed to the customers – you’d only received one ‘compliment for the chef’ in your entire career so far, and even still your other colleagues don’t get many offered to them either.

So, hearing Quinn talk about your food that you’d made before he even knew that it was you that made it was nothing short of euphoric.

Quinn dipped his head, and when he next looked at you, something dropped in your stomach. 

You could tell instantly that something was up.

“What?” You asked, the atmosphere now tense.

Something was hanging unspoken in the air above you both and it was unsettling. He looked a cross between pained and concerned, and his brown eyes seemed to hold a hint of torture.

“You know at the wedding?” He began, taking his cap off his head and fluffing his hair slightly, as though he was trying to play the question off as more casual than it really was.

In reality, it was casual. You knew it shouldn’t have incited the level of dread that had just accumulated in your very bones, but you had an inkling of where he was going with his question.

“Yes.” Your voice was tight, and your heart was hammering in your chest as you played with your hands apprehensively.

“Why were you so upset when you left?” He whispered it, as if afraid to break the delicate bubble you were both in.

You took a breath through your nose.

You hated talking about it, and you hated everything that was associated with it. The bitter taste of regret even thinking about it made you almost want to vomit, but the prominent flavour that stood out to you most was the burning – of anger.

“Um,” you started, taking a deep breath, unable to maintain eye contact with him, “I kind of knew Sam in college.”

“The groom?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, briefly looking up at him. He’d tensed, his arms now crossed over his chest, as though he had an idea of where you were going with it, “he was my first boyfriend in college, we started dating when I was nineteen and he was, like, twenty two, I think? And to say he was my first real boyfriend, we were pretty serious – we loved each other, and we were fine until he just broke up with me after a year, on our anniversary actually.” You laughed bitterly, rolling your eyes at the ridiculousness of it all – because in context, it really did make you want to just laugh. Not the usual laugh, but the belly laugh, gasping for breath and rolling around kind of laugh.

“It came out of nowhere?” He asked, voice soft.

You hesitated, “Sort of. We were arguing about little things, but it wasn’t anything detrimental. We’d forgive each other and move past it, you know?”

He nodded.

“I think I was in my second semester of my second year and I was nearly twenty one – he’d finished college by then, he was living in the area, and I think the first time I noticed something was up was when he’d refuse to let me stay over at his place. He stayed in this apartment; I was renting with a couple of my friends, but he’d never let me stay at his – which was really fucking sketchy. And I think the last fight we had before he broke it off was about that, and he stormed out – I mean, it wasn’t like I’d accused him of anything, I was polite about it, I wasn’t yelling, I just wanted to know – and he blew up on me about it, saying that I never gave him enough space – the works. And then a week later, he came by to pick up his stuff from my apartment when I wasn’t in and broke up with me in a ten second voicemail a day later.”

Quinn was silent. His eyes were wide, but there was something stony in his expression. His arms were still tightly crossed over his chest, and no matter how badly you wanted to not talk about this, you had to. You didn’t know where the resignation had come from – if it had been anyone else, you’d have just denied the entire thing and pretended that you didn’t feel too well, but that thought didn’t even cross your mind when it came to Quinn.

“Then he invited me to his wedding, and I naively went, thinking he just wanted to lay the past to rest or whatever, but it turned out he only wanted me there for the speech. You remember Macey’s speech, right?”

“The bride?”

“Yeah,” your heart was still pounding, but this part of the story had you almost anticipating his reaction to it, “anyway, she talked about when they met and when they started dating, and I didn’t think anything of it until I caught the dirty bastard smirking at me–”

“He didn’t.” Quinn sighed, shaking his head. His jaw ticked and there was an uncomfortable hardness in his eyes.

“He did.” You pressed your lips together in an attempt at a smile, but you knew it exuded more of a wince or grimace than anything, “Turned out they met about seven months into our relationship and he’d been cheating on me with her for the last five.”

You were met with silence.

A long silence.

“After our…meal, I got home and broke out the photo albums because most of that relationship was pretty much a lie, and I needed to know when—”

“You know it wasn’t your fault, right?”

You scoffed, “You just happen to know that?”

“No, I just happen to know that a few flimsy fights about a valid subject doesn’t justify any reason for cheating.” He shrugged.

“Maybe I was too clingy. Or I wasn’t interested enough in him. Or maybe I was just a bad girlfriend because it was my first relationship–”

“You know it wasn’t your fault.” He muttered, unfolding his arms, a sad smile on his face.

You paused, taking a deep breath mainly to calm yourself. This was the first time you’d told someone about the entire truth – including the whole wedding disaster – and you were getting a little worked up. No tears, no sadness, just good old regret and frustration.

“Somehow that’s even worse.”

Quinn tilted his head in question, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, that if he did that without any incentive from me – I wasn’t a perfect girlfriend, and I never will be – but what’s stopping a future partner from not cheating too? There’s no guarantee they’ll be faithful, because they could just turn around one day and willingly choose another woman. And how the fuck am I supposed to figure that out?” You were at the talking hands stage. Your hands had a life of their own as you spewed off your train of thought, suddenly not giving much of a shit about what Quinn thought of you, because he’d let you get this far into the deep stuff, and he hadn’t shown any indication of shutting you up.

In fact, he rather seemed to be determined to prove a point with the way he kept opening his mouth to say something until your continuous rambling cut him off. He’d leant forward, legs now crossed underneath him, and he was seated at your knees.

“I’ll be honest, I have no idea how you’re supposed to know – there’s no manual for shit like that, and it’s scary–”

“It’s terrifying.”

“–and the last thing you’re gonna want to do is throw yourself into something, I get that.” He paused, gritting his teeth in thought, “But I will say that if you ever need me to run a background check on someone you have your sights on, I will be more than glad to help you out.”

You shook your head, smiling bitterly, “I appreciate that, I do. But it doesn’t change the fact that there’s no guarantee. How am I supposed to know if I picked the right guy?”

Quinn blinked, then swallowed, and the silence that stretched almost had you aware of the sudden palpable tension that had enmeshed you both. You were aware of the way you were both sandwiched together in the smallest area of the kitchen, and aware of the fact that he looked almost as frustrated as you felt.

“You won’t. I guess you’ll just have to find someone you trust beforehand. I know that’s not helpful, and I know it won’t solve anything that that fuckwit did, but you deserve so much more than guys like him.” The earnesty in his voice was shattering, and all you could do was sit still and watch him talk. “There’s something so screwed up about the entire thing, because I know, for sure, that if I was dating you, there’s no way I’d even be able to concentrate on anyone other than you. The fact that he acted that way, like he was some sort of target as well, I mean, fuck, that’s seriously – God, it just pisses me off so—”

You didn’t know where it came from, or whether you’d even realised what you were doing until you did it, because as he was ranting – his chest quite literally heaving and his neck reddening – your brain decided that that was the moment it would change the way it thought about Quinn Hughes.

Right then and there.

The revelation crashed through you, and somehow your physical reactions to his passion and presence remained the same – as though that desire and nervousness and excitement at being near him and talking to him had always been there; like it had just been simmering under your skin, waiting for you to just recognise what you were feeling. It wasn’t friendship, you knew that, but it felt like something more than just a crush.

Crushes were supposed to make you self-conscious and stutter, but you didn’t do any of that with Quinn, you just felt so comfortable. And safe.

Then you wonder why you kept coming up short with reasons why you trusted him – you fucking liked the guy. 

And for some reason, when you came to that realisation, the only thing you could do that made sense was clamp your hand over his mouth to stop him talking, as if the spewing of words toppling out of his mouth would somehow correlate with how much you liked him. The unconscious theory was that if you stopped him talking, then maybe you wouldn’t get too ahead of yourself and start overthinking everything.

You weren’t quite at that point yet.

But clamping a hand over his mouth only seemed to have the opposite effect you intended. 

Because you couldn’t see the lower half of his face, it only seemed to make you more aware of his eyes.

Through the haze of his spouting, his gaze had trailed from you to dart around the room as he tried to keep his own train of through from flowing smoothly, and as you effectively stopped him speaking, he slowly and carefully slid his eyes back to you, and after that astounding revelation, the eye contact only seemed to send chills down your spine. His brows furrowed, this time softening slightly – from sheer exasperation to pure befuddlement. And because you’d halted him entirely, his hair flopped right onto his forehead, his cap left abandoned in his previous position after he’d removed it earlier.

Fuck.

You didn’t know if you were stepping over the line when you looked straight at his flopped hair. You knew what you wanted to do.

The hand not on his mouth twitched from where it had automatically landed on his shoulder. Quinn noticed – or rather, felt the movement. His own eyes slipped from your face to the hand on your shoulder, and all it took was the amused quirk of one of his brows and the purposeful glance to the curtain of hair that had obstructed his view for you to practically give in to the spontaneous urge.

The hand on his shoulder gingerly reached up and you carded your fingers through the hair hanging over his forehead. His hair wasn’t curly, as such, more wavy, and you were still slightly alcohol-induced, so it took a moment for you to actually realise you were touching his hair. It was so damn soft. 

You pushed it back, now able to see both his eyes.

Your cheeks were already blazing from the heated conversation, and you knew if they weren’t on fire then, they most certainly were now.

You felt him smile from under his hand, and a soft laugh threatened to pass your lips at the ridiculousness of it all. You went to remove the hand on his mouth, keeping the hand in his hair still because you knew if you removed it, there was no way it wouldn’t fall back into his face.

“When you get tired of stroking my hair, just let me know.” He said it with zero hesitation, and all cheek, and due to your closeness, it was the first time you could tell that despite the water he’d claimed to have been drinking, and despite drinking some of the smoothie, the unfocussed glaze in his eye, he was still a little tipsy too. Not drunk enough to do anything he would regret, but enough to give him a boost of confidence. 

You shut your eyes and immediately rolled them upon reopening them again. Your hand was still woven into his hair, but you let it drop rather dramatically.

“You’re a dick.” You muttered under your breath, but made no attempt to move away. You wouldn’t have done fifteen minutes ago, so you weren’t about to clue him in on the fact that something had changed for you.

His grin widened, but he said nothing – not immediately, anyway.

“So why’d you shut me up?” He spun on the spot, pushing himself against the cupboard next to you.

You hesitated, mind foggy with what exactly he had been saying, “You were getting pretty worked up, and the last thing you needed was to pop a blood vessel.”

“So, all of a sudden you know what’s best for me?” There was no bite to his words.

“No, I didn’t say that,” you sighed, rolling your eyes and fighting a smile, “just that it’s cute that you’d defend me like that.”

“Cute?” He wrinkled his nose, “I am deeply passionate about the injustice you faced with that cheating fuckface.”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

_ _ _

Sunday mornings were your epitome of heaven. They were your only free full day of the week, and you spent every morning the same – catching up on housework, making coffee, baking sweet treats that would last you the week, watching a few episodes of whatever it was you were behind on. 

Just lounging around.

Sundays were your peaceful days – guaranteed no disturbance.

They were the days you knew you could curl up on your sofa, watch some TV and let your body recover from the intensities of work. 

So, when a knock sounded on your apartment door, you didn’t think twice about it. It was a Sunday, who would possibly be wanting to see you on a Sunday? You hadn’t ordered any parcels lately, or invited anyone over, so you just assumed it was someone knocking on your neighbour’s door.

Until it sounded again.

And again.

And by that time, you were fairly irritated with whoever it was, because they were insistent, and weren’t about to leave you anytime soon, so you were left with no choice.

You hauled yourself up off the sofa, pausing the show you were halfway through watching.

Maybe the neighbours weren’t in and you had to look after one of their parcels?

By the time you’d made it to the door, the knocking had changed – it was a subtle change, but there was a familiar rhythm to it that was remarkably similar to…

You looked through the peephole and had to do a double take.

Nevertheless, you wasted no time in unlocking the door and swinging it open. You were conscious of the fact that you were only wearing your comfies, and that you’d neglected to make yourself presentable – but in your defence, this visit was incredibly spontaneous. If there was a scale of spontaneity for things you thought could happen on a Sunday, a plot twist in your show would have been on the high end of the scale, but Quinn Hughes rocking up unannounced at half eleven in the morning, with a hanger and dark suit draped over his shoulder was not even on there. 

It broke the scale – especially because the guy had never even been to your apartment before. He didn’t have your address. 

Which only begged the question – “How did you get my address?”

He blinked, slightly alarmed at your tone, “Petey. I hope that was okay? In my defence, though, I rang you a bunch of times and you didn’t answer, so–”

“It’s my fault?”

He paused, tilting his head and screwing his face up in a way that had you recoiling in offence – he was trying to suss you out.

“Essentially, yes.” Was his answer.

You were very tempted to shut the door. So tempted, you jerked it in its place to see if he would react to the sudden movement, and he did – slamming a palm against it to stop you shutting it in his face. The momentary alarm in his expression was picturesque. The only thing you could compare it to was the image you’d seen online when someone had managed to get a picture of his face when he was getting pushed up against the boards.

But the reason you knew you wouldn’t actually shut the door in his face is because your curiosity for what he was actually doing here overpowered every other inclination. 

A gorgeous man – who just so happens to be one of your close friends – shows up at your door unannounced and carrying a suit over his shoulder? You had questions.

“That was rude.” He stated, only removing his hand when he was absolutely sure you weren’t going to shut it on him.

“Oh, so now you want to talk about manners?” You raised an eyebrow in his direction, leaning on the doorframe with your arms crossed.

The corridor was deserted, and as you leant forwards to look the other way, Quinn refused to budge out of your line of sight. In fact, he only seemed to step closer until you headbutted his chest. This time, instead of arguing or allowing to explain himself on your doorstep, you took the liberty of giving him the benefit of the doubt, and shoved your door open wider, allowing him to wander inside.

Your apartment wasn’t too big; you lived alone in Vancouver, so the rent wasn’t exactly low, and a part of you felt shy at Quinn seeing how cosy everything was. It was like baring a piece of your soul to him.

A chaotically organised, colourful, cosy part.

You could tell he was interested, taking his time to look around. When you shut the door behind him, he wandered over to his left, skimming a hand along your booth seats at the island, and then he seemed to drift back over to the right side of the apartment to where your sofa was, along with the TV hung up against the wall. Then his feet seemed to have a mind of their own, because whilst he was still eyeing up the stack of books and candles on your coffee table, he found himself at the windows lining the far side of your apartment, bathing your entire flat in the sharp morning light.

“This view is incredible.” He said, jaw dropping in awe as he took in the skyline of Vancouver.

You nodded, knowing he couldn’t see you, and made your way back to the sofa. He was wearing tracksuit bottoms with a yellow t-shirt, and judging from the navy ‘M’ painting the front, you knew it was a UMich shirt. 

And you never thought you’d say this about anyone, ever, but he looked good in yellow. Really good.

“Thanks,” he spun around upon hearing the closeness of your voice, and you hung an arm over the back of your sofa, “would you like something to drink? Or eat?”

He shook his head, “No, thanks.”

There was a flash of disappointment. He wasn’t staying long, then.

You waited until he’d torn himself away from the windows and settled with you on the sofa, his suit laid carefully next to him.

“What are you doing today?” He interjected just as you were about to ask him what he was doing here. He looked strangely hopeful; his knee was bobbing up and down and he couldn’t look you in the eyes for too long without letting his gaze wander.

“I mean, it’s Sunday, so I was planning on romanticising a quiet life, but now I have a feeling that won’t be the case for whatever reason.” You rested your head on your fist, watching the oddly domestic scene as he kicked off his shoes and mirrored your movements.

“Well, I was thinking–”

“That’s dangerous.”

“Hey, be nice,” he scowled – clearly joking, “but I have this thing tonight. A game, and it occurred to me that you’ve not been to a game yet. It also occurred to me that you take Sundays off, so I was thinking, would you possibly do me the honour of coming to one of my games?” 

He chewed the inside of his cheek, squinting his eyes as he waited for your answer.

You thought hard for about ten seconds – probably longer than necessary considering the fact that his invitation was pretty much a no-brainer anyway. It always was when Quinn asked you to do something.

You couldn’t help your brain from picking apart the way he’d said ‘my’ when he knew for a fact that you were also friends with Petey – really good friends with him, in fact. It was the blonde that had introduced you in the first place, and you couldn’t help but wonder if Quinn had intentionally worded it that way.

“I know it’s late notice, but I figured if I came by this morning you’d have more time to get ready so you’re not as stressed.” He offered, a slight grimace on his face. He thought you were rejecting him.

And you couldn’t lie, something clenched in your chest, both at his reasoning and consideration, as well as his sweetness in approaching the situation.

“I’d love to go with you.” You answered, and he immediately broke into a grin, the tips of his ears reddening as he blushed. He tried to play it off by turning his head away from you, but you could still make out the curve of his lips and the contours of his smile lines.

His happiness was so goddamn infectious it made you feel nauseous – in an unusually good way. Although it scared you to dwell on it, you couldn’t deny that the dynamic had changed between you both over the last couple of months – it started after Petey’s party and the little moments you’d shared on the floor of his kitchen, both intoxicated.

You couldn’t tell if it was because you’d had a recent epiphany and seemed to be more attuned to where he was, but you were sure something had changed. Perhaps a stare that lingered a little too long, or a colliding of glances that left you both turning away from each other a little flustered and hotter than you were before. You’d also somehow picked up an insane radar – one more like a magnet than anything, and somehow you’d always accidentally end up within a few feet of each other. If either one of you was feeling brave, perhaps there would be a teasing poke or brush of hands – nothing that couldn’t have been passed up as a serendipitous interaction.

Yet, with the way he’d reacted to you accepting his invitation, maybe you were wrong? Maybe that little voice in your head – the one too afraid to admit that maybe something could be made of this – was right?

Then again, you couldn’t hurt yourself more right now than by playing into that fantasy.

“Good, I’d like that.” He ran a hand through his hair, before reaching behind him and unzipping the suit.

It was a black suit, plain and simple, and as you stood up to inspect it further, you could tell by touch alone that it was of a fine quality. He’d draped two ties over the shoulders, one a dark red and the other a stripy blue. Even before he’d opened his mouth, you’d pointed to the red tie, and he nodded, offering you a grateful smile as he tucked the blue one back into the covering.

Truthfully, Elias had asked you if you wanted to go to a match before. You’d had varying excuses, mostly truthful, because you’d had work one time, then you were seeing your parents, and at one point you couldn’t go because you were ill.

It wasn’t as though you were trying to avoid going to a match on purpose, even if the prospect of having to navigate a busy, inevitably raucous arena by yourself was incredibly daunting – to the point a knot of apprehension had formed in your chest; your previous blow-offs had just been coincidental.

Petey had stopped asking after a while, and you never worked up the courage to ask him for tickets, even after he’d told you it’d be okay to do so – you just felt too guilty bothering him with such a hassle, so you’d eventually let the subject settle.

It didn’t quell your desire to go to a hockey match, though.

The only difference between you watching hockey now as to a year ago, was that you were keeping more of an eye out for Quinn than you were for Petey – it wasn’t hard to. He was an incredibly graceful skater, and played an unbelievable amount of minutes. It was hard to miss him on the ice.

The silence that had settled between you both was comforting, even despite the fact that you were both essentially standing up and doing nothing but looking at each other, fighting the embarrassing urge to keep a straight face and not blush.

“When do you need to leave?” You asked, changing the subject.

Quinn smirked easily, “Wanting to kick me out already?”

“The opposite, actually,” you admitted quietly, “I don’t really want you to leave.”

He tried to mask his pleasant surprise, his entire demeanour shifting slightly as his smirk melted into a soft smile as he placed his suit back onto the back of your sofa, “In that case, you’ve got me for two hours.”

___

There were three things you were hyper-aware of when you were sitting in your seat, embedded in a sea of black and white jerseys, music blasting over the speakers as the sound of skates and shouts erupted.

One: that he’d seated you against the glass, a few seats away from the bench, because (quote, unquote) that way you wouldn’t be able to distract him when he’s playing.

Two: that upon learning the only Canucks merch you had was a cap, Quinn had thrown you a spare jersey from the back of his car, his ears red as he apologised for not owning a Petersson one, and for giving you an old one of his instead.

Three: that you really fucking liked Quinn. Really.

So much so that when he’d subtly skated past you in the warm ups before the game, and winked at you under his visor, a sidewards smile on his lips – passing it off as nonchalant for the sake of the fans watching nearby – you had to leave your seat to down a drink before the game even started because your cheeks were practically burning with how much the simple action of acknowledgment had affected you. 

Somehow, though, you’d made it through the game – concerned towards the latter fifteen minutes after Quinn had taken yet another puck to the face and raced off the ice to receive treatment. You knew he was fine; it had happened to him before, and you knew the more you dwelled on it, the more you’d worry, so you’d turned your attention back to the game, instead focusing on Petey. 

You’d see him after, anyway. He’d told you he wasn’t on media duties, and after getting a puck to the face, you’d assume he’d be let off the hook a little easier – you weren’t entirely sure that was how it worked, but it seemed logical?

Which was how you’d found yourself back at your apartment, hopes not too high on him arriving back at your place within the next hour, the post-game analysis humming in the background as you manned a simmering pot of pasta.

You hadn’t bothered getting changed, and you’d had a cautious look through your cupboards, pulling out some painkillers and after realising that you didn’t actually know the extent of his injuries, had left the box out on the side. It wasn’t that you doubted the medical team wouldn’t have done a sufficient job – you just mostly wanted to show him you cared.

It was as you’d piled up your own spaghetti into a bowl, leaving Quinn’s portion warming in the microwave that there was a knock on the door. You took your bowl with you as you unlocked it, opening it wide to let Quinn through.

You followed him closely, shutting the door behind him. He hadn’t exactly looked at you long enough for you to assess his injury – too busy trying to shrug off the suit as he shamelessly stripped himself in the middle of your living room right in front of your eyes.

The first thing to go was his blazer, and you’d walked around him, back to the kitchen island, eyes flickering back to him as you spooned him his own bowl. It wasn’t exactly odd that the first thing he’d want to do was take off his blazer, but then he seemed to continue, and when he’d gone to unbutton his shirt all the way down, you’d frozen like a lovesick idiot. Neither of you had said anything to each other when he’d walked in, and now he was standing shirtless in front of you, either oblivious or ignoring your lack of speech and sneaky glances at the soft abs on display. 

You felt something shift when he turned to look at you just as he bent down to snatch that Michigan shirt back out of his bag, eyes locking onto yours when he pulled it over his head.

It excited you and – quite frankly – had you swallowing and blood rushing through your body because it sent sparks flying throughout every single atom in your body. You felt uncomfortably hot, and the only thing you could do to try to diffuse the sudden tension was to divert your gaze away from him.

It hadn’t even occurred to you that you’d been caught staring, and if you were being honest, you weren’t all that bothered. He stripped right in front of your eyes – there wasn’t much you could have done to avoid not looking at him in the first place.

“So, what’s the damage?” You asked, walking past him once more to place his bowl on the coffee table as you leant back into your sofa, twisting yourself so you were almost eye level with his recently clothed torso.

He paused, leaning his hands on the back of your sofa as he leant forwards, face only inches from you – so close you could see his individual eyelashes and the slight rosy hint to his cheeks, as well as feel his breath against your own cheek. You blinked, unsure of how to react, before he was poking a hand under his eye – right across his cheekbone, where a bruise was beginning to blossom on his skin, varying shades of darkness.

You frowned, pulling his hand away so you could get a better view of it. It was a tactful decision on your behalf when you neglected to let go of his hand until the very last second, when you used your own to tilt his head to the side, catching his injury in the light.

It was a fractional movement, but you saw him swallow, his eyes still boring straight into you. You didn’t know if it was a natural reaction or because you’d gripped his chin and physically moved him, but his mouth parted slightly, jaw going slack in your hand.

You, however, fought to keep your attention on his injury �� eyes only flicking to his for a millisecond, unable to resist. He’d been bleeding, and there was a horizontal scab forming directly on top of his cheekbone.

“There’s painkillers on the side if you need any.” You breathed, slowly retracting your grip.

He nodded, slightly tense, “Thanks.” Then, after a slight pause, “Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

His hands went directly to his belt. You dropped your forkful of spaghetti in your bowl – shocked to say the least. 

Somehow, it took him fiddling with his belt buckle for you to realise just how fucking pretty they were; you didn’t even know you liked hands until that very moment, seeing him expertly unbuckle himself with ease, and before you could let your mind wonder too far into the sudden fantasies that had purged your mind, you abruptly spun in your chair, heart racing and eyes staring blankly in font of you in complete bewilderment. Somehow, none of it felt real.

You were beginning to think he was doing all of this on purpose; that there was a plain insinuation behind your level of enjoyment and the fact that he was taking off his clothes in your front room.

Nevertheless, you remained somewhat normal in your reactions despite every morsel in your body burning with anticipation of something that wouldn’t happen. You turned your attention back to the TV, humming in agreement and spinning your fork in your bowl, desperate to prove you weren’t reacting to his actions, “Yeah, I did. I had fun. You were amazing, as usual. And the seats had a good view.”

You heard him laugh behind you. You weren’t aware you said anything that was funny, but you refrained from turning around, wanting to give him some privacy.

“We lost.” 

You swallowed, looking at your bowl at his defeated tone.

It had been partly the reason you were on edge at his arrival in the first place; whenever Petey lost, he’d usually come over with the promise of a takeout, talk for half an hour and then sit and watch whatever you’d happen to agree on that night. You hadn’t had the chance to deduce Quinn’s post-match attitude, so this was all new territory, and your nerves were amplified because it felt like more was resting on how you reacted to his mood than it would have if it had been Petey in your apartment.

It felt like there was more to lose with Quinn.

“Didn’t impact my levels of enjoyment.” You tested the waters, waiting for a reply. When you didn’t get one, you continued, “I mean, I am disappointed for you and the team, and a little pissed you took a puck to the face again, but I mostly had fun just because I got to see you play.”

The rustling of clothing stopped behind you, and you strained your ears, desperate to gauge a reaction of some sort.

“Are you okay?” You poked, beginning to feel a little pit of dread form due to his lack of reaction. 

He didn’t answer, just made his way around the sofa, picking up the bowl you’d left for him. You could feel him stop, eyes burning into the side of your face. You looked at him, noting the slight furrow to his brow as he looked from you to the bowl and back again – seemingly considering something important.

The hesitation on his face could have been from a number of things, but he was taking too long to answer a yes or no question, and it was sending you nerves haywire. Your cheeks flushed at the intensity of his gaze, and you paused eating as well, waiting for him to say something.

“Do you want to talk about it?” It was a futile question, and you were beginning to get slightly frustrated at his pensieve silence. You’d prefer it if he’d verbally voice his thoughts out loud so then you could get a grip on exactly what was racing through his mind.

He cleared his throat, just as a text buzzed through on your phone.

Petey: idk what you did but you broke quinn today

You: he’s unresponsive rn. catatonic. send help

Petey: WHAT DID YOU DO?

You: literally told him he played well and was glad i could watch him play. 

Petey: symptoms?

You: i’d say silence but it’s not exactly out of character

You: he’s looking at me like i shot a horse in front of him though

Petey: oh

You: expand.

Petey: tell him to look at my messages IMMEDIATELY

You cleared your throat this time, placing your phone on the sofa next to you, turning back to Quinn, who’d abruptly turned his attention back to his bowl of spag bol, “Petey wants you to look at his message.” Was all you said.

He nodded, hand digging into his pocket and though it had only been a minute of silence since you’d asked the last question – not entirely long enough for the silence to become awkward, but long enough for Quinn’s neck to turn red, as though he’d only just realised he forgot to answer your question.

You waited patiently, concern slightly elevated when he coloured, blinking and awkwardly putting his phone back in his pocket, seemingly stuck with what to do with himself.

You couldn’t tell if he was horrified or downright confused, and as you spooned another forkful of spaghetti into your mouth, you couldn’t help the small smile of amusement that had crept onto your face.

“What the fuck is up with you tonight?” You found yourself asking, tone probably a little sterner than you’d initially intended — driven by the will it took you to squander the laugh bubbling up your throat as Quinn swung his head in your direction, eyes wide and an offended noise expelled.

“What the fuck is up with you?” He shot back, a telltale smile on his face, a drastic change to five minutes prior. 

Petey worked his magic, then.

The tension in his shoulders seemed to evaporate and he seemed to gain some more energy, allowing him to freely overcome the imaginary blockage in his mind that meant he lost the ability to communicate with you for a bit. He seemed to melt back into the Quinn you knew how to communicate with.

Your jaw dropped, “What have I done?”

Quinn narrowed his eyes, as though he couldn’t quite believe your naivety to the situation, and when it was clear you genuinely had no clue what was happening, he rolled his eyes, “Little Miss 'I had fun just because I got to see you play’.”

Your eyes flickered to your TV, mind completely boggled at his reaction, before returning to him, unable to help the side-eye you were giving him as your mouth curled into a frown, “What about it?”

Quinn chuckled darkly for a second, “It’s like you genuinely don’t know the effect you have on me, or something.”

You shut your eyes, tilting your head in confusion as you let his words sink in properly. You held up a finger, but before you could speak he was talking again.

“On another note, this spag bol is delicious, you should be a chef — oh—”

You cut off his lame excuse of a joke, jabbing the held up finger into his side and finding a great deal of amusement in the way he yelped, automatically tensing, “Very funny. But let’s just backtrack a second—”

“Do we have to?” He groaned, cheeks red.

It was obvious he’d said his previous statement in a way that he’d meant for you to skip straight over it, and it was even more obvious that he was rather enjoying this confrontation of sorts, a smirk pulling onto his cheeks as he pretended to be embarrassed, turning his head at an angle and away from you as best as he could.

“Yes. We do.” You placed your bowl back on the table, now more confused than you had been at his sudden silence. “Because first of all, you come in and strip. Right in front of me—” You could tell he was about to protest, and you held up a hand, imploring him to keep quiet, “And then when I answered your question honestly, and then ask you ones in return, which — I don’t know if you know this, is how a conversation occurs – you just shut the fuck up and didn’t talk until Petey did whatever he did.”

He was ready to jump in, and placed his own bowl back on the coffee table, “The stripping thing was because I hate wearing suits around the house, they’re not exactly comfy for lounging around in—”

“What, you couldn’t get changed in my room?”

“No, because you wouldn’t have seen me that way—”

“What the fuck?” You gaped, unable to help laughing a little, “Was that you trying to flirt with me?”

He neglected to answer your question, instead carrying on with his original stream of thought, “And you can’t be oblivious to what you’re doing to me, surely? You’ve been saying all these things, even from the wedding, and I don’t know if you’re being intentional, but it makes me wonder—”

“Are you trying to tell me that my hints haven’t been landing with you?” You muttered, slightly concerned. 

It was true, you had been giving him hints — hoping he’d at least recognise them. You thought it had gone straight over his head, but his words only seemed to confirm that he’d been collecting an armoury of sorts, and even despite all his collated evidence, seemed to lack the belief that you were meaning what you were saying.

You didn’t believe his disbelief — partly because (even though you had been slightly afraid of his rejection, you knew he’d let you down slowly) you’d not exactly been subtle with your comments.

Even Kuzy had picked up on it, and English wasn’t even his first language.

Quinn stopped, stared and breathed. He almost looked hurt, not including the sustained injury, “You meant all of that?” He asked, just as confused as you.

“Yes!” You all but yelled. “I just thought it all went over your head or that you were letting me down gently by not reacting or doing anything about it.”

At this he recoiled, looking offended, “Why the fuck would I reject you?”

You shrugged sarcastically, “Maybe because you haven’t given me much to suggest you’re even interested, dipshit.”

“Me? Not done anything to show I was interested?” He echoed, his voice getting higher in pitch as his disbelief skyrocketed. He jumped across the sofa to get closer, though you had a sneaking suspicion it was because his brain only seemed to think he was getting his point across if he told you face-to-face — in the more literal sense, “Okay, so the wedding? I chased you outside and then asked you if you wanted to get something to eat—”

“Because you saw me looking at you and didn’t want to be rude?” You reasoned.

You truly thought that was why he’d followed you out that night. Quinn was a polite guy, always following through and ensuring people felt welcome and included. That might had only been a reflection of that.

“Dude, no!” He winced.

“Don’t call me ‘dude’.” You pulled a face, and he nodded.

“You’re missing the fact that I fucking chased you from the conference room because I just couldn’t not talk to you that night.” He took a deep breath, running a stressed hand through his hair. 

You pressed your lips together automatically, trying to hide the need to desperately touch him as a few strands still wet from his earlier shower hung limply in front of his face. You didn’t realise it but mouth parted slightly even imagining running a hand through his hair. You’d done it before at Petey’s party, but then you’d been a little intoxicated and given a helping hand in courage, but you had none of that now.

It was just you and Quinn.

“I don’t chase people on foot.” Was what he said then, “Ever.” 

“Is that supposed to mean something?”

He groaned, his head collapsing in his hands, completely oblivious to the way you were trailing your eyes over the veins across his hands, and the curls on top of his head. You took a shaky breath, and it seemed to garner his attention because he lifted his face out of his hands slowly, furrowing his brows as he took in your nervous state.

“What’s up?” He asked, his eyes flicking between yours, a small smile slowly entering as you shook your head, taking a deep breath.

“You look way too hot right now.” You admitted quietly, clenching your jaw to contain yourself.

His reaction was instantaneous; his entire demeanour seemed to switch from frustrated to something unfamiliar. He swallowed, his smile diminishing. The only thing that seemed to bring you some comfort in his reaction was the way his eyes seemed to darken and his jaw flexed as his gaze travelled from your eyes straight to your lips in an incredibly unsubtle way. He wasn’t being shy.

His cheeks reddened and he paused, considering.

Then he lifted his hand and in one simultaneous notion he was guiding you towards him, hand gently resting on your neck, though before he’d even touched you you were leaning forwards to meet him halfway, both your mouths clashing in a greedy mess. His grip on you tightened in response to your hand tugging in his hair, and you found yourself being lowered to the sofa, Quinn’s arm snaking around your back as his body pressed you further into the cushion. 

You allowed him to slot a knee between your legs, and neither one of you slowed your motions at the change of angle, mouths still moving against each other with a rhythm that would have had you guessing if you’d kissed Quinn before.

It was just so easy.

A desperate sound and slightly breathy moan escaped him when you tugged on his hair a little harsher, and it had you pulling him impossibly closer, his arms collapsed from where they’d been propping himself up, and every inch of him was pressed against you. With the newfound closeness, you could feel the way his chest was heaving clumsily, almost in time with your own hurried breaths.

Neither one of you wanted to pull away, your lips tingling and skin burning from where he slid a hand under the hem of your borrowed jersey.

You both lost your control embarrassingly easily, the added contact only fuelling your desires. You felt like a teenager again, with the way you were both rolling your hips into one another, leaving no choice but to pull away as your breathing became shallower, a delicious ache throbbing forming where you were both chasing the friction.

You both finished your spaghetti covered in blankets and smiling like lovesick idiots.

And then Quinn started laughing, “I know where all your tattoos are now.”

[happy-beeeps]

No Really I Can

Summary: You're a schoolteacher, and you've developed a little bit of a crush on the new dad in class.

Pairing: Din x reader

WC: 1.6k

Warnings: alcohol use!

It’s quiet when he enters, only the mild hum of chatter between your students recapping their recent days off. It’s a sound you’ve learned to work through, scrolling through your data pad to look at their recent homework—drawings of their family.

You almost don’t notice him enter, until that mild hum stops all together. One of your students, Twyla, a quiet Deverronian girl, speaks first. “It’s him.”

The Mandalorian moves through the desk with the practiced ease of a mercenary. The baby behind him, not so much. You vaguely remember seeing him with a small bundle strapped to his chest in the few times you’ve seen him in the market, but you hadn’t made out the shape of the child until now.

“Students! We’re going to get started soon, please open up your data pads and take a look at today’s system.” They oblige, you have a good group, and the Mandalorian stops at your desk. “How can I help you?”

He’s quiet at first, then hoists the child up in his arms so he’s level with your desk. “This is Grogu, I think I’m supposed to sign him up for school.”

“It’s nice to meet you Grogu,” you murmur, voice quiet. He smiles and coos in response, and you can feel the heavy gaze of the Mandalorian on you. “Where is he at, schooling wise.”

“He had a… specialized education.”

“Okay, what languages does he speak? He may have to be transferred to the droid-led class.”

“He doesn’t, not really.”

“Do you speak Mando’a at home?”

There’s a heavy pause before he continues, “no, no we don’t. He doesn’t speak at all. But he listens.”

You smile at Grogu, and reach out to pat his hand. “I work with students of all ability, his speaking is not necessary to his learning, or to his being a good student.” You motion to reach for him, and the Mandalorian obliges. He’s heavy in your arms, but warms up to you instantly, and you know in your heart it’s going to be hard to keep yourself from loving this little guy. “Pickup is in five hours. Magistrate Karga has donated datapads to all the students, so he’ll get to take one home today. It’s time to say goodbye for now.”

He’s deliberate with his movements, holding the child’s hands before pressing his forehead to Grogu’s. He’s out the door before you can speak, and you realize you never got his name.

* * *

Grogu is a funny kid, he’s emotive and quick to respond. He loves to draw, and you can tell he listens intently to his classmates, like he’s wise beyond his years. You teach a wide age of students, and he feels quickly in line with his younger classmates, but your older kids are easily including him, picking him up and carrying him to recess. You determine there’s a few things about his special education that his father neglected to mention, especially when you notice the ball your students are playing with seemingly levitate to Grogu.

And his father. Your mind lingers on him now, nursing a martini in the cantina. He’s been respectful, kind, patient every day at drop off and pick up. He’s quiet, but not shy. Closed off, you’d guess. He asks after you every morning, and on the last day before the week break he’d brought you caf. It was black, lacking the creams and sugars of your usual order, but the thought was there. The silver vessel is still in your bag, admittedly sending a flutter through your chest when you hear it rattle against your things.

“Are you even listening to me?” Your friend asks, eyes rolling as she watches the dizzy look in your eyes. 

“Sorry, just thinking about work.”

“Sure…” she says slyly, knowing all too well what that dazed expression means. “Oh, don’t look now, but the Mandalorian just walked in.”

You whip around at near lightspeed, ignoring your friend’s smooth that she murmurs under her breath. He’s here, he really is. You’ve seen him here maybe once before, and in fact he had Grogu with him, huddled against his chest while he and Karga were tucked away at a booth in the back of the room, chatting easily. 

“He’s walking over here, maker, what did you do.”

“Nothing!” You shout as quietly as possible, doing your very best to nonchalantly fix your hair, your face, literally anything you can get your hands on.

She’s quick to read you, “Ah, I should’ve asked who you did.”

He’s at the table before you can respond, words dropping off your tongue as you look at him.

You’ve never been this close to him, his thighs nearly pressing against the edge of the table you’re at. He’s so large, commanding, and it sends a blush to you to think about. 

“Grogu’s teacher, right?”

“It’s me, do I look that different out of the classroom?”

He’s quiet, then responds, “You look relaxed. Happy.”

You move to answer, but your friend beats you to it, “Well, I was just leaving,” she pats your arm as she stands up, “get home safe now, okay.”

You don’t miss her wink as she leaves the bar.

“I’m sorry about her-“

“Can I buy you a drink?”

You speak at the same time, and you blink in response to his question. “Absolutely.”

He’s back at your table quickly with a new martini, and you’re kicking yourself for ordering such a heavy drink. He slides into the seat and sets it down in front of you.

“Where’s yours?”

Reclining back in his chair, the answer comes to you as soon as he speaks it. “I don’t. Not here, anyway.”

Right. The helmet. “So, what brings you to a bar?”

“You.” 

It’s spoken so simply it catches you off guard, and you cough on your drink.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” if you knew him better you’d say he’s embarrassed, “I just wanted to get to know you.”

You smile, and take another sip. “I’d like that.”

He moves the napkin around in front of him awkwardly, and you realize how out of place he looks in a place like this. “What’s your name? Your first name.”

You tell him, and he repeats it back, as if he’s tasting it on his mouth. The intimate way he whispers it has your blush creeping back. “Can I ask yours?”

“I’m not used to telling people,”

“Oh, I’m sorry you don’t have to.”

“It’s Din. Din Djarin.” He replies quickly, as if you gave him no hesitation.

“Din.” It’s your turn now, to turn his name over in your mouth. “Grogu is a great kid.”

“He is. He’s with Karga now actually, he loves him.”

“Doesn’t surprise me, he’s hard not to love.” You’re quiet, taking another sip, “can I ask why you just now decided to enroll him in school.”

“We’ve been… touch and go lately. Wasn’t sure where we’d end up. I’ve never really been in one place for long.”

“Mandalorian thing?”

He chuckles, “Me thing.”

“I get it. Everyone here came here for a reason. People are only just starting to move here for fun.”

“Can I ask what brought you here?”

You shrug, “The empire, same as everyone else. Actually, I got here right after you left, if I gather all the stories about you correctly.”

“Oh, theres stories about me?” He’s teasing, his voice dipping into a joke.

“Hundreds,” you smirk at him over your glass, “that you’re secretly a Wookiee, that you’re a cold blooded killer, that you have more guns than friends.”

He’s silent, and moves to trace a finger around the bottom of your glass. “Only one of those things isn’t true.”

A chill runs up your spine, but not out of fear, though you know it should be. “Can I ask which?”

“Nope,” he nearly pops the ‘p’, and leans back in his chair, “where’s the fun in that?”

* * *

You’re tanked when you leave. You’ve never been more grateful, or more embarrassed when Din helps you home. “S’sorry. Not normally like this.” You slid against him, and he merely places his other hand on yours, grasping onto his bicep like it’s your last hope. 

“Don’t be sorry. I’m the one who bought you them, if anything it’s on me.”

You should be terrified, but Din is nothing but a gentleman while you talk his ear off on the walk back. He laughs when something is funny, and nudges your shoulder when you tease him. Still. You should be terrified. You remember the day the pirates came to Nevarro, remember the way he had defeated them all by himself. 

You’re at your door quicker than you’d like, and you’re leaning on him while you fumble for your door code.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he replies, hand tracing down your arm. 

“Was this a date?”

He doesn’t answer at first, then asks you, “Do you want it to be?”

“Yes please.”

He chuckles, “Then call it our first.”

“I don’t do this, just so you know.”

“Do what?”

“Date all the hot dads at school.”

“I don’t either.”

“Date all the hot dads?”

“No,” but he pauses to laugh, a true uninhibited laugh. “Date. At all.”

The door clicks open, and you pat the cheek of his helmet. “S’okay. I can teach you.”

You enter your apartment before he can respond, and the door slides shut with a hiss. You’re struck like a university student again, leaning against the door. Your brain is telling you to run, to date some boring, normal. But you can’t, you won't. 

Your last thought before slumping into bed, makeup and all is simple. 

I can fix him.

[plasticfangtastic]

American Royalty. Ch. 1

A Homelander X F!Reader fanfic

A/N: I am writing this alongside another fic so sorry for the publishing schedule altho I got 2 chapters done, this is my dadlander fic and hyperfixation explorations

Sypnosis: Homelander never wanted to remember you again, but after welcoming Ryan into his life, he thought of you, and the lie that tore you two apart, but now... thinking back, thinking of your betrayal-- was he perhaps wrong about who the father of your unborn child was? Did you perhaps told the truth all those years ago? That it was his.

Tags: mild gore, angst, slow burn, fluff, OC characthers, child neglect, dadlander, romance.

Chapter One

Blue

It had been by pure chance, whether it had been a combination of forced reminiscing and exhaustion that Homelander had thought of you after all these years; These meetings had been proven wasteful of his time, nothing the PR and Digital Marketing departments could come up that was good enough, and somehow he had gone from irritated to just defeated.

He sulked in his chair listening to their meandering voices brainstorming potential ideas as to how Ryan’s new origin story had to be developed and handled, whether it was too squeaky clean or absurd, how much could they risk offending the child, how much of his mother should be kept from the public (not that they were very aware of the fine details, as Homelander had been more than just vague about it, he had simply no intent to divulge about his son’s conception, upbringing or his mother’s fate) Homelander would never allowed the public to look with pity or fear at his son, he would not allow them to brand him as a murdered over an accident– he could still hear his son weeping and shaking in his sleep, waking up in a fright, seeing invisible blood in his hands.

Homelander had grown overprotective of the boy, he was made indestructible but his mind and heart were glass, still pure and uncorrupted by the awful world they inhabited, he would never allow anything else to taint it and bring him nightmares– so this had to be perfect.  

To make it worse, the kid was growing impatient and depressed, forced to stay in the tower until this story was concocted, he couldn’t attend school or interact with other children until he was trained and learned his lines, making his father increasingly more paranoid that his son was slowly growing resentful. 

“Mister Homelander… what if we base Ryan’s mom off one of your other ex-girlfriends?” A rather tired intern had muttered– preferably somebody dead…”

The room shot daggers at the nameless intern but Homelander simply sat in silence and gave it a thought, he had plenty of unsuited mates disposed and handled in the past, the amount of NDA issued made for a small but noticeable stack alone, he looked at the table and the box of cannolis that the group had been munching on, looking at the small printed italian flag on the box’s side.

That he thought of you for the first time in years.

You had been his new personal chef, your interactions minimal as you brought him his meals, he hadn’t known at first how heartbroken you’d look as he returned half touched dishes over and over, it had become a competition against yourself to make him eat, every leftover morself a cause of grief, as if your honor and ego had been beaten mercilessly with every dirty plate.

One evening, Homelander sat on his couch watching a documentary by Orson Wells, he hadn’t noticed you there as you brought him dinner, the way you looked at him with spite waiting to throw the most likely untouched plate of pasta back at his face, it would get you fired and possibly killed but you couldn’t take it anymore. You were a chef, a professional, you had turned down a dream job and left the restaurant you loved for the honor of being Homelander’s personal chef, the job that would open you a thousand doors but it was without reward now it felt like your biggest mistake, no matter what you made he fucking hate it but offered no feedback, you had no clue what he wanted, what he disliked and liked, what he craved, or how he liked his meals– he simply left your food untouched.

Diverting his gaze from the film, he noted your food and that you were still there with a block of pecorino and a grater in your hands.

He stood up with a groan, lifting the silver cover to reveal boring pasta and bolognese sauce, it wasn’t styled exceptionally, it didn’t even look too appetizing, it was just some fresh linguine covered in meat sauce, he stared at you as if this was some sort of joke but your dead eyed expression was off-putting.

“Would you like some fresh cheese, sir?” Your voice might as well have been automated.

Frankly he didn’t want any cheese but pasta had to be eaten with cheese, he gestured for you to grate watching an off-white pile form on top of his pasta with no intention of stopping.

“That’s enough” he said sharply, he took the plate looking at the mound and then back at you who was still in the room, he wrapped his fork with the pasta doing his best not to stain his suit.

You just wanted to save the time with coming back to pick up the insults, but there he took the first bite of this homely dish heis eyes opened up, there hadn’t been anything special, you simply had taken some left over pasta and brought a jar of your grandma’s sauce, a recipe she had guarded fiercely ever since she stole it from some italian friend’s mom many many years ago, you adored this recipe, it had been the reason why you fell in love with food, you loved visiting your grandmother when it was time to jar the sauce, and when she served you a humbled serving of bolognese– he gave it a second bite letting the tangy and fresh sauce wash over him.

And that’s when he finally noticed you for real, how closely you watched him eat, smiling as he took another mouthful and mixed more of the fresh pecorino, there had been something warm about this meal, it lack pretense, it was something that no high end 5-star restaurant would serve but it tasted… warm.

From that point on, he looked forward to his meals, wanting to see what the fuck had you done to make food taste worthy of his body, noting you would personally deliver the meals after he failed to clean the plate on the previous one, he hadn’t even known your name but he noticed you.

You were cute, your voice had gained some warmth since that awkward first impression, he could tell it was these homemade meals that tasted the best, as if you put everything you had to make them taste delicious, there were no frills with these, just good homemade fair, made with love, he had began asking for things he had been curious but never served as if they were above his status like meatloaf, carbonara, shepherd's pie, etcetera. These were the kinds of meals the families he’d seen growing up behind the screen would eat, he had been the first to strike a conversation.

You listened, you talked, and before he knew it, he had found himself asking for your company at the dinner table. You were hesitant at first but he was handsome and charming, but above all he was the Homelander! While apprehensive you still took to his offer just to smugly enjoy seeing him enjoy your food, proud that you had triumph in this battle where so many had been defeated, you’d cracked the code and god it felt good.

It became part of your weekly schedule, having dinner at his penthouse and chatting about anything, he loved talking and eventually it became apparent that it wasn’t because he was in loved with his voice but simply… he hadn’t got anybody who enjoyed listening to him, you were attentive, you responded well and even if you weren’t sure about something you weren’t going to let him feel as if you weren’t approachable anymore, you were more than happy to hear him explain to you a topic because his eyes gleam like those of a small kid telling you about something new they learned at school– in truth you loved how happy he became when he could rambled about things, as if nobody in the world had ever given five seconds of their time to let him talk about strange events from history and his theories, tonite he wanted to talk about the Dyatlov Pass incident and star formations that he was sad that he couldn’t see from New York, wishing you could see how the sky looked like from his cabin.

You’d spend more and more time in his home as the conversations grew more frequent, as he wanted to hear more about your interests and hobbies.

Thinking of how cute you looked while baking, how cute your laugh was, of the way you always held him after long days, that first real date, that first time you held hands, the first shy kiss after dinner.

As he took a long whiff to catch some of that gentle sweetness, he thought of the last day you were together.

That sound.

The thing that’s the size of a bean.

The anger, his heart shattered, all the colors of the world had dissipated when he saw that tumor growing in your stomach, he wanted to hurt you as much as you did, to shut you up as you threw excuses, begging him to believe you.

But that thing wasn’t his.

It couldn’t be his.

You said it was his, that the baby you didn’t even know was inside you was his, but he couldn’t be the father.

His eyes widened, he stood up and left the room, his mind focused on your name. They had tried getting his attention but could only give up as nobody would dare to chase after him, Homelander found himself entering the analytics offices towards the first chump he spotted.

“Can you find me information on a former employee?” He said firmly, the junior staff jumped at his seat nodding frantically– their name was Y/N L/N.” he said quietly.

The staffer didn’t have to do much work, you were easy to find, your name attached to Brooklyn’s most loved pizzeria for the last couple years, your face on their socials, and even a video from some food channel following what it was like working in Brooklyn’s hottest pizzeria had you in it, your shop had been listed as the best two years in a row, Homelander couldn’t bare looking at your face, but he asked for an address.

That night after spending time with Ryan who seemed to be sulking more and more, as he watched him eat his dinner, he thought of you, the kid was meandering whatever was on his plate didn’t feel appetizing, his meal was no different from what it was served in a high-end restaurant and the kid had no desire to eat it, he wanted Ryan to have the finest things when all he wanted was to have his mom’s tacos– his son opted to head for bed early skipping dinner all together, it was almost 10 pm, a heavy feeling had been boiling in his stomach since that meeting.

Taking flight all the way to some red brick Brooklyn projects, hovering about until he encountered you.

Time had been kind to you but you looked tired, the glow in your skin now dulled, your appearance unkempt, your clothes worn and old, your shoes the nicest thing you worn but they still creased and dirty, you looked beyond exhausted, your eyes half closed and your arms dangling on your sides as you carried a couple grocery bags, he looked around at the constructions and rubbish, at the hooligans and wannabe gangbangers, and the rancid smell. Hundred buildings all the same, he wanted to get closer as he watched you walk alone in those sticky white painted brick walls, you stopped suddenly by one of the brown doors, there were only four other doors in that floor, waiting patiently, an old lady opens the door, you two exchanging pleasantries as you handed the lady two of your grocery bags, a small dog came to say hello and then… there she was.

She was small for her age, she didn’t jump with excitement or say much to you, just a slight bow to the old lady and she walked in front of you as you said goodbye, only stopping two doors down.

Your apartment was small, two small bedrooms, small kitchen and barely sparsely decorated, but it was clean and tidy, your daughter dropped her school bag, and headed for the bedroom while you moved to the kitchen, never really talking to each other, he found himself flying closer just to get a perfect vision of that child.

She was a mini-you, taken so much from you, whoever the father was it didn’t seem to have mattered in the end for the kid got nothing from him, she changed to her pajamas as you sat on the couch after throwing away your uniform to the floor.

You two talked briefly, you didn’t read her any stories before bed or kissed her good night, you simply stared at each other and talked while you stretched your feet.

The little girl entered her room, a tidy space, books piled up on the floor in sharp stacks against the wall, a desk containing some electronics and a couple stuffed animals.

She was a cute thing, just like you had been once, her hair short and her straight bangs covering most of her face, too long for it too be safe, she had your complexion and jet black hair, she sat on her desk turning the desk lamp and picked her Kindle up, looking at her clock then back at her Kindle, she sat there for a couple minutes digesting some pages until it was almost midnight, before heading to the living room– you’d passed out on the couch, she took your phone and put it to charge fidgeting with something before leaving it, turning the TV off, and finally turning around to slip a quilt on top of her mother.

Homelander almost felt sorry for the kid, after all you had done to him only to neglect your child, you were just as much of a scumbag as he had imagined, he had had enough wanting to fly away until he saw the little girl staring back at him.

The lights were off on the home, and it was dark with the streets below shaded piss yellow, he looked around wondering if there was something nearby that caught your daughter’s attention but she was staring straight at Homelander, she forced the window open peeking her small frame slightly out the window, in the dark starless night while strangers made a ruckus a couple streets from here, a bright twinkling of pale blue illuminated your home.

He got closer, something caught in his throat as he came only a meter away from your daughter.

She looked so much like you but her eyes even as they lost their unnatural light were so blue, as if the entire ocean lived in her eyes.

The curtains slid shut, his chin flicked in surprise as he caught the small figure plainly ignoring him, he was loved by all, especially children! Even those whose favorites were Noir, A-Train or Maeve loved him! Yet this little girl had just shrugged him off and ignored him, simply returning to her bedroom to shut the second set of blinds and jump straight to bed.

Homelander was left dumbfounded, not once had he seen such disinterest and callousness from a member of his safest demographic, so he stood in mid-air pondering about killing both of you briefly, just as the heat from his cheeks cooled down, he stared at the now sleeping brat, wondering about that inhuman blue light that glossed her big round eyes.

[sarabethsilver]

Unpopular opinion: I don't like Jess and Luke's "reconciliation" in S4... because I don't think they actually repaired anything. I think their dynamic in S4 is like every other parent-child dynamic in Gilmore Girls: unable to break their deeply dysfunctional patterns. (Stop reading now if you love their big hug at the end of S4. I don't want to yuck anybody's yum!)

Liz kicks Jess out and sends him to Luke. And without writing a dissertation about how unstable I think their relationship was the entire time Jess lived there, I'll just say: it wasn't awesome. Better than Liz, absolutely, but not great. And honestly, any good Luke did was destroyed when he angrily kicked Jess out in his moment of desperate need. In short: their relationship was badly damaged prior to S4, and true reconciliation would have to involve actual acknowledgement and repair of that damage. But that's not what happened.

I think you have to examine Luke and Jess' relationship in the context of Liz, because she is a key player here. And to be clear: Liz is Jess' Abuser. She gave him a childhood of chaos and neglect, and when he started to act out because of that... she blamed him, kicked him out, and never spoke to him again. It's difficult to explain just how thoroughly that kind of chronic abuse damages kids. Despite that, Luke prioritizes and protects Liz over Jess. I'm not even blaming Luke; this is a common family dynamic around abusive adults. The other adults in the family deny what's happening, because it's too painful to look at directly.

Liz and Jess both return to Stars Hollow in S4. Liz is given a mild side-eye by Luke, but generally she's welcomed. Jess is... not. Luke shouts at him and makes it VERY clear that Jess is not welcome to stay. He refuses to acknowledge or apologize for the fact that he kicked Jess out or stole his car. Luke shows no concern for where Jess has been living, how he's feeling, or if he has any of his basic needs met. The message is clear: you messed up, kid, and it's your own damn fault. Which is exactly what Liz tells him, by the way... Jess' reaction to her abuse is his fault. (This is part of that family dynamic around abuse; it's easier to blame the angry-looking kid than to examine the abusive behaviors of the adult. In therapy, we refer to this labeling of the kid as "bad" as the "Identified Patient." It's not intentional, but it's a way to deny abuse is happening.)

Things gets worse. Every time Jess tries to set a boundary with Liz - refusing to interfere in her relationship, declining her wedding invitation, saying no to walking her down the aisle - he is chastised. Luke yells at him, insults him, and guilts him. (Luke also takes a moment to shit all over Jess' life and call him a drug dealer. He doesn't give that label to Liz, the actual addict, he gives it to the Identified Patient.) So Jess, who has been totally alone for a year, does what any abused and neglected kid would do: he follows directions in an attempt to gain acceptance.

After a moment of Luke seeming to blame Jess for getting assaulted by his stepfather (again: Identified Patient), Luke makes a glib comment about Jess "hating" Liz. He doesn't want to understand how Jess feels about Liz, though, because that would be too painful to hear. The only thing Luke knows how to do is appease Liz and maintain the appearance of having a happy family. And Jess having a negative feeling about Liz interferes with that. So the message is clear: act happy or just get out of here.

So Jess stops trying to set boundaries or express his feelings. He shuts up, pastes a smile on his face, and dutifully walks his Abuser down the aisle. It's then - and ONLY then - that Luke gives him kindness. That's not reconciliation. That's Luke, unintentionally giving Jess the message that his feelings, boundaries, and safety are secondary to Liz's whims. It's easier to play Happy Family than to actually examine Liz's abuse, Luke's ignoring of that abuse, and do the hard work of repairing.

I see Luke's hug - and his "I'm here Jess, I'm always here" - and it rings hollow for me. Luke has done none of the repair work that would be necessary for a statement like that to carry weight. Nor has he "been there" for Jess at all in the past year. He's plainly prioritized Liz, Jess' Abuser, instead of protecting his nephew, the Identified Patient.

And I don't even blame Luke for that. Luke was deeply entrenched in his own dysfunctional family role. He's been Liz's caretaker for his entire adult life, and he seems to think that he's failing if he doesn't perpetually bail her out of trouble. He can't see past his role of Liz's Enabler and Protector, which is why he could never be an effective guardian to Jess.

S4 doesn't end with Luke and Jess mending fences. It ends with Jess learning that it's his role to shut up and placate Liz, no questions asked. And at the end of all that, Jess goes back to his dirty mattress on the floor and Liz gets to stay in Stars Hollow. Where she is joyfully embraced and fully supported by Luke at every single turn, no matter how many egregious mistakes she makes.

Luke loves Jess, and he does support him in various ways - paying for the car repairs, showing up to Jess' Open House, giving him advice about Rory. There's good stuff there. But it's clear that when push comes to shove, Luke is going to coddle Liz,Jess' Abuser, for the rest of her natural-born life. Jess, the Identified Patient, is on his own.

(By the time we reach AYITL, Jess is also dutifully coddling Liz and bailing her out of trouble. Lesson learned, I guess.)

Luke and Jess love each other, and I wanted a reconciliation for them so badly! But this wasn't it.

[aphroditelovesu]

I saw that your putting out a choice for us to choose whether reader should be a virgin or not and it got me thinking of how Alexander would he care if reader was not a virgin I think he might be furious but I really don’t know about his personal choice of virgin or not, but if it was about his obsession I do think he would rather want her to be a virgin it to be to be the only one, but I still really don’t know, but in my opinion, he would be angry and pissed off I think. Maybe you could share some insights like a little hint of what his reaction would be

A little insight into how I think he yandere would react if she wasn't a virgin. Ah, this is not official from the fanfic, but just wanted to give you guys a treat and a warning about mild nsfw (not too descriptive):

~ written by: Lady L.

''Alexander kissed (Y/N)'s neck tenderly, enjoying the taste of her skin. He purred and lightly bit the skin, eliciting a sigh from his new wife.

The conqueror's callused hands touched her bare breasts, his fingers pinching the hardened nipples, maybe from the cold or the excitement, it didn't matter. He stopped kissing (Y/N)'s neck and kissed the neck of her breast, while still pinching her nipples lightly, enough to be pleasant and not painful.

''Hm…'' (Y/N) moaned softly, feeling her arousal building and her core throbbing from the lack of touch. It had been so long since she had been touched in such an intimate way. Her hands, free of calluses, stroked her husband's blond hair, urging him to continue to adore her body.

''Someone is in need of her husband, I see.'' He chuckled and stopped pinching her nipples, finally taking her left breast into his mouth. (Y/N) groaned and threw her head back. Alexander suckled her breast like a starving man, taking his time and nibbling lightly on the nipple, earning a grunt from his Queen.

''Fuck…'' (Y/N) cursed and bit her lip, looking at Alexander who was grabbing her breast. She brought her right hand to her neglected, sensitive breast, massaging it the way she liked.

Alexander let go of her breast, all wet with his saliva and licked his lips, frowning at the sight of (Y/N) touching her own breast. He pulled back a little from her warm body and glared at her with a slightly irritated expression.

''What are you doing?''

(Y/N) opened her eyes and blushed to see Alexander staring at her intently, his mismatched eyes filled with doubt. What was happening? She frowned and stopped touching her breast and placed both hands in her lap.

''What do you mean?'' She asked shyly, fearing one more outburst from him. She'd seen enough and she didn't want another one, not now, not in such an intimate moment.

''Why are you touching yourself there?''

(Y/N) was even more confused and blinked a few times to make sure she got it right. ''How so?''

Alexander huffed, getting irritated. ''I asked why you was touching your breast when only I can do it?''

''Oh... Is it because it makes me feel good.''

Alexander felt the colors in his face fade. He closed his eyes and crossed his arms, straightening his posture, imposing himself over her.

''Are you a maiden?''

''What?!'' The voice (Y/N) was loud and disbelieving.

''I'll ask just one more time, are you a maiden? Have you ever had carnal relations with another man?''

Her expression fell, turning pale. He had never asked this before, so why now? She cleared her throat and replied, ''Why are you asking me this now?''

''Because it's important.''

''If this is about me touching my breast-''

He cut her off abruptly, ''It's not. Now answers honestly. And don't lie, you know I hate lies.

(Y/N) frowned and took a deep breath, closing her eyes tightly. ''No. I am not a maiden, as you say.''

Alexander was silent for what seemed like hours. Finally daring to open her eyes, (Y/N) almost jumped when she saw her husband, such a strange word for her, standing in front of her and staring into her face with pure hatred.

The kind of hatred that had only been reserved for enemies.

She stifled a scream when Alexander suddenly climbed onto the bed and pushed her hard in it, getting on top of her. (Y/N) had never felt so much dread, so much fear, in one moment and the fact that she was in a more vulnerable state made her even more cornered.

''Alexander, I-''

She was interrupted once more.

''Who?''

She blinked back the tears of terror and looked away. Alexander grabbed her chin hard, forcing her to look at him.

''WHO?'' His voice was getting louder and louder it hurt her ears. (Y/N) gulped and finally replied,

''That was a long time ago... It doesn't matter.'' She whispered, tears finally falling from her eyes.

There was no way she could answer that question. In fact, it had been a few years ago and she had lost her virginity to her first boyfriend. It didn't matter anymore, it had happened and she didn't regret it, anyway, she was an adult woman and she had had an active sex life, like many of her time, but now, seeing her husband's look full of jealousy, she knew she should regret it.

''I'll ask just one more time, my love.'' He scoffed at the endearing nickname. ''Who was the bastard who deflowered my wife?!''

(Y/N) flinched at the tone and closed her eyes tightly. Seeing this, Alexander tried to calm down a little, but he couldn't. He needed to get out of there, needed to interrupt his wedding night, before he did something to his Queen he would regret.

He could draw screams of pleasure from her later. Now, he needed to calm down.

(Y/N) opened her eyes when Alexander got up and put on a fur coat, she stared at him confused.

Without looking at her, Alexander pulled on his boots and replied in a low, deadly tone, ''I'll cool off. But make no mistake, I'll be back to deal with you.''

(Y/N) huddled in the fur blankets as he walked out of his tent, leaving her alone and scared. She knew what chilling him meant and she felt sorry for the poor soul who was going to be tortured.

That thought made her wrap herself in the blanket as if it were a shield that protected her from everything and everyone. But most importantly, her husband.''

[nostxlgicrose]

☆ Star-Shaped Seelie ☆

Genshin Impact Ensemble x Child!Seelie!Reader

Synopsis: Who knew a wardrobe could hide such a big secret? You know, like completely altering your physical form and shoving you into a completely foreign world with no instructions! What could go wrong?

Note: Playing around with concepts and stuff. Crossposted on AO3 and maybe Wattpad later…first post on here too (idk what I’m doing on this app!)

Warnings: mild emotional neglect, affection-deprived reader, child reader, seelie reader, PLATONIC relationships, hilichurls, possible ooc (in the near future 😭)

Chapter 1: Coming Out Of The Closet

"Ma, ma! Look, I drew you something!—"

"Not now, [y/n]. I'm busy."

You puffed out your cheeks into a pout, sighing as you lowered your hands. You worked on this drawing for hours! Well, maybe it wasn't that long...but still!

You had even taken the time to colour it in with your crayons! And it was the one with sixty-four in one pack! Oh, well..it wasn't like it was the first time you had gotten brushed off.

It was disheartening, but you shook your head to snap yourself out of your daze. Right, you couldn't be sad! It wasn't like your parents were just ignoring you. They said it was work! And work, apparently, was really important. Even more important than you?

...No, no, they said they were working for you. That couldn't be right. It was in your benefit. How could you think any different? Surely, your Ma and Pa would call you ungrateful if you were to voice out your thoughts. You definitely didn't want that. Maybe you were just too young to understand.

Still, it didn't make it hurt less when you wanted to do things with them, but they'd be glued to their cell phones or computers. Though they'd tell you they'd listen to you later, they'd just end up collapsing on their bed the moment they finish. Or they'd be busy arguing, like always.

You'd wonder why they just couldn't just hug and make up! You've seen it in your shows multiple times, so why couldn't that happen?

When would you get your magical superhero to swoop down and solve the ongoing conflict? Maybe the hero was busy helping other children. But how long would you have to wait until it was your turn?

You were patient, and a good kid—promise!

Regardless, the lack of attention you received was incredibly disappointing, but, what could you do about it? You could only hope that your parents would one day hold true to their promises and spend some time with you.

"...Okay, can I show you my drawings after though?"

"Yep, yep." She didn't pull her eyes away from the screen as she waved you off out of her room. You knew very well it was all a lie, though. "Now go bother your father for now, okay?"

You brightened. Of course, there was your dad! Surely they weren't working at the same time! You rushed down the hall towards your father's study, the paper clutched tightly in your hands. Unable to contain your excitement, you practically slammed his door open.

Maybe you shouldn't have done that, watching nervously as he lurched up from his desk. It seemed that he was napping before you came in, at least, before you rushed in. Your shoulders were now tensed, as if bracing for the worst. "...Hi dad."

His eyes focus on you, and for a second, a flash of anger is clearly shown by the way his eyes narrowed. But it soon faded...slightly, maybe, as he fixed his hair and turned away from you. "What have I told you about running in the halls? And you slammed the door so hard the neighbours could probably hear you."

"Sorry..." Your shoulders sagged as you sulked, looking ashamed. But your father did not look, nor did he acknowledge your intention for being there. Instead, he waved his hand in a similar motion like your mother had done so minutes ago.

"It's already been done. I'm not angry, just a little disappointed, [y/n]." He sighed, and you could hear the faint scribbling coming from where he sat. "Run along now. Your aunt and cousins should be here any moment now."

You nodded, slowly closing the door and walking down the stairs. You felt a bit disheartened at your mother's indifference and your father's seemingly endless criticism, but you would slap your face to get yourself out of it. "It's okay...Ma and Pa are just working. Ma has an important meeting later, and Pa is just making sure I'm not being a bad kid. I just need...to be better."

That's what you convinced yourself it was, anyways, as you made your way to the living room and plopped yourself down onto the floor. Your crayons were spread out on the floor, ready for you to continue drawing. And so you did—you had a brand new sheet of paper, and you spent the next few minutes drawing as you waited for your beloved aunt to drop by.

Soon enough, the doorbell rang. You sprang to your feet, leaving your materials on the floor as you practically flew to the front door. You'd open it with clear excitement, already recognizing the certain knock pattern that hit onto your door.

"Milo!" You practically launched yourself at the boy, tackling him into a hug. You could hear giggles and laughter from the other kids, as well as one that sounded much older than the rest—you supposed that was your aunt.

The woman was rather tall, and she bore a great resemblance to your father. But instead of the usual frown he seemed to have, she had a warm, happy smile that you'd always see when she visited. "[y/n]! It's so good to see you! It's been a long time."

You released your cousin with a nod, placing your hands on your waist. "Yes! I missed you, Aunt Cass! And Milo! And Lily, of course!" You listed off, making sure not to forget any of your dearest relatives.

"I'm sure you did," Your aunt would chuckle, patting your head as she slipped her boots off by the rug. "Where's your father?"

Your demeanor faltered for a brief moment, reminded of the unpleasant exchange you had because of your excitement. "Working! Like usual! But it's okay, we just gotta be quiet."

Despite your attempts to hide your sullen expression, Cass could see right through you. Even if you hadn't said anything, she was well-aware of her brother's tendencies to work himself to death and (hopefully unintentionally) neglecting you in the process. Well, both him and his wife had this problem, because she had been more of a mother to you than your actual parents...which said a lot. What would've happened if she wasn't there? She didn't even wanna imagine it.

"Alright. I'm just going to talk to him, so you three play here and remember, if someone knocks at the door—"

"Don't open it and call you down instead," Milo sighed, clearly tired of the constant reminders. It was common sense, after all. His response earned him a ruffle through his dark hair, messing it up completely. He only swatted his mother's hand away with a whine, trying to fix it back to how it was before.

"Yep! And if someone breaks in, run to the kitchen, because that's where all the weapons are!" Lily piped up, while you only held your thumbs up in reply to it all.

"...What they said."

Your aunt would smile, laughing a little as she clasped her hands together. "Good! Now, I'll be right back!" She'd say, before retreating upstairs towards your father's study. Now you three were alone in the living room...

So, naturally, you decided to play hide-and-seek! Your house wasn't the biggest, but it had a lot of good hiding spots. Luckily for you, this round had you as a hider. Both you and Lily were hiders, while Milo would be the seeker. You were pretty good at seeking, yes, but hiding was much more fun.

"Remember, no peeking!" You reminded the boy as you and Lily glanced at each other with a grin. You were going to make this incredibly difficult for the boy, that's for sure.

"Yeah, yeah, just go!" Milo huffed, turning to face the wall with his hands over his eyes. The starting point was the bathroom on the first floor—and the moment he started to count, you two were gone.

The two of you were together, until Lily separated from you to hide somewhere in the kitchen. You, on the other hand, decided to go upstairs. If you were going to hide with Lily, you'd both be out at the same time; you had to think strategically about this.

You were about to run into your room when you caught sight of a certain door. It was the one that would lead you to the attic. Your eyes went from the door to the bathroom—then back to the ominous darkness leading upstairs. Well, you guys laid out general rules...like how outside was off-limits for obvious reasons, but they never mentioned the attic.

A small grin made its way on your face as you stifled your giggles, running up the stairs quietly. After all, you weren't sure how much longer you had left until the seeker emerged. You made it to the top, huffing as you looked around the area. It was mostly just boxes and old furniture, and your original plan was to hide behind or even inside one of the boxes.

Those plans would fade, though, as soon as you caught sight of something even better.

A closet! It was something that apparently belonged to a distant relative, but your parents didn't seem to care for it. The presence of dust was evidence of the neglect, if the fact that it was tucked into the attic wasn't enough proof by itself.

You wondered if you'd have a similar amount of dust on your surface if you were a closet, too. Your parents didn't seem to like entertaining your endless chatter, nor appreciate your wonderful masterpieces you drew with your almighty crayons! It's okay, though. They were the ones missing out.

Brushing away the thoughts, you leaped into the closet and coughed when you noticed the amount of dust that was inside as well. You expected it to be empty, but there were a few coats inside.

Well, you say jackets, but...they sort of looked like costumes. There were weird ones. Some were red and white with clover designs, while there was one that was white and black with gold plates on them. There were even more, but you couldn't even comprehend how some of them worked. It was really weird, but your confusion faded when you heard a familiar shout downstairs.

Right, you had a much more important objective right now! And if that was Lily's shrill scream that you had just heard, that means you were about to have two people looking for you. You had to act fast.

Throwing yourself into the closet, you closed the doors and adjusted yourself inside. When you backed further into the closet, you expected to feel the cool wood against your back. But you didn't—you ran into another set of strange clothes hung on a rack. That was strange—you swore you only saw one rack. Plus, this closet was pretty darn small! There was no way it could fit two long racks inside.

Or maybe it could. It just...kept going, like an endless hole. Although you originally thought you just got lucky with the density of the wardrobe, you began to wonder if there was even an end to the piece of furniture.

"Woah. Magical closet," You muttered as you ventured deeper into the closet, pushing aside the strange attire and taking a few steps in. Actually, were you even in the closet anymore? It felt more like a tunnel now. You paused when you noticed light peeking from the top, and you couldn't help but gasp in awe. "...Sparkly."

You pushed back the final set of clothes to the side, and—

"Woaw. It's grass!"

Now, if your cousins were hearing this right now, they most likely would've called you crazy. But you weren't wrong! Far from it. In fact, you were seeing a lot of grass right now. The moon was casting its soft light down on you from above. Strange...wasn't it? It was just the afternoon a few seconds ago. Was it night in the closet? Actually, were you even in the closet anymore?

You turned to look at where you came from, only to gasp. The closet was gone. Instead, there stood a stone archway...as if you had walked out of that instead.

"Am I dreaming?" You wondered aloud as you examined your surroundings. Suddenly, you felt a new weight on your shoulders. Or maybe you had just realized that your clothes were completely different now.

You were now wearing a golden-yellow poncho, with a golden fur-like scarf wrapped around your neck. Two yellow thin strands of strange material sprouted from the front of it too. You were also wearing some sort of yellow star pin that kept the poncho and scarf connected, and it was then you realized that it was glowing brightly.

Or maybe you were the one that was glowing.

"Gasp! I'm a big glowstick now!" You exclaimed, twirling around with a giggle. You watched as your clothes fluttered around with your movements, the ends glowing a faint yellow.

What a strangely intricate dream you were having. You never had this much of a vivid experience before, and it was exciting.

"Wait, if I'm dreaming, does that mean I could fly?" You asked no one in particular, looking down at yourself before beaming. Overcome with sudden determination, you crouched down to ready yourself. You then jumped into the air, trying to flap your imaginary wings. "Flyyy, me!"

...Nothing happened. You'd fall back on your bottom, and you groaned. "Ouch. Aw, man!" You huffed, standing up and dusting yourself off. "Hmm."

You looked around for something, eyeing the stone arch. Maybe you had to jump off something? No, but the arch was too high. Perhaps you should do something safer.

Your gaze fell onto the nearby ledge, and you'd inch towards it nervously. Looking down, you realized that it wasn't a big jump. You could probably land on your feet if you fell.

But suddenly, you were nervous. Heights were scary. What if you went splat?

"I can walk away and never learn how to jump," You mumbled to yourself. "Or I can be brave and do it! If this is a dream, I won't get hurt if I fall! Everything will be a-okay!"

(You seemed to have forgotten how you had just braced a painful fall seconds ago.)

"Ookay, here we go..." You sucked in a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut. You just had to build up the courage. Remember, flying is easy in a dream! Then you could maybe fly into the night, and touch the stars! Submerging yourself in those thoughts, you opened your eyes and furrowed your eyebrows in concentration. "Wait, I should be cool about this. Hmm..."

You thought for a moment before a grin appeared on your face, and you cleared your throat. "Toooo Infinity, and Beyoonddd!!!"

You jumped.

Suddenly, you felt lighter. You were no longer falling, but instead, your feet seemed to hover above ground. Your eyes widened—you were really flying! It felt so real, too!

But for some reason, you felt smaller...

"Oh." It was then you realized your arms were really small. In fact—your arms didn't even look like your arms! They were small and yellow, and looked like jelly! You panicked, trying to get a good look at your new body, to no avail. What in the world was going on?

You looked around for a mirror. Were there mirrors in this place? No, but you caught sight of a nearby pond. You wasted no time and flew towards it, only to shriek when you saw the reflection.

You were...you were a small yellow blob! With bunny ears! And a four-pointed star for a face! You noticed you also had that same gold scarf around your neck, but that wasn't the most important aspect right now. You literally did not have a face!

"Oh no. I'm a tiny lemon jelly rabbit!" You cried out, only to hear incoherent babbles coming out of your—well, you didn't actually have a mouth...but still. "Oh no no, I'm a tiny lemon jelly rabbit that speaks gibberish!"

Your tiny arms clutched the small ears atop your head, trying to decipher what exactly you were made out of. You were terribly confused, but yet, excited at the same time. Did this mean you had magical powers now? You always wanted to have cool powers! Maybe you could fight bad guys, and—

A sudden force caused you to choke when you felt your little spirit body be snatched up by a pair of hands. Panic swelled in your tiny being, as you squirmed. 'Oh no. I'm dead, I'mdeadI'mdeadI'm—'

"Olah!" [Hi!] It was a scratchy voice—and it did not sound human, further solidifying your fears when you looked up to see your captor. It was a strange creature with a mask, and fluffy hair surrounding its head. For some reason you knew what it was...it was a hilichurl. "Kucha si." [Small thing.]

"I dunno what you're saying, Mister Goblin." You huffed as you relaxed in it's hold. You knew it was a hilichurl, but it looked like a goblin, so you decided to use that instead. It didn't seem like it was going to eat you like you thought it was, so you could maybe trust it. When you looked over the hilichurl's shoulder, you found that it was all alone.

"Yo movo, kucha tomo!" [You come, small friend!] It exclaimed, and you jumped when it began to run off. Oh well, guess it was taking you somewhere now. Was this considered kidnapping? Your parents made it seem like it'd be scary! This was really fun! You should get kidnapped more often.

Your new friend ran a good distance before making it to a rather strange building. It had engravings on it and glowed a faint red. You trembled a bit in fear—it looked scary. Were you supposed to go inside that?

Much to your relief, it turned away from the doors and instead, walked along the stone paths that were laid out nearby. It looked like he had a little camp set up near this big glowing building. And yet, this whole place seemed abandoned. You gazed up at the hilichurl sympathetically, patting its arm. "Your home is broken. It's okay though, I'll be your friend!"

You had said that because you assumed this poor thing was living alone. You were proven wrong, immediately, because you found more of these hilichurl creatures emerging from behind rocks and stones. They all looked...the same. The same mask, fur, and even clothes. If you were to examine them further, though, there were some characteristics that helped separate some of them...like how one had a clipped ear, or how one had three scratches etched into its mask. Some even wore different coloured bandanas on their body somewhere. But at first glance, you wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

Well, except for one, that was much bigger than the others. His mask was more defined, and had black fur. The axe that sat next to him was incredibly intimidating—you hoped you wouldn't anger it enough to become minced spirit goop. The hilichurl that held you was now offering you up to the big guy, and you could only shrink away as its gaze scrutinized your entire being. You kind of felt like Simba right now, except it wasn't on a cliff and to celebrate your birth. You felt like you were being judged...

"...Hi." You muttered, though your words came out as babbles and squeals instead. And yet, a small part of you hoped they'd somehow understand you.

The creature in front of you—a lawachurl, definitely (how did you even know these names?), suddenly reached out towards you. Was he gonna give you a hug?

You sparkled in excitement, your initial fear fading away. You loved hugs! And this big fluffy guy looked like a nice hugger.

"Mosi?" [To eat?] It rumbled, gaining a frantic shake of the head from the hilichurl that held you.

"Nye. Kucha...tomo!" [No. Small friend.] The hilichurl seemed to beam at their leader, presenting your little spirit body up to the lawachurl again.

"Yes. Tomo!" You had no clue what that meant, but just repeated the word you had managed to catch despite their clear inability to understand you. You wondered if tomo meant friend. Or best friend! You wouldn't mind having another best friend.

But the lawachurl understood the hilichurl, and you felt a small pat on the head from the big guy. It was a miracle you hadn't been squished to death.

"Dada!" [Very good!] The hilichurl cheered, as if it were happy your presence was accepted. You blinked curiously—huh, were you just adopted by Mister Goblin and his family?

It didn't show on your faceless body, but you could feel your subconscious smiling brightly.

Now that you thought about it...you were definitely winning that hide-and-seek match right now.

Note: i swear i hate trying to translate hilichurlian LIKE where is ella musk when you need her 😭😭

Next Chapter >

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Shinsuke Kita General Profile

Yandere! Shinsuke Kita x fem! reader

Tw: stalking, kidnapping, mild infantilization, one very brief mention of Shinsuke commenting on what you eat, spanking, mentions of non-con, mentions of assault, Stockholm Syndrome, forced motherhood, mentions of breeding, misogyny/traditional gender roles, Shinsuke wants to have a family with you and it's kind of sweet but it's mostly disturbing, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy! 

Because I've been kind of neglecting other fandoms besides hxh, have this peace offering <3

WC: 12K

DARLING PROFILE:

Responsible

Shinsuke is quite picky with those that he develops romantic attraction towards.

He has standards that are quite specific, and he’s unwilling to compromise on these requirements, even if his darling is perfect for him in every other possible way. He holds himself to a high standard, so it’s only fair to hold his beloved – an extension of him – to similar standards, right?

And one of these requirements is that his darling must have some level of responsibility, their personal sense of commitment and drive able to mirror his at least partially.

He’s not interested in dating a child at heart – he wants a partner, someone he can trust and love, and while he limits any hope of his darling ever having autonomy or free will, he likes to idea of them being able to take care of themselves.

He’ll always be there to protect and love them of course, and he doesn’t allow them to be in any position where they’d need to take care of themselves, but it’s still attractive to him.

He likes to know that they know right from wrong and know the consequences of their actions, particularly because he feels this is a necessity for a good mother. (And he’s sure his darling will be a good mother – they’re caring, warm, and they have the perfect body to carry his children, with a stomach he can’t wait to see grow and breasts he can’t wait to see fill and leak.)

And really, that’s the main reason behind this requirement of his - Shinsuke expects his beloved to mother a good number of his children; he’s hoping for a family of at least six, and he’s more than willing to give his darling more if they wanted.

It’s a massive relief for him to know that they’ll be able to care for their children, and themselves, in the event of an emergency. (He’ll never not be there, of course, but if – heaven forbid – something were to happen and he couldn’t protect those he loves most? Well, it would destroy him, but at least he’d know his darling is capable enough to keep them alive until Shinsuke can return to them.)

And so, while Shinsuke will always, always treat them with the level of care and patronizing patience that will make his darling feel inadequate and incapable, just know that he doesn’t feel that way – he loves his darling, and he thinks that their responsibility is extremely attractive.

It’s part of what makes them catch his eye initially, and Shinsuke is nothing is not a fan of consistency.

Sweet

Perhaps it’s a product of having grown up around the community that he did, but regardless, Shinsuke finds someone appealing about those who are genuinely kind and sweet.

It’s something he’s always liked, and although he isn’t exactly nice, Shinsuke likes to think of himself as a good person, as having good intentions and always giving others the benefit of the doubt.

And this mentality is extended towards his darling – he likes the idea of someone who is nice and friendly to those around them, just genuinely happy and kind, and who isn’t afraid to show off that kindness to the people they surround themselves with.

His favorite sound is his darling’s voice, and when they’re giving compliments or pairing a smile with some comment of how lovely the weather is or thanking Shinsuke for doing them a favor, not only is his heart racing – and his cock hardening – but his obsession is only solidifying, growing deeper and stronger, his desperation to have his darling all to himself becoming harder and harder to ignore.

He doesn’t necessarily believe in traditional gender roles, but he does like the idea of his darling being soft and sweet, someone warm and welcoming, and a sweeter darling would be the ultimate for him.

And he’ll return any kind words thrown his way with vigor – his darling compliments him on how nice his hair looks today? Immediately he’s smiling at them, telling them that they’re beautiful, my love, your hair looks lovely today as well.

His darling being sweet only plays into the fantasy he’s created of them – that they’re perfect but weak, someone that can be easily manipulated and exploited, and therefore it’s his job to step in and keep that from happening.

It’s his job to keep them safe and happy and protected, yes?

Smart

Shinsuke doesn’t handle stupidity well.

He’s blunt and it shows, because while he’s a patient man, he has very little tolerance for foolishness, or for purposefully stupid choices being made.

He holds nothing against those who aren’t as academically gifted as himself and others, but his preference leans more towards those who work hard, those who happen to have a certain area that comes very naturally to them.

To him, it shows integrity and a strong threshold for understanding; two things that make his partner seem absolutely irresistible, and if he could, he’d have conversations lasting for hours as his darling simply speaks to him, telling him all about this or that and absolutely gushing to him about whatever their particular knowledge and interests are.

He just likes to hear his darling’s ideas, finding each one important and worthy of giving his full attention, listening intently and asking questions, his eyes stuck staring at their face because god, they’re so beautiful when they’re speaking and visibly enjoying what they’re saying.

He wants to know that he can hold a conversation with his darling, that he doesn’t have to dumb himself down in order for them to understand him (this of course, does not stop him – he’s still patronizing to his darling regardless of their IQ, acting as if they’re incompetent and unable to perform even simple tasks, but still).

Shinsuke doesn’t need a genius of a darling, but someone who can hold their own immediately peaks his attention, if only because the idea of a smart, caring, kind woman is his ideal – perfect to keep by his side forever.

Push Over  

While all the other traits Shinsuke finds ideal in a darling are clear to him and things he takes no shame in, this one is something he isn’t really willing to fully admit to himself.

He’s got a strong, steady personality himself, and he’s headfast in his beliefs and values – he’s very difficult to sway, really, when the topic at hand directly contradicts something he considers as an immovable fact.

But while Shinsuke doesn’t let himself be swayed by others, having a darling that does would probably be likely – perhaps not by choice, but still something he’d find himself drawn to anyway.

He doesn’t necessarily understand why his partner allows others to treat them that way, to let others walk all over them and totally disregard what they want, but it angers him. It makes him livid.

It makes him so upset that while he’s mildly angry at his own darling for allowing this to happen, he makes it his sworn duty to put a stop to this, to stop allowing others to walk all over his beloved and taking advantage of them and using them.

 Of course, it’s a bit hypocritical of him, considering the fact that once his obsession with his darling forms, he’ll be telling them what they can and can’t do and deciding everything for them. He’s the one in the driver’s seat when it comes to his beloved, making all the decisions from what they’ll be eating for breakfast to which panties they’ll be wearing today, but that’s not the point.

So yes, he’ll teach his darling how to stand up for themselves, how to put their own health and self above the needs of others, before he’ll absolutely crush any opportunity to let them practice their new skills - after all, Shinsuke’s word is final, no matter how hard they argue or beg. 

It’s just attractive, subconsciously, to have someone so weak willed and meallable – his darling needs someone like him, don’t they? They need someone to guide them, to make their decisions, to be a stabilizing force in their life that tells them exactly what they should do and how they should do it – and really, isn’t that love?

Isn’t that what a partnership, a relationship, is all about? Control, dominance, submission?

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Lucid

Shinsuke has impeccable self-control, and while this is still somewhat true when it comes to you, he lets himself be just a tad bit more lenient, giving himself just a bit more wiggle room where you’re concerned because denying himself of every little thing he wants from you would be torture. He’s aware that there’s something wrong with the way he feels for you. It’s not normal to be so dependent on another person, to be so simply aware of them.

He’s had crushes in the past, sure, but he’s never idly wondered what they’re doing at any particular moment, what they’re thinking, what they’re wearing, if they’re talking to another man. He’s not normally worrying if they’ve fallen or injured themselves because he knows they tend to be clumsy, especially if they’re looking at their phone.

He’s never felt this head over heels in love with someone before, and in many ways it scares Shinsuke. There’s something alarming about how he feels for you, and it terrifies him that he’s just always thinking of you, his every thought revolving around you you you, even if you aren’t in the room or he hasn’t seen your for days.

It’s painfully obvious to him; he’s always been good at digesting and analyzing his emotions, and everything he feels towards you is… questionable at best.

And yet, because Shinsuke has such good self control and self restraint, he’s actually able to hold himself back quite a bit in regards to many of the urges and desires he feels towards you. His heart demands him to run to you at any given moment, to simply wrap his arms around you no matter what you’re doing and trap you in a hug you’re much too weak to get out of.

But he stops himself, taking a deep breath and rationalizing that no, it’s not a good idea to sprint to your apartment and break in to simply hug you.

His heart is yearning for him to kiss you, to suck hickies into your neck until you’re a trembling mess under him, your face embarrassed and bashful as you stare at him, your chest heaving with your labored breaths.

He wants to, but he tells himself he can’t – not yet, not until you’ve kissed each other before, not until he’s given you sweet, sensual kisses that make your heart flutter – ones that are less imbued with passion and sexual tension, because it would be bad to scare you away.

(No matter how desperately he wants to rip off that pretty sundress of yours and bend you over and fuck you until you’re crying and screaming his name over and over -)

He wants nothing more than to keep you by his side at all times, to trail your every move and follow you like your shadow, just so he can protect you – but he decides against it, as it’s too likely you’ll notice and feel unsettled by the fact that he’s essentially stalking you. Shinsuke isn’t completely blinded by his love for you; it’s strong, incredibly difficult to ignore, but there’s still a sense of a moral compass that he feels despite his infatuation.

He doesn’t want to scare you, and he doesn’t want you to think of him in an ill light because of his rather bold desires – you’d think he’s crazy if he did even half of the things that he thinks about when he lays in bed at night, staring at his ceiling and wishing you were beside him, wrapped up in his arms and snuggled into his bare chest. Shinsuke knows this, and so he holds himself back from all of the creepy, disturbing things he knows he’s thinking – he won’t steal your clothing like he wants to, nor will he set up a security camera outside your bedroom door that he’ll use for much more than security surveillance purposes. He won’t; no, instead he channels all of the pent up jitters and anger from restraining himself into much more normal things.

You’ll discover very quickly with Shinsuke that while it’s not necessarily a bad thing, he’s much, much quicker to progress your relationship with him forward. He’s not waiting between steps – he’s pushing the pace at which the two of you move scarily fast, to the point that every major milestone that takes other couples years to achieve is done within the span of six months.

From the second you agree to go out to dinner with him, it will take less than a month for him to say he loves you. It’s romantic, at least; a candlelight dinner he made himself, his smoldering eyes staring at you so intensely you feel your whole soul is bared to him, his hands squeezing yours as he tells you matter of factly that he’s in love with you, and I have been for quite some time. I love you, my angel.

He’s proposing the two of you move in together much before you’re ready – you’ve only been dating for about three months. Though, with how often he invites you over to his place, you’re practically living in his house already, the rice fields surrounding it familiar and calming.

He’s quick to package up your belongings himself, labeling the cardboard boxes with an uncharacteristically bright smile across his face as he imagines exactly where each item of yours can go, his eyes scanning and memorizing every little thing he packs away because oh, he didn’t know you had this many bras – and this pink one he’s never seen before. Perhaps you were waiting to surprise him with it?

He’ll relent and let you have your own room in his house at first, though expect that to only last for a week or so – soon, you’ll be sleeping in the same bed every night, his hands firmly on your hips as he spoons you, his soft breath brushing the back of your neck with every exhale.

He’s dropping to one knee much too soon, that important question slipping from his lips as the pretty, silver ring is bared to your eyes – it’s got his initials on it, and he’s quick to tell you his own matching ring has yours.

(He’s already wearing his own ring, and you notice with a start that he has been for quite some time – maybe not on the right finger, but still.)

He’s giving a speech that’s surprisingly sentimental for him, tears even welling up in his eyes as he tells you how much you mean to him, how he couldn’t imagine his life without you, how he’d be a shell of the man he is now without you – all about five months after that first initial date.

And of course, Shinsuke doesn’t even feel like he needs to have the conversation about a family with you – it’s assumed you’ll bear his children, expected even.

He’s sure you’ll be a wonderful mother, and he’s always wanted to be a father, so don’t be too surprised when only a year after you agreed to go out with him he’s whisepering in your ear and caressing your growing stomach, murmuring about how he’s so lucky to have such a wonderful wife, and what I’m sure will be a wonderful baby boy.

So really, while Shinsuke isn’t especially impulsive in most ways regarding you (despite desperately, desperately wanting to be), all of that repressed drive to keep you his and only his is channeled in that your semblance of a normal relationship will be strained by his need for more. He needs to have a domestic life with you, to wake up to the smell of pancakes and bacon as you serve him breakfast in bed, kissing his cheek while you sit down beside him and watch him eat.

He needs to see you humming and doing the laundry in the basement, your fingers working deftly over the fabric as he hugs you from behind, smelling your hair deeply and sighing into your neck. He needs to stand beside you in the bathroom, looking at you in the mirror as he brushes his teeth, maybe even as he brushes your teeth.

So while Shinsuke is mostly a respectful yandere, he’s by no means simply rolling over to you – you will be his partner, wife, companion, and the sooner you accept that, the easier things will be for both yourself and Shinsuke.

After all, it’s so terrible when you fight, and aren’t things better when he’s caring for you, loving you and providing for you like a good husband should?

Protective

Shinsuke’s always naturally found himself falling into the role of a protector. He enjoys watching over others, making sure they’re staying healthy and safe, and this particular personality trait is present in every single relationship he has, whether it’s with family or friends.  

He’s stern, but his heart is pure gold when it comes to those he loves. Because of this, he’s developed a bit of a paranoia for those close to him getting hurt, just because he doesn’t like the idea of anyone he loves being injured or in pain.

And where you’re concerned is no different - in fact, it’s only worse, much more intense, if only because in Shinsuke’s mind you’re so fucking delicate, so fragile and doll-like with your beauty and personality that it makes him honestly fear for the worst whenever you’re alone and without his constant protection.

He’s with you, always – it’s harder to do this before he’s kidnapped you, but he’ll find a way to always just be idly near you, whether that’s inviting you over for the day, or ‘happening’ to run into you in town.  

It gets to the point where he won’t let you do anything on your own, no matter how trivial or important the task may be.

He’s by your side when you’re typing on the computer, making sure your hand doesn’t cramp up, and at the slightest grimace or flex of your fingers, he’s immediately taking your hand in his, gently massaging your fingers and staring into your eyes, telling you that you should be more careful, that Carpal Tunnel Syndrome is no joke.

He’s with you when you’re running errands - he has to make sure that no creeps follow you or take advantage of you, and it’s only right that he, as your future husband, takes on that responsibility of keeping you safe, right?

(Besides, he’ll push the cart for you, or reach to the highest shelf for you – even if you’re taller than him – or gently but firmly tell you that you don’t really need two sleeves of cookies, do you?)

He’s not letting you drive anymore, keeping you firmly away from your car and instead in his, the seatbelt suffocatingly tight around your body and his hand on your thigh so that you don’t feel scared when he’s on the freeway.

He’s only letting you wear clothing that covers your body to his standards – not because he thinks you should be covering up (he thinks your body is perfect, almost too perfect, if the way his cock springs to life at just one flash of it is anything to go by), but simply because he doesn’t want anyone to be staring at you or making crude comments.

And once you’re in the sanctity of his home, his overprotectiveness only increases. If you felt like he was controlling, suffocating in his endless stream of ‘let me do that for you - it looks sharp, and you and I both know how dangerous book corners can be’ before, it’s nothing compared to the way he acts once you’re forced to be with him at all times, stuck in the unmatched safety of his abode that he’s so graciously decided to share with you.

He’s with you while you’re sleeping, staring down at your unconscious figure while he caresses your cheeks and presses soft kisses to your forehead, to make sure you don’t get cold or choke in the middle of the night.

He’s there while you’re showering, standing outside the glass door with his eyes trained on your figure, the tent in his trousers not so subtle, to make sure that you don’t slip and fall or get shampoo into your eyes.

 Shinsuke has no shame in keeping an eye on you 24/7, and if you try to bring up how uncomfortable it makes you, how weird you think it is that he’s always there, he’ll just pat your head with a soft smile and say that it’s his job. He’s your protector, your provider, and he’ll always take care of you, whether you want it or not.

Besides, isn’t it romantic that he cares so much? His grandmother has always told him that women swoon at men who are masculine, but not terribly so – just enough to show that they’re capable of providing for their partner, but are still sweet and in touch with their emotions.

And surely, his grandmother must be right; after all, he managed to become friends with you, and Shinsuke’s relatively certain that you possess romantic feelings for him as well, if the way you get shy and flustered when he compliments you in that way too blunt tone of his means anything.

He likes the idea that he can be your protector, the one that makes sure you stay safe, healthy, and happy, and frankly Shinsuke is adopting this role even way before his feelings for you form. He likes the way you look at him with a soft smile after he helps you carry something heavy, your pretty eyes sparkling at him while you murmur a small thank you, Shin.

He likes the way you say his name when you’re on the phone with him, your voice sounding like chimes through the receiver as he sighs and closes his eyes, stopping whatever task he was in the middle of when the ringer went off. He’ll focus on the way your tone sounds, if you seem happy or sad, if you sound out of breath or like you’re struggling, and if he gets even the slightest hint that you may be doing something strenuous or challenging (or, heaven forbid, dangerous), Shinsuke is practically sprinting out the door, wanting to get to you as fast as possible as images of you falling, hurting yourself, breaking a bone, anything and everything flash through his mind.

He’ll show up at your door with his hair mussed up, his chest heaving, his brown eyes wide and staring at you impossibly, raking over every inch of you while fervent questions slip past his lips of are you alright? What have you been doing the last few minutes? Why did you not ask me to do it for you?

wants you safe and healthy and pristine, and that’s what he tells you when he’s tucking you into bed, pulling the sheet high around your shoulders (made of the softest cotton designed for newborn babies, of course, as he knows just how sensitive your perfect, warm skin is) while he pulls you tightly against his bare chest, not leaving any room for air between you as he leans down to deeply inhale the scent of your hair.

He’s constantly telling you how much you need him, how he’s the only one who can assure your safety and really truly care for you how you deserve. And in Shinsuke’s mind, you deserve the world - you’re his precious, perfect little darling, and he’s your strong, capable husband - it’s his duty to protect you, to shield you from the terrors of the world and to take care of you.

And really, when you see the muscles rippling along his back, the definition of his biceps as a result of years of volleyball and work on the farm, there isn’t a whole lot you can do to go against him. His protectiveness really does come from a good place – he wants to care for you and make sure you never have to lift a finger, and isn’t it romantic in its own way?

Isn’t it sweet how he’s always wanting to take care of you, how he’s going out of his way to check in on you (frequent, frequent calls and text messages asking you how you’re feeling, randomly showing up to your apartment with takeout in hand and a soft smile on his face, asking without really waiting for an answer whether you’d like to share dinner together)?

Shinsuke thinks this is both the quickest way to your heart, and the quickest way to placate the constant anxiety in his own heart about whether you’re okay, if you’re taking care of yourself. He just wants to be your lover and protector, so won’t you just let him?

Sure, you may feel incapable, his blunt tone and words making you feel useless, but he doesn’t mean it like that – can’t you tell? He sure hopes so, but at the end of the day it hardly matters; he’s sure you’ll fall in love with him eventually, because every woman wants a strong, caring, protective husband.

He’s sure of it.

Obsessive

Routine is an integral part of Shinsuke’s daily life, and despite the massive change of having you – his lover, partner, obsession, object of fascination – this still stands true.

He’s still a man of consistency, and while his rigid scheduling changes in the face of having you in his life, he’s still abiding by the principle of repetition. He’s extremely consistent in the way that he interacts with you; he’s always polite and chivalrous, being nothing short of a gentleman.

Consistent compliments will be coming your way no matter how often you dissuade them or ask Shinsuke to not embaress you so much. He’s telling you that your eyes are gorgeous, I always get so lost in them as he stares at you from across the table, his own food untouched in his bout of simply observing you.

He’s brushing his fingers over a strand of your hair and softly smiling at you, those cold gray eyes warming slightly as he murmurs out your hair is lovely, never cut it.

He’s rigid with the way he interacts with you, but this all lies from the desire to get to know you better, to learn every detail he possibly can. It’s like a puzzle to him; the more he learns, the more he’s able to treat you like you deserve, the greater his resivoir of knowledge about you grows.

 He needs to know everything he possibly can in order to make you happy, to be the best possible partner, and is that really such a crime? Is it such a bad thing that he wants to make you happy, to make sure you never worry again, that your pretty head can stay happy, carefree, so very in love?  

His obsessiveness comes from a good place, truly, which is why he wants to know everything possible. What position do you fall asleep in, and do you move around in your sleep?

 (This knowledge will help him practice cuddling his own pillow, getting familiar with falling asleep in the position that would perfectly aid the way you naturally fall asleep, so that once you’re sharing the same bed every night the both of you can be as comfortable as possible, and therefore receive the best sleep possible.)

What are your dreams for the future?

(It brings a small blush to his pale cheeks to imagine you wanting him in your ideal future, wishing you’d say something along the lines of wanting a modest family and a quiet, calm life, one full of love and quiet stability. It makes Shinsuke excited, because that’s exactly what he can give you – that, and so much more – though, he’ll have too work on that ‘modest family’ a bit; you’ll be having at least four of his children.)

 How heavy and how long are your periods?

(He’s stocking up on appropriate supplies, reading up on strategies to help alleviate cramps, the best foods to eat while menstruating, what kind of music and programming is best to relax you, what kind of sweets to indulge you with when you’re particularly clingy and depenent on him – something he’s much too stoic to admit he’s very much looking forward to.)

 What keeps you up at night?

(Learning your greatest fears will give him not only a better understanding of you, but also set Shinsuke up for success in calming you down when you wake from nightmares, giving you comforting, lulling words and letting you cry into his chest while he runs his hands along your back, whispering praises and soft nothings as you try to calm down, his own heart hammering in his chest because god, he can feel every inch of you pressed against him like this.)

Shinsuke can and will learn it all, and he’ll remember every last detail to the tee, ingraining it into his brain because all he can think about half the time is you, and he needs material to work with.

He’ll pull random facts out of his back pocket, especially early into his obsession with you; things like your favorite foods and colors, little stories you’ve told him in passing that you don’t expect anyone to remember, small things that make you blink and stare at him in slight shock, flattered because why did he remember something so small and trivial?

It’ll shock you, but it’ll make you feel good, because you’ve never had someone pay as close attention to you as he does, and isn’t it flattering to know that Shinsuke Kita, a man with muscle, smarts, and integrity, cares about little old you?

Even if you aren’t initially romantically interested in him, this particular habit will have that slowly changing, until you reach the point that you’re willing to give him a chance, because it’s the least you could do, right?

But while this habit starts off sweet and romantic, as his relationship and infatuation with you progress, he’ll slowly start mentioning more and more of the things you’ve told him – except, you’re pretty sure you’ve never told him where you keep that extra stash of cash in your bedroom for emergencies.

You don’t think you’ve ever mentioned to him about the order with which you get dressed, or how long it normally takes you. He’ll start casually mentioning things you know you haven’t shared with him, and you’ll slowly begin questioning how he knows everything.

You’ll more likely than be wondering how the hell he knows how many pillows you sleep with at night, but while this may initially concern you, there’s something so calming about Shinsuke, something that’ll just have you shaking it off as something you must have mentioned off handedly, and that Shinsuke just has a really good memory.

And for a while, it works - you start forgetting about how strange it is that the gray haired boy knows so much about you; but once you wake up in his basement, laying atop a soft mattress with nice, wrinkle free sheets waiting underneath your body (that’s been changed into a clean, white pair of pajamas you’re sure aren’t your own) and Shinsuke himself holding you against his chest, telling you to rest and take it easy because the drug is still in your system, you can’t keep brushing it off.

Because once he’s mentioning facts you’ve never disclosed to anyone (like the number of various moles on your body or that you always think of a certain fantasy when you masturbate), you’ll have to recognize the fact that you should’ve known.

You should’ve seen the signs, not laughed off his more questionable behavior, because now that he’s got you stuck with him forever, there’s absolutely nothing you can do.

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Because of Shinsuke’s views on life and how he perceives his belongings and others, jealousy is something he is not accustomed to.

Before you, he didn’t really understand the concept - you should be grateful for what you have, not envious of those around you for their own belongings. Frankly, he thought extreme jealousy was a sign of a lesser man – ungrateful, selfish, and overall an unpleasant person.

He strived to never feel jealous in any capacity, and for the most part he managed - however, once you enter the picture, his maturity and principled thoughts of gratitude fly out the window.

There’s this ugly feeling that grows in his chest when he thinks about you interacting with another man who intends to court you. It’s suffocating, the way the feeling spreads from his stomach up into his throat, making his mouth feel puffy and swollen, his fingers flexing and clenching, his every muscle tightening as he clenches his jaw so hard his teeth hurt. It’s overwhelming, the way his head begins to ache, his toes feeling numb while his palms grow sweaty and clammy. It makes him physically shake, the feeling so, so very unpleasant, to the point that it makes him feel physically sick and simultaneously enraged.

Once he recognizes what this feeling is, shame crawls through him, along with confusion. Is this jealousy? Why is it so strong?

Frankly, his mounting jealousy towards other men you spend time with is one of the first signs that alerts Shinsuke that there’s something wrong about he’s feeling for you. Sure, jealousy is normal for romantic relationships, but this?

This isn’t like what he’s heard described – this is strong, raw, overwhelming. It’s hard to think of anything except his anger, like it’s drowning him – and Shinsuke doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like that he can’t stop feeling it, that the sinking feeling only gets worse and worse the longer he watches another man interact with you, the longer he doesn’t step in and do something, anything.

He’s immediately getting pissed the moment he sees another man even coming close to you – he knows what kinds of thoughts they have when they see someone as pretty and innocent looking as you, what kind of sick, depraved, monstrous thoughts are running through their minds when they see a gorgeous woman like you – a woman who’s walking all alone, with no one there to ward off any unwelcome attention.

He knows they’re thinking about hot your body is, how soft and good it would feel to fondle you – and how you look weak enough to not be able to fight them.

They’re thinking about your pretty chest, likely imagining the way your tits would bounce as they fuck into your with careless abandon.

They’re probably staring at your ass, seeing the way it sways as you walk, imagining how you’d look on your hands and knees, pretty hole presented so perfectly to lick and finger.

They’re probably licking their lips at the sight of your legs, perfect to throw over their shoulders and grasp as they pound into you hard enough to get you seeing stars.

He knows they’re thinking about getting you to go out with them, romancing you and getting you drunk so you’re your guard is let down, so that you’re agreeing to everything and spreading your legs for them like some common whore –

(Shinsuke knows all of this because they’re all thoughts he’s had, too – except the difference between him and them is that he loves you, so it’s different. It’s different when he fantasizes about fucking your throat, or when he imagines the way the soft globes of your ass would feel against his palms. It’s different when he’s the one imagining taking you out on a nice date, the wine tasting good but the anticipation of getting you naked and writhing underneath him later tasting even sweeter. It’s different, because Shinsuke needs you – not only sexually, but just you.)

Honestly, at first he isn’t even sure why he’s feeling jealous - you spend time with the farmer himself and give him your attention, so why is he feeling this way?

Why does he feel so horribly inadequate when he sees another man around you that’s a bit more handsome than him, more social or funnier?

He’s not sure, and that itself angers him too, combining with the jealousy to form an enraged, insecure mess.

 But once he sees the man gently place a hand on your shoulder while laughing with you, it all makes sense. He’s angry because that piece of shit is touching what’s his, tainting someone as perfect and wonderful as yourself.

He’s mad that this man has the audacity to simply touch you, to invade your personal space and claim your attention as his own, to put those filthy hands on your body and make you scared and confused and in need of Shinsuke to swoop in and save you.

He’s infuriated that this stranger seems to think of you so familiarly, and if he’s willing to laugh with you, what else is he wanting to do with you? And to you?

And really, how can Shinsuke just stand by and allow you to be taken advantage of by this son of a bitch?

He tends to jump to the worst possible conclusion, automatically suspicious of anyone who approaches you, and while it’s out of character, he’s not really willing to give anyone benefit of the doubt.

He knows he needs to do something, that he’d be a poor excuse of a man to call himself your protector if he’s simply watching you walk into a situation in which you’ll end up bruised, hurt, crying, or any number of horrible outcomes that he can stop.

So, he’ll clench his jaw, stare at the offending man, and roll up his sleeves. He’s not letting you be stolen from him. 

Because Shinsuke doesn’t have much experience being jealous of other men in a romantic context, he’s at first at a bit of a loss on how to terminate the situation he’s presented with; there’s a man you’re talking to, his blue eyes staring at you just a bit too intensely. Shinsuke is sure he has bad intentions; there’s no way he’s not imagining ripping your clothes off and fucking you until you’re sobbing.

There’s no way he’s not planning moves to get you totally at his mercy, wanting to make you emotionally dependent on him so that he can string you along and leave you a sobbing, broken mess, your heart in tatters and likely your bank account, too.

He’s absolutely sure that’s where this man’s intentions are, and yet you’re just laughing with him, entertaining his horrible jokes. Why don’t you laugh with Shinsuke like that?

Why don’t you smile at him so widely, your laugh ringing in his ears until he thinks he’s in heaven?

It’s not fair, and this feeling of inadequacy combined with his rage at the man trying to take advantage of you has his feet moving before his mind can catch up.

His usual method of dealing with rivals for your love and attention is to simply play off of his natural strengths - although he isn’t the tallest man in the world, his aura and muscles are enough to give anyone a small shiver up their spine, and those cold brown eyes of his are capable of staring right through the soul. Years of working the farm has made every muscle in his body stand out, his biceps defined enough to have visible lines.

(Besides, as he marches towards you, he thanks himself for having asked Osamu and Aran for advice on how to deal with jealousy - they’d both separately looked at him a bit puzzled, before telling him to just be yourself, when you’re mad there’s nothing scarier. Shinsuke had cocked a brow and wanted them to elaborate, but neither man was willing to and instead changed the topic of conversation towards something more light hearted – something that wouldn’t get them lectured.)

He’ll nearly running up the two of you, standing next to you and just completely staring the man down - his gaze will hold such judgement, such discontent that the stranger will likely falter, unsure of why he’s being so silently aggressive.

In Shinsuke’s defense, the man had been staring at your body for far too long – and subtly, too, in ways he’s sure you must not have noticed.

He was licking his lips and stealing glances at your chest, your top being just slightly revealing today, and Shinsuke will be damned before he let some digusting pervert ogle your body, to objectify you so unabashedly.

Shinsuke’s arm will wrap around your waist, pulling you into his side as he continues to stare, not letting the stranger have a moment of reprieve while you watch in confusion, unsure of what’s happening or why Shinsuke is being so touchy.

When the man stops speaking to you and instead just simply stares, Shinsuke will turn to you and politely ask about your day, acting like the same traditional, courteous man you know.

He’s completely ignoring the other man, pretending as if he doesn’t exist, and in many ways Shinsuke wishes he could just forget about the stranger.

You’re so pretty like this, looking at him and only him, but once you answer with a ‘good, how about yourself’ in an unsure voice, a strange glint will cross his eyes as he glances at the man standing awkwardly in front of you.

He’ll respond with how his day was going wonderfully, until he stumbled upon this man wasting your time, wasting your energy and patience.

It’s rude, shockingly blunt even for Shinsuke, and before you have a chance to be offended and protest the horrible treatment, the man in question just gapes, before apologizing and scampering off.

And before you can get your tongue working to ask him what the hell that was all about, Shinsuke will smile softly, telling you to follow me, there’s a lovely café down the street; you like crepes, yes? I’ve heard they have the best in town; my treat.

Because when Shinsuke wants to be intimidating, he’s very successful - who would want to cross someone who’s stare is so intense?

Who would want to argue with such confident words, his tone of voice belittling and so honest?

And even if you scold him for being so blunt and rude, he’ll take it all in stride - he can always fall back on the social awkwardness card, claiming that it’s simply how he is, and why are you trying to change him?

He’s not trying to guilt you as he blankly looks at you and explains that it’s just how he is; he’s being honest, really, and in a lot of ways Shinsuke can’t understand why you don’t seem to see the issue with another man trying to steal you away.

Can’t you tell that Shinsuke loves you?

He puts his all into making sure it’s plain as day, because it’s all worth it to have your attention back on him, your eyes looking up at his own and your body facing his. It’s all worth it to keep you away from the prying eyes and fingers of other men who would just hurt you and ruin you, things that Shinsuke would never do.

Because really, to Shinsuke anything is worth it so that you stay focused on him, just as you should be.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Because Shinsuke airs on the more lucid side of things, he knows rationally that kidnapping you is wrong. It goes against everything he wants your relationship to be – natural, passionate, loving and consensual.

Of course, the idea is tempting - very, very much so. It’s so tempting, in fact, that he’d be a liar to say he hasn’t imagined it in vivid detail.

He’d be lying if he said he doesn’t love the concept of you living under the same roof, the lock on the door always set so that you stay in the house, pretty and accounted for while you cook, clean, draw, anything your little heart desires.

He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t vividly imagined the way seeing all of your belongings mixed together makes his heart swell – your toothbrushes laying side by side (perhaps you’d even share one – just the thought gets his cheeks flushing pink), or your clothes hanging up in the same closet (ideally you’d be wearing his clothes, but he understands that your physiques are different – and you’d look pretty in a few dresses with pretty flower patterns, wouldn’t you?)

He’d be wrong to say he hasn’t daydreamed about falling asleep with you in his arms, content with the knowledge that you can’t leave the house, and therefore you’ll be there when he wakes up – perhaps you’ll be in the kitchen making breakfast (doubtful, considering Shinsuke always wakes up before you), or maybe you’ll be in the bathroom, washing your face and wiping away the sleepiness from your eyes (he wishes you’d let him do that for you – you’re so cute when you’re all glossy eyed and sleepy, the remnants of the night still visible in the way you smile so softly at him, the imprints of the pillow and sheets against your cheeks).

He’d be a liar to say he hasn’t imagined the way you’d look so pretty perched on the armchair in the living room, a pair of knitting needles in your hands as you make him a brand new scarf for the upcoming winter, made of your favorite color (now his favorite, as well).

All the while, he’d be outside working the farm, perhaps in town selling his wares, only to come home to you, who’d of course be so overjoyed to greet him because he’s the only other person you ever see anymore, excitedly showing off your nearly finished scarf, telling him you’re knitting your love into it as well, so that he’ll never be cold in his heart because you’ll always be with him.

After a long day of working in the fields and then running errands, you’ll welcome him home with a smile and kiss to his cheek, asking how his day went at work. You’ll help him shrug his jacket off, laughing lightly when he mentions something about a group of rowdy kids in town nearly knocking him over while he was hauling his bags down the street.

Dinner is already in the oven, waiting and staying warm until he’s ready to eat. The food is delicious when you both sit down, the tofu hamburger (his favorite) sitting oh so perfectly on his plate as he places his hands together, praying to the Gods and thanking them for this meal, and more importantly thanking them for you. Shinsuke’s appreciative hums and small compliments are enough to have you beaming, pride swelling in your chest because he likes your food, and you strive to make him happy.

The night will culminate in perhaps reading together on the sofa, then making your way to bed where he’ll either snuggle you up tightly in his arms under the thickest wool blankets, or he’ll kiss you and caress your sides, his kisses going lower and lower until you’re grasping onto the sheets while he tells you in that low, raspy voice he gets when he’s aroused that perhaps it’s time you had a rowdy kid of your own.

It’s a fantasy, but despite how appealing it all sounds – having you permanently in his home, that is – Shinsuke knows he shouldn’t.

You’d hate him if he were to do that. Every fiber of your being would resent him, the man that stole you away from your life and trapped you by his side.

No, he could never set himself up to be in a position where you’ll so easily dislike him, even though it makes his chest ache every moment that you’re not together.

And so, Shinsuke won’t not kidnap you – frankly, you’re most likely already living with him at this point, and he’s all but forcing you to stay home – he’ll convince you to quit your job, to instead let him provide for you, to stop worrying about things like independence and being a ‘burden’ to him. He has to be careful and tread lightly, though, because if you were to realize what he’s trying to do – limiting your time in the outside world, that is – you’d be upset, and then Shinsuke would have to resort to some unsavory methods to get you permanently by his side, just where you belong.

And so, he won’t explicitly kidnap you - with the one, very large caveat of you getting into a life-threatening situation. If your life were at risk, then the farmer would throw all caution to the wind, rationalizing that even though you may hate him for the rest of your life, it’s better than having your pretty body lifeless, your blood smeared on the sidewalk, your eyes empty and your fingers cold.

And so, when the car swerves and manages to hit you, your scream of pain before you black out has Shinsuke’s heart dropping, his own scream echoing past his lips as he holds you in his arms, the nearest hospital not nearly close enough.

He’ll let you recover at the local hospital, coming to visit you everyday until you’re safe enough to return home – except, that home you’re imagining?

Well, even as much as it pains Shinsuke to mention, you won’t be seeing those familiar walls ever again – your new home is him, and he’ll make sure you grow to love it.

You have to love it.

As a captor, Shinsuke isn’t too terrible - if you can get over the fact that he’ll never leave you alone and that he’ll be doing absolutely everything for you in fear that you’ll hurt yourself, then life under his rule will be good.

He hovers over you constantly, letting you know that he’s there and ready to protect you should the need arise, and while it’s absolutely suffocating, at some point down the road you’ll almost find it endearing how much he cares.

Because really, even when he’s got you trapped in the separate apartment shed out in the corner of the farm (where he compromises on letting you reside if he’s taken you because of unforeseen circumstances, and you’re not quite at the stage he needs you to be in order to force you into sharing his bed or letting him hold you at night), he’s so very attentive to your every need.

He’s constantly checking in that you’re warm enough, that you’ve eaten enough, that you’re happy. (That last one always makes you angry when he asks, yelling at him and crying because of course you’re not happy, but he’ll only watch in silence, disappointment in your behavoir and guilt sitting heavy in his stomach – maybe tomorrow when he asks you’ll give a better answer, one that he can stomach and one he likes. Eventually you will – eventually you’ll grow to love him, the Stockholm Syndrome kicking in because he’s all you have left.)

Shinsuke just wants you to feel safe and protected, and if you can get past how many locks are on the door, how there’s nothing in the entire space that could cut through skin, and that his chocolate eyes are always on you, you may even find yourself falling for him.

After all, with every blunt compliment he sends your way (‘your hair needs to be cut - there are many split ends, although it is still quite beautiful’) and every caring coo he sends your way while you sob in his arms, your walls of defense and hate towards him will slowly crumble. Because if you’re stuck here, living out the rest of your life with a man who is absolutely obsessed with you and your future together, there isn’t much you can do besides just let it happen.

And Shinsuke couldn’t be happier. And in the meantime, as you slowly become defenseless against his consistent, oddly undeniable charms, Shinsuke will be trying everything he can possibly think of to win you over.

He’s getting advice from his grandmother (disguising the kidnapping as helping you recover from a car wreck, which gets her tutting and pulling him into a hug, telling him he’s so sweet, she’ll surely love you after you take care of her).

He’s buying you flowers regularly, all in shades that remind him of you. There’s roses, tulips, dahlias, baby’s breath, anything he thinks looks pretty – you’ll find them in a vase on your nightstand, a crisp, white card tucked beside the clear glass of the vase with your name scribbled across it. It’s predictably not long considering it’s from Shinsuke, though the words are precise, meaningful, telling you that he saw these today and they reminded me of you. Perhaps when you’re feeling better we can go and see the flowers together – I’d like very much to take some photographs of you surrounded by the wildlife.

A shiver will run down your spine at the prospect of him photographing you – you’ve seen peeks of the collection of photographs he has, all candids in which you’re unaware of the lens pointed at you, taken with the mental justification that since you’re not naked or doing something extremely personal, it’s not wrong for him to take them.

(At least, that’s what he tells himself – you’d argue that brushing your teeth is personal, that sleeping is very intimate, but Shinsuke begs to differ – besides, you were just too fucking cute to not photograph all drooly and softly snoring.)

He’s bringing home your favorite candies, because while he still feeds you a steady stream of healthy, balanced meals, he likes the way your face lights up when you see the chocolates, how you look at him with a small smile when he tells you that he thought you might enjoy them, and you’ve been very good lately; you deserve a reward.

Shinsuke just wants to woo you, and while he may still be rigid, a bit unapproachable, frankly a bit scary with the way he simply stares, eventually you’ll become used to it, his doting actions becoming familiar.

You’ll accept the way he’s tucking you into bed, laying and arm around your waist as you pulls you into his chest, his soft voice telling you to sleep well my love, I’ll see you in the morning.

You’ll grow used to the way there’s a piping hot breakfast laid out on the table when you wake up, steam still coming off the eggs even after Shinsuke has left for work, the fields taking him away from you.

(His thoughts are still revolving entirely around you as he works, however – thinking of your pretty smile, your voice on a loop in his head, the way you say his name, imagining what it would sound like to hear you say I love you…)

Shinsuke is a determined man, and while he may be a bit guarded and set in his ways, you’ll eventually grow used to being treated as if you were incapable – it’s coming from a place of love after all, and isn’t that just so sweet?

 Isn’t it kind that he wants to spoil you, make sure you never have to worry about a thing, make sure you can never hurt yourself again?

PUNISHMENTS:

Because Shinsuke is more lucid than anything, punishments are not something that occur frequently.

He doesn’t like the idea of disciplining you in a negative way; sure, when you act out, something must be done in consequence, but there’s something about the prospect of purposefully hurting you that makes Shinsuke feel sick, his stomach twisting in knots.

He doesn’t want to punish you – he doesn’t like the idea of harming you in any way, but he can be swayed to, begrudgingly, reprimand you for your poor behavior.

It’s got to be something large that drives him to these measures, however; the strongest trigger for him is any attempt by you to escape.

It’s not even that he’s angry with you -  he is, of course. Furious, even. But really, what drives him to overcome his own mental blocks against harming you is the prospect of you running off into the big, wide world, without any money, orientation of where you are, who you are, what you need.

He’s scared you’ll be taken advantage of; maybe some strange, nefarious man will pick you up as a hitchhiker, taking one look at your shivering, unarmed form and decide you’d be the perfect target.

Maybe some truck will drive by you, speeding so fast they don’t even see your figure until it's too late and there’s a horrible thud and suddenly there’s only blood –

Just the prospect is enough to get Shinsuke’s eyes wide and watery, a hand clutching at his shirt above his heart, his knees shaking because he absolutely cannot have that happen.

He has to protect you, and if you just run off like that, how can he?

He doesn’t want you to hate him – he’s sure you already do, what with him kidnapping you, but he doesn’t want to make your opinion of him worse. Just the mere thought keeps him up at night, his eyes fixed on you as he holds you in his arms, his thumb tracing your cheekbone as he tries to devise ways to make you understand the gravity of your actions without you being harmed.

He considers all kinds of possibilities – isolating you, locking you up in the basement with a bit of food and water so you can reflect on what you’ve done. He ultimately decides against this, though, because he worries you won’t actually eat or drink anything without him there to watch you and force you to.

He considers restricting your access to your hobbies or things to keep you from growing bored while he’s working. It would leave you to, once again, reflect on your poor behavior, and would force you to wait anxiously for his return, because at least then you’ll have something to entertain you, even if it’s your captor. He decides against it, though, because he doesn’t like the idea of you withering away all day, growing bored to the point of insanity, even if it means you’ll willingly hug him and beg him to talk about his day.

He even considers threatening someone you love – it leaves a bad taste in his mouth, both because he doesn’t approve of violence, and because he wants your family to approve of him. (You won’t get to see them much, anyways, but maybe after you’ve accepted your role, accepted him, he’ll let you attend some family functions, introducing him as your husband and gushing to your mother about how perfect he is.)

It’s a fine line to walk, and eventually Shinsuke will sigh and give up, deciding that there really is no way for him to get the point across and still look like the good guy.

He has to be firm about any sort of discipline regarding your negative actions; he’ll look weak if he doesn’t, and having a weak resolve on punishing you will allow you to act up more, will make you more willing to defy him, to try and escape, to hurt yourself, to do all manners of things that make Shinsuke’s heart race in a horrible way.

He has to present himself as the man in charge – he calls the shots, and while he appreciates your input in telling him what you want and how you’re feeling, ultimately Shinsuke knows best. Because while he very much feels that women are equal to men, there’s something about you that makes him pause for a moment, the old stereotypes of men taking care of women seeming oddly appealing.

Because really, isn’t this how nature intended things to be? For him to be in charge, to love you and care for you and know what’s best for you?

Eventually he’ll begin to think that way, and while some small part of him knows it’s wrong to be in such control of your life, Shinsuke can’t find it in himself to care – how can he, when he’s got you by his side, so sweet and pretty as you eat the food he cooked you, sleep in his arms, in his sheets, in his bed?

So really, while Shinsuke is lenient in most every way regarding punishments, if you cross him he will meet your actions with consequences – consequences that leave you sore and unable to sit for a few days, just to remind you of what you’ve done.

He’s had a long day – the rice fields were scalding today, leaving his skin burnt and his agitation levels high.

He’d slipped and gotten mud all over his clothing, leaving him feeling sticky and sweaty and wanting nothing more than to shower and settle down beside you on the couch, a book shared between the two of you as you read and he plays with your fingers. He smiles at the thought – you always smell like vanilla and honey, curtesy of the shampoo he’d gotten you, and he can almost smell it now as he unlocks the front door, swinging it open with a new spring in his step.

And then he’s immediately freezing, his brown eyes narrowing as he takes in the sight before him.

You’re standing there, gaping at him with wide eyes and trembling hands, a paperclip grasped between your fingers. It’s been bent as straight as you could manage, the very tip of it dented and split, as if you’ve been shoving it in something, turning and twisting and forcing–

 It all becomes very clear suddenly; you’re trying to escape. You were taking advantage of the fact that he was working today, that he’d be back in the fields, busy and unable to notice you sneaking away, leaving him, and you were going to run.

Everything is silent and still for a moment, his eyes boring into yours as his lips parting slightly, this kicked, hurt look in his eye that makes you cower ever so slightly, this weird, unplaced sort of shame settling in your gut.

But then he’s suddenly springing forward, arms wrapping around your waist before you can even yelp, the paperclip slipping from your fingertips as he drags you further into the house.

You’re kicking, flailing and feeling tears already slipping down your cheeks, the door getting further and further away, and along with it, your chance at freedom. Shinsuke grits his teeth, the sound of you crying making his heart ache, but the overwhelming sense of anger and betrayal is too strong to ignore. You were trying to leave him.

You were to trying to run away, to get away from him, to never have to see him again and leave him alone, cold, lonely, missing you so desperately it would kill him. His muscles are firm, hard, and even as you push against him, trying to drag your feet or pry his arms off of you, you don’t make so much as a budge.

The mud caked into his working cloths gets onto you, the pretty loungewear set he’d bought you (in your favorite color, of course) now stained a dirty, sludgy brown. Soon he pushes you down onto the couch in the living room, with a force you’ve never felt from him before.

You land with a soft cry, bouncing a bit on the couch, before scrambling away from him, trying to put distance between the two of you. The action only furthers the sense of hurt he’s nursing, and his lips quirk down as he stares at you.

You were attempting to escape. His words aren’t a question, so you don’t answer.

He stares at you for a beat more, before swallowing harshly and sitting down on the end of the couch. You watch with baited breath and confusion, anxiety prickling in your stomach because you’ve never seen him this angry before, and it scares you.

But then he’s reaching out and wrapping his fingers around your ankle, yanking and sending you falling towards him, your lands reaching out to press against his thighs to catch yourself. Behave, he warns you as he shuffles you further up, so that your pelvis is pressed against his thighs, laying across his lap.

His words have you frozen in place, and although you’ve never really considered the possibility of him physically harming you, there’s something about the way he’s breathing uneven and the harsh way he handles you that has you wondering if that’s a real concern.

He’s always treated you like you’re made of glass – gentle and breakable, but with the way his fingers dig into the waistband of your shorts and pull, ripping the material right down the middle, Shinsuke’s a totally different person. He’s a stranger as he repeats the action with the pretty purple underwear stretched across your ass, and for a moment you wonder if perhaps physical harm isn’t the worst of your concerns – you’d be helpless if he decided he wants what’s in between your legs, thoroughly unable to do a thing to stop him.

But luckily, Shinsuke isn’t that much of a monster, and instead he’s resting a hand on your ass. His hand is dirty, and you feel the film of dirt and plant debris and mud sitting against your skin.

You were attempting to escape, he repeats, and it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. What was your plan? Do you know where you are? Who would you have contacted, and how? You have no money, and all your relatives and friends think you’ve shunned them. Who would help you?

You freeze at his words, an uncomfortable feeling settling in the back of your throat because he’s right.

It’s reckless and stupid to rush into a situation that you haven’t planned for. You’re being careless; this is why I can’t trust you to be alone yet. You make poor decisions, and now you’ll be punished for them.

Suddenly, his hand is coming down, a harsh, loud smack ringing through the living room as his palm makes contact with your bare ass cheek. It makes you cry out – it hurts, his strength surely leaving your ass sore, and distantly you think back to all those videos you’d seen of his high school years playing volleyball. You can’t get too lost in thought, though, because his hand comes down again, not giving you a second to think.

This is why you need me. You aren’t capable of making good decisions on your own; you need someone to watch over you.

Smack.

I protect you.

Smack.

I provide you with a warm house, food, and love.

Smack.

You are ungrateful; I’ve taught you to be better.

Smack.

I’m disappointed in you; eventually you will be happy with me. You’ll eventually love me, and you’ll be happy here. With me.

Smack.

Stop trying to fight fate; you’ll never win.

Smack.

The spanking is quick, only taking roughly a minute from start to finish, but it feels like a lifetime to you. Your ass is sore, bruises already forming, and as Shinsuke rests his hand on your upper thigh, you can’t help the tears slipping down your cheeks.

The sight of your shoulders shaking and your sniffles makes Shinsuke bite his lip, eyebrows drawing inward because god, seeing you cry is so fucking painful, but he steels himself. This was necessary, inevitable – you don’t understand just what he can provide you, yet.

You don’t understand just what he can give you, yet.

You don’t understand just how much he can love you, yet.

But you will, he’s sure of it – and so as he steps into the shower, having settled you onto the bed, laying on your stomach with an icepack resting on your ass and a blanket thrown over you, he’s nodding his head at himself in the mirror.

You don’t understand that this is for the best yet – but as you avoid escaping in the future, too scared of this new side of Shinsuke, he’ll be pleased.

The longer you stay with him, the more you’ll come to realize that he treats you well – or at least, as well as he can, given the unhealthy nature of his feelings.

You’ll realize how much he does for you – he could’ve done much, much worse than simply spank you, and eventually you will recognize that.

You’ll come to understand that while he’s forcing you to stay with him, to be his housewife and start a family with him, he does genuinely love you. It’s twisted, sick, too much, but Shinsuke is consistent, steady.

You will bend to him, he's sure it. You will love him, even if you don’t believe it yet.

OVERALL DANGER:

6/10

At his core, Shinsuke does love you in some strange, perverse way – he’s enamored with you, obsessed in every possible way, and although he tries to control himself and fight the way his heart pounds and hammers and nearly bursts when you look at him, smile at him, touch him, he’s a lost cause.

He’s not particularly dangerous, despite the depth of his feelings for you – he mostly just wants you to be safe and sound at all times, completely removed form the possibility of hurting yourself, wanting to make sure that you’re taken care of and properly attended to so that you never, ever want for anything. He wants to spoil you, to keep you as his little housewife that he can come home to and kiss and hold, his sweet little thing that enjoys living a quiet, peaceful life with him.

He wants to live out the perfect domestic fantasy with you – he’ll be your hardworking husband, working long hours in the rice fields to provide food and money for you, while you stay inside and cook and clean, your belly swollen and a baby nursing at your breast, your smile wide and pretty and all for him.

 He just thinks you’re perfect in every possible way, and although he wants your relationship to be as normal as possible, his overprotective tendencies will bar that from ever happening.

It’s not normal to not allow you near anything sharp; you’re a fully grown woman, capable of handling a razor or a knife.

(Once he trusts you enough to actually chop things, you’ll be getting a dull chopping knife under the strict stipulation that if you get injured in any way, you will not be given another opportunity to chop things for yourself for quite some time – the next few months will see Shinsuke on chopping duty, while you watch him and see the way his forearms flex and compliment him because you’re a very good cook, dear.)

It’s not normal for him to always be staring at you, those brown eyes fixed on your form like a moth to a flame, always always always watching and observing, making you feel like you’re under a microscope with how his gaze breaks you apart.

Shinsuke is scary, sure, but eventually you’ll come around to him – he’s steady and consistent, and although he’s uprooted you from your life and keeps you trapped in his home, he’s oddly sweet. His blunt compliments take a while to get used to, but his touch is soft and firm, the way he holds you is comforting, and sometimes, when the lighting is just right, he even looks handsome.

Eventually, you’ll become a victim of Stockholm Syndrome, and you may even find yourself slowly returning his feelings – after all, he really does take care of you, doesn’t he?

Doesn’t he pay more attention to you than any man has before, and doesn’t he know you better than even you know yourself? Maybe he’s right; maybe you are meant to be his wife, the mother of his children, and maybe you really will be happy like he keeps promising – life can’t be that bad with him, right?

After all, you’ll never have to worry about anything you did before he came along – money, a job, strangers, anything of the sort. He’ll take care of all of it, so just smile at him and let him kiss you – it’s the least you can do, after all he’s done for you.

[sunnysam-my]

Yesterday I couldn't sleep after seeing Dune in theatre so I made a Danny Phantom rewrite in my head. I always wanted the show to be deeper and more mature, you know, serious issues, learning how to navigate unwelcoming world and all that stuff. I ended up making it more angst lol. I already wrote most of first chapter but I'm super curious what would you change :>

So here's what I'm thinking:

Ghosts are "unfinished business" merged with plasma, intention so strong it lingers after death. When it meets ectoplasm, it changes into the shape of the intention + the owner of it. They're animated ectoplasm with a single goal: an obsession. The longer they exist, the less human they are.

Danny’s obsession is fixing, due to the fact he died trying to fix the portal to try to fix his family. He was unstable at first, lacking purpose, but once he realized he wants to fix his mistake and protect Amity, it stabilized him.

Danny accidentally opens the portal, and now it can’t be closed, since the off button is behind the portal. The ghost comes to the living world and Danny thinks it’s his fault. He feels the need to fix it.

Right after opening the portal he can't control his anger and fear as a ghost so he runs away to the forest and is found 5 days later.

Ghost don't belong in living world, just like humans in ghost, so they need to recharge in Ghost zone. Because Danny’s only a half ghost he just needs to be close the portal. If ghost consume their power entirely, they disappear, half ghost change back to human form, unless they force themselves/are forced to stay in ghost form.

Danny’s room is located above the portal, thanks to that he recharges while sleeping. + The room is space themed, because he loves space.

After the accident, he gets a bit paler than he was before. His pulse and body temperature are below normal.

There’s a Lichtenberg scar covering the right side of his body from the accident, going from his shoulder over his back, neck, and knee. It wraps behind the ear on his forehead, only delicately visible, but Danny covers it with his hair. He gets called Harry Potter puns, like closet boy, because of that.

His fangs are sharper and more prominent, even in human form.

At first he has problems controlling his strength, for example he bit a glass and shattered it by accident, because he was zoning out.

Accident triggered Danny's joint problems as well as injured his right knee. He suffers chronic pain, a headache disorder and mild cognitive impairments in memory, attention, and mood regulation. He had multiple physically aggressive outbursts since the injury, but he never hurt anyone.

Danny is mathematically “gifted”, Tucker technologically and Sam literary. That’s why people pick on them. From an outsider's point of view, they have it easier. After the accident, Danny is acknowledged as disabled, but he "doesn't look like he really is". They are different, and school achievements comes easy to them. Their parents are pretty neglectful, so they can do whatever they want. People get jealous.

Due to being a ghost you can't stare at Phantom too long, your brain will struggle to comprehend what it's seeing. The longer you spend with a ghost, the easier it is to see them. All ghosts are like that.

Ghost can finish their unfinished business and disappear.

I have many more ideas, but that's all I'm going say for now :>

So, what would you want to see in a rewrite?

[loremaster]

BOBA AU - CHAPTER 1 EXTRAS

I had actually drawn a few more things than could fit within the 30-image-per-post limit. Here are the ones that didn't make the cut, with commentary!

(tw: mild animal abuse, n*zi mention, suggestive themes)

Zilch's animal companions. I named Carmina Burana and Tortellini, Gucci and Bosch were named by my friends - though Bosch was supposed to be called Hieronymus, it just didn't fit on the nametag lol

I wanted to illustrate some examples of Zilch casually mistreating/neglecting the animals but this was as far as I got. I don't think he would be a full on animal abuser, just... the type of person who likes having a bunch of pets to show off but doesn't really think about properly caring for them. He likes the aesthetics of animals much more than the logistics.

This was gonna be the chapter cover and I forgot. Oops.

This was just practice drawing the church characters from their sprites.

Zilch: I must say, it's an unexpected pleasure to run into another kindred spirit around here. I'm Zilch~

This scene was actually cut deliberately. I drew it before I decided exactly what the Nun's issue with Zilch would be and then once I did, I felt like it didn't fit anymore. Zilch is still excited to see someone else with ears and tail like him, but in the final version, he's a lot more derisive about it.

I imagine the Nun is, like, an actual animal-human hybrid whereas Zilch is a furry with a wallet that can afford bioengineered bodymods. (One day, my friends... one day...)

Zilch being flippant and Halara being dismissive/tsundere. Couldn't really find a place to put it but I still like the drawing - even if I did accidentally give Zilch human ears.

By the way, you might notice Zilch hasn't been wearing his cap. There are two reasons. One is to show off that his ears aren't actually connected to it. If I had the time to go back and redraw the prologue with him wearing it - so Halara's "holy fuck" reaction makes more sense here - I would. (Not really worth trying to fix though, not until the rest of the story is done.)

But the other reason is that upon looking closer at Zilch's original design, I thought it was a little too evocative of Nazi imagery and wasn't really comfortable with it. It's not really the same style of hat, sure, but combined with the swastikas in his eyes??? yeah no way is that not intentional. (I redesigned his eye symbols to be catlike slit pupils instead.)

I get he (or, the hitman, I guess) is supposed to be a villain, and a minor one, in the original game... but here I'm gonna flesh him out a bit more. So I guess in that sense the removal of the hat symbolizes his growth as a character beyond his terrible awful fascist upbringing lol (more on that in the Gumshoe Gabs soon)

If I were making this an actual game it would be fun to have Yuma get a fun little added gameplay element of using Zilch's Forte like he does with Halara's. He gets some little animal friends!!!

I imagined Zilch would ask to be carried, but Halara won't do it without getting paid an exorbitant amount. And then Zilch forks over the cash on the spot. Yuma screams internally. If he had that the whole time why were they even trying to negotiate over the coat???!? Why does he still have his own debt to pay if Zilch could just cover the whole thing up front????

Halara has to pretend not to be enthusiastic about this opportunity.

Shinigami is... there, I guess.

Martina my wife driving around her little parasite of a boyfriend. Ms Electro please call me

Was originally gonna have Seth say that out loud but then I remembered he doesn't want to lose his job. (It's okay, he loses it anyway.)

(Also yes this is pre-Vivia-DLC.)

And then the mystery is solved!

Zilch feels indebted to Halara for saving him from the Nail Man, and wants to follow their example, turn it around, treat his animals better... his act of goodwill here is extremely performative, though. But, hey, everyone's gotta start somewhere!

Ultimately I cut this scene after coming up with the cat bed idea. (Was very tempted to have Halara cruelly taking the coat from the boy, but just decided to skip it instead.)

So Zilch kinda idolizes Halara now... which is fine... but then the morning after he really lets his simp flag fly.

Congrats on your furry boyfriend, I guess?????

A doodle from the margins of this comic way back when.... which finally has a place to belong! \o/

Zilch's fursona. His "zursona," if you will.

Thanks again for reading! I love everyone's comments in the tags and I'm so glad you all like my version of Zilch especially. Excited to develop him some more in future chapters >:)