#someone can be discontent with life even with friends | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

setsugekka · 1 year

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❥classifieds (m)

↳ Stumbling upon a tossed out android in the park across the way from your place is one thing, but catching feelings for him? Well, that’s a whole other issue entirely, now isn’t it?

lee juyeon x afab!reader — chobits!au, fluff, awkward romance, angst with a happy ending, gratuitous sexual content, porn with plot [15.4k wc] cws: ethical/moral dilemmas pertaining to android sentience, sex under the influence of alcohol. sexual content: juyeon has a big dick and fucks like a pornstar because he is not strapped to normal mortal confines, penetrative sex (unprotected), (a lot) dirty talk, wet and messy.

With your cell phone shrugged up against your cheek as you lug a large, tied off garbage bag down two flights of stairs on account of the elevator being out of order, you can't help but feel somewhat discontented by the gentle huffs of laughter coming through from your friend on the other end of the line.

"You really gotta get out of that dump, it's so long past time now."

Sighing, you finally reach the lowest level of the apartment building, and with an aggressive tug, the far-too-full bag of paper waste follows through the front doors behind you. There's a recognizable tearing sound that you're hopeful is akin to more of a plastic flesh wound than anything that will result in even more picking up of mess than what you've already done tonight — but as you reach the end of the walkway and are met by the gracious offering of the dumpster sidelined at the street — you hurl the bag up and over your shoulder with as much strength as you can muster, while simultaneously and much to your displeasure feeling the slip of your phone from its nestled place, down to the concrete flooring below.

"Fuck, fuck...!"

On the other end, you can hear your friends' voice as she tumbles to the floor, juggled against your palms as you attempt to salvage the device. It seems to help to some degree as you manage to force it away from the cool, hard flooring and instead into the far more plush, albeit wet, grass just nearby — it's been raining all day, and you're none too pleased about that on account of the effect it tends to have on your already shoddy mood as of late — but regardless, your phone is safe, and picking it back up, you can hear said friend asking what's wrong as you bring it back up to your face.

"Sorry," you say in a hurry, suddenly realizing that you've transferred much of the wet and dirty from the ground to your face having not wiped the screen before ushering it back into place to respond. You wipe it quickly with a grimace and finish your thought. "Kind of all over the place. Been a long—"

You pause again, partially on account of trying to decipher just how long it has been that seemingly any and everything has been going wrong, but mostly as a result of the heaping pile of...you can't even begin to know what that has caught your eye from across the street.

Your heart beats heavy in your chest, because despite it not being all that late in the evening, and the lights of the park just across the way being very much still illuminated, there's one thing that you're relatively certain of and even from this distance now:

That's a body.

"—Life."

"What? What's wrong?"

Squinting, you're not entirely sure how to even answer that question. After all, this friend has now long since moved out of town and cannot possibly aid you in the situation at hand should it be a situation, and beyond even that much...how often does this sort of thing happen? What should you do? Call the police? Investigate?

You don't really want to see something that you can't ever possibly unsee, but the ethics of leaving what could be another human being over there — if they're alive, injured, in need of help...

"There's...a body, in the park across from my place."

You take a step towards the road.

"What!? Well what the fuck! Call the cops!"

Another step.

"What if it's just someone drunk and passed out? I'd hate to get them in more trouble than they really need on their hands," you reply with another step forward, now well on your way to crossing the quiet, residential street. "I'm just going to have a peek, I can call the police if I need to but I just want to be sure."

"You're crazy, what if it's a set up, what if you get attacked!?"

You hadn't considered that angle, and now that the thought is in your head, your heart beats just that much faster. Some sort of ploy to lure an unsuspecting person to them only to turn the tables and hurt them instead, you frown silently at the thought of it, but make no effort in changing your course, either.

"Well," you sigh, reaching the dewy, green grass of the other side of the road and stepping a tennis shoe atop it. "You'll know as much, you can call the cops then."

The following steps are quicker than the last, perhaps a part of you trying to get this over with as soon as possible on account of the worry of not knowing what may be awaiting you. Your friend says something on the line, though you only know as much due to the general sound of her voice and not because you've actually heard any of the words said. You suppose that with each step forward and towards the pile of flesh on the freshly mowed grass — just under a lamp post and as if entirely meant to be presented for your finding — that the loud thump of your heartbeat against the inside of your chest is all too capable of drowning out any other sounds that may insist on being heard by you.

You sort of had wanted to be wrong; about the whole that's a body thing. Unfortunately, now that you're here, you're proverbially kicking yourself for having been such an adept guesser as much.

Eyes wide as you gaze down at the pile of person just before your feet, you know that your friend is still talking to you, and you're a bit aware of how frantic she sounds with each passing second, though you're a bit distracted by the goings on before you now.

A bit curled up and almost in the fetal position on his side, at a glance it appears to be a man: mid-twenties if you had to guess with messy, mid-length black hair that appears freshly shaved at the sides and adorning far too visually pleasing and clean clothes to be someone who has gone through something all that horrible leading up to their last moments here and now.

In fact, he seems immaculately clean — not a spec of dirt or blood or any evidence of blemish gracing him at all. Even as far as your assumption of a drunk evening out, you'd think someone to have far more signs to show of it before reaching the point of having passed out in a public park just a few blocks down the street from the bar district.

If the scene before you reminds you of anything, it's at most like a house cat — simply curled up for a midday slumber where ever he may deem fit.

"HELLO!?"

Wincing, now that the terror that has held you hostage up until now has seemingly dissipated a good amount, the shrill shrieking of your best friends' voice can once again be heard through the speaker, though you're not all that thrilled about it.

"Hey, it's fine," you answer back calmly, still staring down towards the man at your feet — contemplating what, if anything, you're meant to do about this. "I think it's just a drunk guy passed out, though he certainly doesn't look like he had all that wild of a night."

"Lemmie see."

That's right, video calling. Pulling the phone back, you switch the call type and turn the camera angle down towards what it is that you've been graced with. You're not expecting all that much of a response, so when she gasps in what would seem to be misplaced horror, to say that you're shocked would be quite the understatement.

Because what is so shocking about this, anyway?

"That's not a guy you moron," your friend says in utter disappointment of you. "That's a persocom. Look, you can see the serial number just under his ear."

You hadn't noticed upon first look, though you hadn't been looking for any such thing to begin with, but now that it has been mentioned, you bend down to a squatting position to get a better look at what it is that she is referring to.

And just as she said, there it is: the number eleven situated just below and behind his earlobe.

You sigh. "Okay, so...what do I do with him? Should I call like...the pound?"

"He's not a dog, he's an android, what do you think animal control is going to do about him?"

"I don't know! I just don't know what to do with him! Should I just...leave him here?"

A few moments of silence pass by as your friend hums in thought before finally responding to your inquiry with a far too cheerful tone.

"Take him home with you. He looks like an expensive model, probably a custom build so I doubt someone just carelessly lost him. My guess is he's been abandoned because things got a little messy back at home and the original owner didn't know how best to deal with it — or rather, couldn't handle powering him down."

You don't really know what any of that means, all things considered. Persocoms being far from your area of expertise on account of never in your life having enough money to ever own one yourself; instead, they're simply a thing that you're aware of the existence of, but far from anything that you understand in any great detail.

The idea of a live-in android, a humanoid personal computer willing and able to help you with any and all tasks that you may find yourself in need of — the idea certainly doesn't sound terrible when you think of it like that, but there is one thing that rings heavy in your ear even if the concept of it glossed over so carelessly.

'—things got a little messy back at home—'

Whatever that means.

"Is it even legal for me to take him? What if someone comes looking for him? Isn't he someone else's property?"

The shrug on the other end of the line is nearly audible as your friend hums an answer to all of the questions presented.

"If they cared that much, they wouldn't have left him here. No one dumps their million dollar car in the middle of a parking lot with the keys in the ignition expecting it to still be there the next day."

Fair enough.

"You're gonna need some help getting him inside, though. Ask your cute, burly neighbor to help you bring your lil twinkbot inside — oh, and record it for me, that guy is so hot."

"I'm hanging up now, I've apparently got things to do."

"Ta-ta! Have fun getting your kitchen cleaned!"

Ending the call and finally alone with your thoughts, as well as the predicament presented before you — you think over again just why it is that someone would leave something so expensive, so presumably prized out here for any other random person to come and confiscate. You feel sort of bad, but you also suppose that should you come to find that anyone is in search of the item that you can just as easily return it back to them, and in better shape than however he would have ended up should he be left out here in the cold, rainy elements of the overnight outdoors, as well.

Something about the road to hell being paved with good intentions nestles into the back of your mind as you make your way back to your apartment to grab your neighbor friend.

As it would turn out, there are perks to having some nerdy, technologically-attuned pals.

Two knocks at your front door and you're quick to your feet, long strides across your apartment and towards the sound before you quickly open the door to welcome the all too excited smile that's awaiting on the opposite end.

You gently frown. "You're way too happy about all of this."

Popping an arm up on the wood of the doorway entrance, Changmin allows the grin to grow just that much wider at your displeasure. "Never thought you'd be the one to end up with a persocom, what can I say? Of course I'm excited. Now, let me see him!"

Stepping aside barely in time before your friend pushes his way inside anyways, Changmin barely kicks his shoes off in time before he's rushing across the open living area and over towards the slumped body of the android that you suppose is now yours.

Stopping just in front of him, you pause only halfway towards the two of them as your pal turns to look at you from over his shoulder, and you're none too pleased with the devilish grin pulling at the corners of his lips.

"He's handsome," Changmin says with some sort of insistence in his voice, though you feign not understanding it. "I mean, they're meant to be easy on the eyes but this one is something special."

You roll your eyes. "Okay, well, he's not mine and I didn't make him, so that really is neither here nor there as far as I'm concerned."

"Sure," he waves off, as if not entirely willing to take you at your word. "He's probably a custom build, a lot of money in this kind of work."

Silenced, you watch as Changmin kneels down in front of the couch where the model sits, tinkering at the limbs and looking the details over before finally reaching up under the long, white dress shirt and seemingly dipping a hand down into the waist of the persocoms pants.

"Uh," you motion in discomfort at the sight. "What are you doing?"

Changmin glances back at you again, first in confusion, and second with a roll of his eyes upon realizing why it is that you're acting some kind of way about where his hands have disappeared to. "Control panel is at the hip, calm down. If you're interested in the more intimate details of the model I'll let you figure that out on your own time."

"Changmin!"

"Just saying," he chuckles, pulling his hands back and settling the fabric back in place again. Standing once again, he leans forward and takes the chin in one hand, closely looking over the facial features of the android and subsequently checking for life. "Now we just wait and see if he boots up."

There's not long to wait, however; watching on in anticipation for only a few seconds, the slumped stature sprawled across your couch lazily blinks a few times, as if having just been asleep like any other person. Much to your surprise, there's nothing especially bizarre or robotic about it, at all. In fact, his resemblance to human is sort of uncanny. Changmin releases him and steps back to stand next to you as you both watch in a sort of awe as the man on your couch pulls himself up into a more proper, sitting, position, rubbing his eyes from slumber before they bring themselves up and towards you to settle.

"Now what?" you whisper with a gentle lean towards your friend.

Changmin answers with a question towards the model. "Do you have a name?"

A few moments of silence pass, and it causes you to wonder if there is some sort of internal memory damage done that would result in the original owners dumping him off in such a way. Surely, there has to be some reason.

"Juyeon," he says, although it comes off in tone as if a bit in question. Unsure of the answer even himself.

"Cool, he works!" Changmin exclaims with a clap of his hands, eyes wide and bright and full of promise of what's to come despite the persocom being far from his own. "Do you have an owner? Someone we should return you to?"

Narrow, thoughtful eyes glance up towards the ceiling before coming back down and settling onto Changmin. "I have no recollection of previous ownership in my memory banks."

Glancing towards you, your friend shrugs. "Guess he's all yours, then."

Great.

You're happy to take a bit of a more background role right about now as you listen in on the way that Changmin engages with Juyeon, instead, you look over the persocom as he sits on the plush furniture now — seated more proper and with palms pressed to his knees as his eyes look up towards the man speaking to him. He reminds you something of a school boy listening in on a lecture.

"It's settled then!"

Not having realized that you've spaced out, the loud chiming voice of your friend brings you back down to earth with a crash as you're left to wonder what it is, exactly, that has been settled in those few moments of your not having been paying attention.

"What?"

With a strong hand at your shoulder, Changmin pushes you forward, and stumbling towards Juyeon, the two of you meet eyes once again — though yours certainly much larger and full of unease than his — in fact, he appears calm, if not a little unaware of his surroundings in a sort of charmingly confused way.

"He's yours, like I said," Changmin reiterates as he heads back towards the front door to see himself out. "Everything's set, he's good to go, the rest is up to you to work out."

"I don't even know what that means! What do I...do with him?"

Juyeon's still looking up at you with his gaze locked — brown eyes and a dark dusting of what you can only figure is a mixture of eyeliner and smoked eyeshadow that gives him even more of a cat-like allure, you suppose that whoever it was that had this model made certainly had a knack for it as far as visuals go, though what that entails and the uses for such a dashingly handsome model of life-like android...well, you're not sure you really want to delve so deeply into that.

Regardless, you hear Changmin huff out a laugh under his breath at your question, as well as the gentle sound of your front door being cracked open.

"That's entirely between you and him."

Over the following months, living with someone else begins to settle into a routine.

You figure it's simple enough, at least: Juyeon is happy enough with any accommodation you offer him. Countless of late night hours following his 'moving in' of sorts would inform you that owning a persocom is not much different from having a pet, though with far less emotional or interpersonal demands from you, and much more usefulness around the house.

Forum users often would post their routines with their persocoms and the work schedules that they would have them on. First time owners advised to settle into one, themselves, and to not allow themselves to view the androids as humans, though they certainly do resemble as much, and nearly unidentifiably different from anyone else in the crowd next to them. It's an intriguing sort of subculture, in a way: owners and persocoms and their relationships between one another. Some people happy to effectively use their personal computer androids as household slaves — keepers of the homes for nothing more than doing the tasks that the humans wish not to do, while others, you would find on one particular night after following what would turn out to be a quite fascinating internet paper trail of links, would view their persocoms as much, much more than that.

You would also come to find that the overlap in custom models, and owners with far more deeply established relationships with their persocoms, is stark.

It comes as no surprise the more you read into it and think about it: custom build computers far from unheard of in the realm of traditional hardware, so when it comes to someone interested in building what may effectively serve to be their exact, ideal type in a partner — all of the bells and whistles, every feature both physical and in personality perfectly manifested and created to serve — you find yourself occasionally looking at Juyeon through the eyes of whoever it was that set out to create him to serve that exact purpose for them.

And then wonder why it is that he has ended up in your possession now.

Seated at the dining room table now and with your laptop open, you glance up over the top of it towards the man in question as he scrubs a dish at the sink with one of your pink, frilled aprons snugly tied around his neck and waist — it's kind of a charming sight, you can't lie — and it's easy to see how someone could get used to this sort of thing. You've not settled into any particular routine with Juyeon at this point, and in part it's because you know yourself to be assigning him a particular level of personification that you've read time and time again to be ill-advised. It's difficult not to, however. So human in looks and the way that he simply exists around you, even the way that you find yourself thinking of him — as a 'man' — you recognize is probably far from the way that you should be viewing him. Regardless, as a result of your confusion in how to go about living like this, Juyeon has not settled in as your live in housekeeper, nor as your prized boy-toy, either. There are days where the both of you take on tasks around the house, sometimes he will clean the bathroom while you vacuum the house, but often, many days are spent with the both of you seated next to one another on the couch; little more going on than enjoying the television nestled across the way and against the wall.

Sometimes you suppose Juyeon's job is to do little more than simply exist in your shared space together, and he appears happy enough to do as much.

Though, it brings up another question in and of itself: does he have feelings? Does he experience happiness?

Of course, the obvious answer would be no. Androids don't have feelings, computers are not sentient. Weeks and weeks spent together with Juyeon, you can't be sure if you're becoming too comfortable with him and as a result losing your wits in relation to him just that much more, because there are moments where you're nearly certain that he must be experiencing some level of sentience. Emotion. A feeling. More hours spent late at night and long after he falls asleep to rest reading the accounts of other people truly feeling as if they've felt the same about their persocoms — only to be met with the backlash of people far more logically attuned, perhaps — because even as you read the stories from people who post just as much the same as you find yourself believing, you can't help but think them to be a bit too deeply enmeshed with what is ultimately, just a computer.

You think them to be crazy, and yet you think Juyeon to be different. So really, who is the delusional one?

When you ask him if he is happy, he tells you that he is. An easily programmed response, and especially for a custom build intended to be a specific someone's everything. No talking back, no free-thought, you exist to be mine and to live by me alone. You will be happy with it, but more than that, you won't express anything of the contrary.

A miserable life, even if he is incapable of truly feeling misery. Maybe you're projecting, both happiness and displeasure mutually upon a being so far from experiencing either of them.

Glancing over his shoulder and as if feeling your gaze at the back of his head, Juyeon gently smiles before turning back to rinse a glass in hand. You smile back, though it's slow in response and past the point of his ability to see it.

What truly charms you about Juyeon, though; beyond his sharp, model-esque looks and his impressive ability to get groceries put away in all of their proper places in record time, is more the cat-like and borderline vacuous curiosity that remains nestled behind his eyes. In moments when not tasked with something, you often catch yourself watching him — looking around the apartment at all of the elements surrounding him — small trinkets that glitter and shine, seemingly so intriguing to him in a way that you can't quite understand.

Because why would any of this be of any interest to him? Why should he have any interest in anything, at all?

It sort of dawns on you then, watching as Juyeon places the last glass into the drying rack next to the sink, that rather than doing late night internet searches and mulling over thoughts to yourself about the hows and whys and other inter-workings of whatever it is that makes up his mind, instead, it may just be time to do the most obvious thing.

Get to know him yourself.

"Want to sit with me?"

It feels weird to ask him, though you're not entirely sure why. You always present everything to Juyeon as a question, even tasks around the house. You know there is not likely to ever be a situation where he will deny you as much, it's almost certainly not programmed within his software at all (an ethical quandary in and of itself), but now you have no household errands for him to take care of. Rather, it's the most casual of circumstances in which you find yourself asking something of him.

Turning, it's almost as if his eyes light up at the question, though you curse yourself internally for even thinking as much. There's definitely a learning curve to this whole 'living with an android and not personifying him' thing.

"Of course."

Pulling up the chair just next to you, Juyeon settles in and his eyes settle upon you expectantly. You know this look, it's the look that is anticipating more tasks to be laid upon him. It makes you feel guilty, however — as if you're overworking him, asking too much of him already though you think it more likely that you ask far less of your persocom than many others do of their own.

It's quite literally a major function of his existence, so why does it feel so bad to use him as such?

Perhaps something to do with the way that Juyeon looks at you — as if you're the only person in the world. You suppose that for him that much is true, because as far as he can remember, the only other people in the world besides him are you, and Changmin.

It might be time to take him outside, but that's not the topic of discussion for tonight.

Pushing your laptop out of the way and instead replacing it with the glass of liquid, you nervously run your thumb over the rim as you purposefully avert your eyes from the man seating next to you. Really, you called this meeting long before you were reading for it, and now that it's here, you're not entirely sure what to say.

A shallow inhale, you pull your eyes upwards to finally meet his. "I want to...get to know you."

The silence following is deafening as you await a response. You imagine the gears twisting and turning inside of his machinery as if there's some kind of factory that lies beneath the faux flesh and hair that sits before you, though logically you know it not to be the case. Instead, you can see the proverbial gears of contemplation firing in that beautiful skull of his as he mulls over the words, and with pretty lips ever so slightly parted, he finally gives you a reply.

"What do you want to know?"

Juyeon's voice is deep and velvety in a way that you haven't thought about that much until this very moment. You suppose it's in large part because you've not sat down and had an actual conversation with him before now. It's pleasant, and kind of sexy — but you're quick to correct the thought as soon as it enters the mind.

"You said you don't remember anything about your owners before me, but do you know anything about...yourself?" you inquire slowly, as if treading upon waters that you're entirely unsure about. You don't want to offend him, or bring up unwanted memories, though you question how realistic a concern that even might be. "Like, do you have television shows you like, or a favorite color...foods you enjoy — though, I guess you don't eat food..."

Your words begin to sound a bit like rambling the longer you carry on, as well as you coming to realize that you actually have a lot of questions for him as he sits before you now.

Still, you watch as one, single corner of Juyeon's lips perk upwards, as if somewhere deep down in there he is thrilled about your interest in him beyond scrubbing tiles and porcelain.

Chin nestled against his palm with an elbow planted into the wooden table beneath, he cocks his head to the side and looks at you with nothing less than fondness.

"I can eat," he begins softly, quietly. "It's for show, of course, but I can. Shows, colors, anything like that...I guess it will just take more time, but I enjoy the things that we watch together in the evenings."

"We always watch something different, you just like everything?"

Juyeon hums in thought, and you wonder how much of it is for show as if to allude to the fact that he has any free will or thought at all. "I don't like the news. I don't like to hear about bad things happening to people."

Oh? A chink in the programming?

He continues the thought with little pause, eyes glancing up towards the ceiling. "I like those shows where a lot of strange people live together in a house and have fun all of the time, even though it seems to end up in fighting a lot..."

You laugh into the rim of your glass as you bring it up to your lips. "You like trashy reality television? I didn't expect that one."

It does raise a particular set of questions, however: the ins and outs of the goings on between sexually active and attractive people in reality television settings — how much of what would commonly be described as a typical, romantic, physically intimate encounter between people does Juyeon understand?

But you're not going to ask it like that, either. Because weird.

You take a sip of your drink and swallow hard before setting it back down onto the table.

"How much of the...human experience...do you know? Like, beyond speaking, cooking, cleaning — all of the basic, simple things — I guess I'm asking about...your programming?" you finally stutter the words out, though once you have, you can't help but laugh at yourself in the aftermath. "God, it's so awkward."

"You don't have to talk to me like I'm any different from you," Juyeon comforts, sliding a hand across the table to settle atop one of your own. It reminds you that you've engaged in physicality so little since his arrival to you, and his touch offering an unanticipated warmth that you wouldn't have expected from someone so far from human. "We're the same in all of the ways that matter, we just come from different places. I think that's the best way to look at it."

You swallow hard, heart beating surprisingly hard within your chest at the touch offered to you by him.

"But to answer your question; I have the same understanding as anyone else would, any other man of my age. I know of and understand the concept of the range of emotions, I feel feelings just like you, I feel touch and nervousness all the same. I understand romance, and passion, and—"

He pauses on the word, narrow, dark eyes glancing up from the table and meeting your own across the way. His gaze feels smoldering now in a way not before felt: kitten-like cuteness now replaced by a similarly feline but much more sinister presentation, your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him as his lips part once more to finish the sentence one started.

"—Everything else in between."

Throat dry at the words and touch, you shake it off briefly and hope for him not to notice the way you sit flustered as a result of it. Ridiculous as it is, there's something about the way that he looks at you and speaks to you in that moment that feels far too much like flirting, and worse than that, you shiver at how easy you found yourself lost in it, as well.

But Juyeon isn't real, not in the human sort of way, and you'll be damned if you allow yourself to fall romantically or sexually attracted to your live-in android pal. Not if you have anything to say about it.

Besides, that's a whole other can of ethically and morally questionable can of worms that you're not interested in wading through any time soon.

Instead, you abruptly pull your hand away with a loud clearing of your throat and your eyes just as sharply averted from his.

"Well, it's late," you say shakily, scooting your chair back with a loud noise and gathering your cardigan from the back of it. "Should probably head to bed, have a lot of work to do tomorrow."

You don't wait for a response, grabbing your laptop from the table and spinning to head towards your room. Avoiding his eyes all the while, it's only when you realize that you've left your dirty glass where it certainly doesn't belong do you still and resign yourself to having to turn back and face the man as he remains — presumably still seated where you've left him in wake of your humiliation.

A deep inhale, followed by a slow turn. When your eyes fall upon Juyeon again — messy dark hair and your cute, frilled apron still hugging his form, the glass is already in hand and you're met with the most disarming, delicate eye smile — almost as if a different man entirely sits there now from before.

"Don't worry," he says cutely and quietly. "I'll take care of it."

The following couple of months pass far quicker than expected as the greenery of summertime melt away in favor of earthier browns, reds and oranges — it's as if the world itself offering you the perfect opportunity to change and shift your interactions with Juyeon and subsequently, his interactions with the world around him.

Numerous, afternoon shopping outings for long sleeved shirts, jackets and scarves for him, paired with warm drinks that only you drink but none to anyone's acknowledgement should they pass by in brief, you can't help but feel the adoring swelling of your heart as a result of scenarios such as these: Juyeon isn't your boyfriend, he's barely even a boy, at all, but there are truths of the matter, and as much as you try not to lend too much thought to them, it still remains that where once sat a kind of emptiness in your life — no longer it remains as evident as before.

After a long day out together with your persocom, the two of you return back to your apartment far later in the night than originally planned on account of missing a train and getting lost just a bit outside of town, even in spite of having a literal computer along with you for the ride. Still, Juyeon holds the bags in hand and at elbow bend as he kicks his shoes from his feet and shakes his hat off to the floor like a child. The scene brings a smile to your face as you hang your coat onto the hanger, and gently pulling bags from long, fully capable arms, you and he briefly meet eyes in a way that feels so much different than most of the other times that you do.

A fondness for him growing in your heart. Nurtured everyday by the fact that you live with him, cook with him, shop with him, do everything with him. There are little boundaries imposed between the two of you, and as a result of it, you find yourself becoming far too enmeshed with each other in a way that you know is well on its way to becoming unwise.

The truth is that Juyeon is kind, and thoughtful, and everything that you would want in a partner.

Everything that you would want in a partner that you have no hope of ever finding so long as he remains in your life, taking up the space that he does — not only in your apartment, but in your life, in general.

Comfortably nestled between the sheets of your bed, you sigh into the cool air of your bedroom as it gently swirls in circulation on account of the quiet spin of the ceiling fan just above you. Eyes slowly falling to a close as sleep begins to take you after a long and busy day, the stirring of your bedroom door just about fails to pull you back from the grips of slumber — as if unsure of its having happened at all.

One eyelid cracking open to survey your surroundings, you glance over towards the ever so slight pooling of illumination from the hallway, obstructed only by the tall, lanky silhouette of someone dangerously and conveniently familiar to you.

"What's wrong?" you question in a whisper, but Juyeon doesn't step any further forward in response.

Instead, you're met with a few moments of uncommon silence before you hear him inhale to answer.

"Can I—" he pauses again, trepidation heavy in the air between you. "—Can I sleep with you tonight?"

Oh.

Oh?

You know that you don't have that long to mull over the inquiry without bringing about even more worry and anxiety that is quite evidently already present within him. The idea of that alone is something that you've spent so much time talking yourself out of ever since finding him powered off and abandoned in the park just across the way that to be faced with the fact now and again — even in spite of being told as much straight from the mouth of the man himself — you have no choice but to take him and his word at face value now, as well as come to a decision as quickly as possible.

The relationship has been easy thus far, simple, enjoyable; in ways, something like this feels like the obvious next step.

Relationship.

Perhaps the obvious next step if Juyeon were human, and capable of even being in a true relationship with you, or anyone, for that matter.

Matters of the heart often at odds with the mind, but really, what's the worst that could happen? Friends share sleeping arrangements, family members share sleeping arrangements — you know yourself to be more than capable of doing as much without it becoming sexual.

Talking yourself into it, the beginnings of coping with having made a decision that you know not to be the one that you likely should be making.

Either way, you're out of time.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

You're not so much startled awake by the feeling of it, in fact, you're willing to melt into the touch much quicker than perhaps you might have anticipated. Perhaps it's on account of teetering just on the edge of consciousness, and thus not entirely having all of your wits about you — maybe if you were in better form you would be far more willing to make the better, proper choice.

The gentle shifting push of your thigh out of the way, then the delicate curl of long, adept fingers into the sides of your panties — maybe you would have more of a chance, but not after the feeling of the smooth, blunt tip of his length sliding through your wetness from behind and bumping right snug against your clit with what one can only assume to be some sort of practiced ease.

You're certainly awake now as the groan catches in your throat and your eyes roll back ever so slightly — Juyeon continues on with the motions, too; there's no accident in his movements against you, faux-fucking you though with no penetration as he repeatedly delivers slow, stead drives of his hips against you from behind as you lie spooned and somewhat pinned beneath him.

He's heavy, but doesn't feel much more so than any other man of a much larger stature than your own. Instead, his lips press up against the shell of your exposed ear almost instantaneously with hot puffs of air cascading down from his mouth onto the quickly dampening flesh of your face as you remain caged under him.

"Does it feel good?" he whispers against you, and with the way that his breath catches on his own words, you'd swear that it must feel similarly erotic for him, as well.

You nod ever so slightly, managing out the most meager of replies as the feeling of him relentlessly prodding your most sensitive parts begins to have a building need for more and more. "Yeah."

"Do you want to feel more of me?" Juyeon then asks, hand slipping back from your underwear and fingers instead gripping tightly into your hip, as if to put the thought in your mind of how he could have you should you allow him to.

He sounds absolutely sinful in your ear like this, and you've briefly been made aware of this side of him before, though not one you've allowed yourself any time to mentally explore. It's something you've put well and far out of your mind — the possibility of this, the crossing of this line. You've done the reading, you understand the long list of potential purposes of persocoms...

He lightly groans into your ear, and it rips you back from your thoughts.

"I can make you cum over, and over, and over again," he says in addition, never relenting the slow, pointed glide of his cock through your folds. The persistent itch of a budding orgasm is felt between your legs, and you want deeply to be bigger than the urge.

"I have—" Juyeon whispers against you again, and this time it's paired with a particular shift back of his hips. You know what's coming, the most cognizant part of your mind choosing instead to feign ignorance just for the chance to simply enjoy this for what it is, and with little other thoughts or considerations accompanying it. Blunt, press of the end of him at your entrance, followed just thereafter by the slow, smooth sinking of his length into you as the rest of the thought finally exits his sinister lips.

"—Endless stamina."

"Fuck, Juyeon—"

"Yes?"

It takes you a few moments. Moments that feel like hours as you come back to consciousness and try to make sense of what's real and what isn't, but what you can quickly gather is that that was not real, and now that your eyes are open to view Juyeon laid up in bed just beside you: hair messy, eyes on you, and very much hands (and everything else, for that matter) to himself — this is real.

As is the suffering throb between your legs.

"Dreaming of me?"

You know he's joking, and you chuckle it off as normally — albeit, nervously — as you can. "Yeah, I guess so."

Having a hard time facing his gaze despite feeling it on your skin, you're only able to offer him a quick glance before hastily knocking the sheets from you and clamoring out of bed towards the bathroom for a much needed, freezing cold shower.

"Anything you remember?" Juyeon calls out lazily and through a yawn, turning himself over in place as to follow your movement with his attention like a pet who is all too interested in your every whereabouts.

Over your dead body.

"No."

You slam the door shut. It's on accident, of course, blame it on being so tightly wound up.

Two days later, with the dream mostly out of your mind and the ability to make eye contact with your persocom having come back into your routine, after a simple dinner and a movie outing that turns a bit into dinner, a movie, and some drinks — with a light buzz that has your head a bit in the clouds and your inhibitions somewhere up there with them, once arriving back to your apartment with Juyeon, you find your eyes lingering on his form just that much more than you might typically allow yourself to view: quite a tall figure with broad shoulders and such a pretty, small waist to accentuate the curve of him — if the work done on his face alone wasn't perfection enough, then whoever had such a custom build done certainly didn't allow for the attention to detail to end there.

You wonder how much else of him is molded perfectly to someone's tastes, but shake the thought from your intoxicated head just as fast. You cannot be doing this. Not now, and not ever.

Juyeon pulls off his coat, setting it up onto the rack and dipping perfectly manicured fingers into the neckline of his white, button down, dress shirt — you watch him from the corner of your eye, though you wish yourself to have the self control not to — gently tugging at the buttons and leaving just a few of them undone in a trail that leads just far enough down the front of his chest to expose the pale, flesh there without showing off too much. A tease, though he's not doing anything in particular, and especially not on purpose.

This is entirely on you, and projection in its truest form. Curiosity certainly is having its way with you now.

Clearing your throat, you manage to pull your eyes away from him entirely, though the awkwardness of your movements draws his attention, anyway. Pulling your shirt from your pants in the beginnings of undressing for a shower and bed, you suppose it is simply time for yet another ice cold shower — not the first, and likely far from the last should these living arrangements persist.

But the clasping of Juyeon's hand around your wrist has other plans for you entirely, as it would seem.

Gently tugging you back towards him, everything feels like slow motion as his head dips down towards yours — other hand coming up to delicately cradle the side of your jaw as he leans in — you still in place for numerous reasons; fear, anticipation, concern, excitement. Juyeon pauses just after you, lips nearly feathering over your own with how little distance now rests between the two of you.

"Warming up to me, are you?" he asks in just above a whisper. You're not sure how to answer that, largely on account of the fact that it feels as though he can read your mind. A response isn't necessary though, because he continues the thought. "I can tell. I can feel the way your heart races or your body temperature shifts..."

You can't help it, chin shifting upward ever so slightly as if in an attempt to close the distance, but if he recognizes the half-assed effort, Juyeon doesn't allow it and maintains the gap still.

"You're interested..."

"I'm...curious," you correct, and for once it's actually the truth.

"Curious," Juyeon copies with slightly upturned corners of his lips. The air between the both of you feels stifling now and as though there isn't nearly enough to go around. Dizzying close to him in such a way that has you wanting to reach out and touch him far more than ever before, you have got to keep your cool — alcohol induced bravery being no excuse to make decisions that under normal circumstances you might never make.

And then come to regret.

But you suppose that the thing just said about being able to tell is true; Juyeon takes the moment into his own hands and walks you back only a few steps so that your back is against the wall. Now caged in by him, it reminds you briefly of the dream only a few days ago, although you face him like this now — reaching down, Juyeon takes one of your hands into his own and leads it up towards the unbuttoned mess of shirt along the top of his chest, pressing your palm to that very place as if urging you to touch him, feel him, be forced to acknowledge that he very much is here and real in all of the ways that really, truly matter. Physically, mentally, emotionally — Juyeon is just as much there as any other man you could have in your apartment this evening.

Your fingertips meet at the skin of his sternum, and though you've made physical contact with him before, you're surprised by his warmth each and every time. You don't anticipate him to ever feel as human as he does — even a light, barely there sheen of perspiration to the touch from the long walk between the train station and your home.

The science doesn't make any sense, or maybe it does and your judgment simply far too clouded by inebriation and desire to put the pieces together, but the thoughts are immediately put out of your head when Juyeon closes the distance between your mouths finally and kisses you hard where you stand against him.

Head slightly cocked to the side for just the right angle, when Juyeon's lips part against yours and his tongue dips delicately across your own you think for sure your knees might just give out from beneath you. Thankful for the wall at your back, fingers curling into the white shirt that they were placed upon — you know this is spiraling out of control, and quickly, but at this point...

You're not sure you have the self-control to do anything about it.

Suddenly and much to your displeasure, however, Juyeon breaks the kiss and pulls away from you, though not breaking the physical contact between you entirely as he takes your hand into his own and leads you towards the living room — seating himself on the couch, the very same couch where Changmin booted him up and back to life only a handful of months prior to now — you stand somewhat awkwardly as he gazes up at you with those same, devilishly slender eyes that you know to be hiding some sort of ideas of misdoings behind them.

Large hands slowly coming up to the buttons of his shirt again, his eyes never leave your own as he continues to release more of them; one by one another button falls away from the shirt that keeps the fabric held together, the flesh hidden behind, and with each one your breath catches in your throat. In situations like this, albeit infrequent as they are, you're given ample time to think about this, about this and what this is and what you're doing. It's wrong. Objectionable at best and ethically despicable at worst, you're fairly sure...

Your eyes look up from his hands and to his own instead, Juyeon meets your gaze with slightly parted lips and the gentle, erotic poke of his tongue to the inside of his cheek as his fingers run out of white buttons to unfasten, only to travel just a bit further down in journey of finding more.

"You said you're curious, " he says finally, pulling apart the button of his trousers with ease and making just as quick work of the zipper. "So, what are you curious about?"

You're fairly certain you're going to pass out.

He looks ungodly hedonistic like this under the barely illuminated evening lighting of your apartment living space — legs spread and undressing himself for your viewing pleasure. You wonder how much better of a person you would have to be to withstand this kind of test, because Lord have mercy, you are on the precipice of failing now.

Juyeon brings his thumbs up to hook into the hip of his slacks, and raising his lower half he gently pulls them down just enough to be out of the way.

All the while his eyes never leave your face.

"Curious about functionality?" he questions, though it sounds a bit as if it's rhetorical. An inquiry to no one in particular as your eyes fall to the far too fitted black fabric that now lies between your eyes and whatever it is that is hidden beneath. Juyeon brings one hand up to the bulge there, slowly palming over himself as you watch him. "Anatomical correctness?"

You swallow down absolutely nothing into the desert that is your throat as you watch on.

Then, he dips the same hand beneath the fabric, wrapping a fist around himself and shallowly pumping. Only now does he allow his eyes to fall from you — head falling back against the couch and eyes rolling shut at the feeling of himself.

"Or is it more—" he whispers again through his ministrations. "—Personal taste?"

"You're going to ruin my life," you finally manage out, but to that, Juyeon only laughs with a careful raise of his head once more to look at you.

"Quite the contrary," he says in response, still slowly palming himself beneath his briefs. "I can be any and everything you want me to be."

Inhaling sharply and with an evident shake of uncertainty to your stature, you look into Juyeon's eyes again — deeply, firmly — and come to a decision. It might not be a good one, and it almost certainly is not the correct one, but it's a decision nonetheless; made here and now.

You'll deal with the fallout should the time come.

"I want to touch you."

Juyeon doesn't reply with words, instead pulling his own hand from himself and granting you the space to experiment as you see fit. Knelt between his legs, your own palms slowly snake up his thighs only to meet at either side of the place that your curiosity mostly resides. Eyes fluttering up towards his own again before you go any further, one corner of his lips perking upwards in fondness has your nerves quelling just ever so slightly, though not nearly enough to put the entirety of the issue to bed.

"Do you...feel it?"

Fingers curling into the elastic waistband of his briefs, you tug them down along his slender hips gently to expose the long, hard, length of his cock to your eyes in totality. Part of you is almost surprised to find him to be erect at all, though you suppose it wouldn't make much sense, otherwise. You've done enough reading to know physical intimacy to very much be a feature of many persocom models, and especially custom builds, it should come as no surprise now.

Juyeon was built to serve many needs of someone's, and sex was most certainly one of them.

Taking him into your palm, the contact brings a jolt from him, and you suppose that's answer enough to the question. Juyeon answers still.

"I feel everything," he sighs out, reveling in the feeling of your hand along his shaft. "Pleasure, pain...I feel it all."

At that, you begin a languid, lazy pace along him, watching the way his chest heaves and falls with every stroke — amazed by how real he feels in your hand. Long, but not particularly thick, his cock weighs heavy in your palm, and even seeing a beading of precum at the slit surprises you, thumb coming up to swirl it along the wide, blunt tip of him.

He writhes beneath your touch at that, a groan caught in his chest while dark eyes stare down at you.

"You have...cum?" you question, still slowly swirling the liquid around the head and enjoying the unraveling of him like this.

While erotic in the most basic sense, something about the situation feels clinical, nearly scientific, in a sense. Even with Juyeon's cock in your hand as you stroke him off like this, you can't help but think it a bit like an experiment. Unsure touches that lack fundamental understanding, rather than something truly intimate and sexual in nature between two people. In the meanwhile, your free hand slowly traverses the exposed flesh of his abdomen just up the way…smooth to the touch by familiarly muscular beneath the pads of your fingers.

Maybe this ought to be how the first time goes, you can't be sure one way or another.

Barely capable of holding his head upright and with only one eye cracked open to look down at you, Juyeon forces out a reply as best he can. "Not in the traditional sense, of course, but you wouldn't know the difference in the moment."

"How?"

"Won't it ruin the allure?" he chuckles under his breath, though it hitches at the tail end with a particular flick of your wrist along him. "Knowing the technical workings of it all?"

You don't answer him, at least, not verbally; instead, you lean forward to take him into your mouth with a swirl of your wet, warm tongue over the head of his cock to taste him in full.

It earns you a full bodied groan, one that you've apparently been dying to hear.

Slowly bobbing along half of his length, you're only given a few moments of taking him before you feel a strong hand under your jaw — carefully pulling your mouth up and off of him to instead look him in the eye as he speaks to you.

"I can still cum in you," he whispers out, thumb ghosting over the wet of your bottom lip and lewdly pushing his hips up to glide the tip of his cock against your messy, used mouth. "More than most, if that's what you like."

The words bring such a painful throb to the space between your legs.

"What else can you do?"

Educational talk has officially teetered over into dirty talk, foreplay. Suppose that was bound to happen, all things considered.

You don't take Juyeon properly into your mouth again, instead allowing him to simply drag the wet mixture of spit and precum along your lips and chin in such a pornographic display that it has his eyes gazing down at you just that much more hooded and full of lust than you've ever seen before. It's intoxicating how he views you like this, and for a man that already teetered on the edge of unfathomable levels of sex appeal, you question whether it possible for anyone to look more seductive than he does now.

"Fuck you as long as you want, as hard as you want," Juyeon finally answers in just above a whisper, voice laden with desire. "Any time, any position. Anything you want, and the best part—" he questions, though you think to know where he's going with this already.

The anticipation of hearing the words pooling in your gut in what can only be described as unbridled arousal: the promise of unmatched sexual desire. No one will ever fuck you the way that Juyeon can fuck you, because it is quite literally impossible by human standards.

"—I never finish before you do."

Endless stamina, a cock that is always hard, capable of orgasm and continuing to serve you...precisely the kind of information that once upon a time, you were hoping to avoid ever learning.

And as if he can see the world spinning inside of your head with this newfound information, Juyeon leans forward in his seat to bring your arms into his hands — pulling you closer, he slots his lips against your own all over again even in spite of the mess. This time, however, the kiss is far needier, more hurried, laced with a wanting that you could have never guessed lied buried within him all this time.

Has it been, or is he simply meeting you where he must as per his programming?

Breaking the kiss, Juyeon only allows mere centimeters between your mouths before breathing the request into yours.

"Let me make you feel good."

Letting him take the lead, you melt into the touch of him pushing you up to your feet once more as his fingers go to work at front of your pants. Little time is wasted before the fabric is pooled at your ankles and you are urged to step out of it, when just as quickly, Juyeon takes your hips into his hands to pull you forward and settle atop him with a knee nestled into the cushions of your couch and on either side of his own.

Hovering over his lap, you feel the careful nudge of the tip of his cock as it settles firmly against your entrance but with no real insistence to enter you just yet. Instead, Juyeon's hands as well as his attention is turned upwards to your chest with soft palms grazing the skin and warm, wet lips wrapping around one of your nipples in just the perfect amount of pressure that has your head spinning.

Tongue digging firm circles into the sensitive bud, you almost miss the way one of his arms slithers around the small of your back as if to hold you snug in place against him, but just as quickly it becomes rather evidently all a part of his plan as you finally feel the intrusion of the wide, blunt head of his length prying you open from below and pulling your body down to sink onto him in full.

It's a slow, careful process — and for that you're thankful with no physical preparation done on your end. In ways, you prefer it that way — like this, it feels real, it feels raw. Sometimes sex simply happens without the bells and whistles and without the luxuries of time, or foreplay.

Sometimes, people just need to feel each other.

Teeth digging into your bottom lip to pull back the whine that threatens to escape you — feeling impossibly full of him like this as your hips settle flush in his lap — there's a passing moment where you worry of him being too big with the looming threat of him at the deepest ends of your insides, instead, Juyeon leverages his above-average strength to lift you off of him just at the precipice of too much before gently gliding you along his shaft all over again for friction that is just so fatally exquisite.

Getting a handle of your bearings and shifting your weight to take more of an active role, you roll your hips against his own as Juyeon shifts the grip his arm has on you to instead hook up at the top of your shoulder from behind — better to pull you down hard against him, fill you deeper with himself as you find a rhythm atop him that starts to suit you.

You can't hold back the whimpers, though you'd like to try, and looking down at Juyeon beneath you as you ride him, part of you wants nothing more than to ignore the explicit adoration that shines in his eyes as he watches you like this.

"Good?" he asks quietly, as if not wanting to interrupt when the answer is so obvious, anyway. You nod quickly, Juyeon pulls you down onto his cock harder as if in affirmation of your reply, and you moan out loudly for him as a result. "Want to watch you cum."

"Fuck," you gasp out, as if the mere request enough to get you there already. "I'm close, I'm close don't stop, don't—"

"Harder?" he asks you now, and all you can chant out is breathy 'yes'' in reply.

Juyeon shifts his position from beneath you just slightly, slinking down so to have better leverage of his feet against the floor and you immediately realize why when he meets your comparatively useless fall along his cock with a hard, full drive of himself up into you instead.

The force just about knocks the air out of your lungs, but more than that, the friction has you seeing God.

It takes little more of that — thighs trembling and abdomen clenching in orgasmic promise as you grit your teeth through the most euphoric release you think to have ever experienced in your life up until now. Juyeon's hips never falter, never slow — because why would they? Never at the whims of his own humanity or release, he can fuck you just as hard, just as fast, all of the way through your own orgasm and past the point where other men may lose themselves to the stimulation...

Not him.

Sounds of wet skin pressing hard and fast together ringing heavy in your ears — it's all you, that much you know — how drenched you are around his dick as he still continues to drive into you even after the peak of your orgasm falls off, it's only now that you realize that Juyeon will simply continue fucking you like this unless you ask him to stop — ask him to finish for himself.

Leaning down, you capture his mouth into yours all over again — a bit teethier and ill-coordinated than the previous times but much needed all the same, the man beneath you is happy to meet you in such intimacy, and like this, you whisper your own request against his dry, bitten up lips.

"You can cum, want you to cum."

Meeting the words with a throaty groan, Juyeon cocks his head to the side to kiss at you better before pulling away and speaking against your mouth once more. "Want to feel me fill you up?"

The grip his fingers have on your body stiffens then, one of your own carding through the damp, black strands that stick to his forehead as a result of the goings on now. Juyeon fucks up into you hard and fast again as if chasing an orgasm of his own and as the curve of his cock drags against your g-spot all over again, fingers curling into the hair at his scalp much harder than anticipated as he threatens to take you there all over again, your eyes clench shut at the familiar throb of him as he buries himself deep within your walls for one, last time and with a deep, almost pained groan through gritted tight teeth.

Clenching down around his cock like this you can feel him empty inside of you in waves — gentle pulses of his cum pumping heavy within you.

Then, silence. Nothing more than the quiet, rhythmic sounds of two people attempting to catch their breath in the aftermath of...who knows what, really.

Juyeon sleeps with you again that night, just as he had already done previously. The only difference this time being the way delicate, long fingers fish for yours beneath the sheets.

Four, loud knocks at your front door is not how you wish to be startled into consciousness.

More than that, the distinct sound of a familiar woman's voice sounding out through the otherwise empty halls.

Stomach leaping into your throat, this is bad. Really bad. For a plethora of reasons, but most of all because of what — and who — still resides next to you in a deep and seemingly much needed slumber.

Last night was a lot, for the both of you; your thighs are sore and frankly the remanence of stinging throb that is still harbored between your legs serves as just as much of a reminder as anything of the series of decisions that led you to this very moment.

But you don't have time to mull over the hows and whys, because you have to get up, get dressed, and present somewhat properly before your friend wanders into your bedroom and stumbles upon the aftermath of such a thing herself.

You intercept the situation well enough, however; robe slipped on over your form and sitting her down at the dining room table for a late breakfast — a surprise visit, great, though less sarcastically so under usual circumstances. She brings breakfast and you're at least thankful for that because you are starving after the appetite worked up under last night's activities and you question whether you have the strength in your legs even now to stand at the stove long enough to cook something up for yourself, much less for a guest, as well.

Juyeon is no where to be found still, even an hour after your awakening. For that, you are thankful, though you know it not to last forever. Your home is his home, and he has free roam of it as he should...especially now, especially with the way that things have unfolded between the two of you.

Whatever your relationship is with him now, it is forever changed in some way, shape, or form. Lines have been crossed and while you're certain of his ability to simply carry on as though nothing has ever happened should you ask it of him...

Can you?

Shoveling another slice of fluffy pancake into your mouth as she carries on about what it is that she has been up to since having moved away from the city that the two of you once shared, your mind remains clouded with not only the what of your plans to disclose, but beyond that, the mere fact that you simply must.

And the window to do so draws quickly to a close.

"I have to tell you something," you finally say. The words are quiet, already somewhat beaten down in anticipation for a less than thrilled response from the friend sitting just across the way. She's not particularly judgmental, no, but this? This?

It wasn't all that long ago that you sat on the same side of the moral fence on this particular quandary as her.

"What—" she begins, and while at first you believe her to be inquiring about your words, the direction in which her eyes gaze — fully beyond you and back towards the bedroom door gives away that you have run out of time, entirely.

Shit.

"—Is this?"

Eyes closing slowly in a bout of displeased defeat, you exhale heavily before turning around to inspect the scene: it couldn't be worse if you had tried to set it up as such, either — Juyeon standing just outside of the bedroom and fully in sight of the both of you, freshly washed and nude from the waist up...only a towel held closed by hand at his hip to keep anything shrouded from the eye, at all.

He exits just as quickly, fast on the pickup and most certainly not needed for this.

Turning back to view your friend, the scowl evident on her features — a question of what happened here, how did we get here written all over her, though you can't imagine she'll offer as much in a verbal sense.

"I'm going to ask you this one time," she states calmly, though the displeasure in her tone is beyond evident. You don't want her to ask, because you don't want to tell her the truth, but you will. "Are you...involved with your persocom?"

Silence so heavy you could hear a pin drop, and picking at the skin around your fingernails in nervousness, you pull a shaky inhale into your lungs before delivering precisely the answer that you know she does not want to hear.

"Yes."

"Really?" she bites back, equal parts disappointment and disgust that you can hear all too plainly. "You're having sex with the android that cleans your bathroom? You're got to be fucking kidding me."

"It's not like that," you hurriedly answer with a whine. It sort of is like that, but too much simplicity behind the words, too little nuance, there's so much more to the circumstances and the goings on and everything surrounding...everything, that to say it like that doesn't do it justice: it doesn't do the situation justice, and it most definitely doesn't do Juyeon justice, either. "It wasn't like that for a long time, it was never my intention. I tried— "

She scoffs, cutting you off from the thought. "You tried? Tried what? To not fuck him? How hard could it possibly have been? Surely you're not so lonely and pathetic that you have to resort to settling in for a life with a custom built, glorified sex toy for life."

Hearing someone speak about Juyeon like this does something inexplicable to you in a way that you couldn't have anticipated. Bubbling rage in your gut at referring to him as nothing more than perhaps, quite literally, what he truly is — still, you cannot bear it. Can't bear to hear it, and especially not with such contempt in ones voice.

He is more than that, you know that to be the truth. You live with him, you speak to him, you share a life with him.

Briefly, you think back to all of those people you read posts from early in the days of your meeting, the claims of nearly certain sentience in their persocoms. Hints of life. True life. True free will.

You can't prove it, but you suppose that much like so many other things, some beliefs reside wholly on faith.

It is your truth, and that's all that you need now.

"Do you have feelings for him or something?"

Without missing a beat, you answer her. "Yes."

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, give me a break."

"You don't know what it's like, what he's like. Juyeon is so real, thoughtful and kind and full of life and love in a way you couldn't possibly ever understand unless you experience it for yourself. You know just as well that I used to feel the same way about the concept of such a thing, but now that I've lived it..."

"You cannot have feelings for your persocom."

"I care for him," you plead with a defeated shake of your head.

"It's not real, he isn't real," your friend insists, pushing herself back in the dining room chair with obvious intent to leave and hear no more of what goes on here any longer. "You're living in a fantasy land, and I don't want any part of it."

Grabbing her belongings, the woman that you once called your best friend exits your apartment in a flurry — you don't have time to offer any more explanation or understanding, not that you think it would quell the situation at hand, anyway, but the sinking feeling in your chest of not only loss, but guilt once again reminds you of all of the reasons that you may have been right the first time around. That maybe this is wrong, that you are wrong for allowing this to reach this point, at all.

Cleaning up the table full of plates of half eaten food that tell a story of a meeting gone horribly wrong, you consider doing the dishes here and now — and typically, you might, but the nagging feeling in your gut paired with the all too apparent absence of Juyeon calls you elsewhere in the quiet of the walls of your living space.

Knocking gently at the wooden door frame of your bedroom, the door is open, and in spite of it being the middle of the day, the flash of lightning oozing in through the rain drenched window on the opposite end causes it to feel equally gloomy in ambiance as the mood otherwise feels, anyway.

Along the way, Juyeon sits at the edge of the bed, as if in wait of you to come and find him like this. He is dressed now — a simple black t-shirt and loose, black sweatpants — oddly enough, it feels as though he is dressed in anticipation of somewhere to go.

Slowly walking inside, the rain pelts against the window so roughly that you're not sure Juyeon capable of hearing you should you wish to speak to him in a whisper, thus, you seat yourself at the edge of the best beside him with a palm lightly placed over one of his knees.

He heard everything, you know that well enough with the way that sound carries through your tiny living arrangements. Aside from that, you know him capable of feeling — beyond the projection of his sentience that you feel yourself so sure of, how much of his ability to feel even just at a base level; hardware, software, whatever it is that makes him the who and what that he is — Juyeon feels, and immensely so from the way that sadness wears so evidently on his features now.

You can't help but wonder if this isn't the first time he has lived through circumstances such as this. Memories wiped and primed for rebooting with a new person, a new life; all the while dressed and ready once again to take his leave, though why that urge settles within his bones so strongly, he himself can't even be sure.

"Should I go?"

The words, while anticipated, tug painfully at your heart. Lips down turning into a frown, you squeeze his knee beneath your grasp before leaning further against him and pressing your head to his shoulder in comforting embrace.

"No," you answer quietly. "I don't want you to leave."

Shifting slightly, Juyeon turns to face you more, wrapping long, strong arms around you in an embrace that you think to be something of a thank you for not abandoning him once more. Pulling from one another slowly, you reach up to cradle his face into the palms of your hands as you look deeply into his eyes: beautiful, and endlessly dark but glittering and so full of life, all the same — moments like these, like this, you're so certain of what lies beneath.

So much more than what you're told, so much more than what you had bargained for.

This time, you pull him into the kiss.

Rather than the trepidation of uncertainty, laced within these lips now is a sense of knowing, and allowing your hands to fall from his face to instead search for the bottom hem of his shirt, upon finding it, you feel the knowing grin of his lips twist against your own.

And with that, a tug of the fabric upward.

Juyeon slips his shirt off quickly, tossing it to the floor elsewhere along the room and you waste little more time shrugging off the robe that you earlier had no choice in putting on, anyway. Perhaps a wise choice as you're reminded of having worn nothing more under it, he's swift in maneuvering you in a way that suits him as he pulls up from the bed and instead pushes you back along it — following up the length of your body as his hips settle between your legs and lips once again slot against your own.

This time it feels different. Less curiosity, less learning. Now? Simply experiencing him.

Forearm pressed into the mattress beside your head, Juyeon's other hand feathers down the flesh of your torso towards precisely where you want him to be — delicate fingers ghosting over your skin in such a way that the tiny hairs raise in the wake of his touch, everything that Juyeon does is with intent to have you melting beneath him, and not only does it work, but it's far better than you could have ever imagined.

As his middle finger finds its mark between your legs, slipping between your slit and slowly rubbing circles into the sensitive nub of your clit, his lips slip down from yours to kiss along your jaw; down the column of your neck and settling just at the juncture between your shoulder, carefully sucking and nibbling marks into the supple flesh at his mercy.

Back arching into his touch, you want to feel him more and again. It hasn't even been that long since the last time, but with so much promise of what's to come, you find your body reacts in such a way that you barely capable of reigning it in. Every touch of Juyeon's is perfect, both in placement and pressure. Never too hard, nor too soft, always the precise, right amount.

Slipping a finger into you, you can't help but press your hips down and against his hand in a bid to feel more. Juyeon grins into the skin of your neck as you do, the feeling of his teeth that much more evident and bringing about even more of a pulse of your needy walls around the single digit buried inside of you.

"Juyeon," you finally say, though it comes out as much more of a pathetic, desperate whisper than ever intended. At the sound of it, he begins fucking into you slowly with the very same hand, simulating the precise thing that you both know you're about to ask of him now.

"Please," you whimper now, still grinding down against his hand. "Need more..."

Shifting his weight slightly, Juyeon brings his lips up to your ear before answering back in a whisper. "Want to feel full of me again?"

Arousal throbbing hard around his hand, you hear him huff out an amused laugh against your ear. "You know you can have any part of me that you want, all you have to do is ask."

Pulling up quickly and with no interest in losing more time, Juyeon slips his pants off and to the floor only to settle between your legs once again. This time, however, he sits knelt between your thighs as he brings the same hand back to continue prying you open for his cock, and as you look down to survey the scene, you find him lazily palming over himself as he watches himself work you open.

It's a bit more than you had been ready to take in the sight of, dizzyingly intoxicating and lewd with his lips ever so slightly parted in awe of you and the tight grip of his fist around his length pooling precum at the slit.

Slender and perfectly toned body sitting before you like this, perhaps you never stood a chance, after all.

Finally pleased with the work done, Juyeon slips his fingers from your wetness to instead hook around your thigh and press the underside to his chest — with your calf situated at his shoulder, he urges himself closer, angling his length down to press the wide and glistening tip of his cock at your entrance and with every intention of sinking into you just like this; fully splayed wide for his viewing pleasure.

Firm strokes between your folds, you moan out in need and frustration for him, which only brings an upward curl to his lips just that much more.

He's teasing you.

"Ju— ah —"

Protest quickly lost in your throat as you feel Juyeon begin his initial drive into you — carving out space for himself between your tight walls with slow, intense press of his hips forward — with your body open for him like this he feels even bigger inside of you. Fuller of him with less space inside to accommodate for his size, it feels so soon that surely he will be buried fully inside of you, but with a quick glance down through the tightly knit furrow of your eyebrows, you're quick to learn that the position offers far more than you had originally bargained for.

Humming, Juyeon tugs his bottom lip up between his teeth. It would appear that like the typical man, he's facing the mortal fear of desperately trying to fight back to urge to cum, but knowing better, you can only imagine that you feel fucking exquisite around his dick.

"Doing so good," he says after all, jaw nearly hung open as the last remaining signs of his length disappear inside of you. "So full. Pussy is so small, couldn't possibly take more."

Pussy throbbing around him as he says the words, Juyeon groans quietly with the first withdrawal before slowly pushing back inside of you all over again — slightly faster this time, and almost as if he anticipates you to break from under him.

Up until now, your mouth remains shut knowing well enough that should your lips part nothing more that desperate whimpers and whines will spill out, but needing more from him, you have little option presented to you.

"Juyeon," you say first, little more than a pained whisper falling from bitten red lips. Narrow, dark eyes fall to your own in anticipation of what it is that you're going to say, but likely nothing could have prepared him for the request being made of him, next.

"Break me, Juyeon. Make me yours."

Careful, gentle eyes turning nearly menacing, threatening at the words; Juyeon's grip into your thigh harshens suddenly followed by a quick, hard snap of his hips against your own — so rough that it has you shoving up the bed, it's following subsequently by more and more as he settles into a ravishing pace into you, delivering repeated, firm, drives of his cock against your walls and with the angle that he has now, the perfect curve of his length serving as the most immaculate deliverance of friction against your g-spot.

"You look so pretty wrapped around my dick," he manages out through hard fucks into you, eyes dancing their way between your own and the very place that he disappears inside of your needy body. With a firm enough grip of your leg in place and the strength to manage it, his other hand comes down to messily rub wet circles into your clit, and the touch has you crying out just that much more loudly for him, too. "Okay baby, why don't you cum for me? Lemmie make you mine and I'll give you just the reward you deserve."

And it doesn't take long to give him what he wants, either. Between the relentless fullness of his cock inside of you and the filthy words that drop from once seemingly innocent lips, your thighs shake in his grasp and walls tighten that much more around him with the threat of your release as it accompanying yell catches in the dryness of your throat — coil on the verge of snapping, you need something more from him, though you're unsure how to manage it out in time. Grasping desperately out and towards him, he picks up on it quickly — leaning down to meet you face to face as you hurriedly usher the broken words out from your body.

"Cum with me—"

Needing no more instruction, Juyeon settles back into place between your thighs continuing hard against you, and as the coil in your gut snaps with orgasmic release, you force your eyes open to watch the muscles in Juyeon's abdomen tighten just the same; jaw clenched firm and head thrown back momentarily just before his jaw falls slack and the deep, pained groan of release rips through him as he fucks his load fully into you as you cum around him and milk it thoroughly out of his body.

Slowing at the tail end of both of your orgasms, Juyeon's grip on your thigh softens, gently allowing your leg to fall from his shoulder, and while not pulling himself from the wetness of your cunt just yet, as you look up at the sight of him — fucked out and damp with the aftermath of sex that cannot possibly ever be beaten, as he carries on within you in slow, shallow strokes, you suppose that curiosity gets the best of you, yet again.

"Can you...cum again?"

He grins, as if with complete understanding of the filthy implications of such a question.

Gently lowering himself down again, bare chest to bare chest with you once more, Juyeon kisses along your neck once more, along your jaw and meeting at your mouth again. It's gentle, with barely there nips of his teeth at your bottom lip before he offers you an answer to the question.

"So, that's what you like," he whispers into your flesh, tone heavy with desire and the need to meet all of yours. "Make you mine, fill you with my cum over, and over, and over again..."

His hips begin to pick up pace again, firmly pressing the entirety of his still impossibly erect cock between your messy, soaked, walls. "Just want to be unthinkably full of me, don't you? Filthy thing, playing house all this time, wonder how long you've wanted me to make a complete mess of you."

You don't know, you sort of lost track, and you're not entirely interested in revisiting the timeline, either.

Pulling up and out of you abruptly, you're nearly discontented by it until you feel firm, strong hands pulling at your arms and twisting you to turn you over. Falling flat to your stomach, those very same hands gripping hard into your hips from behind and pulling you up to meet his own at just the right angle — you have little time to reconfigure yourself before you feel the blunt prod of his cock reentering you from behind this time...

And it is intoxicatingly electric the way his length pries you open like this.

Wasting little time, Juyeon fucks you hard and fast, slowing only to dip forward and grasp your arms into his hands — a makeshift contraption of you losing your range of motion as you're forced to merely balance on your face and chest with arms pulled harshly behind your back to grant him the leverage to fuck you full of himself just the way that you deserve.

Just the way that you want.

"So wet for me," Juyeon groans between thrusts, the prominent sounds of such evident with every hard meeting of his flesh against yours. "Won't let you lose a drop of my load, is that what you want?"

Barely able to speak, you manage out the most pathetic whimper of affirmation that you possibly can.

"Want to feel me cum inside of you?"

"Y-yes."

"You gotta cum around my dick again then," Juyeon insists, though it doesn't take much with the relentless fullness of him into you from behind, you're already nearly there by the time a hand slinks down between your legs to rub at your pussy all over again. A humiliating few seconds — though you have no concept of time now as it is — before you're crying out and throbbing around him just as requested, and with little more work, Juyeon answers you back with a loud, full groan as you feel his cock pulse and throb with release as he once again fucks you full of the warm, sticky wetness of his cum.

Slowly releasing your arms from his grasp and gently falling forward to lie beside you in the afterglow of all of this, once finished staring at the emptiness of the ceiling and contemplating whether or not there lies a specific place in hell for people just like you, you feel the familiar touch of Juyeon's delicate fingers as they find your own, slotting between and taking your hand firmly into his embrace.

"I think I'm in love with you."

As consciousness takes you once again the next morning, you're at least thankful for the fact that it's not the knocking and yelling of a friend that you no longer are acquainted with that awaits you — instead, Juyeon stands at the edge of the bed with coffee and breakfast made, though not on much of a silver platter on account of your not having one — it's a cutting board, but hey, it's the thought that counts.

Head sweetly cocked to the side, Juyeon looks down at you with fondness that once upon a time you may have shrugged off entirely as nothing more than a part of his programming. Now, with a new understanding not only of him, but perhaps of yourself and life as a whole, you find yourself far more willing to accept things as they are — whatever that is, and simply...in the moment.

Juyeon looks at you with unbridled love and adoration, because he does love you, and he does adore you. No matter the hows or the whys or the wheres that it may come from, this is the truth; this is your truth, and this is Juyeon's truth.

Now that love has slowed down, you're simply grateful for the ability to have caught up to it.

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask (⌒‿⌒) —this is a oneshot, there will be no part 2.

#juyeon smut #the boyz smut #tbz smut #juyeon x reader #juyeon x you #juyeon x y/n #juyeon scenarios #juyeon imagines #the boyz x reader #the boyz x you #the boyz x y/n #the boyz scenarios #the boyz imagine #tbz x reader #tbz x you #tbz x y/n #tbz scenarious #tbz imagines

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alessiamalfoyzabini · 3 months

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𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞

Pairing | Yandere Jungkook x Reader

Word Count | 1,529

Warnings | +18, detailed descriptions of punishment, spanking, Jungkook is obsessed and angry, smut dubcon(?), fingering, male masturbation, forced cum consumption

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | If she had paid attention earlier to the sin that dwelt behind those obsidian irises, she would never have trusted it.

If she had noticed earlier the devouring love that dwelled in his corrupt heart, she probably would have fled.

She had done none of that, and now she had to come to terms with her new reality.

➢ Author's Note | Fifth chapter ready! Let me know what you think of the story or if you would like to be added to the taglist, i would be really happy!

Taglist: @katherine-kookie, @douknowbts, @aiiselle90210, @fewercascade

Taglist is open!

Chapter List - I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII / The End

It had been exactly four days, Y/N had been locked in that room crying, eating what she had to eat so as not to upset Jungkook, but the sadness and disgust were still there. She still couldn't tell if it was for him or for herself. He spent those nights as tense as a violin string, going to work during the day and hermetically locking the front door, and at night he heard her crying and that upset him. But he had factored that in as well, Jimin had explained to him how the first few days had gone. "It's going to be hard, but if you love her you'll have to put up with it," the blond man in the principal's office had told him, while Seokjin just listened, typing occasionally on his phone. "I hate to see her so dejected, I'm the cause and that hurts me," he had hissed with his head clenched in his hands, Jimin had denied it with his head, totally frosty. "You are just too sensitive, she has to get used to a new way of life and certain reactions are more than normal, my wife had tried to kill me if you remember well, so consider yourself lucky," he scolded him. "Besides," Seokjin exclaimed, "her parents reported her missing and everyone thinks something happened to her, even the neighborhood she lived in was a good cover, don't think of stopping just now." Jungkook nodded, before freezing.

"What about Kang Yoozu?" he asked, threateningly. Jimin let go of an icy smile, "You don't have to worry about him anymore, with the material you provided me, there will be fun to be had." A few days later, Jungkook understood his friend's words, it was all over the news that Kang Yoozu, age twenty-three, had kidnapped and most likely tortured the now missing Y/N. It had only taken a few rumors put out there and a lock of the girl's hair found in the student's backpack to set off alarm bells. Jungkook thought Jimin had done a masterful job; everyone knew about Yoozu's bullying of Y/N, and as Jungkook had said at the beginning, it was those like Yoozu who had no loyal friends.

At the dinner table that evening, Jungkook avoided turning on the television, not wanting the girl to see anything inherent in her disappearance; she seemed upset enough to the boy, so he asked her how she felt. "Like someone who hasn't seen the light of day for almost a week," she hissed, listlessly moving the contents of her plate. "When I'm sure I can trust you, I'll take you for walks," he tried to appease her, but at those words Y/N huffed blatantly, which the man did not like. "Y/N." "Jungkook?" she wryly made, openly challenging him after days of unexpressed discontent, "I'm not even allowed to complain, professor?" The ass-grabbing behind that title pissed him off, and he jerked out of his chair and marched toward her with an expression that was anything but sweet and patient, as it had always been until moments before. Y/N caught the danger signal and tried to evade him, but Jungkook was quicker and caught her lifting her off the ground as if she had been a feather, at which point the girl screamed and full-throated, kicking in his direction, intimidating him to put her down, terrified by the man's sudden change.

Jungkook was not frightened by her hysterical threats, after all, there were not even neighbors who could hear them, and he flung her onto the living room sofa, the girl ended up between the cushions on all fours, tried to get up so she could stare openly into his eyes, but Jungkook imposed that position on her by crushing her with his own weight, in fear she felt the young man's hands lift the fabric of the skirt he had given her that day, she tried to crawl away, but once again she was blocked by him, a strong hand of the man held her head still against the cushions. She shuddered in shock when her panties were also brutally lowered onto her thighs, she felt so much embarrassment that she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to extricate herself. "Rule number one, Y/N, don't ever use that tone with me," he hissed furiously, before his free hand came down on a soft buttock of the young woman, who squealed in shock and pain at the searing lash, the dry sound lost in the room along with her voice.

Jungkook settled down better behind her, taking sadistic pleasure in seeing his imprint getting darker and darker on her tender and delicate skin, "Rule number two, finish your meal without complaining like a naughty and rude child," he hit the same area of skin with an even more deafening spanking than the previous one, the girl wriggled in tears under his body, Jungkook felt the blood run miles through his veins, his cock now throbbing in his pants at that fantastic sight. Adrenaline raced through his body, painfully clutching Y/N's hair in its hard grip. "Rule number three, never question what I say to you in that insolent way!" he continued to hit her repeatedly on the other side as well, ignoring the tears now soaking the cushions of his couch or the girl's constant attempt to slip away from his blows, writhing. He stopped only when the girl began to give in, begging him to stop. "P-Please stop!" she screamed against the fabric of the cushions, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'll be good, I won't misbehave anymore," she continued, Jungkook pulled away slightly, watching with hungry eyes the buttocks now red and irritated by his punishing blows, the girl's body trembling, shaken by sobs and whimpers.

"Ah..." he sighed, "My love," he murmured bending over her, tenderly kissing the skin now burned and alive with pain, the girl tried to block her sobs, feeling only more discomfort at the boy's attentions, who not content left a long trail of saliva from the abused area to the column of her back, stopping shortly after at a corner of her neck, Y/N shuddered, feeling him push the covered cock against her buttocks which, if possible, burned even more. Jungkook sucked and bit the skin of her neck expertly, Y/N did not have the strength to evade, not even when one of the man's hands descended on her pussy . "Since you get it... you deserve a reward, don't you?" he highlighted those sick words of his with another thrust of his pelvis, "I'm going to make you feel so good, love," he moaned, running two fingers along the folds of the girl, who widened her eyes at the same time Jungkook did, finding her soaking and quivering, "Fuck. .. you liked it," he laughed surprised, Y/N instead wanted to disappear, tried to stop her moans by sealing her lips, shocked by that new realization, but she tensed at the rhythmic and insistent movement of the fingers around her taut and shiny clitoris, no ... it couldn't be true.

She could not feel pleasure at such a time, with such a boy! But her body thought otherwise when the man's fingers tapped on her clitoris, which contracted and forced the girl's hips to push against the young man's hand involuntarily, seeking a more direct and steady touch. She opened her mouth wide for air, but was only able to gasp for breath, only causing Jungkook to increase the speed of his intimate caresses, reaching up to penetrate her lightly with the tip of his fingertips, Y/N stiffened writhing wordlessly, her brain now mush thinking only of finding more friction, which Jungkook granted her with a kiss in her hair, slipping his fingers from her tight slit to move up toward her clit, rubbing on the now overly sensitive pearl, he expertly pinched one last time before and Y/N let out a choked scream that confirmed her orgasm, which continued to shake her body for endless minutes. Now almost fainting in his arms, Jungkook turned her body over, lost himself in looking at her distraught face before glancing at her soaked red intimacy, biting his lip, god he couldn't take it anymore.

He began to unbuckle the belt from his pants, releasing the thick, throbbing cock without lowering anything else, reached up to the young girl's tear- and saliva-wet lips, running the already wet tip of white, shiny cum over them, cupped his hand several times over the velvety, warm skin of his cock, continued to pump himself, moaning loudly, he accompanied the gestures with sloppy, slick movements of his hips, Y/N barely registered the boy's actions, too shocked by what had happened, a choked scream escaped her throat as a warm, foreign-tasting substance poured onto her face and hair, a few drops managed to enter her mouth as well, only later did she realize what it was. Jungkook slipped two fingers into her mouth, filling her with his cum, forcing it to the back of her throat, which made the girl swallow for air. "My beautiful girl is also a perfect slut for my cock."

#bts #bts fanfiction #bts smut #bts x reader #yandere bts #yandere bts x reader #yandere jungkook x reader #yandere jungkook #bts yandere smut #yandere bts smut #jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #yandere #yandere jeongguk #jeongguk x reader #jeon jungkook x reader

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zanarkandskylines · 2 months

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Hollow Heart { chapter 3 - choke }

『♡』 pro-hero fem!reader x pro-hero bakugo ╰➤ ꒰ pro-heroes au | friends to lovers ꒱ ♡ katsuki bakugo masterlist ♡

summary: you have zero clue where you are after your abduction. white walls, medical instruments, the smell of rust, and hazy memories are all that keep you company during your time in the mystery lab. the horrors that lurk between these steel walls are going to give you nightmares for an eternity. all you can think about is getting home to your best friends and family, back to the life you sorely missed. tags & warnings: mentions of blood/violence, eventual & mild smut, kidnapping/abduction, experimentation, physical & psychological torture, PTSD, implied/referenced self harm, cursing, talks of trauma | angst with happy ending, emotional hurt/comfort, regret, mutual pining, friends to lovers, insomnia, eventual romance a/n: To all of you who have stopped to read this fic, thank you so much! This was my jump back into writing after almost a decade. I appreciate every single one of you!! ꒰ Ao3 version | word count; 13,885k as of ch.3 ꒱ Main Post Chapter 1 | Hurricane [5,092k] Chapter 2 | The Ghost of You [4,799k] Chapter 3 | Choke [3,995k] Chapter 4 | The Grey Chapter 5 | The Good Left Undone Chapter 6 | Tourniquet Chapter 7 | There is Fear in Letting Go 『♡』 this fic has a playlist! ✩

CHAPTER THREE: CHOKE

Day One (?)

Metallic rust.

That's all you could taste when you awoke from your drugged slumber, the world stuck in a haze as you hummed in discontent.

Where the hell am I?

The thought muddled in your head as you attempted to gauge your surroundings. The numbness in your limbs from earlier had been replaced with a new sensation - your body feeling too heavy for your bones to carry.

Did someone strap a weight to your shoulders and ankles?

You rotate your head sluggishly to see an all white and gray room, one singular door directly ahead of where you sat. There's a metal table in the corner with a few machines - you can't seem to determine what their purposes are. On your left, a surgical instruments table sits ominously, a few bloody bandages and an empty syringe splayed across it.

There's a sudden pulse in your head that rattles your brain, the train of thought you had derailing instantly. Glimpses of memories begin to spark in your mind - Bakugo's anguished expression as you drifted out of consciousness, an unknown number of hands removing your hero suit and belongings, cold steel of an operating table touching your bare skin, the ungodly amount of poking and prodding of your delicate skin with needles of all shapes and sizes, and a glass enclosure.

How are you remembering all of this if you weren't even conscious for the majority of it?

As if to answer your silent question, a doctor enters the room - what you presume is a doctor, anyways, by the looks of his white surgeon coat and stethoscope around his neck.

"Good morning. Would you prefer the use of your hero name or first name?" He asks, paging through the file on his clipboard.

What the fuck?

"Uhh...hero name?" you slur as you answer, voice cracking with exhaustion. You're not able to think straight in the moment and have zero adrenaline to be combative.

"Noted. How are you feeling?" His tone is dry, like every other doctor you've met in your life.

"Shitty."

He quirks an eyebrow. "Can you elaborate?"

God, this is so annoying. Why the hell are you being interrogated?

"M'everything feels...funny. Heavy but also...fuzzy?"

He scribbles down notes on a few different pages, flipping back and forth through the stack on his clipboard.

"Is it my turn t'ask a question?" you quip, snickering at your own request.

He approaches you hastily and slaps the ever-loving shit out of you. You let out a sharp yelp, the sting of his palm radiating on your cheek.

"Subjects only speak when spoken to."

A chill runs down your spine when he uses the term "subjects." Just how many of you are there?

"Return her to containment," he orders, signaling to someone behind you before turning to exit the room. Another man enters as the doctor leaves, dressed in white scrubs with mint green latex gloves. He approaches you, latching a pair of handcuffs around your wrists while turning off a device nearby.

"C'mon, move it," he scolds as he yanks on the chain of the handcuffs. You stumble forward to your feet, wobbling on jelly legs as he's dragging you behind him. Looking down, your wrists were littered with bruises in varying shades of yellow, purple and green. Had they cuffed you earlier and roughhoused you? A few raw spots on your arm lead you to believe they had taken blood from you at some point, too. You have zero inclination to how long you've even been wherever the hell you are - anything is possible.

The mystery worker drags you down multiple corridors of dimly lit metal hallways and various steel lacing the walls. There were no windows in sight as you maneuvered your way around the labyrinth of never-ending laboratories, holding cells and various medical exam rooms. He stops in front of a frosted glass cell, swiping a keycard in front of the mechanism on the door. It opens with a high pitched beep and he pushes you inside, whipping you around by the shoulders to face him. He undoes your restraints before slamming the glass door shut, locking it with another beep of the keycard.

With the silence comes the realization of your current predicament, crashing down around you like a tidal wave. It's intense, the surge of emotion that cascades through your entire body as if someone flipped a switch inside you.

One lingering thought pulls at your heartstrings - Bakugo's face as you slipped away from him, his panic and desperation as he failed to save you.

And to top it all off, you told him you loved him.

In the heat of the moment, it felt right. But now? It feels selfish. You admitted your feelings just in time for them to be ripped away from him. You don't even know if you're going to see him ever again. What if you die down here?

Oh.

What if you die down here?

Alone and scared.

Away from your family, friends...Katsuki, your best friend - the secret love of your life.

You never got to kiss him, properly express your affection for him - the experience was stolen away from you.

You're left to your own devices inside an unknown cell, blubbering on the tiny cot in the corner, frustration burning in your chest as you're heaving sob after sob. It triggers something in you never felt before - an unfamiliar violent rage. Launching up from the cot, you snivel as you face the wall and punch it with all the energy you can gather.

"Fuck!" You wail, failing to recollect the memory that your still under the effect of the quirk suppressant. The sound of your knuckles smashing against the steel wall reverbs as it sends lightning bolts of pain up your arm, dissolving as the adrenaline makes its way through your entire being.

And then something terrifying stirs in your guts as the blood drips from your knuckles onto the floor.

The pain was satisfying.

Day Nine

Days have passed, that much you knew, but how many? That answer remained unclear, no matter how many times you begged various workers around the compound. No one ever answered you with words, just violence. You’ve lost count how many times you’ve been slapped, kicked, and pushed around for engaging in minimal conversation. There’s other prisoners here, too, but no one is allowed to communicate. You see each other sometimes in the hallways but never long enough to speak, even if you wanted to. It was like everyone was a ghost, all haunting the same burial ground.

Shockingly enough, they keep you fed and allowed one shower per day. It's a confusing system, considering how inhumane things have proven to be, but you're convinced it's to keep their subjects "healthy" for their fucked up experiments.

Your schedule consisted of a hellish rotation of broken sleep and taking whatever drugs they forced upon you. The amount of times you were pulled from your cell varied for their trials that they had planned for the day. Whether it be once, or four times, you never knew how many hours you'd be stuck under surveillance in a catatonic state.

You desperately tried to turn your emotions off to protect your psyche at any chance you could. As much as you hated to admit defeat, the endless stress and over dosage of unknown substances was more than enough to keep you underwater, sinking further toward rock bottom with each passing moment.

A guard stalks up to your cell and bangs on the glass to grab your attention.

“Y/H/N, your cooperation is needed for test 15. Up and at ‘em.”

Your body is burdened with all the medical trauma you've endured over the last few days, slowing your pace to a sluggish limp as you make your way toward the cell door.

"Hurry it up, subject. We ain't got all day!" he shouts, startling you with his sudden command.

Fuck this place.

Day Fourteen

"Test 23, Y/H/N - Forced kinetic energy release. Begin testing."

You don't have time to react before the IVs hooked to you begin to force various fluids into your veins. The competing sensations flood through you in rough currents - hot, cold, burning, stinging in cycles. A well-known tunnel vision begins to cloud your sight as you squirm in the steel throne you've been restrained to. You're body is on the verge of passing out when an intrusive illusion appears before you.

"Hello? Sweetie?"

Your mother appears in front of you, outstretching a phantom hand to touch your shoulder.

What the fuck...mom? How is she here right now?

"Are you coming home?" she asks, her face settled in a deadpan expression. Her voice resembles a computerized AI, as if someone is programming her dialog.

"Mom?" you speak aloud, frightened by how real this looks and feels.

"Honey? Are you coming home? Katsuki and Izuku need you."

"Mom, I'm right here. What do you mean?" You're becoming more and more disturbed as she continues to drone on the same question.

"When are you coming home? Katsuki and Izuku need help."

She's not real.

She's not really here - this shadow knows nothing.

Snap the fuck out of it, they must have drugged you with a hallucinogenic.

But why? What the hell does this have to do with quirk suppressants?

"You're not here," you growl, screwing your eyes shut, refusing to entertain anymore of this apparition of your mother.

"Oh, but honey, I am!"

What?

A force squeezes at your throat, cutting off an anxious breath as it leaves your lips. You scramble to grasp at the hallucination, forgetting you're trapped in the testing chamber and can't move. Your hands are flexing repeatedly under the shackles as energy is collecting in your palms, unable to control the emotional response racing through every nerve in your body.

They must have not given you the suppressant...or mixed it with something more deadly.

"No!" You croak, your scream choked out by the pressure on your neck.

Your vision turns white, a sudden surge of energy expelling from your palms, pulsing intensely over and over again. You can feel the impact against the chair beneath you, the sound of shredding metal filling your ears as kinetic energy is forcibly pouring out of you in succession.

"Cease testing, inject sedation."

The pain in your hands dissipates immediately upon hearing the doctor's orders, followed by the prick of a thick needle penetrating the crook of your neck. The white cast in your vision fades, reality returning to you as your eyes glass over. One of the scientist walks around the chair and stands before you with another goddamn clipboard.

"Y/H/N, please describe how you feel and what you saw."

That familiar fire returns in your chest from your first night here - the aggressive urge to lash out. Was this a side-effect of whatever serum they've been loading you up with?

"Fuck you," you snarl, lip quivering as you're attempting to bury the ferocity thrashing inside you, begging to be set free.

He approaches you and snatches your cheeks in a rough hold. His grip tightens around your jaw as he repeats his question.

"One more time - Y/H/N, describe how you feel and what you saw."

The flame burns hotter as your fists are trembling, the emotion becoming overbearing.

Before you can stop yourself, your palms shoot up into an offensive position, sparking with the remaining collective of kinetic energy as it bursts forward, striking the scientist and sending him tumbling backward. The bonds on the arms of the chair must have broken and freed your hands during the test - you didn't even notice until you attacked the guard.

Shit.

"Quirk handcuffs and solitary - stat," orders the doctor over the surround system.

The door to the room slams open and three more scientists scramble inside as they're rushing to surround you. One shoves you down harshly into the metal chair, bouncing your head off the back of it.

Black…everything goes black.

When you come to, you’re in a new room that you don’t recognize. It’s different from the one you’ve called “home” since your arrival. There’s a mirror in the cell they’ve thrown you in and you catch a glimpse of yourself for the first time in...you don't know how long. The reflection shows you someone you don’t recognize - the girl staring back at you isn’t you. It looks like you, but her vicious predatory grin is bone chilling. This doppelgänger glares daggers at you, tilting her head menacingly as she mouths, “get out of me.”

You throw a punch at the mirror and shatter it as a blood curdling scream erupts from deep in your gut. Stumbling to the floor, you lay on the cold concrete and stare into the blank space of the solitary prison cell. You can’t even will yourself to cry.

I wanna go home…I wanna go home…

The thought recycled on loop, taunting the strength of your mental state.

I want to go home to mom, to Izuku, to Katsuki…anywhere but here.

You need to survive...

No. You will survive.

This will not kill you.

Day Twenty Five

"Y/H/N, we are going to proceed with a psychological evaluation."

Like you had a choice in the matter.

“Can you describe your experience from test 23?”

“Horrible,” you groan, the vision of your mother flowing to the forefront of your memory. “I saw a hallucination of someone that could physically touch me.”

You’ve learned in your time here not to ask further questions - answer as plainly as possible and move on.

The scientist clacked the keys on her laptop obnoxiously. “And it felt real?”

Unfortunately, yes.

“Yes.” You turn your eyes to the floor as she proceeds to type whatever nonsense into the database. She retrieves a clipboard from the bag slung on the back of her chair, sliding it across the table to you.

"Can you confirm this report is accurate from your initial intake?"

You begin to scan over the form when the words "if you want to get out of here" catch your attention.

Y/N

Y/H/N

Subject 57 - Kinetic Energy

Do not speak or react this note, until specified, if you want to get out of here.

...What?

I'm an undercover hero from the United States. I've been here for six months, waiting for an officially ranked hero to come through the facility. I haven't been able to leave since my arrival and communication has been cut off from my agency. You're the first non-civilian they've captured.

Blink four times if you had a cellphone on you when you were taken.

You look up at her and blink four times - she shoots her eyes back down to the form, signaling you to continue reading.

Can you contact outside help? Could be the agency you belong to or co-workers.

Tap the table twice for yes and three times for no.

You tap the table twice, pretending to point to specific information on the page your reading. If you could get access to your cellphone, you might just be able to send your location to initiate a rescue mission.

"Thank you, Y/H/N," she says, grabbing the clipboard and returning it to her bag. "I'll take you back to your cell, follow me."

Following the standard protocol that you're used to, she slaps a pair of handcuffs around your wrists before exiting the room. Once you reach your cell, she steps inside with you, removing the cuffs and motioning for you to come closer.

"I can look in the evidence chamber for your phone, more than likely it's in there with the other belongings after your decontamination process. Workers aren't allowed any communication devices, but they keep all of the captor's personal items guarded in one place."

You don't have time to ask her all the questions you're dying to know the answers to - how'd she get here, how did the USA know of the lab, what her undercover work consisted of, why no one came to find her...a plethora of unknowns.

But right now? She's willing to help you, that's all that matters.

"If you can conjure up enough energy with your quirk, can you charge it?" she asks faintly.

You nod in response, confirming the answer silently. Similarly to your classmate from UA, Kaminari, you were able to charge devices by converting kinetic energy into an electronic wavelength - a trick Eraserhead taught you back in Junior year.

"Here's the plan - In five days, I'll be the guard on night shift. I'll give you an empty shot of the suppressant to make it look like a realistic dosage. Once the others have dissipated to their quarters, I can lead you to the evidence stash and let you rummage through the bins while I keep watch. You grab the phone, I'll hide it in my uniform, bring you back to your cell and toss it to the floor. I'll patrol the hall while you get things set up and make contact with another hero or your agency."

She peers out of the glass cell and sees another guard making his way down the hall.

"Don't say a word. I'll be back in 5 days, and I'm sorry for what I'm about to do," she apologizes as she cracks you on the jaw with a hearty slap.

You know she had to fake it in front of the other guard to keep her cover - it still hurt like hell.

She shuts the door with a noisy clang of the door's mechanism, a high pitched beep locking it in place.

And thus, the countdown to freedom begins.

Five days until you finally make contact with the outside world - with someone.

Someone? No, you already knew who you were sending the information to - like it wasn't obvious who you'd choose to signal for help.

Day Twenty Nine

You've come this far, you can't back down now.

All you had to do was make your way back to the evidence room with the undercover hero lady, find your phone, and sneak back to your holding cell.

And force your quirk to activate.

...and not get caught.

The suspense of the plan succeeding was enough to keep you on edge as the nightly sedations were distributed. She appeared, just like she promised, and administered a fake injection to your arm. You put on a front for the other guards, fooling them into thinking you were properly medicated.

The plan's been set in motion - she'll be back in a few hours.

Day Thirty

You could feel the liberation in your grasp - the victory of sneaking your phone back to your cell filling you with exhilaration. All you had to do was wait for lights out to attempt your escape plan. You have no idea how deep the lab sits under Sector 42 and if you'll even be able to obtain a signal in your cell.

Focusing all of your willpower into the tip of your pointer finger, you hold it closely as sparks of energy softly crackle into the charging port of the phone.

Just a minute to charge, that's all I need. Enough battery to turn it on, send a call and a text and turn it back off.

You're beginning to feel lightheaded as your phone successfully powers on with a soft vibration and the logo appearing on screen.

Holy shit, it worked!

Hurriedly, you flip the silent switch before notifications begin to pour into the device, catching up on all the missed communications over the last month. Multiple calls, text messages, e-mails, the standard amount that you expected. The battery hovered at 7% and the time read 3:05AM. You glance at the date underneath the time - it's been an entire month since you disappeared.

A whole goddamn month.

There's no time to spiral over that right now!

Hunched over behind your cot, you proceed to open your messages to keep your plan on track. You're not shocked by the amount of missed texts from everyone; Midoriya, Jiro, Uraraka, Kirishima, Mina...and Bakugo.

You had 127 unread texts from him, the last coming in less than ten minutes ago.

One hundred and twenty seven.

You freeze, a mixture of guilt, excitement, and panic surging through you. Shoving all that down - you've gotten too good at doing that - you clicked on the thread, catching the last dozen or so of his messages.

[2:45AM] i don’t want to say this in a fucking text of all things [2:45AM] especially under these circumstances [2:46AM] but i’m scared i’ll never get to say it to you [2:46AM] i’m a fucking idiot for not telling you sooner [2:47AM] god dammit [2:48AM] i love you [2:48AM] like a stupid fucking amount [2:49AM] i convinced myself i didn’t and that you wouldn’t feel the same [2:50AM] and when you come home [2:50AM] i’ll tell you every damn day to make up for all the times i didn’t [2:51AM] that’s a promise [2:52AM] i love you lite-brite

Tears are silently falling from your eyes, wide with astonishment at the words you're reading from him. There's no way this is real - you've got to be strung out from the quirk-drugs they've forced upon you. A delayed side effect of some sort? They've given you delusions in the past, it's not that farfetched.

He convinced himself not to love you? He's always loved you?!

He said 'I love you,' twice.

Twice!

You don't have time to read the rest as much as you're dying to catch up on all the potential sweet nothings he's sent to you over the last few weeks, but you do have time for one thing.

Before you chicken out, you click the "Call" button next to his name. The phone suddenly feels like a cinderblock in your hand as you shakily hold it to your ear. You think he's not going to answer until you hear faint rustling sounds on the other end of the line.

"H-hello?! Y/N!?" You can't say anything - your body straightens, goosebumps covering you from head to toe. All of the misery you were holding on to, the trauma and terror, evaporated at the sound of those two words. Those two measly words wrapped around you and offered a warmth you haven't known in weeks.

You click the "End Call" button, hating that you probably gave him a heart attack, but you selfishly needed to hear his voice.

Before you forget your initial plan, you send a pinned location to Bakugo. You know he'll come running - blasting, rather - as soon as he can pinpoint exactly how to break into the lab. You have zero doubts that he can't figure it out.

[3:11AM] *location sent*

One last thing for good measure? You send an orange heart emoji.

Right as you're about to scroll up and read his past messages, your phone powers down with the empty battery symbol displaying on screen.

Your heart is racing, threatening to beat out of your chest as his words reverberate in your mind.

I love you like a stupid fucking amount.

You can't help but chuckle at the sentiment - that's so Bakugo of him to say.

At least your plan was a success and you were able to accomplish the small goal. Now all you have to do is play the waiting game - knowing Bakugo, and presumably Midoriya? That won't be long at all.

You lay back in your cot, smiling for the first time in ages, relishing in your triumph.

And for the first night since you've arrived, a peaceful rest welcomes you with open arms. You dream of home, running in the park under the glow of the sun and finding Bakugo under the shade of a nearby tree, waiting patiently for you in the summer breeze.

next up, we wrap back to the boys as they plan their rescue mission! and they're not going alone as they recruit their closest friends in their crazy plan to get you back. and don't worry, it won't be easy. tags: @bakugouswaif @k1tk4tkatsuki @bells2319 @st0nedbitch @deftonianfr ✩ if you’d like to be tagged when updates are posted, message/comment to be added! ✩

#bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugo angst #bakugo x you #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo fluff #bakugo x y/n #katsuki bakugo #my hero academia #bakugo katsuki #mha bakugou #☆.rei writes #✩.hollowheart

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sourbinnie · 11 months

Note

Hiii i have a request . Can you do as 9th straykids member when you left the group? and their reaction or maybe their massages? Just please as a friend not SHIP 💀 TYSM ❤️🫶🏻

title -> sooner or later genre -> angst my beloved | voicemails pair -> ot8!skz + 9th member!reader a/n: i wrote it as voicemails since it's my favorite style. i hope you still like it ¡!¡!¡ since i don't really do messages. ALSO this is not romantic like you wanted i put a + instead of an x, that's how i differiante it.

"(y/n). where do i even start? i'm not mad, let's say that. i'm just mostly concerned, it was just announced to us that you left the group and we never talked about this? like, i've never seen you look discontent with being a part of stray kids. is there things that i don't know? i would love to talk to you before it goes public and we have to say you're not a part of the team anymore. i just wanna know what happened, you're like a sibling to me and i don't wanna lose one of the most important parts of the band because we just didn't talk you know? anyways, please answer as fast as you can".

chan left the voice message with as much strength as he could as he looked around the room. he didn't even wanna know what was gonna happen now because he never planned for stray kids to be eight. there was an empty space in the dorms now, a new type of silence and an increase of anger & confusion in all of the members that was justified right? why would you just leave? that's what they said. you weren't kicked out, just decided your time on stray kids was enough and he needed to speak to you to know what you felt.

✉ ✉ ✉

"so you decided to just leave? without telling any of us? real funny of you. i'm not disappointed or sad, i'm just fuming (y/n) and to think we trusted you. do you not understand that you ar- were a part of this for life? we were supposed to stay together forever. how do i even explain to felix and jeongin you're probably not gonna come back? i've never seen them look so distraught. i know i didn't show it but i really wanted you to be there for me in my most important moments 'cause i thought of you as a friend for life. i don't know what went down but this doesn't excuse your reaction to leave us in the dust".

minho felt betrayed, like he was stabbed and someone twisted the dagger. he wanted to protest against the manager that announced it all and he did, he did not stay silent like the rest. the shock then suddenly appeared knowing that they were eight members now and the fact that he wouldn't see you around the dorms, in practice, at the concerts, or at the music shows. it made him sick to his stomach that someone he considered a brother/sister just disappeared with no reason.

✉ ✉ ✉

"hey, i know it's kinda late but the news were just blurted out to us. i have no idea how to react. i just wanna know what happened, clearly there was something we didn't know that we need to talk about right? 'cause you can't just leave. i'm not gonna go out without a fight either, you are like one of my best friends and that's not gonna change. it's just so weird, we were talking about so much shit yesterday and you said you could only see your future with us and now you're gone? just like that? all your things are getting packed and it's just hard to watch. i don't imagine stray kids without you and i don't even want to".

changbin was completely lost. utterly and weirdly lost as he processed everything, another time he would've fought against it and he would've invaded his manager with questions (even if they were gonna remain unanswered). in this state he found himself in, he spammed you messages after sending the voicemail but they all weren't even seen. he wanted to go to chan for help but he saw the leader lost that shine in his eyes when all of this was announced.

✉ ✉ ✉

"(y/n), i-i literally don't think this is the right decision. i know it's already in the work and that you will decide what's best for you. i am no one to tell you what to do but have you thought this through? leaving us? i'm just worried to be honest. felt like crying when they told us but i was a strong boy for you and yet you wouldn't care if you didn't care about leaving either. god i'm sorry, i'm just going through all the emotions at once and i still don't know how to react. just please call me and we'll talk it out like we always do, the team won't be the same without you and i don't even wanna think about you leaving me".

hyunjin knew he was being selfish by sending a voicemail like that and he did not care. even if didn't feel like crying before, he sure as hell was crying now thinking of his brother/sister and what could have happened for them to just leave. how did the person who was the most excited for him to come back from hiatus just decided to leave? and now they wouldn't answer their texts, it's like they disappeared face off the earth. hyunjin just wanted to get out of the dorms and go look for you, and guess what? he did.

✉ ✉ ✉

"hey. gosh, is it too late already? to be sending you this voicemail and hoping you come back? i know it's not easy. i don't know exactly what you went through for you to be making this decision on your own but i wanna know, i wanna get to know you better. even after all these years, i feel like we didn't discover each other fully and i want more, i want your visits at the studio, us messing up choreography on purpose and writing lyrics together till the morning. tomorrow is gonna be awful for all of us but for you especially as this is gonna go on public and i wanna be there for you before it all crumbles apart".

jisung wanted to know what happened first of all. then he wanted to hug you and not let you go, afraid you would slip away from his embrace and he would have to be left alone. if there was a thing people didn't mess with was his friends and he considered you to be on top of his list with the rest of the members. sharing a dorm with him, must've been a nightmare but you two managed to be a mess together. now looking at box after box of your stuff, he just felt the biggest hole in his heart.

✉ ✉ ✉

"are you okay? do you need me to go where you are? i know it's late but i would do anything for you, you know this. even right now as everyone is losing their minds, i just care about you and that might show a bit of favoritism. i just don't know what the hell happened for you to go, was it something we did or said? 'cause i can't recall and i will apologize a million times if i have to. it's just a lot okay? just to be told that you decided to leave and it was your choice. and if it was i just wanted to know if we could remain friends because i seriously don't want to lose you. just call me back please".

felix was devastated. the fact that you were alone somewhere, away from them, away from him. knowing that even if he said that he wanted to remain friends, the company wouldn't like that and you two would probably never see each other again. it just felt so weird to wait around for a message when you were the quickest to type them out but now it was as if the world was against him or something. he needed to hear your voice and to maybe tell him that it was all a really well calculated prank.

✉ ✉ ✉

"why did you leave? i don't wanna go in circles. i just need to know bluntly and straight the reason why you decided to leave us. weren't we forever? you said that so many times that right now it just feels like another lie. all the things we promised, they're gone too right? (y/n) please fucking answer me before i lose my mind. i am not a person to beg for anything but i would do it right now for you to explain what the hell happened. we are all as confused and lost as we could be! you didn't even say it to our face, were you scared to face us? why would you be scared? we were always gonna support you if you gave us a reason".

seungmin of course didn't mean to sound as angry as he did. he just couldn't help it when he was left in the dark by one of his closest friends and the worst part is knowing that this voicemail was gonna be left on seen. he threw his phone onto his bed as he sighed, hoping you would just answer. it was just scary to him that all of this was happening and he had no idea how to react. you weren't there with them like you always were and he wished for nothing more than for you to come back.

✉ ✉ ✉

"hey (y/n). it feels weird to call you by name but i just need to get your attention somehow so you answer me. it's been forever since we know each other and now to be witnessing what might be the end for what we were building, just leaves me with a bad taste. did we do something? or was it just something else happening that you never told us? either way i would rather you have stayed. i don't wanna cry because you wouldn't have liked that but i feel like i'm gonna do it anyway. not like you're here to stop me even though i wish you were. just please call me or any of us back, i wanna hear your voice telling us the truth".

jeongin's eyes were watery but he quickly wiped them away. he sat there on the couch while everyone was in their rooms and waited. he looked at the door every once in a while thinking maybe it would help him but at the end of the day it just hurt more to now that you probably weren't gonna come back. scrap that, you weren't gonna come back at all and this would be announced tomorrow. he felt like choking but he still stayed strong as he tried to think of the good moments with you and holding on to the memory for dear life.

#skz drabbles #skz imagines #skz drabble #skz angst #skz scenarios #skz 9th member #sourbinnie #stray kids drabbles #stray kids imagines #stray kids #skz #skz imagine #stray kids imagine #stray kids 9th member #stray kids angst

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nrieh · 6 months

Text

Deciphering Gale's Book (page 2)

I did not have much hopes for the second page of his book. Most of the main text is truly beyond recognition, even after brightness\contrast tweaks. It's like someone had forgotten to hide their extra layer before rendering, actually😅... but those big scribbles in "Ancient Thorass"?? I think I could actually read them. And..gods, it brings up some...interesting things. See for yourselves.

You can notice that T is nothing like what it looks like in the base font, but I just can't see what else can it possibly be. Real T symbol looks ugly in this font, so designer might have switched it just for the looks.. So, what do we have here? Some Latin magic, apparently.

Sapien - wisdom. proin - an dverb, something like "according to" or "hence" depending on the context. In pulvinar vox - the same thing is mirrored on the first page. It would roughly translate as "a word on the pillow/cushion". The 'word' can also possibly mean 'spell', as in 'word of power'. Now, to the bottom part. InTeger viTae placeraT... it shattered my heart into tiny pieces, and now it's your turn. In this form it means "He invests his entire life". And it might be totally random and unrelated... but I feel like it isn't... INTEGER VITAE is also happened to be a poem by Thomas Campion, which I stumbled across in attempts to revive my long-forgotten basics of Latin. I'll just...leave it here, I guess?..

The man of life upright, Whose guiltless heart is free From all dishonest deeds, Or thought of vanity;

The man whose silent days In harmless joys are spent, Whom hopes cannot delude, Nor sorrow discontent;

That man needs neither towers Nor armour for defence, Nor secret vaults to fly From thunder's violence:

He only can behold With unaffrighted eyes The horrors of the deep And terrors of the skies.

Thus, scorning all the cares That fate or fortune brings, He makes the heaven his book, His wisdom heavenly things;

Good thoughts his only friends, His wealth a well-spent age, The earth his sober inn And quiet pilgrimage.

There, you have it. I'm not sure I can untangle the background fonts, but if someone can AI-clear it up somehow, then I can give it another try (or share the fonts for the reference, I'm pretty sure that my version is very similar to the one used here).

ps: Would someone pass that to Tim, may be? Somehow, I think he's going to appreciate it. I'm not doing any of those social medias, because I'm that...asocial. 🤐

Link to page 1 for anyone, who had missed it.

#gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #bg3 #bg3 gale #baldur's gate 3

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heliads · 4 days

Note

Newt x reader Bridgerton AU. Reader, the diamond of the season, is the Duchess of Hastings. She wants to marry someone who likes her as a person and isn’t after her money. Newt, son of a widowed viscountess, needs to marry to save his family’s reputation because his sister Sonya was seen alone with her fiancé Lord Aris before they were engaged. The anonymous writer Lady Whistledown is Ava, a widowed modiste who has her nose in everyone’s business, and Aris is the only one who knows.

'foxes and hounds' - newt

masterlist

The start of a new social season, although intended, supposedly, to be a cause for joy, feels rather more like a fierce uprising of dread, not celebration. Across the ton, young maidens find themselves new entrees– or, entrants– to the marriage mart. This game of rings and dances, men with ambition and women with more, will end in blissful happiness or deepest discontent. And all will be witnessed by every worthy family from one corner of the country to the next.

If all goes according to plan, an eligible would-be bride will find herself engaged to a man she loves, a man in possession of a handsome fortune and a sterling reputation. If luck slips past her, she’ll settle for someone decent, or someone without any income at all. If nothing goes in her favor, her first year in society will not be her last as a single woman. She will have to repeat her attempt the next year, this time without the glimmering aura of a new arrival, and hope that something within her has changed enough to attract a proposal. Otherwise, she will sink to the bottom of the pile of dance cards, ignored, abandoned, and grown up into a spinster. All that hard work gone to waste.

You’ve heard many young women discuss the marriage mart with nothing short of absolute terror in their voices. A good opening season can seal a girl’s fate forever. Attracting the eye of a worthy man is an impossible task for all but the best of the rosebuds, or so it seems. Most of us will settle for something halfway decent– a tidy sum per annum but nothing extravagant, a man with casual disinterest but nothing harsh. Something that can be shaped into something good, or at least ignored in favor of not being alone. Such is the romance of a married life.

You, however, hope to extract a little more out of the whole affair. As the Duchess of Hastings, you have no need for money. A marriage would be nice, the final touch on the portrait of a successful lady, but you do not require the financial stability of a husband. You have plenty of money and plenty of friends. You will inherit your estate. If you look for a husband, you will look only for love.

One would think, then, that entering your first season among the eligible women of the ton would be bereft of the panic permeating through most of your friends in search of husbands. However, when you line up with the rest of the young women to be presented to the Queen at the start of the season, you find that it couldn’t be less true.

Your stomach is in knots, even as you sweep confidently through the corridor to wait outside the door. The white feather in your hair stands tall and proud. Your dress is crisp and finely stitched, the highest of fashion yet never gaudy. You attract stares wherever you go– from the other girls, envious and jealous and heartsick, from the men, longing and cutthroat and mercenary– but pretend they don’t phase you in the slightest. As duchess, you’ve had plenty of time to grow accustomed to onlookers. You won’t allow them to interfere with you on this all important day.

At last, your name is called, and you enter the throne room, your mother behind you. You keep your steps small but light, and seem to float towards your queen. When the time is right, you sink into an elegant curtsy. The moment seems to last forever, your knees bent, your hands shaking slightly, but when the queen calls you to stand, you look up to find her smiling benevolently at you.

“I believe I have found my diamond of the season,” she announces.

The room erupts in polite applause, and you do your best to smother a smile that’s entirely too giddy to be proper. As you retreat from the room, you gaze at the faces surrounding you, trying to remember which ones look genuinely happy for you and which seem to be identifying a prize pig for the slaughter. When the town gossips all gather later to share their thoughts on today’s proceedings, you’re certain that some of them will attempt to discredit you, saying that of course the queen would choose the duchess as her diamond, but you know just as well as all of them that you deserve the honor today. You were the best of everyone here, and it’s plain to see.

Among all of them, your gaze catches on a singular man, almost lost in the crowd from all the bodies packed together but no less entrancing. What strikes you the most is that his face seems kind, and his eyes sparkle with pride as they watch you go. Pride for you, for your accomplishments. As if he couldn’t be more delighted that you of all people were named the season’s diamond.

Then you’re gone from the room, and the kind man is no longer before you. Still, you puzzle over the encounter long after your carriage takes you home. You don’t believe you recognize him, but that doesn’t mean anything to sway you towards any decision. An image of the young man swims in your mind– short, dirty blond hair, an upturned mouth, dark eyes, his face almost spritely. Clever, for sure.

You know better than to mess with clever men. Clever men are the type to try and twist your mind, convince you that they only love you then attempt to make off with your money. You know full well what marriage to you will offer any would-be suitor. This season, you may be looking for affection, but every man in the room will be after your fortune. The task of finding someone who truly cares for you will be a difficult one indeed.

So, clever men or not, you’ll have to keep your heart under close guard. When the first ball of the season comes to be, you don one of your finest dresses, and firmly admonish yourself to be careful. The game of hearts is not one that you lose. Either you win, or you destroy yourself.

You time your arrival carefully, so as to make the best entrance, and your efforts are rewarded. From the moment you’re announced, all eyes turn to you. Were it not for your extensive experience with being scrutinized in the grand magnifying lens that is the ton, you’d be nervous to have that many people looking at you. Even still, you can’t pretend you don’t feel a small flutter in your stomach.

It gets easier once you sweep further into the room, once people start smiling at you again, when the conversation picks up and you’re asked for your first dance of the evening, which you accept. Your partner is a charming man named Minho– dark hair, witty eyes, an excellent sense of humor. He’s athletic and a decent dancer, and by the time the music stops, you’re back to your usual self again. You can’t stop yourself from mentally sizing up your dance partner. He seems nice, and you wouldn’t be bored around him, at least. His family owns land. Although he’s not of your precise social standing, few are, and he’s close enough to you that it would be a respectable match.

Still– still, you think to yourself, as you move away from the center of the floor once more to consider your dance card, it’s not quite enough. You want love, you want a spark, and you didn’t quite get that with Minho. There are plenty of eligible suitors here, though, and many more balls to come. You’ll have other opportunities to select a match.

A few dances later, though, your feet are beginning to feel heavy and you’re still no closer to finding someone of interest than you were at the start. A good lady of extensive training such as yourself should have no problem dancing the entire night through with a pleasant smile on her face, but you’re still human, still tired, and your charming demeanor is beginning to pinch at the seams before long.

The music for the latest dance ends, and you curtsy to your partner, praying silently that no one else will be looking to fill your dance card for the next rotation. However, when you turn around, you’re greeted with the sight of many anxious faces. Something inside you wilts, perhaps your endurance.

Before the mobs can descend upon you, however, a figure appears in front of you. You sigh in relief to see one of your closest friends, Miss Teresa Agnes. “Teresa! And here I thought I wouldn’t have a single good friend all evening.”

Teresa laughs, her dark hair shining. “I would never abandon you. Certainly not when our diamond is sparkling so spectacularly tonight.”

You smile at her. “I’m not the only one who’s sparkling, Teresa. You look lovely.”

“Thank you,” Teresa says sincerely. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to introduce someone to you. This is Viscount Newt, a good friend of mine. I met him through Thomas.”

You smile to yourself as Teresa turns to beckon someone towards you. Teresa has been harboring a not-so-secret admiration for Thomas since you were all small. This is her first season in the social circles, too, and if she doesn’t come out of it with a proposal from Thomas, you’ll think the sky has fallen. Even now, he’s watching her fondly from across the room, trying to pretend as if he isn’t pining madly while Minho teases him for it.

“Here he is at last,” Teresa says, and all of a sudden you can’t think about Thomas’ case of lovesickness for a second longer, because Teresa has brought her friend before you, and you know him. It’s the stranger from your presentation to the queen. The nice one, the clever one. The one that caught your eye, and then your imagination.

You curtsy automatically, and Newt bows. Once the two of you straighten up, you’re able to observe him more closely. You’d only gotten a fleeting glimpse earlier, but now you can drink in the sight of him, and you do. His eyes are dark, but catch the lights like stars. His mouth has a habit of twitching up at the sides, as if he’s always thinking of a joke but just barely managing to keep it at bay. When he looks at you, he really looks at you. You’ve been stared at all night by would-be suitors, but their gazes never went farther than surface level. Right now, it’s as if Newt can see through to your very soul, and most intimately of all, appreciates it.

Teresa gives you a confused look, and you realize you’ve been standing in silence for longer than is probably courteous. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you say.

“I must return the sentiment,” Newt returns. “Teresa has talked about you many times. I’ve been quite eager to meet you.”

“I hope I’m worthy of what she’s told you,” you say.

Newt smiles again. “I believe you’re even better than that,” he tells you.

Teresa is looking at you with an odd smile. “I believe I’d better let the two of you get to know each other, then,” she says, and sweeps away before you can stop her.

Newt laughs. “She’s been wanting to set us up for ages. For a friendship, I mean,” he breaks in hastily. “Apparently, she thinks we have a similar sense of humor.”

“I look forward to finding that out myself,” you smile.

Newt’s eyes flash with mirth again, delighting you. Behind you, the music picks up again. Newt extends a hand towards you. “Would you mind if I shared a dance with you? Unless, of course, you’d rather sit for a while.”

“I’d love to dance,” you say quickly, and it’s true. All of a sudden, the pain in your feet is gone, as if it had never existed at all.

Newt smiles and takes your hand to lead you to the dance floor. The orchestra begins its melody, and you start your dance. You make a mental note to ask Teresa a little more about Newt later; he dances like an aristocrat, but he speaks so freely to you. It’s nothing like you’ve ever experienced in a suitor before.

Newt arches a brow as he steps through the dance. “Sizing me up, are you? It may be improper of me to ask, but I do hope I’m meeting your requirements.”

Your cheeks heat up. “I’m simply appreciating your mastery of this dance. Nothing more.”

Newt laughs easily. “Of course not. It’s not as if everyone else here is doing the same thing right now. Every dance partner is a strategy meeting. In just a matter of minutes, you’ll walk away knowing if I am a worthy wager, and I will do the same. This ball is full of hounds and foxes, my lady. We all know our parts.”

You glance at him, feeling a curious grin tugging at your lips. “And which am I? Fox or hound?”

Newt returns your proud gaze. “I suppose we’ll find out at the end of the season, won’t we?”

You laugh, feeling oddly triumphant. Newt has this way about him that you find enchanting. It’s almost breaching impropriety with how candid he is around you, but it only makes you trust him more. The dance ends far sooner than you’d like. Newt relinquishes you to the storm of suitors outside, hopefully with just as much reluctance as you.

The rest of the night passes in a blur. Newt is truly the only one that stands out to you. You don’t have a chance to dance with him again, but you keep making eye contact as you dance with other partners. You can practically hear his clever words in your head, catching you in the act of evaluating the suitors in front of you. Fox or hound?

When the ball ends and you return to your carriage for the ride home, you’re blissful, practically dreamy. You’ve had enough time with Newt to dream about it until the next ball, where you’ll likely repeat the same cycle over and over again until the season ends.

However, your golden mood is shattered when your chaperone sits down across from you. Her face, by contrast, is twisted with disappointment. “Do you have any idea what sort of trouble you’re getting yourself into?” She asks once the carriage pulls away.

Still caught up in the heady dream of a merry boy who smiled the brightest when he danced with you, you don’t realize the trap descending around you until it’s too late. “What trouble?”

Your chaperone’s lips purse. “You’re meant to be dancing only with eligible gentlemen, my lady. I should hope that you’d be able to recognize the suitable candidates from the unseemly by now.”

The veil is pierced, and you’re beginning to be brought back to earth. “What are you talking about? I thought I made perfectly reasonable choices with my dance partners.”

Your chaperone shakes her head, a quick, sharp gesture. “All but one. Goodness, haven’t you heard about the trouble with that one family? I can’t believe Miss Agnes had the nerve to introduce him to you, but perhaps the fact that she’s so besotted with Lord Thomas is upsetting her mind.”

Your heart freezes in your chest. “You can’t mean to say that the Viscount is not a suitable bachelor? What else could he be?”

The other woman sighs. “You don’t know, do you? My lady, I would not interfere if I did not feel the need, but I can assure you, his motives with you are purely mercenary. That man is desperate for something to cover up the follies of his family, and you, my dear, are the perfect gilded shield.”

You feel cold. “What follies?”

“His sister, Miss Sonya, was seen alone with her fiance,” your chaperone murmurs at last. “Lord Aris. I would think you would have heard his name, although perhaps not connected it with Viscount Newt. Miss Sonya and Lord Aris were happily engaged, and by all accounts it was a fine union, but they were seen together without a chaperone past dark. Quite the scandal. The Viscount knows it and is eager to get the ton talking about anything but his sister’s misdeeds. Entering into a courtship with you would do just the trick.”

She’s right, and you know it, and you hate it. “He seemed so genuine,” you whisper, and instantly know how foolish it sounds.

Your chaperone, to her credit, is kind enough to take pity on you. “He did,” she tells you, “and you looked happy together. You would be less happy, however, when you found out the truth. I would rather you know now and stay away. Men like that are nothing but trouble.”

You nod solemnly, turning your head to watch the dark landscapes rumbling past. The sun is already beginning to rise, a hallmark of a late night out. It had been a beautiful night up until this, and now the entire evening is ruined in your mind.

“I feel for Miss Sonya,” you whisper. “She was already engaged. They were just talking.”

“She knows the rules of society, and so do you,” your chaperone reminds you. “We all have our roles to play.”

And the consequence of setting a foot outside your role is instant public mortification. Yes. What a forgiving world. You immediately plant your exhausted body in your bed when you return, hardly sparing the time to wash and dress, but the only things to bloom from your rest are troubled dreams of the boy that could have been yours. Now that you know the truth– that Newt was only trying to use you for a better reputation– every interaction with him is tainted.

You’d meant what you said in the carriage, though. You did think Newt was genuine. Hadn’t he laughed more than usual when he was with you? Hadn’t he regarded you with that fierce pride of his, as if he’d finally found a mind that was an equal to his? Hadn’t he watched you with something akin to jealousy when you danced with the other men that weren’t him?

Hadn’t you wished he would only dance with you? And don’t you wish that you could truly do what you promised yourself and marry only for love, never mind the rest? It is a simple dream to think that love is easy. Marriage is not simple, not in the ton, not in your lifetime. Every one of your days will be shaped by the whims of society, even when they take Newt away from you.

When it comes time for the next ball, you do your best to strengthen your spirits before you go. You intentionally avoid him, making sure to always have your dance card full whenever the music ends. It��s easy enough to find a crowd large enough to hide you from him, and yet you still catch glimpses of Newt from across the hall, several partners down, in a carriage many behind yours. You successfully go two balls, then three, without seeing him, but it aches like a knife in your ribs when you think about what could have been.

As it turns out, you’re not the only one wishing you were with him. At the fifth ball of the season, your attempts to distance yourself from the viscount are foiled at last. Newt tracks you down, signing his name on your dance card before you can stop him before leading you out to the dance floor.

“That’s a rather abrupt way of asking a lady to dance, don’t you think?” You ask as you curtsy.

Newt bows. “I felt it was the only way of guaranteeing that you would dance with me.”

“A lady never declines a gentleman in need of a dance,” you remind him.

The music picks up, and the two of you begin your paces. “A lady also never avoids a gentleman as thoroughly as you have at the last few balls,” Newt says. “Were it not for the fact that I know you to be as perfectly agreeable a duchess as there could ever be, I would say that it was personal.”

You can’t look him in the eyes, even with his hands on you, guiding you through the steps. “It’s not meant to work out, my lord. Us, I mean. We cannot forget the rules.”

When Newt speaks again, his voice sounds hurt. “Why not? Forgive me, my lady, but I remember what it was like that first night. You were happy. We were happy, and happy together. What changed?”

At last, you risk a glance towards him, and instantly regret it. Newt’s eyes are filled with genuine hurt. Are you wrong? Did he actually want you as more than a cover-up? “I heard about your sister,” you say as delicately as you can.

Still, Newt flinches as if you’ve hit him. “You don’t know the full story,” Newt says raggedly.

“Then tell me,” you beg him. “I would choose you if I could, but everyone seems to think that you are only interested in me to advance your station. Give me a reason to believe in you, not them.”

“I can’t say it here,” Newt whispers.

“I can’t go somewhere with you alone,” you tell him quietly. “Especially not after what happened to your sister. You must tell me now, or we will never have another chance.”

“Alright,” he says at last. “But you mustn’t breathe a word of it to anyone.”

Once you agree, Newt begins to speak in a hushed whisper hardly audible to you, let alone the other couples around you. “Sonya is deeply in love with Lord Aris, and he is in love with her. So much so to the point that he has been battling a deep rage ever since that awful gossip rag, Lady Whistledown, slightly disparaged her last season. He took it upon himself to find out Lady Whistledown’s identity, and somehow, he did. The only problem is, Lady Whistledown is not someone Sonya would consider a friend. He wanted to warn her about the dangers of being anything less than perfect around that insidious writer, and he didn’t want to waste a moment. He called on her to meet with him as soon as possible. He didn’t think they would be seen, but they were, and of course Lady Whistledown ran with it to discredit them in case they would reveal her.”

You suck in a harsh breath. “It was never anything wrong, then. He merely wanted to protect her.”

Newt nods. “Lord Aris is a good man. He never would have done something like this if he realized how it would backfire. He regrets it daily, even though all he wanted to do was keep my sister safe. The ton knows their characters, too. Neither of them would do anything unseemly. The rumors diminish by the day, and soon, it will all be over. They will be happily married.”

He sighs and looks at you again. “I tell you this to explain myself, and to clear my name. I have nothing to hide from the situation with my sister and her future husband. In fact, it is only because they directly asked me not to spread this information that I haven’t gone public with the identity of Lady Whistledown herself to spare their reputations. I have nothing to fear, my lady. Certainly nothing that would make me risk the happiness of my marriage on a good rumor. I would court you because I have never met anyone like you before, nor do I think I ever will. You are utterly entrancing in every possible way. If you do not wish to be with me in that fashion, I would understand.”

You shake your head quickly. “I do want that, my lord. I want you.”

A careful smile slips across Newt’s face. “Do you mean that?”

“I do,” you tell him. “I have wanted you since the moment I saw you at my presentation. I would have found you no matter what lies they spread.”

Newt grins. “I believe I have decided something important, my lady. About your inner nature.”

You arch a brow as he spins you. “And what is that?”

“You’re a hound,” he informs you matter-of-factly. “Sharp and bright. Brave, too. But, then again, I am a hound as well. We make quite the pair, I think.”

“I think so too,” you tell him. In the days to come, rumors will abound about the viscount and the duchess. At first, there will be surprise across the ton, but then, even the most tenacious of gossips will realize that this makes perfect sense. The most clever of men and the most ambitious of women, bound together in holy matrimony. Even the best of poets couldn’t concoct a story that beautiful.

requested by @thornyrose463, i hope you enjoy!

the maze runner tag list: @blondsauduun, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @neewtmas, @mayfieldss, @hiya-itsamber, @gods-fools-heroes, @hope92100, @23victoria, @w1shes43, @imwaysthelastchoice, @fadedver, @il0vebeingdelulu

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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forever-rogue · 1 year

Note

with how much grogu wants a pet, can I request a cute story where reader is an animal/pet shelter owner that din meets on one of his longer pitstops.

they meet when grogu unintentionally helps catch one of the pets that got away from the shelter. din helps her out for as long as he’s there and persuaded by you (and a team up with his son) allows grogu to keep a pet which allows him to grow closer to you as he frequently calls you to ask question on how to take care of grogu’s new pet

thank you 💕 (and I also join in with the clownery 😂😭)

AN | It’s been a while, but I’m glad to be back with the green bean and tin can 🥰

Warnings | None

Pairing | Din x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.8k

Masterlist | Din, Main

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Lillia, don’t look at me like that,” you scratched the loth cat’s ear before giving her a playfully serious look, “you’ve had enough snacks to last a week.”

She made a sound of discontent and curled up in her little window seat, flicking her tail. You couldn’t help but laugh at her, she was always so sassy. You went around your shop, greeting all of your animals along the way and giving them each a special treat. You didn’t keep many pets in the shop, only a few that you’d found and rescued, waiting for the perfect person to come and adopt them.

“You’re looking extra colorful today Isa,” the small, bright blue and green bird-like creature chirped happily before jumping down from her perch and landing on your shoulder. You stroked her beak before holding up some seed to her, “a special little treat for you today.”

From across the shop you heard a small howl from Jado as he waited for you to greet him. You picked up a treat just for him. When the floppy eared and wrinkly hound saw you walk up, he wagged his tail a few times, a hard thump thump thumps on the tile floor. Crouching down you gave him a few pats before offering him the bone, “there you go, my best boy.”

Once you made your rounds to the rest of the animals, you went back to the front and propped the door open and flipped the sign in the window. It was a cool spring morning, and the streets were ready bustling with people. You liked that Anbediha; it was always so full of life with plenty of people coming and going.

You expected that particular day to be just like any other day. You had no clue that it would somehow become one of the best days of your life.

It all happened that afternoon when Sheiba, the small but sneaky little vulptex, had managed to outsmart (you’d never admit that though) you and sneak out of the shop. She was terribly sweet but also shy and you always worried about someone using that to take advantage of her.

“Oh no,” was the only thing that managed to get out as you looked at her empty and the open shop door. Normally she wasn’t a runner but she did enjoy the cool spring days and playing outside. Granted, you had promised to take her out later…later just hadn’t meant her going by herself. You quickly sprang into action though, not wanting anything to happen to one of your friends, “you guys stay here and keep an eye on the place and I’ll find Sheiba, okay?”

The rest of your small brood looked at you, blinking with wide eyes as you sighed softly. You hoped they understood what you were saying; they often seemed like they didn’t really know what you were saying but they definitely did. They often gave themselves away.

You grabbed the keys and closed the shop, flipping the sign in the door to say back soon! before stepping into the street to begin your quest to find her. It was already busy out and your heart constricted at the idea that she could be scared, “alright, if I was a vulptex where would I go?”

She liked to play and run around on your nimble legs, so you figured the park was a logical place to look. You started to briskly walk over there, before deciding to just run instead. You weren’t even sure how long she’d been gone…all the possibilities…but no. You weren’t going to panic just yet.

Much to your chagrin, she wasn’t at the park or in the surrounding area. You walked through the streets, calling out her name and hoping desperately that she’d just turn up. After over an hour of looking and you were still empty handed and ready to cry. You walked around to the food district, hoping that maybe she just wanted a snack.

At first you didn’t see her, but when you felt like your heart couldn’t sink any lower, you heard it. She had a soft, sweet little bark and you’d know that sound anymore.

“Sheiba?!” you started rushing towards the source of the sound, ready to fight if you needed to, “leave her alone!”

But…the situation you stumbled upon was entirely different than anything you had expected. You blinked a few times, almost as if trying to decide whether this was a dream or reality, “a Mandalorian?”

The man - or so you assumed - turned to look at you and you held each other’s gaze for a few moments before you heard a small cooing sound. You shifted your eyes away from the shiny Mandalorian to the Sheiba and found a small creature standing next to her. Relief flooded through your veins at the realization that she was okay, and then curiosity took over.

You’d never seen anything like the small green creature before, with its sweet face, big ears, and little brown robe. It reached out up and gently patted Sheiba’s side, gurgling away happily; whatever he or she was, they were definitely a child of sorts. The vulptex turned to the creature and licked its face before wagging happily.

“Is she yours?” the man’s voice, you’d been correct in your assumptions, cut through your thoughts as you turned back to him. He seemed so broad and intimidating but you could tell that he wasn’t going to hurt you. You nodded mutely before opening and closing your mouth a few times, “she was at the park but followed us. Wasn’t sure she had an owner.”

“I…it’s a long….you’re a Mandalorian?” you hadn’t meant to blurt out the question but you were so curious. You’d never seen one in person before and equated them to mostly myth and legend. You heard him make a small sound of amusement before he nodded.

“I am,” he confirmed as your face warmed up in embarrassment, “the kid, he’s my…Grogu…?”

“He’a Grogu?” you hadn’t heard of that species before.

“No, his name is Grogu,” he explained as the kid you now knew was called Grogu chirped happily at him. You swore you could feel the man’s expression softening for him, “he’s my…kid.”

“Grogu,” you repeated softly as you waved at him, “it’s nice to meet you. And you too….?”

The man hesitated for a moment, shifting his weight between his feet almost as though he was weighing his options, “Din. Djarin. Din Djarin.”

“It’s nice to meet you Din Djarin,” you smiled softly before offering him your name, “Sheiba - she’s my vulptex. Well, I rescued her and she’s staying with me for now until she finds the perfect home. I kind of…rescue the strays and patch them up.”

“That’s kind of you,” he stated simply as you tried to shrug off the butterflies that had begun to flutter around in your stomach, “not many people do that.”

“Well, I’m just passing along the favor,” you couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like under the mask, not that you would ever ask, “looks like you did the same.”

“Just passing along the favor,” he repeated softly and you couldn’t help the smile that crossed your features. A few more moments passed in which Grogu played with Sheiba, who despite her shy nature seemed taken with him. You didn’t necessarily want to leave but you decided that staying would have been worse. You weren’t supposed to find yourself gravitating so much to someone you’d barely met, “I guess we should let you get back.”

“Y-yeah,” you agreed, feeling rooted into place and decidedly not wanting to go, “I should get back to my shop. Come on, Shei - say bye to Grogu.”

Her ears flattened as she looked over at her new little friend, not wanting to leave him just yet. Funny how you were both feeling the same way, but after giving him a few nudges with her nose, she walked around to you and stood at your side. You reached down and scratched her ears in what you hoped was a reassuring manner.

“Come on kid,” Grogu seemed just as disappointed as Din picked him up, “I know.”

“Umm, I don’t know if you’re just passing through or not but if he wants to see her again or say bye or something feel free to stop in,” were you doing this for her benefit or yours? Both. Both worked, “it’s the shop between 6th and main - you can’t miss it.”

“Thank you,” and oh. You really liked the sound of his voice.

“Thank you for looking out for her,” you held up your hand in a meek little parting wave, “b-bye.”

You turned around to walk away before he could say anything, already feeling the disappointment in saying goodbye set in. You’d never experienced that with anyone or anything before. You hated it.

“I know,” you could sense her disappointment too, “I know.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A few days passed, this time without incident, before you saw Din and Grogu again. Truthfully you hadn’t been expecting to ever come across them again, but the pair practically burst into the shop. You were restocking some shelves and almost fell off your stepladder at the sudden commotion of Grogu and Sheiba seeing each other again.

But you didn’t fall or have to worry about any sort of injury because a strong pair of hands grabbed your waist. He set you back down, thoroughly planted on two feet again as you shared a look, “hello there.”

“Sorry for the…excitement,” he shrugged and you could sense that he was nervous, “he wanted to see his new friend again.”

And I wanted to see you. But he wasn’t about to say that just yet.

“Just in time,” you beamed at him and made his knees feel weak, “she’s been moping about for the last few days and I know it was because she was missing him.”

“There’s two peas in a pod,” he laughed, warm and rich and lovely, as he looked at the unlikely duo playing together, “never seen him so taken with anything before. Except frogs maybe…but that’s a whole other story.”

“I’d love to hear it sometime,” well then…your mouth was working faster than your brain and you wanted to wither away, “I just mean…if you’re planning on being around for a while or something. I dunno, I didn’t mean to…it’s just…you know what? I’m shutting up.”

“I’ll be here for a while.”

Apparently Din was going to be hanging out on Anbediha for some time. That was news to him as much as it was news to you. He hadn’t made any decisions until he’d seen your face light up when you mentioned wanting to hear the frog stories. And suddenly his mind was made up.

“Oh,” you wondered if he was smiling back at you under the mask. He most definitely was, “that’s lovely, Din. I think you’ll really like the city and there’s so many things to do, and if you ever need a tour guide, I’d be more than happy to help.”

“Yeah?” you nodded eagerly, “I’d like that too.”

“And it’ll give Sheiba and Grogu a chance to hang out,” you looked over at the two of them and your heart melted. You could get used to the idea of having them in your life regularly, “and then you can tell me all those stories. I’m sure you’ve got plenty!”

“I do,” he agreed with a small chuckle, “plenty of those.”

“I think we’re going to be great friends, Din Djarin,” the small you offered him definitely made him want to be more than friends.

“Me too,” he reached up over and touched your cheek with a gloved hand, causing pleasant shivers to run down your spine, “me too.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Turns out a while meant almost six months. It was much longer than he had anticipated, but he kept finding reasons to delay his leave, but he knew, and suspected that you knew as well, that you were the main reason. Not that either of you were complaining about that; your friendship had quickly blossomed and bloomed into more, more, more.

Unfortunately, you were well used to the fact that the best things in life never seemed to last. You just hadn’t expected the reality of it all to come crashing down so far.

“We have to leave in the morning,” he’d stated softly and you wondered if it was as hard on him as it was on you. It was. He sighed heavily, a trait you’d become accustomed to, “we won’t be for too long. I’m sorry.”

Or so he hopped.

“Whatever are you sorry for?” you asked softly, “it’s not like we didn’t know this day wasn’t coming. You were supposed to leave a while ago and now it’s that time.”

“We’ll come back,” he fully intended on keeping that promise.

“Why?” you desperately wanted him to say it, “there’s no reason for that. You were just passing through.”

“We’ll be back,” he insisted firmly and that made your heart extremely happy, “I promise.”

“I’ll be here,” you promised in return, “I’m not going anymore.”

It was the small, sad sound that Grogu made that caught your attention as you and Din looked over at him and Sheiba. The two of them had become the best of friends and you knew that it would be hard for them to be apart.

“I hate the idea that they’ll be apart,” Din mused quietly as you nodded, “I wish in a way that he could stay or she could come. They’re so attached.”

“Well, I know you’re not going to leave your kid behind,” you nudged him gently with your elbow, “and I don’t blame you. I know how close the two of you are after everything you’ve been through. But I have an idea.”

“Oh?” you could sense that he was raising an eyebrow at you, “tell me.”

“What if you took her with you?” you suggested; despite knowing you’d miss her like crazy it somehow felt like the right thing to do, “that way they’ll be happy and you’ll have to come back. Because I’ll want to see her again.”

“Just her?” he joked and you knew both the answer to that.

“Totally,” you blinked back a few tears that had welled up, “just her.”

“We’d make sure she comes back safe and sound,” he’d do anything in his power to keep Grogu and Sheiba safe.

“Good,” you whispered, “I really want her back safe.”

“She’ll be back.”

“I know,” you couldn’t help yourself as you pulled him into a hug, armor and all, “come back safe, Din.”

He hugged you back and you could hear him sigh lightly, “soon.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It had been close to a year since they’d been gone. Not that you were counting or anything…you were totally counting. Despite them being gone, you’d still managed to get to talk to them regularly, especially when Din had questions about caring for Sheiba. Sometimes you thought he might have just been calling to ask some of his silly little questions as an excuse to talk to you. And that’s totally what he was doing, and he had no shame in that. He missed you way more than he ever thought he would. More than he ever thought was humanly possible.

But he’d promised you that he’d be back and he was a man of his word. And you wanted to believe him, even if you lost a little bit of hope day by day.

Your hope was restored one random, stormy afternoon.

Business had been slow due to the weather and you’d only had a few customers stop in. You’d pretty much closed up shop for the day, but stopped when you heard the bell over the door twinkle.

“Oh sorry, I’m closing,” you turned around to apologize but stopped at the sight of your newest customers. Before you could say anything else, you ran over to him and threw your arms around him without hesitation, “Din!”

You relaxed when you felt him hugging you back, unbothered by the layer of armor between the two of you. When you pulled back you found the small creatures at his feet, “Sheiba! Grogu!”

You crouched down and hugged the two of them. It felt so good to see them all, so right. It didn’t hit until now just how much you’d missed them. Terribly so.

“I promised we’d be back,” it sounded like he was getting choked up as well, “and here we are. If you want us to be here, that is.”

“I do,” you insisted, “I really do.”

#din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin one shot #din djarin imagine #pedro pascal #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you

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superhero--imagines · 1 year

Text

A/N: I think the next part will be the last and I will be going on a short hiatus for about a month to rest and recuperate

Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here! /Part 3 Here! / Part 4 Here! / Part 5 Here! / Part 6 Here! /

Part 7 Here! / Part 8 Here! / Part 9 Here! / Part 10 Here! / Part 11 Here! / Part 12 Here! /

Part 13 Here! / Part 14 Here! / Part 15 Here! / Part 16 Here ! / Part 17 Here! /

Part 18 Here! / Part 19 Here! / Part 20 here! / Part 21 Here! / Part 22 Here! /

Part 23 Here! / Part 24 Here! / Part 25 Here! / Part 26 Here! / Part 27 Here! /

Part 28 Here! / Part 29 Here! / Part 30 Here ! / Part 31 Here! / Part 33 Here!

* “Why didn’t you tell me Thalia’s tree was poisoned, and that Ares is a…camp counselor.” If you could even call it that.

* The wind brushes against your face, offering you a short moment to think of all your grievances.

* ‘I have a lot to be discontent with.’

* Static crinkles on the other side, and you close your eyes and imagine your father shifting his cell phone until it’s wedged against his shoulder and ear.

* “I don’t remember you telling me there were monsters lurking around your school, so we’ll call it even.” In your defense there hardly ever are monsters around you these days—Percy’s a different story though.

* “How is Ares these days?” And then after a moment he adds: “and how are Clarisse and Dennis taking to having family around after all this time.”

* ‘The question of the year.’

* He takes your silence for an answer. “That good, huh?”

* “I think he’s really different from what she imagined—and that’s causing some friction.”

* Clarisse has spent her entire life with a mortal parent she couldn’t entirely relate too—someone prim proper who believed in rules and order.

* When she found out Ares is her father she attributed all her other-ness to him.

* Her rage, her rebelliousness, her desire for control — it was all because of him.

* But now, seeing her Father trail after her like a lost puppy, wearing short shorts and sleeveless tanks, and lounging around all day admitting the stories about him were greatly exaggerated—

* “Oh Hercules? He was a real looker in his prime, a real spitfire, the sexual tension ebbed over the pot a little when he slayed Kyknos.”

* “She’s having trouble coming to terms with the fact that all these ‘negative’ traits she's attributed to her father aren’t his, they’re just…who she is.”

* ‘It’s not a bad thing to be full of wrath and rebellion, after all a goddess’ wrath is the only reason I’m alive.’

* “She’s not even that bad though, Annabeth’s been freaking out about the tree and searching for clues in any book she can get her hands on, and Percy’s even worse because he has only child syndrome.”

* Zagreus snorts on the other end. “That’s rich coming from an only-child.”

* ‘It might be nice to have a sibling, especially one that was made specifically so I would have a friend.’

* “Do you think…do you think Poseidon loves Percy?”

* You’ve classified him as a degenerate for so long that the question surprises you, even when it passes from your own lips.

* It’s unimaginable to you that someone would have a child just for the sake of another of their progeny.

* But gods don’t think should children like mortals do.

* “Have you ever met Poseidon (Y/N)?” The phone crackles on the other end when you tell him no.

* “He’s not as good or bad as you’re thinking he is.”

* ‘What the hell does that mean?’

* You hear a thump beside you, and when you turn you see a certain dark-haired, ocean eyed boy.

* “I have to go Dad, I’ll talk to you soon…Cerberus’ treats are in the pantry, love you too.” You sigh when you click the phone shut, turning to Percy with a smile.

* “What’s up?”

* “I don’t know how much longer I can stand this,” he groans.

* ‘Out of the pan and into the fire.’

* “The tree right, don’t worry, what’s the worst that can happen? Zeus turns us all into trees as punishment? Being a willow tree might not be so bad—”

* “I meant Tyson.”

* ‘Oh,’

* “I thought you liked him?”

* Percy sighs. “I did—I do! I just…I don’t understand it. Why would Poseidon…have a child with a cyclops.”

* “Well…he’s got that forge underwater, right? And there’s a lot of steam so clothes stick—” Percy flushes.

* “N-no, n-not that!” His hand rotates to the back of his neck, an aggravated blush creeping up his face. “Forget the…laws of attraction or whatever, why’d he have to claim him? Everyone’s making fun of me now, it’s like I’m a joke,” he huffs.

* “Is this about the other kids teasing you?” His silence tells you it is. You sigh. “Look Percy…it’s easy for them to make fun of you for a monster-sibling when they’ve got other demi-gods to pick from.”

* His eyebrow quirks up.

* “What do you mean by that?”

* How do you explain this to a child?

* “Tomorrow, if something happens to your mom, Hades forbid, what are you going to do? Who do you have to rely on in this world?”

* “I have you.” He doesn’t hesitate for a second, not even a blink, the answer slips pass his lips like the most basic truth of this world. “A-and I have Annabeth and Grover, and Ch—” He lists each one off using his fingers as a marker, and you feel a soft smile curl on your mouth.

* “And you have Tyson. Even if we’re all pulled away from you because of the Gods' whims, Tyson will always stay on your side.”

* ‘A child literally made to always be on your side—so you’re never alone.’

* You can see that he understands now by the misty glaze in his eyes.

* “I feel like a dick.” Percy mumbles, his face in his hands. All you can offer is a laugh. “I-I’m going to go find Tyson and give him a hug.” Percy abruptly stands up, remembering that he doesn’t know where he’s heading.

* “He’s probably with Beckendorf!” You shout, earning a bright smile and wave from percy as he starts jogging to the forge.

* ‘What a good kid.’

* You feel good about how that went. But the peace doesn’t last long, because a moment later you feel the presence of someone standing behind you.

* You turn to see everyone’s favorite forever flushed, golden curls, counselor.

* He fidgets with makeshift camp halfblood tank top, the hem rolled between his index finger and thumb.

* “Can I sit?” He asks, and he looks so awkward you can’t bring yourself to say ‘no’—not even as a joke.

* You pat the spot beside you on the picnic blanket.

* “It’s a free hill.” Ares sits down beside you, whistling at the spread of food.

* “Are these Persephone’s baklava?” He picks up the container, a smile creeping on his mouth. “Persephone always made the best stuff, even in the old days.”

* “I didn’t know you knew Persephone.”

* “Of course I did, she was famous back in the day—still is.” The Tupperware container creaks as he snaps off the lid. “I still remember watching her turn Titan-sized and then beat the shit out of Kronos.” He snorts, popping a baklava in his mouth.

* His head tilts to the side, the dots in his mind slowly connecting. “I guess that’s something you have in common.”

* ‘I can’t believe Persephone fought Kronos and won…I can’t believe I fought Kronos and won!’

* Looks like beating the odds is in your blood.

* “You know Persephone is kind of the reason Dite and I broke up—”

* A horrifying thought occurs to you, “were you and Persephone…a thing?”

* “Not really, except for those two weeks I pretended I couldn’t read and we kissed a bit—” that’s concerning, “—basically I found out Persephone was a fertility goddess and I thought it would be cool to torment my dad a little by marrying her—” that’s also concerning. “—how was I supposed to know Dite, who’d been fucking all over Thebes and Olympus by the way, was going to get pissed off about it, or that Kore’d already met her Underworld Daddy.”

* Somehow, that’s the most sensible part of the story.

* There’s a moment where the only sound is the wind scraping against your ear and Ares munching on baklava.

* “What’s your endgame with Aphrodite? She’s married to your brother—”

* “Don’t remind me,” he scoffs.

* “—do…do you want to steal her away from him?”

* He looks at you like you just suggested you both go out and kick some puppies.

* “Of course not, I just want to join them.”

* Oh…OH!

* ‘That makes sense.’

* “Hephaestus will agree as long as she’s happy.” He pops another piece of baklava in his mouth. “All I have to do is get Aphrodite to fall in love with me.”

* It’s not the worst thing you’ve ever heard. In a way they’re all already family considering Hephaestus raised most of Aphrodite and Ares’ children.

* “Knowing you, it'll happen sooner or later.” Despite his faults, Ares is earnest and honest. You can…kind of see the appeal.

* He returns your words of kindness with a small smile.

* “I gave you some juicy gossip so now it’s your turn to give me something—“

* ‘And just like that he’s trash again.'

* “—how do I make Clarisse like me?”

* ‘And just like that he’s redeemed himself.’

* “Why do you think she doesn’t like you?”

* He gives you a look.

* “Right.”

* “I…I didn’t realize she’d gotten so big.” He mumbles. “Last time I checked the was barely bigger than my palm, I guess, I thought she’d always be that small.”

* Gods don’t age the same way humans do, that’s why it’s so hard for them to change or realize things.

* It’s sad, but it makes sense that from Ares perspective he turned away for a second and realized his child had completely grown up.

* “Just give her some time, she’s coming to terms with a lot, you can’t expect her to have a great relationship after you’ve been gone her whole life.”

* Ares nods, standing up and brushing off dirt from his shorts.

* “That’s the most boring advice I’ve ever got,” A small smile curls on his face. “but I’ll still give it a try.”

* You sigh, peace and quiet at last.

* ‘All it cost me was an entire tub of Persephone’s baklava.’

* You’re thinking of laying back and soaking in the sunlight when you hear footsteps get closer.

* ‘Probably Dionysus here to complain about the tree, it’s all coming full circle.’

* “A picnic delivered from the Underworld?” Your ears prick at the sound of the voice, unfamiliar and masculine.

* You turn slowly. A man with curly black hair, bright blue eyes, and dressed in a red tracksuit looks back at you.

* Even though you can’t place him you can feel power radiate off of him. His mouth twitches up in a lopsided smile

* “Do you mind if I join you?”

Tag list

@holybatflapexpert @atomicsophia @fadingunknowncoffee @hopeworldsupremacy @padsfirewhisky @magical-dreamland @kookiedesi @kiritokunuwu @bleepmorp @flickeringlizard @luckyzipperscissorsbat @jessiegerl @undecided-as-always @officiallydarkgeek

@marsbars09 @yizhoutv @alicesolengg @luxaryllis-primaryacc @time-shardz @cryinghotmess @crow-with-a-hoodie @the-nerdy-fangirl @crackedpumpkin @geekyandgay98

@lazydreamers @agentsofblinks @justsomestuffiguessman @mxacegrey @angelic-simp @astrial @babypink224221 @weaponb33 @redactedhimbo @heart-charming @psychomanias-blog @aliinunderland

@karnellius @lunavixia @cerberus-the-cutie @bes2005 @girlcrafter408 @loser-keiji @shadowsmusical @hazeofeleven @evilsailorsenshi

#percy jackson imagine #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #waking up in perrcy jackson #waking up in pjo #pjo imagine #pjo x reader #pjo #waking up in lore olympus #lore olympus x reader #lore olympus imagine #lore olympus #hades x reader #hades imagine #hades #waking up in hades #waking up in series #superhero--imagines

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cherryjuiceblues · 1 year

Text

𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐄 | 𝟐

➯ Y/N DOESN’T FOLLOW INSTRUCTIONS AND HARRY IS WORRIED ABOUT THEIR CONNECTION. ✰ demon!harry no warnings. 𝑤𝑐 8.6k ッ vanilla lime masterlist

Y/N spends the weekend suppressing her urge to search for information on demons. Not only because it will further confirm that they exist (and/or that her mental health is rapidly declining) but also because she can’t get Harry’s parting words out of her head:

I’ll know if you break your promise.

Y/N still doesn't know how and is unsure if finding out will make things better or worse. But if he really does possess some sort of omniscience then what was to say he wouldn’t know of her anxious probing? It was safer not to test that theory, she thinks. So why were her fingers itching so severely?

From the moment she wakes up, ridiculously early thanks to Harry’s two p.m. bedtime, there is nothing else she can think about. At first, she carries on as normal, finding out once again that she is still out of her favourite cereal and immediately shoving her shoes on angrily; making the trip to her local shop just to buy a box of Frosted Wheats. Although she doesn’t spend longer than fifteen minutes outside her house, it is the most paranoid journey of her life. Every corner seems darker, and every person feels suspicious. Ever since finding out demons are roaming around, previous day-to-day activities feel somewhat feeble to Y/N, like life itself is even more insignificant than she already thinks it is. She knows dwelling on that for too long is never a grand idea, but it is difficult not to when she feels so exposed and defenceless. Because who ever prepares to deal with demons? There’s no crash course on what to do if you run into one, and she already has! Not to mention, she’s sure her experience was an abnormal one and she should probably be sending a thankful prayer to someone.

So Y/N makes her way home in a far from relaxed manner, trying to avoid suspicion and breathes a sigh of relief through her nose once she has her first mouthful of cereal. She continues to plod along mindlessly following her routine of breakfast, showering, and cleaning; finding solace in the music she puts on to drown out her thoughts. Though they soon catch up with her whilst she is making her bed; laptop glaring at her from across the room, taunting her to open it.

So she does. She stomps over to it and wastes no time in turning it on and typing demons into the search bar. There, she thinks, not such a big deal anymore, is it? The results load instantaneously and are just as disappointing as she knew they would be. Music videos and definitions clog up her screen, and Y/N nearly closes the tab immediately, feeling silly at the sliver of hope she’d had—but a picture catches her off guard. Without overthinking it, she clicks on the image results and feels an intense, internal discomfort at the sight of the different depictions, all haunted and pained. They’re blurry around the edges, painted with murky colours—creatures with morphing faces and sharp teeth looming over helpless figures, feeding off of their discontent, draining their life force, ending their existence. Y/N attempts to picture Harry as one of these beasts and falls short. He’d looked so human. Acted so human—despite the obvious sorcery he possessed. She glances at her ankle, the bruise and the swelling still ever present but the pain nonexistent. He couldn’t be whatever those photos try to depict. He took her pain away; he didn’t desire it. But why is she trying so hard to make him innocent? He told her he was a killer, and that he could kill her if he wanted to. That was far from the definition of innocence.

Y/N groans and wipes her hands down her face, “What the fuck are you doing?” She mutters to herself, slamming the laptop shut and pulling her phone from her back pocket, opening her messages to type one to her friend Sarah.

are you free for drinks later?

She sincerely hopes she is.

Harry has never had a problem that he couldn’t fix. Ever since he could remember, things just seemed to go his way. As a child, he reaped the benefits of being the younger sibling, his parents wrapping him up in the softest of proverbial cotton wool which is something his sister, Gemma, never fails to hold against him. She’s constantly going on about how Mum and Dad handed everything to you on a plate. Personally, Harry doesn’t think that is his fault, but he understands her frustrations—he never needed to worry about a single thing.

That was until he hit puberty—an intense transition for the best of people but something catastrophically awful for a demon—and experienced every emotion tenfold. He started acting out, unnecessarily picking on Gemma, verbally hitting where it hurt and talking to his parents with an acidic tone. He was angry all the time, for no apparent reason, which made him even angrier until he’d built up a reputation for it. Despite popular belief, not all demons are the very definition of evil itself and where Harry grew up (on a small chunk of Earth that Lucifer had assigned demons to centuries ago, that no one knew existed), he was an anomaly for his behaviour. He was steered clear of, whispered about and gawked at for years as he shrunk further and further into himself until he was no more than an irate vessel.

Typically, Harry wouldn’t act on his feelings, letting them stew and bubble underneath the surface usually until he had sex (with one of the small handful of men and women that weren’t deterred by his personality, but allured) or found something to punch—which was more often than not a wall. But after years of hating his life and experiencing everyone else hate it too, he’d had enough.

He had been taking a walk after successfully upsetting his family for the umpteenth time, trying not to break his knuckles, when he’d heard jeers clearly aimed at him. It’s the resident saddo! Come to kill the mood, have you? He ignored them as if they’d bounced off him, which they never did and never had done, but he carried on walking because that’s what he always did. And he was doing so well, even tuning some of it out until he heard words that no one had ever said to him before. Why don’t you just kill yourself? dripping in venom, and that caused Harry to stop—dead in his tracks as he tried to process what he’d just heard. But no amount of time would have changed his mind right then and there as he turned around and stormed over to the voice with a purpose he’d never quite felt before. He faintly recognised his taunter from school, (knowing he was a bully then, and a bully now) and he felt like what he was about to do had been deserved for quite a while as he swung his arm back. The look of panic on the guy’s face was rewarding in more ways than one, but Harry thinks wiping the look away as his fist collides with his nose was a much better feeling.

That was the first time he’d ever hit someone, and he probably had gone a bit overboard, as he sat down in front of his crying mother with bloodied—but not broken—knuckles. “You nearly k-killed him, Harry,” she says through quiet sobs. She had tried so hard her entire life to prove demons weren’t all bad and he’d embarrassed her, scared her and tainted her reputation (even more so than he already did just by existing) all in one day.

“He deserved it, Mum. I’m sorry but it’s the truth.” Harry picks at the blood underneath his nails.

His father clears his throat from across the room, as he stands with his hands braced on the back of a dining chair. “Son, you’re nineteen. You’ve only got a few years until you stop growing and remain the person you are forever,” he walks over to perch on the arm of the chair his mother was sitting in, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Your mother and I have been talking, and we’ve decided… that you will go and live among the humans, to build yourself a life away from here where you are so unhappy so that hopefully you can turn your life around before it’s too late.” The words wind Harry as he sits there shocked, watching as more tears fall down his mother’s face and looking towards the doorway when he notices Gemma is standing there, despair apparent on her own face. And he suddenly wishes he could take back every bad word he has ever said as she looks at him with an expression only someone with unconditional love for a person could have. He hopes she understands as he mirrors her face on his own, a silent communication of I’m sorry. I love you.

“Harry⁠—” His mother starts but he’s on his feet, hands shaky as he nods, suddenly recognising what was happening.

“Okay,” he says. “When do I go?”

“Tomorrow morning,” his father says. “and Harry, if you’re going to hurt people that deserve it, at least make it worth your while.”

And Harry did (dabbling in other things here and there but always going back to what he knew best). He found his purpose in culling his new home from demons and humans alike much worse than the one who told him to kill himself, and Harry often laughs at how mild that now seems, in comparison to what he does—a violence that his mother will never accept, one his father acknowledges and his sister ignores.

The transition to human-inhabited Earth was much smoother than Harry had anticipated. He chose to go to northern England, where his parents had picked their accents from and found a quaint flat—albeit using his parents’ money but he hadn’t taken advantage of his mind compulsion which had felt wrong to do so early on. He worked hard, learning how to make himself available for summonings; building up his repertoire, honing the skills that made him desirable and collecting souls in return.

And he’d been going nearly eighty years now (his physical age ceasing once he turned twenty-five) and managing to find his own sort of peace of mind like his parents’ hoped, still facing no problems he couldn’t overcome.

Until Y/N.

He knows she’s the reason he feels a very sudden urge to get to the bar that’s closest to her house. It’s a deep-rooted feeling of dread that makes him gasp and his skin prickle, an unfamiliar feeling that he immediately knows he hates. And he wishes he could ignore it, pretend it is a fluke and everything is fine and run himself a nice bath—but instead he’s pulling on shoes and closing his eyes, mapping out the journey from his house to Y/N’s and then the bar before he’s evaporating and reappearing in the alleyway a jog away from the entrance. The sense of unease is crushingly strong now and Harry swears he can feel a weight on his lungs; he thinks this must be what panic is like, but he’s never known it to be so unbearable.

He wastes no time, marching into the bar as inconspicuously as a man like himself could and scanning the room. She sticks out to him straight away; sat at a table across from a woman with an easy smile on her face and a half-empty glass in her hand. Harry furrows his brows, wondering what the false alarm was all about; she’s happy (which is something he’s not seen yet) but the pounding in his chest hasn’t stopped—and he’s ready to turn around, thinking about that bath he should be in right now when out of the corner of his eyes sees someone saunter over to their table. There’s a darkness surrounding him that only Harry can see and suddenly the dread disappears—Harry breathes a sigh of relief once he knows it’s nothing he can’t handle and relaxes against the wall. But then Y/N is standing up from her chair and pointing an antagonising finger towards the demon which has Harry tuning into her voice and the worry rising once again; he is on his way to getting emotional whiplash.

“I asked you to leave us alone.” She snaps and Harry rolls his eyes muttering a fuck’s sake under his breath, but staying put, giving her the chance to not go too far. The demon smiles and despite Harry only being able to see the side of his face, he knows it’s sickening.

“Thought you pretty girls might have changed your minds.” He steps closer to Y/N and she tries to take a larger one back but her chair is in the way so she stays put. Just fucking sit down, Harry thinks, but it’s safe to assume she’s refusing to back down.

“Well we haven’t, thank you, so kindly fuck off.” This has Harry pushing away from the wall and slowly weaving his way towards her, endeavouring to stay calm. As he expected, the demon loses his attempt at charm, a snarl curling onto his lips as his hand shoots out to grab Y/N’s wrist. She gasps and tries to pull away but he doesn’t let go and the woman Y/N is with is standing up, ready to intervene but Harry gets there first.

“There you are. Been looking everywhere, thought you’d left without me,” Harry tries to smile at Y/N, attempting to communicate with his eyes to play along before his gaze hardens as he looks down at the demon. “Let go of her.” He swiftly does but Harry notices the look of recognition pass between them as they simultaneously think: I know what you are. “When someone tells you no, they mean no,” he wastes no more time on him, turning back to Y/N, “You two still want me to take you home?”

Y/N misses a beat, slightly tipsy Harry realises, before she catches on, “Oh yeah, yes please, thanks.” Grabbing her bag from the back of her chair and pushing past the demon who is still standing too close for comfort—her friend hastily following along wordlessly. “Fucking creep,” Y/N mutters under her breath but Harry grabs her arm quickly as they make their way out.

“He can still hear you,” he warns and she shrugs him off with a sigh.

“Oops,” she deadpans, speeding up so she can walk in front of Harry and out of the door.

He introduces himself once they’re outside, turning to the woman with his hand outstretched. “Hi, I’m Harry. Sorry to cut your night short.”

She accepts his handshake with a small smile, “That’s okay. He was really gross. I’m Sarah—”

“It’s not okay. Are you following me?” Y/N cuts in, hands on hips.

Harry sighs, “No, I’m not following you, it was a coincidence. I’m sorry for intervening but I needed to talk to you anyway so—”

“So what? You think it’s okay to exert your weird powers and make us leave? I was handling it just fine.”

“Uhh, Y/N, I’m going to phone Mitch,” Sarah rushes out, gesturing with her phone awkwardly as she walks out of earshot.

Harry frowns at Y/N, observing the way she reaches out for support from the wall. “Don’t look at me like that,” she snaps.

“What the fuck were you thinking? What did I say yesterday, for fuck’s sake?” He crosses his arms and his biceps strain against the short sleeves of his black t-shirt.

“About what?” She scoffs before it clicks, “Wait, was he—That was a demon?” Her eyes widen and her brows crease. Harry watches her as the realisation hits and she covers her mouth with her hand, the other still bracing against the wall. “Is he going to kill me? Oh God, what is happening?” she whispers. Harry’s gaze softens a bit as she starts to panic.

He takes a step towards her, “Y/N, look at me,” her eyes flit up to his, “He’s not going to kill you, okay? Won’t let that happen… Are you okay?” He asks.

She shakes her head, “Not really,” as she slides down the brick wall. “Is that why you said he could still hear me when I called him a creep?” Harry nods. She seems to ponder for a moment, eyes unfocused and Harry glances at Sarah who’s still on the phone. Y/N gasps, “Is that why the light around him was all murky?”

Harry snaps his head back towards Y/N, “What? You could see that?”

She nods, “Is that bad?”

Harry lets out a humourless laugh, “It’s not exactly… good. Ah fuck, I’ve been trying to ignore this shit,” he sighs, rubbing his hands down his face and scratching at his jaw.

“Ignore what shit? Start telling me stuff,” she huffs.

“Careful...” he looks at her, shaking his head, “but I suppose I’ll tell you something.” She sits up slightly, intrigued and pleasantly surprised that he complied. “I think I can sense when you’re in danger… That’s why I was here tonight. And when you were at work and I came to get you, I could sense that you were anxious. I think you were on the verge of a panic attack.”

“Are you being serious?” She was hardly expecting that.

“No, I’m making all of this up, actually,” he lowers his head in mock surrender.

“Oh fuck off, Harry, that’s not funny,” Y/N stands up from the wall to get a closer look at him. “You really could be making it all up for a laugh. Could’ve drugged me and pretended you could teleport, or whatever,” she squints at him, analysing his face and scowling at him when his lip curls. “Why have I been so willingly believing you?” As soon as she asks the question, he leans down to her height and she watches his eyes cloud over with swirls as if someone has spilled a pot of black paint right into his waterline.

“Think these are contacts?” He asks, smirk ever-present. Right. She’d forgotten about that.

“Probably not,” she grumbles.

“What was that?”

“No! They’re not contacts.” He grins and leans back, eyes clear once again.

“You back to believing me then, Bambi?” She rolls her eyes but nods, “Because trust me, there are much better things for me to be doing than pulling an elaborate prank on a human—”

“Y/N!” Sarah calls as she walks back over. She flinches slightly at the abrupt sound of her voice. “Mitch is going to be here soon, do you want a lift?”

“Uh—”

“That’s okay, I’ll take her home. We’ll still need to clear some stuff up,” Harry answers.

“Are you sure?” Sarah directs towards Y/N, and Harry realises that she has every right to be suspicious; having briefly witnessed an argument—not the most stellar introduction.

“Oh yeah, yeah I’m sure. I… I trust him,” Harry feels a little zap of warmth go through him at her confession. It was hard for her to say, made obvious by the way she won’t look at him, and he represses a smile.

“I really am sorry about earlier, Sarah. Isn’t my preferred way of introducing myself, I’ll admit.” Harry feels Y/N look at him then but his eyes stay on Sarah, who gives him a smile.

“That’s okay, I’ve seen worse, honestly. How did you two meet? Y/N hasn’t mentioned you.” She gives a pointed look to Y/N who glares back at her.

“Oh, I wouldn’t have expected her to,” he smiles. “We just started working together. Safe to say we butt heads sometimes,” he looks at Y/N and only grins wider at her scowl. “Just needed to ask some questions about work and I can’t log into the system to input some data, s’all.”

“That sounds like a fun Saturday night!” Sarah laughs slightly, enjoying the look of dissatisfaction on Y/N’s face, just as Mitch pulls up beside them. Y/N gives him a small wave which he returns with a nod. “Text me, okay?”

Y/N nods, “Yeah, I will,” as Sarah gets in the car. “Shouldn’t trust you. You’re a world-class liar,” she mutters under her breath, a fake smile plastered on her face as she waves the car off.

“You do trust me though,” he nudges her, far too amused for her liking. “I’m honoured, Bambi, to be bestowed with such a precious thing.” He places a hand over his heart and she flips him off, pivoting on her heel and walking in most likely the wrong direction to her home. “Oi!” He calls, “not wise to be on your own with a demon on the loose.” This stops her, words intended to be teasing hitting harder than either of them thought they would.

She lets herself think, really think, about it for a few seconds. What could have happened? “Harry?” She breathes, back still turned. “Was he really going to hurt me?” He’s in front of her in an instant; literally appearing, a pinch between his brows and lips downturned.

“I don’t know what he wanted to do and I don’t want to think about it, okay? Neither should you.” His tone is harsher than he means it to be and he feels like an asshole when her eyes well up, glimpsing up at him with a look reminiscent of the first time he saw her. He’s reminded of the alcohol in her system when her lip wobbles—feeling like he’s witnessed enough of her anger to know she’d prefer to showcase scowling over crying—and he’s trying to stay composed. “Don’t cry, little thing,” he sighs, “I forget how delicate you are,” Harry brings a tentative hand up to her bare shoulder and cringes at the ice-cold skin that greets him. “You’re freezing,” he whispers before he strokes down her arm slowly and closes his eyes, concentrating as warmth trails out of his fingertips and into her skin.

Y/N gasps as her body fills with heat; she feels as though she’s stepped into a log cabin with a roaring fireplace, or snuggled under a mountain of blankets, or submerged herself in a deep bath. Her eyes flutter shut, displacing a tear from her waterline, and a loosened breath escapes her mouth; refusing to mention her below-comfortable body temperature feeling silly now with the newfound intense warmth she’s experiencing. Despite the earlier drinks that had poured a pleasant coating along her throat, Y/N’s sure she’s tipsier currently than she had been thirty seconds ago. And when she feels Harry’s thumb wipe the droplet away she very nearly melts into his touch but she blinks her eyes open instead, hoping to clear some of the fog that had conveniently steered her thoughts in a much nicer direction. “I want to go home.”

Harry nods, hand trailing down to meet her own—eyes never straying from hers, still filled with unshed tears. “Hold my hand, yeah? I’ll take you home,” she lets him intertwine their fingers, hers swallowed by his much larger ones. “No one can see us,” he assures. And then they’re gone.

Y/N doesn’t like how nice it feels to hold Harry’s hand. She thinks she must just be touch-starved, but it’s hard to deny that the warmth he emits is addictive. And with the way he’s squeezing her she almost thinks he feels the same way, but he then keeps squeezing and the bones in her fingers are seconds away from shattering. “Ouch!” He looks at her briefly and then back towards her front door, relaxing his hand, but his face is far from tranquil. “What’s wrong?”

“Something’s not right. Stay here.” Y/N feels her heart drop, dozens of possibilities running through her head in a matter of seconds, watching as Harry steps up to her door and wiggles the handle. Still locked. Y/N releases a breath. “Gimme your keys,” Harry sticks his palm up and twitches his fingers impatiently as she rummages around in her bag. “Stay here,” he repeats once she puts them in his hand. “Do you understand me?” His eyes burn through her own as she nods silently. “Say it, Y/N.”

“I understand.” She doesn’t argue. Her eyes flicker around as he enters her home, checking behind her, entirely paranoid. The clothes she’s wearing are suddenly itchy and hot, and her necklace is digging in, and God does Y/N hate waiting. Every second drags on for what feels like an eternity as she stands in front of her door, hands sweaty and grasped together for dear life.

She thinks she hears Harry groan and nearly reaches out for the handle but before she can, he’s swinging the door open looking far more relaxed than he had mere minutes ago. “You can come in. It’s safe. Just my stupid mate, Niall.”

Y/N flinches, “What? There’s someone in there?” Harry nods, resigned.

“Said he tried to go to my house but ended up here. He’s a pain but he’s friendly, come on.” He ushers her with a wave, “Want me to hold your hand?” Y/N glares at him and bats his hand away—his unapologetic grin annoyingly contagious as she averts her eyes and steps past him. Sure enough, there’s a man in her living room sitting on her sofa, who stands up as soon as Y/N enters. He has a sheepish grin on his face as he extends a hand.

“Hi, I’m Niall. Sorry.” He scratches the back of his head.

Y/N is hesitant but accepts the handshake, aware of her clammy hands, “Y/N,” she replies, “Why are you in my house, Niall?” Her heart is beating out of control.

“Not so sure myself, to be honest with you! Swear I was going to Harry’s,” he nods towards Harry who has taken his place next to Y/N.

“You’re a—You’re a demon as well then,” Y/N concludes, but Niall nods anyway.

“I am. Promise I’m nice though, don’t want to cause you any harm,” he holds his hands up and Y/N glances at Harry to find him already looking at her.

“He is, I told you already. Didn’t lie,” Harry encourages.

“This is—I don’t—” she stutters, putting a hand to her forehead. To say she is overwhelmed would be an understatement; the night’s events have yet to be processed but they’re still being piled on.

“I need to talk to Niall, okay?” Harry rests his hand on her back when he notices her shallow breathing. “Let’s calm you down, yeah?” She looks up at him but her eyes are absent and Harry can tell she’s not really in the room anymore, “Okay?” pulls a short nod from her as he guides them to her bedroom. He glances behind him to give Niall a look and he takes a seat on her sofa again.

Y/N stands by her bed and stares at her hands as Harry shuts her door. Her voice is quiet as she calls his name and he faces her immediately, “This is too much,” she whispers, “Why is he in my house?” The huffed laugh she lets out is humourless.

“I’m going to talk to him, figure it out,” Y/N’s hands are jittery, scratching at her arm until the skin starts to sting. “Stop that,” Harry pulls her wrist away gently, thumb on his other hand stroking over the spot as he takes away the pain instantly. “I’ll run you a bath, okay?” She doesn’t object so he walks over to her en-suite and turns the light on. “Come sit,” he pats the toilet seat lid.

As Harry kneels down and turns the tap on he can’t help but sigh, wishing this was his bath he was drawing, getting lost in the swishing of the water as his hand makes little patterns. Y/N has an array bubble bath that he generously pours in, turning the water a pretty lilac. The warmth of the liquid lulls him into a distracted state as his thoughts escalate, about Y/N mainly. About what he’s going to do with her; with their connection. What can he do—when he doesn’t even understand it? He can feel her watching him but he’s so zoned out it doesn’t fully register, not until she gently nudges him with her foot. “Harry, that’s too hot.” He hums in confusion before looking at his red hand and realising he was only running hot water.

“Oh, ‘m sorry.” He turns the cold on. He feels uneasy about letting his guard down—even for a moment—his tired expression clear as day to Y/N. Sweat beads at his forehead as the steam from the water catches up with him and he takes a moment to stand up, coughing slightly as if to diffuse the non-existent tension he’s convinced himself of. Y/N stays where she is, looking up at him with something akin to concern on her equally-as-tired face. She thinks this is the first time she’s felt not even an ounce of anger towards him, not even subconsciously, and she finds herself reaching out. Her hand stops before her brain does, refusing to touch his elbow as she’d thought to. It stays suspended in mid-air before she clears her throat awkwardly.

“Thank you, Harry, I can do it now.” He gives her an absent nod, scratching at his jaw before leaving the bathroom and she exhales shakily, getting to her feet and testing the water with her hand. It’s not her perfect temperature and the tub isn’t full yet but she doesn’t care, as she removes her clothes haphazardly and sinks into the still-running water. Y/N feels her muscles unclench at the sensation of near-molten liquid swimming around her, letting out a tiny involuntary moan that she immediately hopes Harry doesn’t hear.

He does. He stops mid-sentence when it hits his ears and narrows his eyes at Niall when he giggles slightly. “Don’t be gross, Niall,” Harry scolds.

“Me? It caught you off guard, did it not? Almost as if you’re trying to hear her,” he smiles knowingly.

“Stop being childish. I’ve been fucking running around after her for two days. I have to be alert.”

“No wonder your scent is drenched here then.” Suddenly Niall’s eyes light up and he clicks his fingers, “Ah! That must be why I ended up here! It reeks of you, must’ve confused the ol’ brain.”

“Yeah sure, the century-old-very-experienced-never-teleported-to-the-wrong-place-before brain. That makes sense.” Harry huffs, “There’s something going on, man. I dunno what to do.”

Niall guffaws, “Are you asking for my help? No way!” He laughs again, much to Harry’s displeasure.

“This isn’t fucking funny,” he crosses his arms across his chest, voice deadly steady.

“I’m not helping unless you explicitly ask,” Niall’s grinning, completely overjoyed by having the upper hand—a rare occurrence in their friendship.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Harry’s arms tense.

“Come onnn,” Niall drags out, “Come on, just ask and I’m all ears.”

Harry is reminded of how much he can dislike Niall (which always makes him feel a bit guilty because it’s just Harry being grumpy that causes the dislike and nothing genuinely wrong with Niall) as he sighs and sits down on Y/N’s sofa. Clearing his throat, he starts, “Niall, dearest Niall,” he smiles mordaciously. “Please will you help me?”

Niall claps his hands together, a broad and satisfied grin on his shameless face, “Nothing would make me happier, old friend.”

“I loathe you.”

“Now now, what’s up? Are you having trouble keeping tabs on the sweet-looking human?” He sits next to Harry, turning his body to face him and pulling his ankle over his knee.

“No, of course not,” Niall only smiles further. “She’s an angry little thing,” he admits, debating whether he really should feed him the whole story, before deciding fuck it and recounting his last two days in full.

Niall is sat back in disbelief by the end, but also clearly still amused. “So she was just crying? And that summoned you? Are you getting soft?” He laughs. When Harry’s gaze darkens and his eyes start to turn black, Niall holds his hands up, “Okay, sorry! It’s not funny. What are you gonna do about it?”

“I don’t fucking know!” Harry throws his hands in the air, hair mussed from ruffling it so much. Niall has never seen him so distressed—it’s the first thing that makes him furrow his brows in realisation that the situation is serious. “I hate worrying about her, it’s not natural. I don’t even know her and all of a sudden I can tell when she’s in danger? I can feel it in my stomach, in my bones. It’s fucking torture, Niall.” Harry rubs his hands down his face.

Niall is stumped. Harry’s never really needed his help before, and for it to be about something neither of them has any clue about. It’s worrying for two senior demons to be out of their depth. Unheard of, even. “Why don’t you get to know her then?” he finally comes up with.

Harry looks at him through his hands. “What? How does that help me?”

“Well, maybe you’d be less angry about it if you started to like her,” Niall shrugs.

“That would definitely make things worse. You’re fucking useless!” He stands up.

“Hey, that’s not fair. This is new to both of us, Harry.”

“I know. Sorry.” He sighs, sitting back down. “But getting to know her… She’s a human, Niall.”

“And?”

“It makes everything more complicated.” They stare at each other, unsure of what else to say.

“Well, she’s not going anywhere, is she? And whilst we figure out a better plan, you can help me out.” That grin is back.

Harry sighs but welcomes a distraction, “What with…?”

“Ah, you know me—”

“Niall.”

“I may have upset a human in a very high position who may have threatened to start some sort of war—It’s nothing to worry about really, I just need someone with mind compulsion to help it go away,” he smiles at Harry, eyes teasingly beseeching.

“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that? You’re no better than the human,” but by his words, Niall knows he’s got him and he lets out a quiet cheer, patting Harry on the bicep.

“Thanks, man. We should probably do it sooner than later, though,” Harry rolls his eyes. It was never easy with Niall.

“Fine. Let’s go now.”

“Aren’t you gonna—” Niall trails off, pointing towards Y/N’s bedroom.

Harry sighs, “Oh yeah. I’ll be a second.” He tousles his hair, trying to hide his dishevelled state as he knocks on the door. When he receives no reply his hand tentatively turns the door handle, sincerely hoping he isn’t about to make things worse. An empty bedroom greets him and he breathes a sigh of relief which quickly hitches when he hears it; a watery intake of breath that anyone with lesser capabilities would miss. Harry’s hesitation vanishes as he knocks on the bathroom door. “Y/N? Can I come in?”

Y/N gasps, coughing quickly to cover it up (although Harry still hears it), “Uh, yeah!” She tries to sound upbeat—which even if she wasn’t crying would still be odd considering she’s never been excited to see Harry—but it only sounds unstable. Harry opens the door slowly and catches the panicked wiping of her face as she tries to brush away the tears before her hand disappears into the tumultuous clouds of bubbles that rest around her. He feels that steady throbbing in his gut; the desire to make it all better fighting with the frustration of feeling that urge in the first place.

The frustration wins as a condescending comment claws its way up his throat, “Oh Bambi, you’re all tearful. You feeling overwhelmed?” Harry’s brows pinch together and he frowns, which Y/N visibly reacts to as another tear falls down her face. “You’re a little crybaby, aren’t you? Been crying so much.” She doesn’t say anything; just watches him with big, wet eyes and hot cheeks as he takes a seat on the toilet seat lid.

“Did you want something?” Y/N asks, voice congested.

“I’m leaving with Niall now. Needs me to sort something out.”

“You’re leaving?” She squeaks before she can help it.

“Don’t you want me to?” He smirks, trying to ignore the fear in her eyes. They well up again and she turns her head away, scrunching them shut. She rests her head on her knees that she’s hugging to her chest, hiding as much of her face as she can. Harry’s guilt starts to overpower his pride and he swears he can feel every single tear as they fall. “I won’t be long and then I’ll come back, yeah?” But she doesn’t look at him, acknowledge him even. “I’ll come back,” he whispers one last time before hesitantly standing up and walking towards the door, keeping his eyes on her. Once the door clicks shut he hears her quivering exhale and makes a swift exit to find Niall.

“Okay, let’s go,” he breathes, taking in Niall’s expression.

“That was mean of you, Harry,” he says.

“Yeah.” His hand finds Niall’s shoulder and he gives him a nod before they vanish from Y/N’s living room without disturbing as much as a follicle of dust. But Y/N’s sure she feels a draft rattle the bathroom door as she lets out a sob and buries her head further into her knees. The water grows cold but she can’t make herself move—wallowing in her own despair for as long as she can cope with the shivering. She hates how conflicted Harry is making her feel. She’s angry at him for disrupting her life but is unsafe without him. Dependent on a man she does not know, a man that is not human, a man that she can’t believe she told she trusted. And yet she feels every single second that he is gone.

The cold breeze whips around Harry’s neck as he steps out of the Scottish Parliament Building; the feeling welcome as he breathes in deeply. Niall trails out behind him, wise to stay quiet. Harry’s guilty conscience is weighing heavily on him—the woman’s memory he’d just manipulated most definitely undeserving. But Niall was adamant that it had to be done and for once, Harry didn’t have the energy to fight him on it. “What was it this time?” He sighs as they walk towards a nearby bench.

“Broke her heart, didn’t I?” Niall tries to joke but Harry doesn’t entertain his attempted grin. “Comes with being a demon, you know as well as me. And of course she wasn’t best pleased and it all got blown out of proportion really. So thank you for your help. Didn’t much fancy going to war... We weren’t even really seeing each other—” Niall rambles on but Harry’s distracted; eyes focused on the disgruntled looking man who is squinting rather intensely at the pair from across the street. He attempts to ignore him but then the man raises his hand in an accusatory point and begins storming his way over.

“Niall,” Harry starts, whacking an arm out and into Niall’s stomach. He stops with a huff—hasn’t even seen the guy yet, oblivious as ever in his own world.

“What?” He looks at Harry and follows his eyes towards the angry civilian. “Shit.”

“Niall, what the fuck do you do with your life?”

“Let’s not get into that now, eh! Big smiles!” He says just as the man starts shouting.

“I know you! You stole my girlfriend!” He spits, stocky neck turning red.

“Ah, I believe I actually helped her, sir—”

“Don’t bullshit me!” He stops at Niall’s chin, fronts near touching, and Harry is disappointed he doesn’t find this more amusing. “You fucking convinced her to leave me.”

“I think she probably left you using her own intuition.”

“You getting smart with me?”

“Why? Are you struggling to understand?” Niall smirks down at him, not even flinching when he watches the man swing his arm back and punch him square in the jaw. His neck snaps to the side but the hit barely tickles him and Harry watches the man’s eyes widen slightly at the lack of reaction he pulled, taking a step back. Niall needs only to glance in Harry’s direction before he’s stepping up to the man himself and staring him in the eyes.

“You don’t recognise either of us. Your girlfriend left you because you are a shit person. Now go home and construct a long apology,” he nods dumbly, eyes absent as Harry strips away his freewill and gives him a little condescending pat on the head. The man stumbles away and Harry turns to Niall, wholly unimpressed. “If there’s anyone else you’ve fucked off you need to tell me right now.”

He scoffs, “Life is much easier when you can choose what you want people to remember.”

Harry just shrugs, “You could have learned,”

“Yeah well I didn’t, which is why I’m so nice to you,” he’s smiling again, completely brushing off the sour interaction.

“Right…” Harry scowls, crossing his arms. “I’m going home before someone else recognises you.”

“To your home or...” he trails off.

“I said I would go back,” Harry sighs, feeling the thump in his gut and he panics for a second, thinking she’s in danger but it settles down again. “To see if she’s alright,” Harry clarifies.

Y/N wouldn’t say she feels particularly alright, wrapped in her dressing gown and sinking into her sofa, pulling the material around herself in an attempt to feel shielded. She didn’t much want to go to bed after her bath, far too sad and nervous to try to sleep—and also aware of Harry’s words: I’ll come back. It feels silly but she is somewhat holding him to it; she doesn’t want to seem too eager but being in bed and having him appear seems like something that would only freak her out more, so the sofa feels safer. Her TV is on but she is paying it no mind, the anxiety sending her into a sort of incoherent daze as her eyes unfocus on the screen. It’s late and her head is screaming at her to go to bed but she’s stuck in her spot with her body slowly slumping further and further into the cushions until her eyelids are fluttering shut and she finally stops thinking.

When Harry arrives at Y/N’s house again, he nearly makes a beeline for her bedroom but does a double take when he sees the Y/N-like figure on her sofa. A quiet sigh escapes his mouth, frowning at the uncomfortable position she’d fallen into and wondering if she had waited for him. With tentative steps he makes his way over, near tiptoeing for the first time in probably over fifty years, and observes the way her breaths tremble the hairs that have fallen in front of her peaceful face. His fingers reach out before he can stop them, brushing the strands away from her forehead, lip twitching when she unconsciously leans into his touch.

With little deliberation, Harry tucks one large hand underneath Y/N’s knees and the other sneaks around her back, lifting her up with no effort. She whines a bit but doesn’t stir, resting her head comfortably against his shoulder as he takes her to her bedroom. He nudges the covers back with his knee before gently laying her down and pulling them over her. She must be exhausted, he thinks, as a yawn of his own overtakes him. It would be so nice to go home now; to snuggle down in his own bed, surrounded by his own smell and his own things, but he replays the look on her face when he left her and can’t bring himself to be the cause of that again. So with a sigh, Harry makes his way to the chair he was first acquainted with in her room and takes a seat, leaning back and stretching his legs out, bum close to the edge. His eyes close easily, as if weighed down by magnets. The moon shines through a gap in Y/N’s curtains and he can feel it on his face but Harry’s legs have turned to lead and he is being pulled further and further away from consciousness as he focuses on the soft sounds of Y/N’s breaths and her steady heartbeat until he too joins her in sleep.

Y/N has never been one to have many nightmares, dreams mainly uneventful. Usually she wakes with no recollection of dreaming at all which has been somewhat of a bummer in the past when her imagination had been running wild and there had been a level of excitement that she might experience a rousing dream that she’d wake up and be thinking about all day. But to no avail, her nights are always peaceful—so much so that Y/N had researched lucid dreaming when she was particularly bored one evening, not hopeful that it would work but intrigued nonetheless. The idea that anyone could make genuine decisions whilst they were unconscious was fascinating and she cursed her brain for being so intent on just sleeping.

However tonight, it seems, is an anomaly. Just like the last two days of her life. Her heartbeat picks up and Harry feels himself pull away from his deep unconsciousness slightly but he stays asleep, readjusting on the chair in his less-than-ideal position. Y/N, on the other hand, is restless as her mind pins her down and forces vivid images upon her. Dark eyes that don’t belong to Harry, but a looming figure with teeth sharpened into points that look like they would penetrate skin with just the slightest of touches. The thing corners her in the box-like room they’re in, leaning closer and closer until Y/N can see that its eyes are billowing smoke as it falls down deathly gaunt cheeks. There are no windows in this dream, no indications that it might not be real, no escape route, just the claustrophobic feeling of trying to push herself as far as possible into the wall. Her hands in the real world are clutching onto her sheets impossibly tight, having pulled them out from under the covers to cool down, but no amount of air would stop the terror sweats that have started. And it only gets worse when what she (unnaturally quickly) assumes is a demon squeezes her skin tight and pulls her up the wall by her waist, claws pinching her and she makes a noise in her dream that also echoes around her bedroom.

Harry’s ears are alert now but his eyes are yet to catch up with them, eyelids moving slightly. It’s not until Y/N cries out that he is sitting up hastily, looking over at her to see that she is also sat up, arms tight around her knees and tears streaming out of her wide, scared eyes. To Y/N, he is just a shadow—a large, dark, looming shadow much like the one she’s just been forced to encounter. When he leans forward with a small, “Hey, it’s me,” and Harry’s face is revealed in the moonlight, she lets out a loud sigh; a whimper of relief following before burying her face in her hands and trying to tame her thumping heart which is making her feel nauseous.

With shaky hands, she rids herself of the dressing gown Harry had left her in—skin uncomfortably warm, shoving it to the floor and leaving herself in her oversized pyjama shirt. Harry stands up slowly and moves to the end of her bed. “Please don’t just stand there. You look like a monster that lives under my bed,” she whispers.

Harry smiles, “I kind of am,” he chuckles but doesn’t move, unsure of what she wants.

“Can you—” She pats the space next to her, eyes watching him with uncertainty. “I had a dream—” Y/N rubs at her lip nervously as Harry makes his way round and brings his knees up onto her mattress, keeping his distance. “—you came back,” he nods, following her shaky fingers as they pick at her skin. He brings her wrist down gently. “It was really scary,” she frowns. “Could you make it go away please?”

Harry doesn’t understand for a moment, wondering how he could even possibly make her feel better, and then it clicks, “I don’t know, Bambi… I wouldn’t want to take advantage of you,” he tries but Y/N starts shaking her head.

“You won’t be. I’m asking you to do it,” she insists, looking down at his knees. “I don’t want to feel scared anymore, I want to sleep.” Harry feels his heart squeeze, guilt trickling through his veins. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. Her eyes meet his when she smells it; his signature scent, the telling sign that he’s doing something. Y/N’s body relaxes and her eyelids droop slightly and Harry can feel her demeanour shift. She moves to lie back down, turning on her side and when Harry starts to get up she shoots her hand out, “Please, stay,” her eyes are barely open and he wonders if she really means it, but he doesn't rather fancy going back to his chair. So he slowly lowers himself down next to her, elbow folding underneath the side of his head as he looks at her drift off again.

Just as he thinks she’s gone, her fingers reach and grip onto the front of his shirt lightly and she whispers, words jumbled, “You’re a nice demon, Harry. You’re not scary.” Her breathing evens out after that and her hand stays attached to the fabric of his top but Harry is trying too hard to ignore the warmth bubbling in his chest at her confession to care. Sleep doesn’t find him as easily as his head swirls with thoughts and he keeps an eye on Y/N to make sure she’s still okay. Harry’s mind only get louder when she rolls towards him and onto her stomach, head manoeuvring onto his pillow so close that her breaths hit his chin and he knows he should probably move away but she’s right there and she’s soft and she’s warm, and his resolve seems to crumble around her anyway. So he lets himself trace her nose with his forefinger, and across the apple of her cheek, down her jaw and back up to her temple. Harry’s sure their heartbeats have synced up and it makes his beat harder and his touches longer, keening at the way she shuffles even closer. He knows she would recoil at the thought of doing this in a right state of mind and would’ve preferred anyone else to stay with her, but Harry does his best to hope that he can bring some sort of comfort, calming abilities aside.

Seeing her crying in the bath earlier had hurt more than he’d realised, relishing in the distraction of helping Niall and tucking it away for later. Now that it was later Harry hates himself for talking to her like that, in aiding in her tears, in letting his anxiety of their situation overpower her obvious need of solace. He’d felt nineteen again; he’d felt mean.

And looking down at her now, as he places a tentative hand on her back, he sincerely hopes she doesn’t wake up angry at him in the morning—even though he most definitely deserves it.

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