hi mira can i pls req a sae x reader and it’s like falling in love with someone. like you know that feeling when you’re really getting to know someone and it sounds like a soft song
i love uu take care x
Synopsis: Thanks to a chance encounter on the beach, you spend your vacation trying to apologize to the famous soccer player you inadvertently offended. Unfortunately, Sae Itoshi has other plans.
Event Masterlist
Pairing: Sae x Reader
Chapter Word Count: 11.6k
Content Warnings: love at first sight, fluff, humor, teasing as a love language, sae does not understand emotions or relationships but he’s rich asf, reader has a little brother and loves eating, meet-cutes, summer romance, SEAGULLS
A/N: although sae is a difficult character for me to get a hold of, i ended up having fun with this LMAO as i’m sure you can tell by the massive word count 😭 i hope he’s not horribly ooc or anything and that this is kind of what you were looking for anon!! tysm for requesting and ily too <3
Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.
You tried to evaluate the series of choices you had made which had led to you lying atop a boy with green eyes and sand smeared across his cheeks, a blank expression on his face despite the way you were literally sprawled over him.
First: your family had decided to spend your summer vacation in Spain. This was innocuous and broad enough, considering how large the country was, so you concluded that your brother’s desire to practice his rudimentary Spanish in a more realistic setting than his high school classroom could not be blamed for your plight.
Second: your father had gotten a great deal on rooms in a luxury beachfront hotel. He was like a bloodhound when it came to haggling and discounts, so it wasn’t a surprise that you were staying in such a nice place for a relatively cheap price — and with a complimentary breakfast every morning, too! Anyways, the hotel had its own private pool that you could’ve been lounging around beside, so that probably wasn’t the cause, either.
Third: your mother had told you that the beach within walking distance of the hotel was famous for its smooth waters and pale sand. You had to visit at least once, according to her and every other travel guide written about the region, but since no one had wanted to go with you, you had decided to go alone, bringing a book, a bottle of sunscreen, and a blanket with you, throwing a dress on over your swimsuit and preparing yourself to spend the entire day soaking in the sun’s rays. This was definitely a contributor to your current predicament, although considering the miles of beach that stretched out in both directions as far as the eye could see where you could’ve been instead of right there, it wasn’t the sole factor.
Fourth: you had thought you would get hungry at some point and had had the foresight to bring a sandwich with you. That was definitely the reason. If only you hadn’t been so concerned with your stomach! If only you had just sucked it up and made the trek back to the hotel upon feeling peckish instead of being so lazy and planning ahead, you wouldn’t be in this situation.
“Can you get off of me?” the boy groaned.
“I am so sorry!” you said, scrambling to your feet and offering him your hand. He did not take it, standing on his own and doing his best to wipe the sand from his face. Then he shook his head like a dog, shaking out the grittiness from his soft hair. “I’m really sorry. I was just running so fast, and I was so worried about my sandwich that I didn’t notice you were there until it was too late!”
“Sandwich?” he said. A few paces away, a seagull landed, the remnants of your lunch held in its beak. You and the boy watched as it tilted its head back, swallowing the last few bites before cawing at you in satisfaction.
“You pig!” you shouted, pointing at it, the boy beside you temporarily forgotten as you fumed over the loss. It cocked its head at you. “That was mine!”
“Ah,” the boy said. “Your sandwich.”
The seagull hopped towards you, like it was teasing you or something, and you screeched before diving at it. Satisfied with the mischief it had caused and the food it had stolen, as well as with making a fool out of you, the seagull took wing, flying well out of reach and leaving you facedown on the ground, your stomach grumbling sadly and emptily.
A foot nudged against your rib cage. “Hey. Sandwich girl. You’re not concussed, are you?”
Being referred to as sandwich girl was so humiliating that you were instantly pushing yourself into a sitting position, folding your arms across your chest as you gazed up at the boy, who still wore that same unimpressed expression from when you had barreled into him.
“No,” you said.
“That’s great,” he said, though he did not sound particularly concerned nor relieved. “Mind elaborating a bit more on why you ran me over? You could’ve seriously injured me, and then you would’ve been in a bunch of trouble.”
“You would’ve been in a bunch of trouble,” you mocked, making your voice high and smarmy. “Jeez, what are you, some kind of celebrity or something? I ran you over because I was taking a break from reading my book, and I realized that I was hungry. Well, luckily, I had brought a sandwich along with me, so it wasn’t a huge deal. I was just about ready to dig in, when that fat pig of a bird swooped down and stole it right out of my hands! The gall! The shamelessness! It was definitely laughing at me, and I can’t stand anyone who laughs at me, so naturally I took off in pursuit, and, uh, that’s how I ended up crashing into you. Though you really should’ve been paying more attention, too. What’s so fascinating about the horizon that you just blocked out the rest of the world for it?”
“I like looking at the ocean,” he said. “But, wait. What do you mean, some kind of celebrity? Don’t you know who I am?”
You gave him a once-over. He was tall, though not impressively so, and definitely well-muscled. His hair was a warm shade, and his green eyes were framed with long eyelashes that fluttered every time he blinked. A pair of sunglasses was perched atop the crown of his head, and the top few buttons of his white shirt were undone, lending him a breezy appearance.
“You’re not handsome enough to be an actor, so that can’t be it,” you said, chewing on your lower lip in thought. “Plus, I’ve seen a bunch of movies, and I’m pretty sure you haven’t been in any of them, so if you were in the film industry, you’d be a D-lister at best, and there’s no way you’d want to flex that kind of status.”
He furrowed his brow, the first hint of a different expression than the one he had kept for the entirety of your very brief acquaintance. “What?”
“What else are people famous for?” you said. “Oh! Are you a singer or something? Were you in that one boy band from a few years ago? I’m sorry, I was too busy having a ‘not-like-other-girls’ phase when they were popular, so I never got into them. I’m over the phase now, if you were wondering, but that would be why I didn’t recognize you.”
“You are amazingly off the mark,” he said.
“I am? I’m kind of out of ideas at this point, though. Can I have a hint or something?” you said.
“Do you watch soccer?” he said. You made a face.
“Hell no,” you said. His eye twitched, so you hurried to elaborate. “My little brother is obsessed with it, so by law, I’m required to hate everything related to the sport. Do you have any siblings? You’d get it if you did.”
“Ask your brother about Sae Itoshi,” he said.
“Okay,” you said, drafting a text to your brother and sending it when you had deemed it to be a perfect blend of uninterested and cool while also underscoring the urgency of the request. “So, your name’s Sae Itoshi? I’m Y/N L/N! I’m not a celebrity, though. If you text anyone and ask them about me, they’ll probably be pretty confused.”
“Yeah, I got that impression,” he said. Your phone vibrated in your hand, and when you looked at the notification, you saw that it was from your brother.
uglier sibling: no shit i know about sae itoshi. he’s that one super talented midfielder on re al. he’s dad and i’s fav player atm.
You gulped, glancing up at Sae before returning to your phone.
me: lol wtf is re al.
uglier sibling: it’s madrid’s team lmfaooo dumbass how do you not know that
uglier sibling: actually wait why are u even asking lol
uglier sibling: did u meet him or something
me: funny story actually!
uglier sibling: WHAT
uglier sibling: y/n are u with sae itoshi rn.
uglier sibling: y/n answer pls
uglier sibling: can you at least get his autograph for me or smth???
Pretending like you were still texting your brother, you typed the name Sae Itoshi into your phone’s search engine. The photos that came up matched the boy in front of you, and the news articles made your heart pound. He actually was a celebrity, and furthermore, his earlier arrogance was deserved. If you had somehow injured such a famous player and put him out of commission for the season, then you really would’ve been done for. It hadn’t been an exaggerated sense of self-importance but an honest evaluation of himself.
“Ahem,” you said, feigning a cough to appear dignified and mature. “It seems like you are a pretty well-known soccer player, Mr. Itoshi.”
“It seems like I am,” he said.
“My brother and dad are big fans, apparently,” you said.
“Good thing you didn’t take me out permanently, then, or I’m sure they would’ve been pretty disappointed,” he said.
You cringed. “I’m sorry again.”
“Whatever. I won’t hold it against you; all’s well that ends well, after all,” he said.
“I feel really bad, though,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly. “Is there any way I can make it up to you?”
“You didn’t do anything, so there’s nothing to make up for,” he said.
“Not true! I knocked you over and said you’re not handsome!” you said. “I’d say that warrants some kind of recompense.”
“It’ll warrant more recompense if you keep saying it,” he said.
“You agree that you deserve payment, then? Great! Um…how about I…buy you lunch?” you said, the insistent pangs of your stomach reminding you that you still hadn’t eaten.
“Is food the only thing you can think about?” he said.
“For your information, it is not, but I haven’t eaten since the morning, so I’m hungry,” you said.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he said. “It’s okay. I’m not interested, and just so you know, I’ve been asked out by plenty of girls, but by far, this has been the lamest attempt.”
You supposed, looking back, that it did seem like that was your end goal. But, of course, it had been nothing of the sort; you were just planning on going to eat yourself and thought that you might as well kill two birds with one stone. It was just your luck that he had twisted your words into such a request, though! How were you supposed to maneuver yourself out of this position? If you denied it furiously, then it would seem like you were just ashamed at getting caught, but if you didn’t say anything, then it would be akin to agreeing with his accusation.
There was only one way out of it, and even though you were usually opposed to lying, and even more opposed to bullying others, it was the only thing you could think of. So, bowing your head, you clasped your hands together in front of your heart.
“I’m sorry, but you’re not my type, Mr. Itoshi,” you said. “Like I said, you’re really not that handsome. Also, I’m into tall guys.”
That was how you found yourself sitting across from Sae Itoshi in a private booth at a fancy restaurant, your hands trembling as you read over the menu items and their associated prices.
“I’m in the mood for steak,” Sae said, stroking his chin and setting down his menu, interlacing his fingers and raising his eyebrows at you. “What about you?”
“Steak is a dinner item, don’t you think?” you said, your head spinning at the fact that he had picked the most expensive thing that was served at the entire establishment. “It’s lunchtime.”
“I’m an athlete,” he said seriously. “I need a lot of protein in all of my meals. Especially because I’m so short. It’s important for me to build muscle, don’t you agree? How else will I manage to compete with the taller, better-looking players?”
“Steak it is,” you said with a faux smile. “As for me, I’ll just get crackers.”
“Crackers? What kind of lunch is that?” he said.
“An affordable one,” you muttered under your breath.
“What?” he said.
“Nothing!” you said. “It’s nothing. I just really like crackers.”
He gave you an odd look. “Alright.”
You waved the waiter over. He had been hovering around your table for the past few minutes, and as soon as he saw you beckoning him, he sprinted to your side, fumbling with his pen and notepad before reaching you and bowing.
“Sae Itoshi, sir! I’m sorry to interrupt your date, but I just wanted to say that I’m a huge fan of yours. If — if it’s not too much trouble, could I have your autograph?” he said.
Sae sighed, a long-suffering and irritable sigh. “Just take our order first. I’ll give it to you after we’ve eaten.”
“Oh, my apologies,” the waiter said. “What would you like?”
“I’ll have the steak, and I also want this sandwich, but omit the tomatoes, please,” he said, pointing at the menu items he wanted.
“Got it,” the waiter said. “What about you, miss?”
“Just the crackers,” you said. The waiter paused, but when you did not say anything more, he giggled nervously.
“Would you, uh, like some cheese with those?” he said.
“Nope,” you said. “I’m really the biggest fan of plain crackers. That’s all I want.”
“Sure, miss, if that’s what you’d like,” he said. “So, one steak, one sandwich, and a plate of crackers?”
“That’s right,” Sae said, hardly looking up from his phone when he did so. It was only once the waiter had run off to place your orders that he put the device away, resting his elbows against the table, setting his chin in his hands and giving you a bored look. “Why are you glaring at me?”
“Steak and a sandwich, really?” you said.
“A conversation with you was more than enough to increase my appetite,” he said. “Forget about that. This is the part where you ask me questions about myself and I pretend like I am interested enough to answer them.”
“Why would I do that?” you said, rolling your eyes at him. “Actually, I’m pretty sure your answer to that question will be something that makes me even more annoyed than I already am, so don’t bother. What’s your favorite movie?”
“You’re not going to ask me about soccer?” he said. “It’s Taxi Driver, by the way.”
“I don’t know that much about soccer, so what would I even ask? Based on what I’ve seen from the matches my brother and dad watch, it’s just a bunch of sweaty guys kicking around a ball and pretending like they’re dying whenever another player happens to look at them the wrong way,” you said. “Oh, actually, I am curious about that. How many of those injuries are real? Have you ever faked getting hurt?”
“Almost none of them,” he said. “Generally, players will overreact for the sake of entertainment and the possibility of the opposition receiving yellow cards. I’ve never needed to do anything like that, and I never want to, because it looks stupid. Also, soccer is more than that mediocre description you just gave me.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” you said. “Man kick ball. Ball go in net. Man happy. That’s the extent of it.”
“Women play soccer, too,” he said.
“It’s the same concept there, but with women instead of men. Not the argument you thought it was,” you said.
“I can’t believe you actually dislike soccer,” he said.
There was definitely some irony in the fact that you couldn’t care less about his chosen sport, and yet you were the one who had somehow finagled your way into eating with him — even if you were the one who was paying. There were so many people who’d do anything to be in your place, but to you, it was a begrudging chore that you were only performing because you felt obligated to. Mentally, you had already marked the entire encounter down as something that you’d laugh about to your friends later; a fun story you’d tell at parties, but little else.
“Like I told you earlier, I’m the older sister. If I didn’t rag on my brother’s interests, then I couldn’t claim that title in any way that mattered,” you said. Sae’s eyes flicked down to the ground.
“You should be nice to your brother when you can,” he said.
“Are you some kind of an only child or saint, then? There’s no way you’re saying that if you have a normal relationship with any possible siblings,” you said.
“I have a little brother,” he said. “Our relationship is okay. I haven’t seen him in a while, though.”
“Long distance?” you said, reaching over to pat him on the hand sympathetically. “That’s the worst. I miss my friends and my pets already, and I’m only here for vacation.”
He snatched his hand away. “You make it sound like we’re dating or something. It’s alright. I’m sure it’ll be the same as it was whenever I go back.”
“True, it’s not like he can dump you and find a new brother who’s both better and more conveniently located than you are. He’s kind of stuck with you forever,” you said.
“Enough about my brother,” he said. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“Okay,” you said. “What TV shows do you watch when you’re bored?”
The two of you continued on in that mindless manner until your food arrived. Your mood, which had steadily been rising as Sae proved himself to be, if nothing else, a willing conversationalist, rapidly plummeted as the waiter set the steak and sandwich in front of Sae and the crackers in front of you.
“Enjoy your meal,” the waiter said.
“I’m sure one of us will,” you said, picking up a cracker and biting into it rebelliously. Sae began to cut his steak into small pieces, using his fork to demurely place the meat on his tongue, doing nothing to disguise the indulgence of eating such a wonderfully prepared meal while you were stuck with crackers.
“What a shame,” Sae said when he was about halfway through his steak. You hadn’t spoken since the food had come, mostly because you were too busy fervently hoping that he would choke and you would somehow be awarded a free meal as an apology on the restaurant’s part, so you jumped at the sound of his voice cutting through the silence. “My eyes were bigger than my stomach. I don’t think I’ll be able to eat that sandwich after all.”
“We should send it back, then,” you said.
“What sort of place do you think this is?” he said. “It’s already been ordered, so it’s ours now.”
“Are you serious?” you said. “What now? I’ll have to pay for something that you didn’t even eat!”
“You’ll just have to have it,” he said.
“Me?” you said, already salivating at the delectable sandwich, the bread which was taunting you. Come, it seemed to be calling out to you. Eat me. You know you want to. “I guess that’s a sensible prospect. Someone’s going to have to take it.”
“Someone will,” he agreed, sliding the plate across the table and stealing a cracker for his troubles. “It might as well be you. My coach will be pretty upset if I get stomach cramps next season because I overate too much on my off time. I’d have to tell him that it was your fault, and then you’d have all of Re Al after you, and you don’t want that. They’re relentless.”
Your fingers inched towards the sandwich. “I definitely don’t. That sounds scary.”
“It would be amusing,” he said. “A waste of resources, though. They might cut my salary to make up for it. ”
“Then the only solution is for me to eat this sandwich,” you said.
“Essentially,” he said. You gave in, taking an enormous bite of the tantalizing sandwich and exhaling in delight. It really was as good as the exorbitant price tag claimed it would be, and although you would never buy such a thing for yourself, you found that you were a little more grateful for the series of events that had led you to be in this position now that your stomach was finally being greeted with something substantial.
“It’s good,” you said, your words muffled by the napkin you held in front of your mouth as you finished chewing. “I can kind of get why they charge so much now. It’s still way more than any sandwich should ever cost, ever, but…I kinda get it. Is your food good, too?”
“It is,” he said.
“Alright!” you said, giving him a double thumbs up. “Then you can consider this a worthy apology! Let’s finish eating and be done with the entire mess.”
“Hm? But how can it be a worthy apology when I’m the one who paid for everything? To me, that doesn’t sound like an apology at all,” he said. You froze, your mouth wide open, the sandwich still halfway to your mouth and drooping in your hands. Sae looked at you, still expressionless, though if you really focused, you would’ve noticed something like mirth dancing in his irises.
“What do you mean?” you said. He unlocked his phone and showed you his screen.
“You can pay by app here,” he said. “I did it as soon as we were done ordering. I was going to tell you after you ordered what you wanted for yourself, but I wasn’t expecting you to be so frugal that you’d really only order crackers!”
“But — but I was supposed to pay! To apologize for—”
“You don’t have to say it,” Sae said sourly, cutting you off. “Believe me, I remember exactly what you have to apologize for, and I’m not going to forget. I just paid this time because I was feeling generous, but you still owe me.”
It was a little suspicious, but you didn’t have any reason to accuse him of anything, so you only narrowed your eyes at him. Taking another bite of your sandwich, you mulled over the latest reveal. He was paying for the entire lunch? You still owed him? You could manipulate that in your favor, then.
“Tomorrow morning, I’ll pay for your breakfast,” you said. “The hotel I’m staying at has complimentary breakfast for guests, but outsiders can eat for a certain fee. I’ll pay for your entrance, and then we can be even.”
“Sure,” he said. “I eat breakfast early, though.”
“How early?” you said.
“I have a snack at 7:00 a.m., before I go for my morning run, and then I eat a proper meal afterwards,” he said.
“Oh!” you said. “Any chance you could not do that?”
“It’s part of my training regimen,” he said. “How about you pay for my food and come on my run with me?”
“I hate running,” you said.
“You’re apologizing. It’s supposed to be an agonizing process,” he said. “You’ve called me short and ugly at least three separate times already, not to mention the entire slamming into me ordeal. It’s really the least you can do.”
“7:00 it is,” you said, though you were fighting back tears at the mere thought of getting up so early while on vacation. “Give me your phone.”
“No way,” he said, holding the phone away from you while you tried to swipe at it. “What are you going to do, post something embarrassing on my social media accounts?”
“Why would I do that?” you said. “I was going to text myself so I had your number and could send you my location for tomorrow.”
“Or you could tell me which hotel you’re staying at now, and then my phone is entirely removed from the equation,” he suggested.
“Do you think I remember the name?” you said. “That’s a rhetorical question, by the way. I don’t.”
He handed you his phone with an aggravated huff. “Fine. Don’t abuse the privilege. I only give important people my contact information.”
“Woah, you really are stingy,” you said, scrolling through his contacts list. All of them either had the designation of work attached to their profiles, or they were clearly members of Sae’s family.
Clicking on the plus sign in the corner, you created a new contact for yourself, typing in your number and giving yourself the name Y/N L/N — sandwich. It fit the naming conventions he had going on, and if it weren’t for the reminder that you were the so-called ‘sandwich girl’, you doubted he would remember who you were in the first place.
“Of course I am. Imagine I gave every crazy fan I met my number. I’d have a million stalkers before you could say Re Al,”he said.
“I’m not a crazy fan. To clarify, I’m not a fan in the first place,” you said, texting yourself from his number before taking out your own phone and responding to the message with a thumbs up.
“Correct, which is why you get my number,” he said.
“I feel so honored,” you said dryly. “Actually, you know what? I would feel honored, if it weren’t for the fact that you’re only giving it to me because you want to wake me up at an unholy hour and make me run with you before paying for your breakfast.”
“Would you rather pay for this meal?” he said, showing you the receipt he had been emailed. Your eyes widened, and then you shook your head rapidly.
“Nope! See you tomorrow!”
The next morning, you tiptoed around the hotel room as you got ready, trying your best not to wake your mother up. She, and the rest of your family, had been up late last night, going out for dinner and dessert well past your bedtime. Far too embarrassed to tell them the realreason you were going to sleep early, you had said you were sick and went to bed as soon as the sun set.
Angrily gnawing on a granola bar from your mother’s emergency stash, you stomped down the spiraling hotel staircase, your eyes still bleary as you texted your family group chat that you were going out for a morning walk but would be back for breakfast.
Sae Itoshi was waiting for you in the lobby, doing some weird stretching routine that involved pressing his foot against the wall and leaning over it. You watched him, bemused, wondering which muscles he was trying to stretch before giving up and deciding it was probably one of those pro moves that you were too uninterested and unathletic for.
“Oh, you’re here,” he said. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” you said, giving him another one of the granola bars you had taken from your mother’s backpack. “Sorry, it’s sort of smushed. It’s been in a backpack for the last few days.”
He pinched the wrapper between his forefinger and thumb, looking at the granola bar with a disgusted expression. You didn’t think it was thategregious, but according to Sae, it must have been all but an offense against humanity, as he tossed it into the trash can within seconds of having it within his grasp.
“I already ate my snack,” he said.
“Why did you throw that away? I could’ve eaten it!” you said.
“That thing had probably melted and reformed at least twice. It was most definitely radioactive. I did you a favor, so you should say thank you,” he said.
“Thank you, Mr. Itoshi, for protecting me from the horrors of a slightly misshapen granola bar. I’m sure that, by throwing away that still edible brick of deliciousness, you have done me a great service. Possibly, you have even saved my life. I am eternally grateful,” you said.
He snorted. “You’re terrible at groveling. No wonder you have to do all of this ridiculous stuff to apologize to me instead of just saying sorry and moving on like a normal person.”
“Look, it’s a product of my upbringing,” you said. He finished stretching and headed out of the door; you followed after him with a smile at the hotel concierge, who seemed surprised to watch you go — whether it was the hour or your company, you weren’t sure. “Whenever my parents did something to upset me, they never apologized. They just came to my room with a bowl of fruit they had cut for me.”
“At least you got fruit,” he said. “My parents just told me to go practice soccer until I had cooled off.”
“Wow, really? That’s hardcore,” you said. Sae began to jog, and you did the same, though it was closer to a run for you than anything. “Did you just kick around the ball until you were less mad?”
“Pretty much,” he said.
“How horrible,” you said.
“Eh, it’s fine. It was a good way to get my anger out, and it had the added benefit of making me better at the sport, so it was pretty constructive overall,” he said.
“I still can’t imagine it,” you said, shaking your head. “What’s it like, being a professional athlete? Your entire life revolves around a game. What about when you can’t play anymore? When you’re too old, or if you get injured?”
His upper lip curled. “Do you want that to happen or something? Why are you speaking it into existence?”
“Not the injury part, but everyone grows old. You can’t stop that,” you said.
“I’ll play for as long as I can, and then I’ll coach for longer,” he said. “After that, I’ll retire and make sure my kids follow in my footsteps. Athletes make a lot of money, so I luckily won’t ever have to worry much about my finances.”
“What if your kids don’t want to play soccer?” you said. He actually sneered this time, the expression at home on his cold face.
“What else would they do with themselves? If they don’t want to play soccer, or if they have no talent at it, then they’re definitely not my children in the first place,” he said.
“Hm, maybe cooking? What if they want to be a chef?” you said.
“Then I’d wonder how your kids snuck into my house,” he said. You gasped, though it was as much for breath as it was out of offense.
“Stop it! You just happened to catch me at a hungry time!” you said.
“Sure,” he said.
“Just entertain the hypothetical that you really did somehow father children that were into cooking instead of soccer. How would you react?” you said.
“I would put them up for adoption,” he said.
“Seriously?” you said.
“No, obviously not,” he said. “What kind of person do you think I am? Why did you actually find that to be within the realm of possibility?”
“I think you’re some kind of soccer fiend. Who knows how dedicated you are to the cause?” you said.
“Not that dedicated,” he said. “I’d be disappointed if my kids can’t play soccer, and our relationship would probably be a bit distant, as I don’t know much about anything else, but I wouldn’t disown them.”
“You don’t know much about anything besides soccer? That’s a little sad,” you said.
“Kind of,” he said.
“Do you wish you knew about other things?” you said.
“Everyone has something they specialize in. It’s not uncommon for someone to know a lot about one thing and only a little about others,” he said. “My ‘thing’ is soccer. If it wasn’t that, then it’d be something else, so if I was in the business of wishing, I’d always be unsatisfied.”
You were already panting for breath when Sae picked up the pace, though he had not so much as broken a sweat yet. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, taking in your obvious struggles, and then he made the decision to not slow down at all.
“I get it,” you said. “You’ll face no judgment from me.”
“Like I would care if you did judge me,” he said. “You’re already dying, and we haven’t even started running yet.”
“This isn’t running?” you said. “What the hell? How much faster can you even go?”
“If you think that this is anywhere near the pace of an average soccer match, then I don’t even know where to begin with you,” he said.
“You look slower on TV!”
“What, so you think I’m slow, too?”
You and Sae returned to the hotel in markedly different conditions. He wasn’t even warm, still appearing to be perfectly put together and entirely perspiration-free, smelling faintly like body soap and cologne. On the other hand, you were still trying to regain your wits about you, leaning on his shoulder so that you did not fall over from exhaustion.
“This is embarrassing for you,” he informed you as you walked towards the breakfast area.
“You’re a professional athlete and I’m a normal girl! It would be embarrassing for you if I could keep up!” you argued weakly.
“That would be true, if I wasn’t going easy on you,” he said, pulling out a chair for you and helping you into it, brushing his arm off when he was sure you were seated. “I’m going to go to the bathroom. Be right back.”
“Have fun,” you said, resting your head in your hands, already knowing what you wanted to get. “We can walk through the buffet together. I’ll take the time to recover.”
“You do that,” he said.
While he was gone, you opened your phone, catching up on all of the texts in the family group chat that you hadn’t been able to read while you were attempting to run with Sae.
me: going for a morning walk but i’ll be back for breakfast
me: just wanted to let you all know so you weren’t worried!
uglier sibling: yeah nobody was worried LMFAO
mom: Hope you’re feeling better, honey!
dad: Make sure you’re back before 10. That’s when the complimentary breakfast ends, and we’re not paying for overpriced toast with jam.
uglier sibling: i still can’t believe u went for a morning walk
uglier sibling: like
uglier sibling: since when do u voluntarily wake up in the mornings at all let alone leave ur bed LET ALONE TAKE A WALK
uglier sibling: bitches will meet sae itoshi one time and suddenly they’re fitness influencers or wtvr
uglier sibling: btw i’m still mad that u didn’t get his autograph or a photo with him or anything
uglier sibling: i bet u made it up
uglier sibling: LIAR. FRAUD. HACK.
mom: Honey, leave your sister alone. Why would she make something like that up?
dad: Your mother is right. Y/N doesn’t even know who Sae Itoshi is.
So it was a typical conversation, then. You hadn’t missed much; just your brother being salty and your parents showing some care for your well-being, as well as your father worrying for his wallet like he was prone to do. You didn’t even bother responding, just liking your father’s two messages and then putting your phone away.
“Y/N, you’re back already? What good timing!” your father called out to you from the entrance to the hotel restaurant. The world slowed as you turned to see the rest of your family walking into the restaurant, dressed in their typical touristy outfits. Your mother waved at you, and your brother faked gagging.
“Wow, you look like shit,” he said. “The fuck kinda morning walk were you on?”
“Gross, it’s you,” you said. “Go away! I’m busy.”
“You don’t even have any food with you,” he pointed out. “Can I sit with you? The parents are way too chipper in the mornings.”
“No!” you said.
“But there’s an empty seat at your table. Are you saving it for someone?” he said.
“Yes,” you said, wishing that for once they would’ve all slept in instead of getting here at the exact time that you and Sae had.
“No, you’re not,” he said.
“Come on, you two, let’s sit together and have a family breakfast!” your father said, motioning you and your brother over from where he and your mother had settled at a four-person table. Your brother gave you a pleading look.
“I’ll owe you forever,” he said. “I’ll grind on all of your video games for you the entire plane ride home!”
“I’m not lying, dude, I actually am sitting with someone. Now fuck off and leave me alone!” you hissed.
“Who?” he said, crossing his arms. “Your imaginary friend? Or your imaginary boyfriend!”
“Excuse me? Sorry, I was sitting there. Do you mind—?”
The most comical expression you had ever seen flashed over your brother’s face just then. It was horror mixed with incredulity mixed with extreme confusion. He turned slowly, his jaw dropping as he made eye contact with Sae Itoshi, whose dry countenance and perfect posture were as off-putting as ever.
“What?” your brother said. “What is going on?”
Sae sat opposite you. “This hotel has the most confusing first floor layout I’ve ever encountered. It took me ages just to find the bathroom.”
“There’s signs. Can you not read?” you said. He stared at you dully.
“I can read. I just happened not to look up at them,” he said.
“If I didn’t want to pay for even more food, I’d make another short joke, but I shall refrain,” you said.
“That was cutting it close,” he said.
“Y/N. My beautiful, amazing, wonderful older sister,” your brother said.
“Yes?” you said, preparing yourself for the incoming explosion. “Also, that’s not what you were calling me in the group chat earlier, was it?”
“Is that Sae Itoshi?” he said.
“Liar, fraud, hack, was that what it was?” you said. “Run along, loser. Maybe if you were nicer to me, I’d let you sit with us.”
Your brother opened his mouth to argue, but then, like he had remembered he was standing in front of his idol, he hung his head and trudged off, scuffing his toes against the floor as he did and giving you a betrayed look over his shoulder.
“That’s your little brother?” Sae said.
“Yup,” you said. “Your self-proclaimed biggest fan.”
“And you made him go sit with your parents instead of talking to me? You’re super mean, big sister,” Sae said.
“He wouldn’t shut up if I let him stay here, and considering the goal of this is for you to eat and then leave me alone for the rest of my vacation, that would not be conducive,” you said.
“I see,” he said. “I didn’t realize that was the goal.”
“Isn’t it yours, as well? I’m sure you’d like to enjoy yourself on your time off from soccer,” you said.
“Who says I’m not enjoying myself?” he said. You furrowed your brow at him.
“You’ve had the same expression on your face every time we’ve spoken,” you pointed out, lowering your eyelids and pursing your lips in an imitation of his resting mien. “Like this. It’s totally amphibious.”
“Amphibious?” he repeated. “What does that even mean?”
“You don’t know what amphibious means? Man, when you said you only focused on soccer, I didn’t think it was this bad!” you said.
“I know what amphibious means! I just don’t see how the word applies,” he said.
“Oh, right. Well, you kind of look like the frog emoji,” you said. “Sorry, I could’ve been clearer. That’s my bad.”
“Were you dropped on the head as a baby? I’m asking this from a place of concern, not anger,” Sae said. “It’s because you say so many nonsensical things. After all, I look nothing like the frog emoji.”
“Sure, and people tell me I look like a famous actress,” you said.
“Really?” he said.
“No, I thought we were both saying things that aren’t true,” you said.
“I think you look like a famous actress,” he said. “There. Now we’re both saying things that are true.”
“Well done, Mr. Itoshi! That was clever,” you said, knowing when to concede.
“Thank you,” he said. “Let’s go get our food now. If you die of starvation on my watch, it’ll be a major scandal for Re Al.”
“Your manager must love you,” you said. “So conscientious of your public image.”
“Nope, he’s usually pretty pissed at me,” he said as the two of you got in the buffet line.
“What for?” you said.
“Contrary to what you think, I’m pretty unconcerned with my public image. I’m a soccer player, not some kind of philanthropist or actor or whatever,” he said. “What does it matter if I offend people? My value is in playing well, not being friendly or kind.”
“No one ever accused you of being either of those two,” you said, spreading butter and jam over your toast. “You’re not that bad, though.”
“You’re not that bad, either,” he said. “At least, you’re better company than my manager.”
“I’ll take it as a compliment,” you said. He scoffed.
“You have low standards,” he said.
“Yours are lower,” you said.
“Very mature response.”
“Thanks!”
Sae was a pretty agreeable breakfast partner. He wasn’t as impossibly cheerful as your parents, who generally drove you crazy with their talkativeness so early in the day, but he also wasn’t as silent and closed off as your brother, who was prone to snapping at others until he had finished at least half of his meal. As with lunch yesterday, it was almost an enjoyable experience, right up until you remembered whose card he was eating on.
“Where are you going?” he said when your plates had been cleared and you had pushed yourself to your feet. He followed after you as you made your way to the hostess’s station, ignoring the whispers that echoed behind the two of you.
“To pay for you to be here, duh,” you said, fishing around in your purse for your wallet. “I know you’re famous and all, but that doesn’t mean you get to eat for free. In fact, that was kind of the point of the meal.”
“I already paid for myself, so you can go and sit back down with your family if you’d like,” he said.
“What? When?” you said.
“I wouldn’t spend that long in a bathroom,” he said. “Not a public one.”
“You little—! Now what?” you said.
“Now you have to see me tomorrow,” he said. “Bye. I’ll pick you up for dinner, so make sure to wear something nice, and bring your credit card. It’s your treat.”
He walked off with a jaunty wave, leaving you standing there, confounded by the development. He had paid for himself again? What was the point of making you take him places if he was just going to cough up the cash himself anyways?
“Psst. Y/N,” your brother said. You weren’t sure when or where he had appeared, but it remained that he was suddenly tapping you on the shoulder and whispering in your ear. “Does Sae Itoshi have a crush on you? If so, please ask if he can get tickets for dad and I to attend his next game.”
“What?” you said, a shockwave running through your entire body at the mere thought of Sae having a crush on you. It was so juvenile and cliched as to be out of Sae’s character entirely. “No! I just owe him.”
“For what?” your brother said.
“I ran into him, called him ugly, and said that he was short,” you said. “Indirectly, of course, but it still happened. I was supposed to buy him lunch yesterday as an apology, but then he ended up paying for us both, and then today, I went on a run with him, and I was going to pay for him to have breakfast here, but guess what?”
“He paid for himself?” your brother said.
“He paid for — yeah, how did you know?” you said.
“There weren’t that many ways the story could’ve gone. Also, I overheard you guys talking,” he said.
“Creep,” you said.
“Weirdo,” he said.
“Freak,” you said.
“Stupid,” he said. “I bet he has a crush on you.”
“Why would he? We have zero common interests, and I’ve mostly only insulted him in our very short time knowing one another,” you said.
“Maybe he’s into that. Some guys are. My one friend is — actually, I’m not exposing him like that,” he said.
“Thank you, because I really didn’t want to know,” you said.
“Anyways, where I was going with that is some guys like girls who humble them a bit. Especially someone like Sae Itoshi; he’s probably so used to people falling all over themselves to get his attention that it’s nice for him to hang out with someone who’s too oblivious to care about that kind of stuff,” he said.
“People like you?” you said. “I told him you were his biggest fan, just so you know.”
“Why would you do that?” your brother said, his eyes bugging out and his mouth forming a pained grimace. “He probably thinks I’m a nerd now!”
“You do it to yourself, buddy,” you said. “Let’s go. It looks like the parents want us to go sit with them. Think you can handle it?”
“After learning that my hero has a crush on my sister and, furthermore, probably thinks of me as some kind of dweeb, I can handle anything,” he said.
The entire day, you pondered your brother’s words. Did Sae have a crush on you? Running through his actions and every conversation you both had ever had led you to think that he did not. It didn’t seem like he liked you very much in even a platonic sense, so how could anyone begin to think he liked you romantically? It was just tolerance for the sake of his pride, that was all.
And you definitely didn’t like him. He was emotionless and conceited and teased you far too often. What did it matter that he was somewhat attractive? He had a terrible personality, and you bet that if more of his fans knew what he was like, he wouldn’t have any to begin with.
No wonder Sae’s manager hated him. He was probably a jerk to his poor employees, too.
“We’re thinking of going here for dinner tonight,” your father said the next day. “Look, their reviews are pretty high, and their prices aren’t crazy. What does everyone think?”
“I’m fine with anything,” your mother said.
“Same here,” your brother said.
“Y/N?” your father said. You were about to respond when your own phone buzzed. You knew exactly who it was texting you, and you sighed as you opened it.
sae itoshi (dumb haircut): I will be there in one hour.
sae itoshi (dumb haircut): You better not have forgotten about our plans for tonight.
sae itoshi (dumb haircut): I made a reservation, so I’ll really be mad if you stand me up.
sae itoshi (dumb haircut): Especially because you’re paying.
me: I WILL BE THERE OMFG STOP TEXTING ME
sae itoshi (dumb haircut): Okay.
“I can’t,” you said.
“Why not? Are you on some new diet or something? They should have vegetarian options, so that won’t be a problem,” your father said. “We can look at their menu beforehand if you prefer, and if you really don’t like anything, then we can find somewhere else.”
“I already have plans,” you said, your lower lip jutting out childishly. “Not that I want to! But I made a promise.”
“You already have plans? What’s that supposed to mean?” your mother said.
“I’m having dinner with someone,” you said.
“Ooh, how exciting! With who?” she said.
“I bet I can guess!” your brother sang.
“Enough out of you!” you said, kicking him in the back of the leg. He doubled over, though that did not stop him from smirking at you.
“Y/N and Sae, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” he said.
“You’re going out with Sae Itoshi?” your father said. “You should’ve just said so! That’s perfectly alright, honey. Actually, he’s the one man I’m not upset about you dating!”
“We are not dating!” you said. “It’s a more transactional relationship than that. No feelings involved. It’s just me apologizing to him.”
“Are you close enough to him to get an autograph for your brother and I?” your dad said.
“Um.” You thought about it. Would Sae give you an autograph for them? You weren’t sure. There was a chance he would, but there was also a high chance he would not. “I dunno. I can ask.”
“You’ll ask for dad, but not for me? Wow, I see how it is,” your brother said.
“Yeah, because you’re annoying!” you said. “Ugh. I have to get ready now. He’ll be here to get me in an hour. Have fun at dinner, all of you. Keep me in your thoughts and prayers.”
“You have fun as well,” your mother said. “Make sure not to bring any money with you. Gentlemen should always pay on the first date.”
“I’ll be sure to tell him that,” you said, giving up on explaining things to your family for the sake of your sanity.
Sae was aggressively punctual. Exactly an hour after he had texted you, a shiny black car was pulling up in the valet lane, and a tall, bald man in a suit was opening the door for you. You climbed in awkwardly, finding Sae to be sitting on the other side, gazing out of the window pensively.
“Hello,” you said, smoothing your dress and buckling your seatbelt. “You have a driver?”
“Of course I do,” he said. “I usually walk places when I’m on vacation, but this restaurant is kind of far, so I thought it’d be more prudent to have the driver take us.”
“I see,” you said. “Thank you, driver, sir.”
The driver hummed in acknowledgement but did not say anything else. You supposed he probably wasn’t used to talking with his passengers; you doubted Sae ever spoke to him much.
“It’s been so hot out recently,” Sae said stiffly.
“That’s what happens during the summer, yes,” you said.
“That’s true,” he said.
“You’re right, though,” you said. “It has been hot.”
“Super hot,” he said.
“Yes,” you said. “Super hot.”
That must’ve been why there was a slight redness to his cheeks. There was definitely no other reason. And there wasn’t any other reason for why you felt uncomfortably warm, shifting in your seat to dissipate the feeling in your stomach. It was the temperature. That was all.
Given the trend, you really should have anticipated it when Sae paid for your dinner while you were freshening up in the bathroom, but you really had not seen it coming in the slightest. He scrunched up his face when you argued, simply telling you that he would see you tomorrow before dropping you back off at your hotel, the receipt in your hand, his flourishing signature scrawled across the back.
“For your brother,” he had said, handing it to you before you could even ask him for his autograph. “You said he was a fan, right? I’ll get him a better one later, but for now, this should do.”
You spent every day of the rest of that vacation with Sae Itoshi. Some days, you would accompany him on a morning walk — he had softened to slowing his pace, so that he was only barely jogging instead of the full on run that he had forced you into that first time — and on others, the two of you would have some meal or another together. The common theme was that, if there was money involved, he would take care of it. Without question, without hesitation, he always slapped your hand back and pulled out his own credit card, telling you that now you both had to meet again, and the next time you really would be the one paying, or else he’d never be able to forgive you for your terrible behavior.
Your parents and brother complained about it at first, as your new friendship with Sae — could it be considered a friendship, or was it something else? — meant you did not see them much on what was supposed to be a family vacation.
You brought it up with Sae, and he responded with something about how it wouldn’t have been a problem at all if you weren’t such a freeloader and actually paid for him, like you were supposed to. This resulted in a lighthearted squabble between you both, which in turn made you forget your family’s whining, and as well you should have. You could take a million more vacations with them, but you’d likely never get a chance to hang out with Sae Itoshi again, so why wouldn’t you take advantage of it when you could?
Sae didn’t forget, though. He sent you back from dinner the next evening with a soccer ball he had won in one of his games, his signature and a note of gratitude scribbled on it in black marker.
Thank you for letting me borrow your daughter and sister from you while you’re on your trip. I really appreciate it, even if she doesn’t know anything about soccer. — Sae Itoshi
They stopped complaining after that. The ball became your brother’s most prized possession, and every day, your father would tell you how happy he was that you had made such a considerate friend.
“And you know, if you ever want to date him,” he’d say, elbowing you in the side with an obnoxious wink. “We wouldn’t be opposed!”
Your mother was in the same boat. “He really cares about you, I think. Enough that he gave your family something so precious just because he thought we didn’t like him. You could do a lot worse than that.”
“Plus, he’s rich and famous!” your brother would chime in without fail. “Double win!”
“You guys are all nuts,” you’d tell them, shaking your head to disguise how pleased the thought of dating Sae made you.
It could never happen. Like your brother was so happy to remind you, he was rich and famous, an athlete that was adored worldwide and played for the best soccer club in history. He could have any girl he wanted, so why would he ever choose you? You and he were from two different planes of existence. Maybe you could pretend for a little bit that you weren’t, but the date for your eventual departure from Spain was drawing closer and closer, and that day meant the certain end of the fever dream that was your closeness with Sae.
You had been prepared from the start for it to finish in this way. You would go home and tell all of your friends about your trip, how you had spent almost every day with the famous soccer player Sae Itoshi, how he had given you his phone number and made you go on runs with him, how together, you and him had eaten lunch and dinner and breakfast and several meals that you were convinced he had just made up to have an excuse to buy food for the two of you — brunch, linner, midnight snacks and third desserts.
There were other things that you wouldn’t tell them, too, things that Sae had not necessarily said to you in confidence but which you sensed were held close to his heart and which you would therefore hold close to yours. His little brother was named Rin, and they had the same eyes, though Rin’s were quicker to water and perpetually had hair falling into them. He still watched the same shows he used to when he was very small, because they reminded him of his parents’ home. He thought that a person’s athletic potential could be determined by the shape of their butt, but he tended to avoid looking as a form of respect for others.
“That’s a pretty cool skill, Sae! What do you think my athletic potential is?” you had asked when he had revealed that last fact.
“If it’s possible for a person to have negative potential, then that’s about what yours is. If it’s not, then you’re definitely at a zero,” he had responded.
“You didn’t even look,” you had said, shoving a French fry into his mouth as punishment. He hated French fries for how unhealthy they were, and you had half-expected him to lecture you about fats and oils and salts, but instead, he had dutifully chewed and swallowed without any theatrics.
“Don’t need to, and don’t plan to,” he had said, and that was that. “I’ve already seen you run, and that told me all I needed to know about your athletic skills. Or, in this case, your lack thereof.”
If you took his words at face value, then you would’ve thought he truly hated you. He never missed a chance to make fun of you, and you were the same way — certainly, anyone who overheard your conversations would’ve been convinced that you and he were bitter enemies. But that was because they didn’t see the way he always positioned himself on the sidewalk so that he was between you and the oncoming traffic. They didn’t see the way he’d pull out your chair and only pretend to frown when you’d thank him for it. They didn’t see the way his ears would turn pink if you dared to smile in his direction or, heaven forbid, agreed with what he was saying instead of arguing, as was your go-to.
No, you were pretty confident that Sae Itoshi did not hate you. It was just that soccer was his thing and all other areas were beyond him, areas which included such fields as emotional awareness and sensitivity.
Maybe you might tell the friends you were particularly close to about that. Sae Itoshi treated me pretty well, you’d say, with grand, sweeping hand motions to emphasize the point. As well as he knew how to, which was well enough for me. If I ever get a boyfriend, they’ll have a lot to live up to. Seems kind of unfair to whatever poor schmuck gets stuck with the task, don’t you think? Considering the two of us never even dated…
“I'm going home tomorrow morning,” you said. The sun was setting, and the two of you were walking along the same stretch of beach that you had first met at. “I finished packing all of my things before dinner. It’s surreal, almost. I feel like an entirely different person now, compared to when I came here.”
“Is that so?” he said, the corners of his lips twitching slightly. “I wonder why.”
“Did you just smile?” you said. Immediately, he scowled.
“No way,” he said. “I’d never smile because of something you said.”
“Uh-huh, uh-huh, you definitely smiled. I made you smile! I made you smile! I made you smile!” you said, poking him in the cheek repeatedly. Sae’s expressions were so subtle that it was easy to overlook them before they had vanished, but there was no overlooking what you had just seen. He had definitely smiled at you, or at least he had been about to.
“Stop poking me,” he grumbled.
“No,” you said, poking him again. “Only if you smile again.”
“Hell no,” he said. You poked his cheek again. “Y/N. Stop it.”
“Will you miss me?” you said.
“Not if you don’t quit that!” he said, grabbing your wrist when you prepared to poke him again. Heat rose to your cheeks at the way his thumb rested against your pulse, and when he realized he was holding your hand so familiarly, his own cheeks flushed. “No. I won’t.”
“I’ll miss you,” you said, digging your feet into the sand, turning out to the sea because you couldn’t stand to look at him when you were being so vulnerable. “I’ll tell everyone I know about you, of course, but it won’t be the same. Something funny will happen, and I’ll think to myself, oh, Sae would’ve snorted at that — but not laughed, because you don’t laugh. Or I’ll order shitty French fries, and it’ll remind me of how much you’d scold me for eating them. You’d say something like, those are basically heart attacks in a box, and then you’d pour a bottle of salted kombucha down my throat to cleanse my system.”
Somewhere in the distance, a seagull squawked, reminding you of the fateful encounter from so long ago. You wished you could go back and get to know Sae all over again. You wished you could ask him the same questions and not know the answers, so that you were surprised when he told them to you. You wished you could argue with him for a little bit longer. You wished that, one more time, you could imply he was short and ugly and slow and a thousand other rude adjectives, even if he was really none of those things, none of them at all.
“I’m going to ask you one last question, okay?” you said. “Please think over your answer carefully. It’s important.”
“Okay,” he said, uncharacteristically gently. “I’ll really consider it well.”
“What’s your favorite animal?” you said.
“Seagulls,” he said immediately, directly contradicting his solemn oath. You laughed at this, burying your face in your hands to hide the hitch in your throat.
“You traitor,” you said. “You know all about the feud between seagulls and I, and yet you’re still claiming they’re your favorites?”
“They always have been,” he said. “I like migratory birds, how they don’t stay in one place but are always moving around. It must be such a blissful life.”
“But it’s probably pretty lonely, too,” you said. “They don’t have anywhere to call home.”
“I like lonely things,” he said. “That’s why the end of the summer is my favorite season.”
“Hm,” you said. “Then, if I tell you that I’ll be lonely once I leave here, will you like me, too?”
He looked at you, but you stared resolutely ahead, your gaze trained on the horizon, the way his had been on the day you had run into him. It was such a kiddish question, and internally, you were beating yourself up for asking it, but deep down, you wanted to know, so you did not move to retract it.
“Well, I like seagulls for a different reason now,” he said.
So that was your answer, then. The waves crashed against the shore, and a balmy wind blew through your hair and clothes, carrying the light scent of Sae’s cologne to your nose, the same one he had worn for as long as you could remember.
“I understand,” you said.
“These days, it’s a specific seagull I’m fond of, actually,” he said.
“Huh? Like a breed or something?” you said.
“No, just one bird in particular,” he said. “It did me a really huge favor recently.”
“What are you talking about? You always say that you suspect I was dropped on the head as a baby, but between the two of us, I think the one that was dropped was you,” you said, the fraying ends of your rejected feelings driving you to irascibility.
“A while ago, I was standing on the beach, feeling pretty annoyed with the world — as usual,” he said. “I had had to run from the paparazzi in order to go on this vacation without being bothered, you know, and I honestly was starting to question if I’d ever be seen as a normal person. I get that the only thing I’m good at is soccer, but it’s pretty tiring to be thought of as a guy who kicks balls around and nothing more.”
Unbidden, you inhaled sharply, because the story was starting to sound familiar. Spinning on your heel, you were met with the sight of Sae smiling shyly, peering down at you through his unfairly long eyelashes.
“That seagull must’ve known how I was feeling. There’s no other explanation for it all. It must’ve known how I was feeling, and somehow, it managed to find the one person in the entire world that saw me as something other than that. Do you know what it did next? It stole that person’s sandwich, and it led her right to me,” he said.
“Are you talking about me?” you said.
“How many people do you think have called me a short, ugly, D-list celebrity instead of asking for my autograph upon meeting me?” he said.
“Probably not very many,” you said. He chuckled.
“Probably not any,” he said. You rested your forehead against his shoulder.
“Probably not,” you said. He stroked your hair, though his motions were like a marionette’s — he was not very used to this type of relationship, after all. But he was trying his best, and you found that to be far more endearing than any suave gestures might’ve been.
“I know you have to go soon, so I was planning on not saying anything,” he said. “What would be the point? I figured this was just a summer fling for you. But then you had to go and be all sentimental, and I had to say something.”
“I’m glad you did,” you said. “It would’ve been worse if I had returned home without knowing at all. Where do we go from here, though?”
“Where do we go from here? Let me think. Well, I’ll ask you to be my girlfriend,” he said. “And you’ll say yes, because who would ever reject me? Then we’ll talk on the phone every day, and you can send me photos of things you find funny, and I’ll have a sixth sense for when you’re eating French fries and I’ll send you strongly worded texts in reprimand. You’ll fly over to watch my matches whenever possible, and when I’m on my next break, I’ll come visit you and meet your family and friends properly.”
“Getting a little presumptuous, aren’t we? What if I say no?” you said.
“Will you?” he said.
“Not sure. How about you ask and find out?” you said.
“If you’re going to say no, then I don’t want to,” he said. You stuck your tongue out at him.
“I can’t be with a man who’s afraid of rejection. It was nice knowing you, Sae,” you said. “See you around. Hope you lose the Champions League.”
“Wait! I’m not afraid of rejection,” he said. “Y/N, will you be my girlfriend? Officially, I mean.”
“Yes, of course,” you said. “But you’re going to have to buy my plane tickets if you want me to watch you. Even with frequent flier miles, I doubt I can afford coming to see you that often.”
“Consider it done,” he said. You grinned at him.
“You know, if you’re my boyfriend, then you’re going to have to keep paying for our dates, as well. My mother said that’s the gentlemanly thing for you to do,” you said.
“Right, I was expecting that,” he said. “Don’t you think there’s a reason why I haven’t let you buy anything yet?”
“Then how am I ever supposed to apologize to you for the circumstances of our first meeting? I mean, I was pretty harsh,” you said.
“That’s true,” he said. “Let me think.”
“Mhm,” you said. “I know that that’s out of your comfort zone, so I’ll give you a minute.”
“I have an idea,” he said, though it was accompanied by a slight glare at your jab.
“What is it?” you said.
“Close your eyes,” he said. You obliged, squeezing them shut, though not without widening your feet into the defensive stance he had demonstrated to you on the day he had attempted to teach you basic soccer skills.
“What are you going to do, tackle me or something? I’m using the position you taught me, but please be gentle, you’re way more muscular than—!”
You were cut off by him pressing his lips to yours. It was a soft kiss, gentle and light, like feathers in the air or water against the sand, and he pulled away before you could really react or reciprocate. He had left you wanting, and you knew he knew that, because there was a smugness to his voice when he spoke next.
“Apology accepted,” he said as you blinked at him in shock, your mind still lagging well behind your body. “Now we’re even.”
“Hold on,” you said. “I’m suddenly feeling very repentant and remorseful. Are you quite sure you forgive me with just that?”
He laughed. It was such a lovely sound, his laugh, and you would’ve told him so if you weren’t afraid that he’d stop when you pointed it out.
“Maybe not,” he said. “You might have to apologize a bit more.”
“That sounds doable,” you said. “Yeah, I might be able to work that in. It’ll be agonizing, but a wise man once told me that that’s just the nature of apologizing, so it’s the least I can do, right?”
“Oh, shut up,” he said, holding your face in his hands and leaning in. You did the same, your eyes closing all on their own as you sought out the connection he had deprived you of earlier.
As the sun set over the horizon and the seagulls settled in for the night, he kissed you again.
Summary: You text the Batfam to rage bait every one of them, and you are successful.
TW: Jason's death, you're kind of an ass, mentions of murder, batfam slander, you're about to get your ass handed back to you
A/n: Pls don't kill me. this is pure angst. You're being an ass because you simply can. free speech and all that. even if you likely won't have your tongue by tomorrow. They're a little OOC, because don't we all act out of character when we're pissed?
Bruce Wayne
Reader: hey bruce. random thought, but i was looking at old news archives. Harvey Dent actually made some really solid points about Gotham's infrastructure before the whole acid thing. Honestly? If he ran for mayor again today, he’d have my vote.
Bruce: Harvey is a deeply disturbed man who currently resides in Arkham Asylum. His political platforms from a decade ago are irrelevant to his current criminal actions.
Reader: idk, at least his policies were transparent. it's better than funding a vigilante who gives local orphans concussions and calls it "rehabilitation." Like, what has Batman actually solved? The crime rate is exactly the same, he just gets off on the theatricality. He's basically a theatrical symptom of the city's wealth gap.
Bruce: Batman operates outside the law to address systemic corruption that the GCPD cannot touch. He does not "get off" on violence. It is a burden.
Reader: total cope. if i had that much money, i’d just buy Arkham and turn it into a luxury resort. lock up the rogues in the basement, put a swim-up bar on the roof. local economy boosted, problem solved. but i guess punching mentally ill people in clown makeup is a more fulfilling hobby.
Bruce: You lack a fundamental understanding of criminal psychology, economics, and the logistics of asylum management. Do not text this number again.
You can no longer reply to this conversation. Learn more.
Dick Grayson
Reader: hey dick, i was talking to babs earlier. we both agreed that out of everyone who's worn the cape, you were definitely the most… disposable robin? like you were basically just the prototype before bruce figured out what he actually wanted.
Dick: I'm sorry, what? Babs said that?
Reader: i mean, think about it. you got fired, you moved to a whole different city just to get out of his shadow, and now you wear blue instead of red. you're like the generic brand version of a sidekick. tim is the brains, jason is the muscle, damian is the bloodline. you're just… the one who does flips.
Dick: I am the first. I built the foundation of what it means to be Robin. I lead the Titans. Bruce didn't fire me, we had a mutual disagreement on methods. And "generic"? I literally train the others.
Reader: yeah but if you disappeared tomorrow, the dynamic doesn't really change. bruce would just adopt another gymnast. it's kind of sad how hard you try to be the "big brother" when they all clearly just tolerate you for the free couch in Blüdhaven.
Dick: Wow. Okay. First of all, Jason literally came to me for advice yesterday. Second of all, I am the glue of this family. I am calling Barbara right now because there is no way she agreed with this absolute garbage take.
Jason Todd
Reader: jase, be honest with me. do you think the crowbar jokes are funny? because i saw a meme today and it lowkey hit.
Jason: You think you're real brave typing that from wherever you are, huh? I’ve killed men for less than that.
Reader: woah, edge lord, calm down. i’m just saying, the whole "revenge-driven vigilante" bit is getting a little tired. you came back to life, tried to kill your dad, failed, and now you just hang around the manor eating alfred's cookies like nothing happened.
Jason: I don't "hang around." I operate in the red zones Bruce is too soft to touch. I control the criminal underworld by putting fear into the people who actually deserve it.
Reader: right, by wearing a bright red target on your face and using rubber bullets because daddy said no more killing. you traded your entire moral code for a room in the east wing and a pass on the batcomputer. you're compliant now. you're just Bruce’s angriest pet.
Jason: I am going to break your jaw. I am not kidding. Tell me where you are. Right now. I will show you exactly how compliant I am.
Tim Drake
Reader: tim, i’m looking at your old teen titans files. did you actually think the feathers on the cape were doing something for your silhouette?
Tim: It was a aerodynamically functional design for mid-air stabilization. I don't care about the "silhouette." I care about utility.
Reader: right, utility. is that why you spent three years hyper-fixating on proof that bruce was alive instead of doing literally anything else? like, everyone else moved on. you looked like a conspiracy theorist stringing yarn across a corkboard. it was lwk giving major middle-child syndrome.
Tim: Because I was right. Everyone else gave up on him, and I found him. It was a logical deduction based on temporal anomalies that nobody else was smart enough to track.
Reader: yeah but you only did it because you were terrified of losing the one guy who validated your existence. without bruce's approval, you're just a rich kid with a laptop. even now, you're just the placeholder robin. damian is the actual heir. you're just the guy who does the paperwork while he's at school.
Tim: I chose to be Robin. I earned it. Damian was handed a title because of his DNA. I don't need Bruce's validation, I run half of Wayne Enterprises' tech infrastructure.
Tim: You know what? I'm locking your bank account. Let's see how much you value "validation" when your debit card gets declined at Star Labs.
Damian Wayne
Reader: hey kid, quick question. why do you speak like a dictionary? it doesn't make you sound intimidating, it lwk just makes you sound like you were raised by a cult. oh wait.
Damian: You dare insult the League of Assassins? I was trained by the greatest warriors on Earth! My vocabulary reflects my superior intellect and breeding. You, conversely, speak like a degenerate.
Reader: yeah well, the "greatest warriors on earth" lost to a guy in a bat costume who doesn't even kill people. and honestly, you're not even the best fighter in the house. cassandra could literally fold you like a lawn chair and you know it.
Damian: Cassandra is a formidable combatant, but she lacks my tactical genius. I am the blood of Al Ghul. I am the only true heir to the cowl.
Reader: you're a ten-year-old who gets grounded by a butler. if you were really that dangerous, bruce wouldn't make you do your long division before you're allowed to go on patrol. you're not a lethal weapon, damian. you're a kid.
Damian: I am thirteen! And I do not get "grounded," I respect Pennyworth's authority out of courtesy!
Damian: I have already bypassed your window locks. I am on your roof. You have thirty seconds to retract your statement regarding Cassandra before I test my new smoke pellets on your carpet.
· · · A WOLF IN SHEEP’S CLOTHING (SLIPPING) | STALKER!ASHVEIL X FEM!READER
Ashveil's curiosity about you tends to bring out the worst in him—enough for him to regularly trail you like a shadow while you remain blissfully unaware of his influence over your surroundings. But once mere whiffs of you are no longer enough, he finds himself inserting his way into your life instead, hoping to receive more of the goodness that is you. Now he's no longer sure if he can handle the consequences. His mouth opens far too easily, spilling compromising words before he can stop them, which raises the question of how much time he has left before you finally figure him out. | word count: 17,7k.
⟢ CONTENTS: not suitable for minors, yandere themes, plot & some smut, spoilers for ashveil’s lore and the quests up till version 4.1, sex that turns dub-con, stalking & breaking in, a bit of dark comedy, reader has a dog named princess, heavily focused on ashveil's perspective, angst (mostly regarding ashveil who struggles with self-worth and dehumanizes himself), suicidal thoughts, masochism, manipulation, slapping, threatening, intrusion of privacy, masturbation, unprotected & rough sex, come eating.
⟢ A/N: This story is loosely inspired by the TV show "You" (or at least what I remember of it from watching it years ago); though here, Ashveil is far different from Joe Goldberg. This is my first time writing for Ash, so I hope you enjoy the results. I also made a playlist that reminds me of Ashveil that might fit the story as well ♡(ᵔᴥᵔ). Divider source.
There is little in this world that Ashveil does not regret.
Across Amber Eras, his mind has gathered enough sins, corpses, and broken promises to viciously haunt him every night without fail.
The loss of life. The pain he has inflicted. The betrayals. Those linger longest, rotting and resisting loudly beneath his flesh—old wounds that have never healed properly that he only covers.
What he cannot fully bring himself to regret is meeting you, for better or for worse.
Even now, knowing well he keeps inserting himself into your story he has no place in, he cannot stop returning. Your warmth tends to obstructs any rational thought, luring him back to your doorstep at least once every month like clockwork. He keeps his old watch that shows delayed time in hopes for ruthless time slowing along, but when it comes to you, he fantasizes about days passing faster just so he can find another excuse to visit your house.
The warmth of another person, while elusive, fleeting, ready to be dispersed like dandelions, is also fulfilling and solacing. It is comforting in a way nothing else in the cosmos has ever managed to, and he suspects even aeons crave it. So he clings to yours with all the starving of a man offered scraps for the first time in years, foolishly hoping that one day you might fully envelop him in your sunlight.
People come and go; Ashveil wants to make you eternal in your goodness.
Like a kicked stray crawling back toward the hand that fed it, even if just once, he drags himself to your house again today.
He knows better than to use the front entrance. Your security camera reaches the spot clearly. Slipping through the ventilation system in the back is a safer option. More humiliating, perhaps, but at least that makes him feel like he has earned a quarter of right to be here.
Bless you for choosing a house tucked into the quieter backstreets of the Duomension City instead of one of those towering apartment complexes with security systems vicious enough to rival prison architecture—even just your hypothetical neighbors would be capable of throwing a wrench into his plans, an army made of hundreds of gawking eyes.
The sight greeting him after he kicks off his shoes is comforting, even if a certain element of it strives to make him less welcome.
Your dog, some breed of rather big posture, lies sprawled across the the living room floorboards like she’s the owner here. The moment her eyes crack open and settle on him, she sizes him up with the same unimpressed stare she always gives him—as though fully aware there are currently two dogs in the house, and that only one of them is actually wanted here.
“Oopsie. Did I wake you up, Princess?” he asks in the middle of letting out a yawn himself. “Sorry about that.”
Coming here this early means sacrificing another morning of sleep, but lately, he has been missing you(r home) too much to care. The city outside keeps growing louder and crueler, and it’s your house that remains one of the few places that still feels stagnant; he keeps it warm for you as you work.
Princess’s gaze finally shifts towards the treat sachet dangling from his hand. A spark of life finally enters her eyes. Unlike him, she’d never sell herself short.
“Yes, look what I brought you!” He grins, shaking the package lightly.
But even if she can hear the rustling of dried meat inside, she only swishes her tail once. She’s that spoiled by you.
Still, she rises from the floor with reluctance, and all dignified, she approaches him to collect her bribe. Ashveil crouches in front of her, scratching behind her ears while offering the treat with the other hand.
“I know, don’t give me that look,” he mutters with a whine to it. “Your mom definitely would not approve of me feeding you.” He even calls you a dog mom now. “Or approve of many other things for that matter…” he says wryly. “In any case… I’ll have to convert you to healthier snacks soon…”
She huffs through her snout, snatches the treat between her teeth, and trots off toward the kitchen. Her tail lingers around the corner for one last second before disappearing completely.
Ashveil watches her go, his own type of hunger burning at his loins already.
He makes his way toward your bedroom, no mistake in where he’s treading. The door shuts behind him, sealing his decision.
What he appreciates most about your room is the fact that it barely changes. The same wall color you must have once talked about with embarrassing enthusiasm, the same clutter of trinkets gathered over the years, the same hurried little messes left behind before work, the same scent woven stubbornly into the sheets and curtains and air itself.
This room is always there to welcome him while the rest of Planarcadia tears itself apart outside, on race towards greatness.
Or at least, he makes himself welcome here. Some vagabond he is.
He knows every corner already, yet he still finds himself looking around each visit, searching for tiny additions or changes. They are the intimate bridge connecting you and him, enough for him to feel included. They are also a proof that your life continues moving even when he is absent from it, a scary food for thought.
At the same time, he avoids touching most of your belongings whenever possible. Partially because of evidence. Mostly because he wants to preserve you exactly as you are, frozen safely in time for him.
Albeit, today, he possesses far less restraint than usual.
After confirming little has changed—while deliberately avoiding looking for too long at one particular object near your nightstand—he collapses face-first onto your bed with a groan.
His hand finds the tissue box automatically even with his face buried deep in your pillows. One tissue missing each month surely goes unnoticed. Three, at worst. Hopefully.
Your sheets envelop him in familiar warmth exactly as anticipated, just as they do whenever stress begins gnawing through him alive again and he runs here to his sanctuary. It takes all his self-control not to burrow completely beneath the blankets and pretend you are here beside him. If he crawls fully under the covers, he fears he may never want to crawl back out—some exhausted animal hibernating itself away for winter.
He inhales deeply, catching the remnants of your shampoo, your lotion, traces of your rushed morning routine still attached faintly against the fabric. The thought of watching you tending to yourself alone makes him dizzy; you deserve all the best things.
By the time he unzips his pants, his body already feels unbearably heavy with need. It’s been so long, since he ever felt that sort of desire, most of it being subdued by years of him pushing through with little ardor.
Ashveil presses himself into the mattress with a muffled sigh, grinding down slowly against the sheets while his thoughts drift somewhere nicer… and dangerous.
Your fingers combing gently through his hair, you telling him you want him here… that he can stay. A ridiculous thought suddenly surfaces in his mind too: if he commissioned an artist to paint you saying those words, would wishpower eventually bend reality enough to make it true?
Other fantasies creep in afterward.
You calling him disgusting while he desperately insists he can still be useful to you. Your hand gripping his jaw while he promises to behave. Teeth sinking into his skin hard enough to draw blood while he thanks you for it, for he can feel the misery pour out in torrents.
He supposes that both versions have their own rights, so long their manifestations are coming from you. So do they have potential to ruin him.
As he jerks his hips for the final time, the movement shifts your mattress enough to knock something off the nightstand. Ashveil sighs and reaches down towards the floor, nearly sliding off the bed entirely from the weakness now melting his limbs.
His mouth goes dry.
Your toy lies there beside the bed, still connected to its charging cable. You either use it often, or intend to do so after longer break.
It is sordid, the way his mind immediately wanders to the obvious regions: you spread on this bed and flushed with heat, thighs trembling around the toy you force into yourself, while soft sounds spill from your mouth into the dark. Maybe thinking of someone.
Hopefully him. The thought of it being anyone else strikes him with an equally unhealthy amount of anger and anxiety.
He wonders briefly whether your preference for toys over people is intentional rather than circumstantial. From everything he has gathered, you have not sought comfort from anyone else lately. Thankfully; that would complicate everything he has so carefully built between the two of you as your ‘friend.’
Modern relationships still confuse him somewhat. People seem to fall into each other’s beds so casually, or on Planarcadia, even for the sake of livestream challenges. He is selfishly grateful you haven’t been there yet.
All the more, he believes he could do you so much better than a stranger. He knows—not thinks, knows—he could please you better than some stranger ever could. He would know exactly where to touch, where to linger, where to soothe, where to provoke.
Where to bite.
And he would let you use him however you wished afterward, too. His thoughts have ranged through every imaginable scenario over the months: you gripping his hair, your teeth buried into his shoulder, your nails opening his skin… even you taking his breath away from above him, watching him plea you for mercy.
The sheer intensity of it suddenly overwhelms him, and with desire threatening to unfurl again, he springs into movement.
Inside your bathroom, he flushes down the mess he caught into the tissue and washes his hands thoroughly.
Your mirror is cruelly bright, framed by harsh white scene bulbs that expose every exhausted detail of his face. He stares at himself for a long moment before biting his lip hard enough to make it bleed, a reminder to keep going for there is still some things he owes you and other people.
Ashveil makes another empty promise. This is the last time, really. Not only because it is risky—it is rapidly not becoming enough anymore.
On his way out, he checks on Princess, she making your kitchen her playground too. Unfortunately, she has transformed the floor into a small field of crumbs.
“Ah, ah, ah.” Ashveil clicks his tongue and points at the small mess she’s made. “No crumbles at the crime scene, Princess.”
The dog lifts her head wearily. Begrudging, she licks the floor clean.
“Good girl.”
Although midway through cleaning, she stares at him with suspicion.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he laughs. “You’re still the favorite. You can make a bit of space for this old man, hm?”
For a moment, he considers staying around for a while longer, maybe to watch one of your favorite movies and take a bath. Ultimately, something gnaws at him to leave sooner than usual.
He checks his phone and as it turns out, he’s right.
Walking your dog through every corner of the the city has long since become part of your routine as a responsible owner. However, Princess still gets overwhelmed easily by the fulgent lights and noise of Duomension City, so whenever you can spare time, you like taking her to slightly less vibrant Seafeld City instead, accessed through one of the train lines of Planarcadia.
There are all kinds of people to encounter on the daily walk—or non-people, quite often. Navigating the streets has only grown more difficult over the years, each district louder and stranger than the last, as though every possible sensory experience is fighting for one’s attention at once. Those neon lights burn your vision from every angle, advertisements and TV presenters speak over one another through giant floating screens, imaginae creatures drift across the artificial sky, delivery bots zip recklessly between crows, and someone is always shoving a camera against your face.
The people themselves are no less extravagant: entrepreneurs, IPC workers, livestreamers, gangsters, artists, cult members, police officers, students, and occasionally, private detectives.
Ashveil, the ace detective of the Ashen Detective Agency whom you have somehow become acquainted with over the past months, remains one of the strangest examples you have encountered yet, Even for a planet of Elation, where absurdity is the norm, he ranks high in just how odd things can get—enough to draw your curiosity.
But strange does not necessarily mean unkind.
If anything, you have found it alarmingly easy to pity him ever since your first meeting, unconsciously assigning him the image of something half-pathetic, half-endearing after only a single interaction.
Watching him struggle to pay for his food probably had not helped. Still, times are tough for everyone, aren’t they? And you are not heartless.
A friend in need is a friend indeed.
So the first time you met him in Dovebrook District—standing awkwardly between a frustrated customer and a delivery worker arguing over a failed order—you simply transferred the missing amount without thinking too deeply about it. A tiny gesture from a passing stranger should have ended there.
Instead, Ashveil accepted your kindness as something important, revolutionary even, and for reasons you still do not fully understand, it’s as if he has been trying to repay you ever since.
At this point, you have somehow acquired a deeply devoted assistant. He walks you home. Keeps an eye on whether anyone suspicious lingers nearby. Appears whenever you complain about a problem, often before you even properly ask for help. He listens to you ramble after difficult workdays with extraordinary patience, and once, after noticing you rubbing at your shoulders too much, he even insisted on massaging the tension out himself.
Safe to say, the two of you have grown rather close. Friends, maybe. In any case, you don’t have it in your heart to tell him to stop, seeing his enthusiasm.
If only you knew.
“Good morning.”
Speak of the devil. Ashveil holding his cane appears just as you cross the road toward the shopping district, weaving through pedestrians until he reaches your side with the ease of someone accustomed to navigating crowded street. He looks like he has only crawled out of fridge bed, suppressing a yawn behind his hand while blinking away the last traces of sleep, yet the moment his gaze lands on you, his attention sharpens completely.
“Morning, Ashveil,” you greet with a smile as you halt your walk on the other side of the street. “Did you get up just to see me?”
The tease slips out effortlessly. You mean nothing serious by it. After all, you texted him earlier that you managed to leave work ahead of schedule, and so now he has come to meet you. The fact he somehow knew exactly where to find you does not strike you as particularly strange anymore, even if you didn’t share your location with him. You simply assume he is a detective talented enough, just a one with abysmal commercial instincts and maybe a bit of bad luck.
Ashveil laughs immediately, a little too fast, eyes darting aside with flusher hidden beneath the performance.
“No,” he says at once, lifting his brows as though the suggestion itself is ridiculous.
Yes. Absolutely yes.
He skipped breakfast entirely and practically launched himself out of the agency the moment he saw you leaving for work through the security camera feed he absolutely should not have access to. Not that he’s tech-savvy. He had to save money for weeks to pay some dude to install this one shady app on his phone.
“I had a case this morning,” he continues smoothly, crossing his arms. “Very demanding. Didn’t even have time to grab coffee.” His voice turns dramatically mournful as he shakes his head. “Cruel world, isn’t it?”
“Oh no, what will my poor detective do without coffee?” you tease.
My detective. Well, technically you said my poor detective, but Ashveil’s mind catches on the possessive anyway.
My.
Poor is good too, admittedly. Poor sounds sympathetic. Tender.
No, no, no—pull yourself together, Ashveil.
Seriously, don’t do this to him. Don’t use that teasing voice like you actually care while meanwhile you are probably just making fun of him.
His thoughts briefly send another funny feeling into his throat this strange day.
“Ha ha ha!” he laughs again, a little louder than necessary before hurriedly redirecting himself. “Anyway. No pup with you today?”
“No. She’s probably still sleeping, buried under her blankets…”
Good. Running into your Princess could potentially create complications. He is yet to meet her officially, and he’s worried she might act too familiar with him, so he keeps telling you about dog allergy to keep her away.
You pull your phone from your bag and angle the screen toward him proudly, showing him a picture taken earlier that morning, before you’d leave for work. Princess lies cocooned beneath blankets with only the top of her head visible. “Isn’t she lovely?”
“Oh my goodness, she absolutely is…” he says with genuine delight, sounding dangerously close to squealing. He saw Princess less than two hours ago, yet somehow the sight of her grumpy face still melts him instantly. More importantly, you wanted to share this moment with him specifically, and that alone makes warmth spread unpleasantly through his chest.
However, there is an even cuter thing standing directly beside him. Because with how close you are standing, he has full access to your face too. It’s hard to not get distracted, watching the happy wrinkles of your eyes lifting.
He snaps his fingers in realization. “You look quite radiant today. New face cream?”
That explains why your pillow smelled so different this morning…
You blink at him, tilting your head, with “how did you know?” plastered all over your face.
“Well.” He shrugs with nonchalance, casually stepping back until he can lean against a nearby roadblock pole. “Detectives are supposed to notice minor details. Comes with the profession. To a discerning eye, there’s always something new to spot.”
Not that he’s as good at deduction or anything a detective would need to prosper like you think he is. It’s mostly Mr N doing important research. He's more of a hard-boiled type. But, you believing in his skills is extremely useful, so he doesn't correct you.
“Actually, it’s a serum,” you correct playfully, locking your phone. “But close enough.”
Good. Excellent even—you didn’t lie to him. It is indeed the serum's effect—he knows, considering he was standing in your bathroom this morning, staring directly at the bottle while trying not to think too hard about how you must look applying it with your gentle hands. How you’d apply for him too, willing to share. It’s simply safer not to sound too accurate in his observations. The last thing he needs is for you to start seriously questioning how much he notices about you.
Maybe all these detective tutorials he read yet barely sustained knowledge from at the beginning of his career are actually starting to come in handy—he does know you well by this point.
“Serum, cream, natural glow—whatever,” he says lightly. “You look good.”
Like, really good. Enough that he could eat you up. And you walk around, just like that? You better put a muzzle on him.
“Thank you.” You hesitate slightly before adding. “You… look well too.” You adjust your grip on your bag.
Ouch. The hesitation stings more than it should.
Ashveil snorts, waving his hand dismissively. “Ah, you don’t have to lie to spare my feelings. I know the eyebags are especially horrifying today.”
“No, I—” You look slightly panicked now, looking around as if searching for a clue. But the crowd passing by has its own business, sparing you little attention. You genuinely were trying to compliment him, but it came out half-assed. “I mean, sleeping in the fridge has to have some… beautifying properties, right?” you say it awkwardly, like you are trying very hard not to offend him. “The coldness of it.” Even if you still have no clue why he does that. You don’t want to make him uncomfortable by asking, in case it’s health-related.
Ashveil nearly laughs. He doesn’t know whether he should be offended or flattered that you tried to make him feel better.
“Sure,” he says dryly, “if your beauty standard is a product about to expire.”
You let out a nervous chuckle.
“But probably not as effective as you’re imagining,” he continues before clearing his throat slightly, visibly trying to move on before the conversation drifts somewhere sincere. He clicks his cane against the stone below his feet. “So, where are you heading? Shopping?”
You are usually still at work at this hour. Meaning if he had decided to linger inside your house even a little longer today and probably missed your text, things could have ended catastrophically wrong.
Manifesting the end of his friendship act with you.
You nod, lighting up again. “Uh, yeah. Like I have told you, work got called off because of some technical issues,” you explain with an easy grin, satisfied to catch some respite. “So I thought: why not go shopping?”
“Yeah, shopping’s always great,” Ashveil says a bit too enthusiastically, relief slipping into his voice before he can smooth it over. “Why don’t I… accompany you? I mean, strange events have been occurring lately…”
Weird folks muttering about happiness. Gang members surfing through the crowds. Streamers appearing to suffer from some sort of neuroticism as they become only more aggressive about content-making. It’s as if a wave of heat came across the planet and drove everyone mad.
“So you think I’m incapable of defending myself, detective?”
The slower flutter of your lashes paired with slight, naughty curve of your lips confuses him for a moment. You’re teasing him again, yet it seems different this time. Coy, challenging.
If he didn’t know better, he would think you were flirting with him. Or maybe you are—he does occasionally have his clients hit on him in the act of desperation. The possibility of you doing that makes it harder to breathe, and he glues his gaze onto your neck he for some reason suddenly thinks of kissing.
Let’s see: if he allows himself too much hope, it becomes embarrassingly easy to lower his guard around you—more than he has done so already—and that is never wise if he ever was wise. And yet, after all the blood and exhaustion he quietly spends in your name, surely he deserves a little indulgence every now and then.
Not that you have ever asked for any of it. But people get hurt easily in this city. He simply prefers preventing unpleasant outcomes before they can reach you, especially if it means avoiding situations where you feel smothered by having an obvious bodyguard attached to your side.
You go about your day. He ensures it remains a safe one. Simple and easy. Sure, you would probably be horrified if you ever discovered the full extent of it—not to jinx anything—but—
“Ashveil?”
Your hand settles gently on his shoulder, grounding him back to you.
He blinks, for a moment mesmerized by the worried expression directed his way. The way your warmth permeates him makes breathing more worth it. It’s no wonder he lets his guard down around you.
“Huh? Sorry.” He rubs his face, exhaling through his teeth. “I didn’t sleep well. I mean—not enough.”
“Oh… “ Your brows knit together instantly. “Then, you shouldn’t force yourself to hang around for my sake. It's simple grocery shopping. Go home and rest,” you reassure, so softly.
“Nah.” He adjust his hat, concealing his eyes more. “I’ll survive. I don’t sleep very well during the day anyway.” Those furbobo working below his agency make too much noise.
“Was that too much?” you mumble out, lowering your hand which greatly disappoints him.
“What was?”
“F-forget it.” You immediately retreat from the moment, suddenly fascinated by anything else happening on the street instead.
And then it hits him. You were flirting with him. Actually flirting. And he completely missed it because every coherent thought leaves his body the second you pay him too much attention.
At one point, he even genuinely wondered whether he was developing dementia, perhaps erosion-related, because how else was he supposed to explain the dizziness, the lapses in judgment, the complete inability to think straight that began plaguing him seemingly out of nowhere? Only later did he realize the symptoms always worsened around you specifically.
Which, frankly, feels far more terminal.
“Anyway, “ he says quickly, recovering for your sake too, “I’m tagging along. I’ll even carry your bags free off charge.” He presses one hand against his chest, as if speaking of noble sacrifice.
“You charge women for carrying their bags?” you ask, unimpressed.
“No! Of course not.”
“Don’t you take commissions for basically anything?”
“Correct.” He lifts one finger, about to make a point. “But never for gentlemanly behavior.”
The proud smile on his face makes you snicker.
“Well, if we are going together,” you glance towards one of the nearest coffee shops, “how about, coffee first?”
“That sounds great.” He really could use a cup. Maybe he’ll stop slipping in front of you so much.
As the two of you get into walking side by side through the crowded streets, growing denser with every hour, a certain thought slowly forms in your mind. You’ve been meaning to ask him for a while now.
“How do you always find me, anyway?” you inquire curiously. “You do that a lot, you know.”
The question is innocent enough, but it still makes his guts churn.
Sure, you frequent popular areas, but Duomension City is enormous, sprawling endlessly in all that commercial enclosure of absurdity. But at some point, repeated coincidence stops feeling entirely convincing.
Ashveil opens his mouth, but he doesn’t explain himself immediately, deciding to be careful with what excuse he shall feed you this time. That’s the problem lately: he is becoming too transparent around you. The more truth he hides, the harder they become to contain, leaking out through careless comments and overfamiliar observations. How does one stay quiet about a person they're so terribly enamored with?
Nonchalance has never been his strong suit anyway, and he needs you that badly.
The fact you’re starting to notice certain patterns doesn’t help him either. People in Planarcadia move too fast to notice who revolves around them, too distracted by spectacle and noise and Phantasmoon Games and their own survival to question others too deeply.
Obviously, he cannot tell you the truth:
That he noticed you returning home during work hours through your own security camera feed—not that long after your message has told him—panicked something might have happened, and spent the last half hour discreetly trailing you to ensure you were alright.
So instead, he chooses the safer route. A little cruelty to balance things out. “You’re pretty predictable,” he says straightforwardly, yet not without wincing inwardly at how crude it must have sounded.
The manner in which he delivers his answer does have you scoffing. “Excuse me?” You cross your arms and tap your feet against the ground impatiently after you pause your saunter.
Ashveil raises both hands at once in surrender, scrambling to soften the blow. He still cannot afford you hating him. That would be the end of him.
“I mean your routine is predictable,” he corrects quickly. “Consistent. Which isn’t a bad thing, necessarily—it just means it’s easy to recognize patterns, especially for someone trained to notice them. But other people might not be as harmless as me, which is why you should be careful about sharing your location publicly, posting photos in real time, downloading suspicious apps, or—”
The detective lecture is intentional. If he keeps talking long enough, maybe you will forget to stay offended, jaded by his talk.
“Okay, okay,” you heave a heavy sigh. “I got the memo.”
It’s ironic, your stalker warning you about stalkers. If it was another guy stalking you and Ashveil found out, he’d drag him to a police station. Except, in his humble opinion, he hardly qualifies as one. Stalkers have nefarious intensions. He, on the other hand, is simply…concerned… Curious, perhaps excessively so, but ultimately helpful. If anything, unbeknownst to you, he has already prevented several unpleasant incidents from ever reaching you… or your awareness, on that score.
You have no idea how many people have looked at you too long; how many revolting thoughts storm behind strangers’ eyes, perhaps similar to his and that’s he knows it. And if that somehow makes him monstrous too, then at least let him be the lesser evil among all possible predators circling this planet.
He at least tries to constrain the beast.
“But,” he adds more lightly, “I pass through your district pretty often too. I’m always outside looking for clients, remember? We naturally run into each other a lot.”
Right. You have, in fact, witnessed him standing on sidewalks holding handwritten promotional signs like an absolute disaster of a businessman, desperately offering people business cards talking about two percent discounts with all the confidence of someone negotiating hostage terms.
“That makes sense,” you admit after a moment, scratching your cheek apologetically. “Sorry if I sounded accusatory or anything…”
“No,” he shakes his head fervently. “Absolutely not. Honestly, I’m happy that you’re staying vigilant. Better safe than sorry, right?”
Ashveil is annoyed, tapping the sole of his boot against the checkered tiles beneath the cafe table. Not even because you are paying for the coffee—though that certainly does not help his pride any, as he does think he should be doing better if he genuinely wants to impress you someday. Unfortunately, his earned money usually goes to other causes, first and foremost, and even if Pearl’s cases can pay handsomely, a big chunk of it goes to his old wounded friends in need of life better than his. First Fang duties.
From the small yellow table tucked near the windows, he has a clear view of you waiting in line at the screen register. The queue moves painfully slowly, bodies crammed shoulder-to-shoulder within the tiny pastel-colored space. You stand there patiently, studying the menu on the overhead screens cycling panels with ads and offers, despite having ordered here countless times already. Very cute, overall.
Unfortunately, you remain completely oblivious to the eyes drifting toward you from across the shop—or perhaps you have simply learned how to tune such things out after living in Duomension City long enough. Doesn’t matter, as Ashveil who has gained a nasty habit of overthinking about you notices them all immediately.
Eyes lingering over your body for too long. Eyes flicking towards your wallet. Eyes tracing the shape of your face while pretending not to stare. One man glancing between you and his phone and some weird attachment trap to it with growing interest. And Ashveil swears he is not merely being paranoid, not a victim of forgetting people’s innate curiosity.
He would gladly stand beside you right now if you had not specifically told him to keep thee table occupied. He already would have planted himself behind you like some feral guard dog pretending not to growl at strangers. Besides, if the coffee ends up being taken to go, your time together shortens considerably, and he would prefer delaying the inevitable end of this outing for as long as humanly possible. Choices, choices…
Then his instincts prove themselves correct. A man near the front of the line abruptly lifts his phone towards your face, livestream already active in app.
Ashveil sighs in vindication. See? He is right to worry. This city is full of freaks.
The streamer starts loudly rating people’s outfits for his audience, but his camera lingers on you for too long, drifting downward in ways that make Ashveil’s stomach tighten unpleasantly. When you politely ask the man to stop filming you, he merely laughs and steps closer instead, clearly encouraged by the audience reacting through the scrolling comments like some desperate.
Wonderful. For all intents and purposes, this man has just single-handedly reduced Ashveil’s guilt regarding stalking you by at least thirty percent.
As Ashveil rises from his seat, he shrugs his coat off onto the chair first. Spreading murderous intent throughout a coffee shop tends to alarm civilians, so he makes a genuine effort to calm himself down while approaching.
The streamer is still talking when Ashveil reaches him, coming up behind him like a ghost. Without warning, he casually presses the mute button on the small console panel on the screen.
“Hey—”
“Give me the phone.”
The streamer blinks, turning around. “What?”
Ashveil smiles pleasantly. “Take your hands off the camera,” he says quietly near the man’s ear, voice soft enough that the people around—you especially—cannot properly pick it up over the shop’s noise, “or I’ll make sure they come off literally.”
Meanwhile, he keeps his expression towards you entirely calm, meant to be reassuring.
The streamer goes pale almost immediately. Ashveil appears unassuming at first, but something about the shadowed look in his eyes, one of them twitching too, unsettles the streamer greatly. The cane Ashveil wields goes to press onto the guy’s feet nearly painfully too. “O-okay, chill,” he mutters nervously. “I didn’t know she was your girlfriend—”
“She isn’t.” Ashveil’s smile never wavers. “Is that the only reason you know how to behave?”
The man stares at him, dumbfounded.
And for one brief second, Ashveil wonders if something slipped through his expression—something hungry, older source, and certainly sharp enough to expose what truly sits beneath his skin.
Thankfully, the streamer backs away. “Whatever, man,” he scoffs weakly before hurrying out of the care with his livestream still running. Other people around look startled for a moment, confused about what happened, but they quickly settle back.
Ashveil watches him leave, thinking what a hypocrite he’s starting to become.
Standing here acting holier-than-thou and outraged over another man reducing you into spectacle while he himself encroaches your routines, sneaks through your house vents, and spends sleepless nights imagining how you feel beneath him.
Sure, he has not acted on the ugliest thoughts yet… But what happens if one day he finally does? He fights for justice, even at the cost of spilling blood, he hates hurting others, but when it comes to you, he breaks his own rules more often than not. Guilt exists in Ashveil’s heart for sure, but apparently not enough to set him back—not when it comes to you, his special person and sunshine.
“You good?” he asks once he reaches you, his hand settling instinctively between your shoulder blades as you quickly finish order, not wanting to break your promise about caffeine fill.
“Perfectly fine,” you insist. “Thank you.”
Still rattled, though—he can feel the tension in your posture as he guides you away from the line.
For a moment after you sit down, some awkward silence fills the air around you. He can tell you’re trying to act unaffected by the encounter, clutching your wallet, but he doesn’t press you on, letting you calm down on your own.
Shortly after, one of the screens blinks your order number already. With how fast-progressing things are today, automatized with these mechatron workers especially, it is no surprise. “Oh. It’s our order.”
He locates the counter and the tray waiting for you, patting your shoulder. “Stay here. I’ll pick it up.”
He’s back in the blink of an eye, while you’re still fumbling with your wallet.
Trying to tuck it away, with how shaky your hands are from the unpleasant encounter, you accidentally bump the coffee cup. In result, hot coffee spills directly over his gloved left hand.
Ashveil absolutely could have moved away in time. He simply chose not to.
“Ow,” he hisses, pulling his hand back with a scowl. “That’s savage.” Honestly, the phantom pain in his prosthetic arm hurts infinitely worse on daily basis—and tears at him during fullmoon.
You gasp immediately. “Ashveil! Oh my goodness, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s fine—”
“No, no, quickly, let me see.”
Before he can protest further, you are already grabbing napkins and reaching for his hand with frantic concern. The moment your fingers carefully pull at his white glove, something devastating its surroundings storms inside his chest. There it is again, that warmth.
You dab gently at his fingers with a napkin while muttering anxious apologies under your breath, entirely focused on making sure he is alright and disregarding old scars. Ashveil watches you in silence, fighting the embarrassing urge to lace his fingers through yours properly, and imagining two worlds connecting. When did he become so sappy?
Your touch is absurdly tender. He cannot remember the last time someone handled him with care instead of annoyance or lust.
Some self-proclaimed lone wolf he is.
It is reckless, really. Someone in his position of being chased by ranger should avoid attracting attention, should avoid becoming emotionally attached, should avoid indulging in moments like these unless they become necessities instead of luxuries. So much for staying low. He might have to disappear from this planet tomorrow and what would he even do about you then?
Unfortunately, Ashveil has never been particularly good at denying himself where you are concerned. If anything, spending the rest of his miserable live serving you while receiving small fragments of affection in return sounds close enough to paradise. In his most delusional visions, you and him run away to some tropics together.
He watches the concern pinching your brows together, almost paining him as much, and he briefly wonders, not for the first time, how someone can possibly be this kind to him without realizing the danger of it. If anything, you barely know anything about him, not anything under the surface. Because the uglier feelings he usually tries to curb follow behind. He wants to devour you entirely, leave no bones, until you form an union with him, so no distance could ever exist between you two again.
“There probably won't be a scar, I think,” you murmur nervously, still inspecting his hand. It’s really not that bad, as maybe a few splashes of coffee hit his hand and his glove soaked up the most. “But maybe we should get this checked anyway—”
“No need.”
“But—”
Ashveil pats your hand before finally letting his fingers curl around yours under the guise of reassurance—gently, as though he anticipates breaking you, though in truth, he can't take more of your touch and remain alright. The heat rushing through your skin soaks into his pores, rewriting whatever here might have started withering, and he imagines the vines of your kindness climbing his healthy arm in search for his heart already thrumming. “Now, now,” he says softly, smiling goofily again. “I’m not that delicate. I promise.”
You finally laugh a little, the remaining tension loosening from your shoulders. You even squeeze his hand twice, sending chills through him that have him shifting in his seat.
“For what it’s worth, it’s good coffee they serve here,” Ashveil praises after he takes a sip. He lets your hand go first, reluctantly.
“Yeah?” Your expression brightens even more. Truly precious. “I'm glad. It’s my favorite place.”
Of course he already knew it was yours. He memorized that months ago. Still, hearing you willingly bring him somewhere important to you makes his chest flutter strangely, as though his lungs are suddenly filling with cleaner air than the city normally allows him.
You realize something soon after. “You know, Ashveil…” You stir your drink absentmindedly. “I feel like our conversations tend to be pretty one-sided…”
Ashveil stills.
“And I feel bad about that,” you continue. “So I thought that maybe I could ask you more things about yourself instead?”
That genuinely catches him off guard. He deliberately steers conversations toward you whenever possible, preferring to keep attention away from himself, yet somehow you interpreted that imbalance as your own failure instead.
It’s dangerous, this type of care.
“Hm. Well.” He chuckles nearly in a jitterily manner, scratching his cheek. There is little to share that doesn't compromise your safety, and little to reveal that doesn’t pain him these days. He’d look like a bleeding heart anyway. “I don’t know if there’s that much interesting stuff to learn about me. I mostly just work, eat, and sleep.”
“I’m not someone that special either,” you protest, leaning closer. An outrageous lie, in his opinion. “Yet we talk about me all the time,” you continue. “So I’m sure there’s something. Like…” You purse your lips in thought—another thing he finds cute. He can imagine a lightbulb shining above your head as you come up with something. “What’s one of your dreams?”
“My dreams?” he repeats, taken aback.
You could have asked about his favorite color. Food. Movie. You went straight for his throat instead. How touching. How scary.
Ashveil glances around the cafe. Different people fill every table: students, workers, exhausted commuters, streamers, couples, strangers. Loud, messy, and imperfect people, all trying to carve out somewhere to belong beneath the endless neon of this planet. If he stares long enough, he almost expects ghost from his part to emerge from the crowd and remind him that eventually he will lose you too.
It would be far wiser of him to give you some common crap, about money or fame. To say something simple and cheesy about retirement for a tropical island full of cheap sandals, happy dogs, and warm beaches. And yet, he naturally clings to the idea of you wanting to understand him, to take some of the burden off his shoulders even if guilt would strike him after.
“I think…” He hesitates. “I wish everyone could have a place for themselves in this world.” His voice lowers slightly. “Somewhere they’re allowed to exist safely. Somewhere warm enough to return to at the end of the day.”
You listen carefully—sincerely, digging dagger into his heart this way.
“No one should have to survive alone, or barely, if it can be helped,” he admits after a moment, fingers drumming once against the cup. “I know that’s naive, though.”
“Hm.” Your smile softens immediately. “I think it’s a beautiful dream, Ashveil.”
Your words aren’t dry or dismissive. There is no mockery in your voice. You seem to earnestly appreciate his answer and he cannot stop staring at you like this, his grey eyes gaining fragility over that sharpness from the moments ago.
You truly are a devil. Because he suddenly becomes aware of the hypocrisy sitting inside his head, both sides clashing there everyday. Pronouncing what he doesn’t deserve.
A man who claims to care about justice while quietly invading your life piece by piece out of selfish desperation. A man who wants to protect your freedom while simultaneously wanting you closer and closer until the line between affection and possession disappears completely.
Maybe someone would side with him and tell him, “you deserve this after everything you have went through, old man.” But he doesn’t wish to be a dead weight to you just because he’s broken.
They say ignorance is a bliss. They are darn right. Self-awareness does nothing except lets the guilt and greed eat him from the inside.
“It is beautiful,” he says quietly, his grip on the cup tightening, “but not realistic. Most people never reach that kind of haven no matter how hard they try. Luck, or gods, they decide almost everything eventually.” His mouth pulls into a solemn smile. “I get front row sears watching that happen.”
You fall silent after that, as if you don’t know whether you should let him keep talking or nip it in the bud before the whole day has its charm ruined.
When you give him that uncertain look, a mix of worry and awkwardness, he suddenly realizes what an absolute mood killer he must be for a shopping trip. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to murder your spirits.” He laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his nape as he leans safely away from you.
“No.” You shake your head. “I asked, remember? And I’m happy you answered honestly.”
He nods, strangely affected by that response. “Thanks,” he murmurs, almost shyly. He should be the wiser, protective figure here, as someone far older than you. “I appreciate that.”
For a moment, he simply drums his fingers against the table, watching the vivid reflections ripple across the windows. Then he abruptly straightens.
“So!” His usual grin returns. “Shopping?”
“Totally.”
“Dogs used to have much less choice. So did consumers, honestly. Would you look at how fast things change?”
“You sound like an old man,” you remark from beside him with a snort, your attention never leaving the enormous shelves packed with enough pet food brands to sustain an army of spoiled pets.
The pet industry has been thriving for decades already, capitalism evolving into some grotesque creature of its own. Colorful packaging stretches endlessly across the aisle, each product screaming promises about healthier fur, stronger teeth, shinier eyes, happier digestion, longer lives. Even the bags themselves are glossy enough to rival cosmetic advertisements.
Ashveil stiffens slightly beside the shopping cart.
“Come on, who even needs all this? This is a supermarket. Not a pet shop,” he says defensively.
“Well, apparently my dog does.” You crouch briefly to inspect a lower shelf. “Princess has gotten really picky lately. Too much variety ruined her forever.”
“Yeah?” He folds his arms and smirks. “They used to hunt, can you imagine?”
“The most she hunts is my slipper after I accidentally drop it.”
Ashveil suppresses a laugh.
If only you knew. Princess can become vicious whenever she wants to. The first few days he started visiting your house, she nearly tore into his ankles on sight. Funnily, a stranger breaking into her home is not what offended her the most. That ranked secondary compared to the fact that the treats he brought were chicken-flavored instead of beef. She had made enough outraged noise to nearly expose him entirely before finally driving him back out through the window and land inside a dumpster. H u m i l i a t i n g.
As you’re finally about to pick something, Ashveil instinctively stops you, his cane pointing.
“Your dog doesn't like that one.” The words slip out far too naturally. Too easily, sure, born from the need to be right; you tend to lower his defenses with how wonderful you are to him, leading to him saying compromising things like that.
Your hand pauses midair. His confident statement picks up your attention. Not would probably dislike. Not even might prefer something else. A definitive certainty.
“How do you know that? You haven't met my dog yet.” Your expression sharpens with mild offense rather than suspicion, thankfully. To you, it merely sounds like someone rudely claiming superior knowledge over your own dog instead of accidentally exposing himself as a home-invading creep.
His heart stills right there by this damn pet food aisle. Think fast, think fast, think fast, you old man—
“No, however—” He clears his throat. “You told me her breed before, remember? And I’ve worked around all kinds of dogs over the years, well, unfortunately at the cost of a big allergic reaction. You start collecting their characteristics.” His hand waves vaguely towards the shelf. “That one’s too light. She probably needs something richer. More iron.” He nods sagely, then adds to his wisdom, “That breed’s basically halfway to becoming a shark. Bloodthirsty creatures.”
He’s lying because he’s not even that good at deducing. Storing information about you comes easily for him, but he’s mostly operating based on intuition and luck.
“You think so?” You give him the benefit of doubt because your furball does deserve the best.
“Yes!” He clasps his hands together. “Can’t go wrong with beef.”
He knows this especially because he once at the same dog treats himself, being broke enough to consider it economically reasonable. The nutritional contents are close enough to actual jerky, enough for one to decide that what society thinks doesn’t matter.
“Hm… it’s just… I don't want her eating too much fat.”
Right. He almost forgot until this morning where he saw Princess. Continuously bribing your dog into silence with treats may eventually become a genuine health concern. And Ashveil loves dogs enough to acknowledge this prospect. Still, switching her away from her from her current favorite will absolutely trigger aggression, so he needs to help transition her carefully—if he wants to preserve diplomatic relations within the household.
“Just don't overfeed her and it should be fine.”
He also ought to avoid Princess for as long as possible. Which is becoming more and more difficult, as you (un)fortunately, walk her a lot. He can’t always text you and ask you if you’re with your dog—even with that allergy thing as his bargaining chip—if sometimes he appears spontaneously. If Princess were to openly recognize him in front of you…
The two of you continue wandering through the store afterward, slowly filling the cart with a mix of necessities and smaller indulgences. The city’s supermarkets always feel overstimulating, packed with fluorescent lighting, brightly colored displays, robotic promotional mascots chirping abut discounts, and giant hanging screens advertising products loud enough to follow customers across entire warehouse. Ashveil is more accustomed to the darkness of his refrigerator, but with you around, those elements become somewhat bearable.
He naturally takes notes of what you get.
At some point, you toss something sweet into the basket beside him. Ashveil glances downward.
“You remembered.”
“Well, you liked it last time.”
Something embarrassing tickles his cheeks. You cared enough to remember what snack he likes and to get it for him. Spending money on him, when he should be spending it on you.
As you two continue forward, his own brain remains busy memorizing absurdly tiny details about you: how you absentmindedly compare expiration dates twice before buying something, the way you tap the cart to the rhythm of the music playing in the background, how you narrow your eyes whenever calculating prices in your head. Domesticity looks good on you and he’s happy to be part of it.
By the time the shopping bags are finally filled, the crowds outside the supermarket have thickened.
“Thank you for joining me today, Ashveil,” you say while adjusting the bags against your arm—not letting him hold them. “I should probably head back before the city gets even too crowded.”
“Fair enough.” He still reaches towards the heavier bag. “Let me walk you home.”
“No, there’s really no need.”
He looks at you with confusion.
“You already did plenty for me today,” you add with a small smile.
“It’s not a problem,” he insists, holding onto the side of the bag. “Seriously, the streets get worse around this hour, and—”
“Ashveil. Please.” For the first time, your tone turns firmer. Resolute, oh the horrors.
It does make him burn, nearly sending shock into his body, and he’s about to overthink again.
His stomach drops stones. He must have been a bother to you, all clingy like velcro no matter how politely he disguises it as concern. Maybe you finally noticed how excessive he has become. Or worse—maybe you noticed something deeper beneath it all, and the situation is far more catastrophic than he initially thought. Or maybe you are replacing him—
“I don’t mean to be overbearing,” he says carefully, suddenly hyperaware of every word leaving his mouth. “I’m just worried about your safety. You know what Planarcadia’s like lately. All these gangs…” Even if he befriended some of them. “Weird people…”
“I know.” Your features soften lightly, though they maintain its seriousness. “But having someone worry over me every second isn’t exactly good for me either. I do try to be careful, so…”
You finally have made a boundary. You are reasonable, yet it still feels like you kicking him in his ribs.
“I see,” he says after a moment, forcing himself to let go of your purchases. “That makes sense.” It does, which is the worst part. “But call me if anything happens,” he adds, unable to fully stop himself.
“I will.”
You smile again afterward, gentler this time, seemingly relieved he accepted the request without argument. Then you leave.
Ashveil watches you gradually disappear into the moving crowd, your sunny figure swallowed little by little, and he thinks the lights above don’t hold candle to you. The city suddenly feels even louder even for its norm, unbearably so.
He stands there for another moment before finally turning away himself with a heavy sigh, shoulders lower than before. His invisible tail is curled, more of a dog, not wolf. He already knows, with miserable certainty, that he is going to spend the next several hours replaying this interaction over and over until he successfully convinces himself that you must secretly hate him now. A grown man, now unwilling to eat the food you bought him, just so he can cling to a piece of you for a bit longer.
No. Forget it. He can’t leave it like that. What if there’s someone waiting for you? He didn’t see you contacting anyone when strolling with him but he needs to make sure you’re not cheating on him. Not that it’s cheating, but you get the gist, right?
Yet as it turns out, you really reach home on your own. He trails you right under you reach your door. Well, at least he knows you’re safe.
Ashveil doesn't remember the last time he’s been this scared.
Your call reaches him in the middle of the night, cutting through the rattling hum of the refrigerator compressor. His phone vibrates violently against the metal lining and skids away from him, and in his panic co catch it, he nearly smashes his forehead against the surface. It doesn't help he’s been talking in his sleep again, barely getting any sleep immersion that he thought he was about to experience sleep paralysis too.
For one terrible second, he thinks something has happened to you. That maybe it isn't a dream.
But, honestly, once he manages to answer and hears your voice properly, half of him is simply relieved. You sound panicked, yes, words tumbling over each other in disarray, but you called him. After your boundary-giving and his walk home with his tail between his legs, you still reached for him first.
That alone nearly distracts him before his finally brain finally catches up to what you are actually saying. A receipt. Something wrong inside the house. Suddenly, he is wide awake.
“Hold on—” He pushes the fridge open and sits upright like a corpse rising to life. “—you’re saying you think someone broke into your house?”
“But I can’t tell!” you blurt out shakily. “I found this receipt right as I was getting ready to sleep, and things feel weird, and I checked the cameras but there’s nothing there, nothing seems missing, and maybe I’m overreacting but—”
Ashveil’s stomach drops. Did you finally notice something? Did he accidentally scatter evidence?
No. Impossible. He always checks carefully. He takes pictures beforehand, recreates every angle afterward, makes sure everything remains exactly as it was before he arrived. It’s the least he can do. He is meticulous about these things… Usually.
“Hey. Hey, calm down.” He rubs down his face, forcing his voice to be calmer despite the sudden adrenaline flooding him.” Don’t wind yourself up. I’ll come over and take a look first, okay? Don't call the police yet.”
“Why not? It's their job!” you ask with confusion.
“Well…” He stands quickly, tugging on his pants with the free hand. “Unless there’s direct proof of forced entry, they might turn you away. Let me check things out first before you stress yourself too hard.”
There is a brief pause, filled with your frantic breathing.
“O-okay. Come quick, please.”
The call ends.
Ashveil stares at the dark screen for one second before bolting like a complete lunatic. Mister N looks up in alarm as he watches his boss rush through the office half-dressed and visibly panicked.
“Ashveil, what on earth are you doing?”
“No time for explanation!” he blurts out while shoving his boots on and grabbing his cane. “Emergency!”
By the time he reaches your street, his thoughts have already escalated into increasingly catastrophic scenarios. You found other traces as well. You are suspecting him and this is a trap with police awaiting him at your house. Or worse, someone else truly did break in.
You open the door almost the instant he rings the bell.
And don't you look miserable. Your eyes are red and glossy with tears, shoulders tense beneath your sleep clothes, fingers clutching the edge of the door. You look at him as if he might as well be your last hope.
His eyes soften. “Hey,” he says quietly, stepping closer. “Pretty lady, rest assured, everything will be alright. Breathe for me,” he says gently, fixing a loose lock of your hair from your face. “You’re shaking.” Sight of you like this is the most difficult one to take. And it’s probably his fault.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper shakily. “It’s probably something stupid and I’m making a big deal out of nothing—”
“No.” His voice firms from the seriousness. “You’re right to be cautious. Especially these days.” His hands settle carefully on your shoulders. “How about you make yourself some tea while I look around, hm?”
You hesitate but you end up nodding. “Okay. I’ll make you one too,” you say nicely and his heart skips a beat even now.
He smiles encouragingly, stepping inside and hanging his coat.
Before retreating toward the kitchen, you suddenly turn back and hand him the receipt you kept in your robe’s pocket.
“I’ve never been to this konbini before,” you explain anxiously. “Or at least not recently. Sometimes I stop at random stores during walks with Princess, but…”
“I see.”
Ashveil scans it quickly.
The receipt goes:
a loaf of bread
instant coffee
instant noodles
10 x bunches of bananas
.
.
.
Fuck.
All thoughts leave his body for a moment and it’s all tension taking over his body. It is his receipt.
The bananas are for the monkeys at the agency, since they enthusiastically accept payment in fruit and occasionally riot when undercompensated. It must have slipped from his pocked earlier while he was distracted grinding himself into your mattress like a pathetic animal in heat. Which should have not happened, since he does document everything before moving around your house specifically to avoid mistakes like this.
Yet lately, around you, he has been getting sloppy. Well, more than usual.
With you in the kitchen, he at least has been granted several minutes to unravel this blunder in peace. And what an absolute sad sack he was; he survived deadly fights only to be taken down by a grocery receipt?
By the time you return with tea and invite him over to your cozy sofa laid out with blanket, he has mostly reconstructed his composure.
“I’ve got good news,” he announces, leaning back—and trying not to get distracted by your scent and warmth radiating off of you. Not it’s not the time! Even if you look especially adorable with some sleepy weariness attached to you. “There’s no sign of forced entry anywhere. Locks are intact. Windows too.”
“But how did it get inside?” you ask immediately, looking at him intensely. “I keep my windows closed.”
Ashveil hums thoughtfully, trying to appear more visceral than practiced. “Well…” He staples his fingers between his spread thighs. “Think about it this way. If someone was skilled enough to enter your home unnoticed, avoid the cameras, leave no signs of entry…” He points with his head at the receipt on the coffee table. “Would they really leave behind something this obvious?” Okay, maybe he would. “You probably carried it inside accidentally without noticing.”
Your tight expression slowly relaxes. “Yes,” you admit with relief, “that actually makes sense.”
“Exactly.”
You exhale deeply, tension leaving your shoulders. “Though, that person must really like bananas.”
Ashveil laughs despite himself. It’s a good thing you don’t know about his little monkey companion. And, he’s quite happy that the crisis is over.
But right as he thinks he should go, you suddenly wrap your arms around him. He freezes. Your face presses into his chest while your fingers curl weakly into the fabric of his shirt, seeking comfort. Seriously, what’s going on with you lately? You’re getting bold.
“Thank you,” you say softly. “I owe you big time.”
“What for?” he asks quietly, voice strained.
“For coming here.” You tighten your hold slightly, your own heart racing. “You've been… doing so much for me lately. Honestly more than anyone else has.” Your laugh comes out small and tired. “Living on this planet is such a hassle sometimes.”
Oh, you poor thing. It should be him apologizing to you. You are there thanking him for protecting you from fears he himself created. The guilt born behind the thought nearly has him speaking in protest, yet… he still craves your affection. He wouldn’t be able to shoot down your call for a bit of TLC either.
He says nothing. His arms embrace you, as his chin goes to rest atop your head. It’s an amazing feeling, holding you. Right somehow. A selfish, surely monstrous for these reasons part of him almost wishes you would cry again solely so he could continue comforting you like this a little longer.
Your hearts sync together and he swears he’s never felt more alive.
Eventually, you tilt your head upward, revealing yourself to him in your vulnerability. You’re softer than ever, even needy with your eyes pleading, enough to suddenly lean closer.
Ashveil genuinely cannot process what is happening. Surely you are not in love with him already. More likely, your emotions are scrambled from fear and relief and exhaustion, with your brain desperately searching for comfort after making yourself half-sick. Living alone as a woman must get scary for you sometimes.
And maybe your offering merely is done to feel safe, grounded and soothed by someone else, but Ashveil doesn’t care about the reasoning when your lips brush his. When it happens, the universe seems to narrow down to contain only the two of you.
He’s still frozen, as no single nagging or feeling thought has ever predicted you kissing him willingly. A distant worshiper fitted his calculations better.
You mistake that hesitation for rejection and begin pulling away almost immediately, embarrassment flicking across your hot face.
He quickly realizes what he’s accidentally taking for granted, and the thought of letting this go is maddening. So his hand catches your waist and pulls you flush against him.
The second kiss is nothing like the first. Full of desperation and hunger, he kisses you like a listless man discovering something worth going after centuries, mouth moving against yours with enough intensity to leave him dizzy. One of his hands presses firmly against your back while the other one—always the left hand—rests at your jaw lightly, as though he still cannot believe this is real.
You take it one step further in response, as your fingers slip into his long hair and tug that he sighs blissfully before you straddle him. You deepen the kiss with an urgency on your own.
All of this has him realizing what a fool he was. You must have wanted him all along, at least somewhat—or needed even. But whatever it is, it makes no difference at the moment. Your weight on his is real and tangible.
Take all you want from him. Feed from him. Make this broken-legged wolf worth something.
It’s easy for his hands to start roaming over your body the moment you kiss him again, restless palms mapping across you as though he’s trying to commit terrain to his memory before it vanishes before his palms. Your robe vanishes first, peeled away from your shoulders and discarded carelessly onto the other side of the furniture.
He knows he was never supposed to end up here. Not like this, through your main entrance. Not in your arms instead of the imagination of the scene, not with with your sun surrounding him from every direction, not breathing against your lips while your hands anchor so trustingly around his shoulders. From the very beginning, he was meant to remain distant.
The moment you helped him pay for that meal in Dovebrook and somehow altered the chemistry of his brain, he should have simply appreciated you from afar and keep moving like every other lonely idiot in the galaxy. Instead, he kept chasing you. First by curiosity, then by intention, then by outright compulsion until it finally wasn’t enough and he decided to make his official appearance, playing your friend by using all that he has learned about you. That shtick with you helping a broke man pay for his food was a perfect icebreaker to start seeing each other, so was you being so friendly from the beginning. Naive too perhaps, believing in his good intentions to express gratitude.
And the story behind tonight is ridiculous too. His own stupidity caused the panic that led you into his arms in the first place, somehow winding up in his favor and he now gets to touch you openly.
He cannot tell whether you have actually started developing feelings for him or whether you simply want somebody to fuck after a stressful night, but it hardly matters anymore—either possibility leaves him incredibly flattered, and both are still better than being shut out entirely.
Prurient thoughts about you have been rotting his brain for way too long anyway.
“Nice place, by the way,” he murmurs between kisses, mouth brushing yours as his hands beneath your shirt.
“Just the place?” you tease softly before nipping at his lower lip.
“Well, the owner is just as nice, if not better…” he answers against your mouth, the words dissolving into another kiss right as his fingers begin pushing your pajama shirt higher—
A sharp bark cuts through the room. Both of you jolt before separating.
“Princess!” you exclaim at the exact same moment he does, turning toward the hallway opening where your dog stands glaring sleepily in his direction.
Shit. He absolutely forgot about her so did you in the heat of the moment.
That bark is absolutely aimed at him, though thankfully not in the way it could have been. More annoyed than alarmed, really. He suspects Princess came looking for snacks and found herself offended by the fact he arrived empty-handed tonight.
As you try to shoo her away, Princess plants herself stubbornly in place and barks at him again.
“Ugh, she doesn’t like strangers…” you sigh apologetically.
Yes, strangers. It’s good that’s what you think.
“No worries.” Ashveil crouches in front of the couch despite the cold sweat trying to break across his spine. “I like all dogs, and they like me.”
“That’s not how this works—”
He extends his hand anyway before you can finish objecting. Princess sniffs him for approximately two seconds before visibly recognizing his scent and immediately losing interest, turning away with the dramatic disappointment of someone realizing there are really no treats involved in this interaction. Pretty rude after everything, he thinks.
Ashveil gives her a few quick pets for appearances before she finally trudges off again.
Her indifference doesn’t surprise him, though it does surprise you.
“Huh. Seems that she likes you enough.” If liking someone was tolerating their presence enough to let them stay.
You do not question it further, thankfully. People love convincing themselves animals instinctively recognize good souls or hidden kindness, and Ashveil is not above benefiting from that kind of superstition.
He just smiles smugly and stands up. “Told ya.”
You laugh softly, amused by this ridiculous interruption in making out. “Sorry about her. Now… where were we?”
Before he can answer properly, you surge toward him to kiss him again and wrap your arms around his shoulders, nearly knocking him backward with the force of it. He moves instinctively; his hands catch your thighs and hoist you up with a surprising ease right before he pins you against the nearest wall.
“Detective,” you breathe out, sounding genuinely surprised once his palms settle against your ass, rough in their grip. “I didn’t know you had that in you.” You measure him.
“It’d be a little bit boring if I had shown you everything about myself right away, no?” he teases lowly. You really don't know the half of it, let alone what lies inside his arm.
As you laugh again, so prettily at that, he kisses you properly. Mouth full of unbearable hunger, voracious for you. It’s beyond his wildest dreams, the fact that he can be here with you, touching you, that he resents the thought of wasting just a second.
His hat gets in the way, so he tears it off and throws it somewhere behind him without looking.
Them your hips grind experimentally against the growing hardness trapped beneath his pants, and the sensation nearly knocks the breath from his lungs altogether. This is much better than it was in his head, he can feel his underwear sticking up already.
Ashveil hisses into your mouth, his grip on you momentarily faltering before it becomes even tighter.
“You're vicious…” he mutters hoarsely, fanning your face from how close it is. You look just as incredible from this close, looking at him with so much desire heavily hanging your eyelids down—succeeding at reigniting his lust after many years as well.
“I thought you could take that?”
“Just you wait,” he says roughly.
He carries you toward the bedroom with no delay, kicking the door shut behind him the second he steps inside. The sight of your bed nearly short-circuits his brain for entirely separate reason, a morning memory colliding with present reality, but the victory of his dreams coming true brings him back onto earth.
Upon being thrown at your bed, you can take in only one breath before he’s all over you again, nudging your legs open with his knee so he can take the space between your thighs. There’s little barrier of your pajama, yet his hands first dip beneath your shirt, palms flat against your skin before reaching your breasts he kneads to your pleasure.
“You just know how to stir chaos…” he murmurs against your jaw before dragging slow kissed down the side of your neck, each lingering long enough to leave warmth blooming. He could easily snap his fangs here and see you writhe, so he holds your life without you knowing.
You shiver beneath him yet still manage to tease ever so sweetly, chuckling softly, “Me? And what did I do, pray tell?”
What didn’t you do?
“You know exactly what you’re doing,” he growls softly against your skin. “And looking at me like that doesn’t help me at all.”
But whatever clever reply you had in store dies beneath another kiss, deeper this time, his tongue pushing into your mouth the instant your lips part for him. He sighs at your taste.
Clothes begin disappearing quickly afterward, your hands tugging frantically at his ridiculous layers while he strips himself and his dignity down with little patience. Something tears through the process, seams ripping loudly, but he barely notices or cares.
By the time he reaches your clothes, you aid him by kicking off your own pants, down to your panties he then removes for you. He allows himself to take one look at you, burning the image of your nude form—perfection, in his mind—onto his memory forever. You stare back at him, your chest heaving as you squirm like a bunny in anticipation, overheated from his intrusive gaze.
His mouth travels everywhere once he finally gets obstructed access to your skin, kissing and biting and suckling at the softest parts of you with barely restrained greed. He stays especially at your throat, not only because he enjoys the sounds he can pull from you there, but because your pulse beats beneath his mouth so vividly alive that it almost hypnotizes him. Warm blood rushing beneath delicate skin as he licks a stripe downward with flat tongue, life spilling through your veins with abundance, trusting him enough despite his existence that has included centuries spent around death and hunger.
You tilt your head back further for him without hesitation, your chest rising in irregular intervals. He holds you down by your hips whenever you whimper louder or grind against him again and make him moan too.
Ashveil groans softly against your neck before dragging his tongue over the marks already rising there, his hand sliding lower at last until his fingers slip between your thighs. The wetness waiting there draws a shaky breath from him, something feral in him satisfied once he realizes just how affected you already are.
He wishes he could bury himself between your thighs properly and spend hours there pleasuring you, learning every reaction your body can offer. Worshiping you. Unfortunately, his patience stopped existing the very moment you kissed him—so fingers it is, in hope it’ll ease at least some of the upcoming discomfort for you.
One long finger of his left hand slides inside your pussy first, then another soon after, and he watches your expression shift beautifully as he stretches you open. You moan for him, and only him.
“Look at this…” he mutters, dazed by the sight of you. “You’re soaking already. Pretty thing’s been thinking about this, huh?”
His thumb presses lazily against your clit while he keeps thrusting his fingers into you at a rhythm that grows rougher whenever you make especially sweet noises for him, occasionally stretching your hole up as he opens his digits too. With how tight you are, he cannot imagine his survival once he fills you.
“Ashveil…” You saying his name like this can probably earn you anything, even if it’s not his real name.
Hearing that, his mouth goes back to occupying itself at your chest before finally closing around one nipple with a low groan that vibrates through you. He makes them protrude as he switches between both sides, adding to the whirpool in your abdomen. Meanwhile, he grinds himself against the mattress, trying to relieve some of the painful pressure building beneath his boxers.
You dig your nails into his back, keeping him close while your other hand slips into his dark hair, at the nape of his neck.
“Ashveil… just fuck me already…” you whine, your voice trembling enough for tears to begin gathering at your lashes.
“What’s gotten you in such a hurry?” he murmurs now back against your mouth he must keep kissing, still teasing despite the fact he’s hardly an better. “You’re usually more patient that this.” Like has any right to talk. He’s been one second away from pouncing on you the moment you kissed him.
“Don’t tease,” you complain. “It’s been a while…”
He knows that well.
“Ah, so you’re just using me to get off?” he taunts lightly as he deliberately sinks his fingers deeper and watches your mouth open. Some insecure corner of him still threatens to take the possibility seriously instead of as rightful.
“No…” You pull him closer again, frustrated already. “Stop being such a detective. I need you. I want you.”
He’s even more dizzy after you say that.
Ashveil exhales shakily before finally pulling his fingers from inside you and licking them clean with a low groan. The sight alone makes butterflies rush through your stomach, something about the contrast between his usual shabby demeanor and the hunger in him now going straight to your head.
“Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “I’ll give you what you want. You shouldn’t even have to beg me for it…”
He lets you help him tug his boxers down, and he nearly finishes from the expression crossing your face once you finally see him fully, resting against his abdomen. Your hand wraps around his cock experimentally, pumping him a few slow times while smearing the leaking pre-cum across the tip with your thumb.
His head tips back immediately. It feels too good, enough that he momentarily fears he’ll really come before even getting inside you.
So he grabs your hips instead, grounding himself by dragging his cock through your folds first, coating himself in your slick with rough little thrusts that make your breath hitch. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist while your fingers clutch tightly at the sheets beneath you. Then he spits directly onto your cunt. You tremble, arching your back.
Once he finally pushes inside, breathing becomes difficult for different reasons.
He’s big. Bigger than you expected, and with how ridiculous Ashveil can sometimes be, it’s strangely easy to forget how imposing he actually is physically until moments like this. The stretch burns at first, enough to force a gasp from your throat, but the discomfort quickly melts into warmth and fullness that leaves your legs shaking around him.
One steady thrust and he’s inside your pussy completely, his balls resting at the curve of your ass.
“A-Ash-sh-veil—” your voice breaks as he starts moving immediately after, pace rough from the beginning as though control abandoned him entirely the second he felt your hot walls envelop him like a perfect, sunny day. Each thrust drags your body with it slightly, his hands bruising you, as the mattress creaks beneath the force of it while his breathing grows harsher against your mouth.
His eagle look only leaves you more flushed.
You notice his prosthetic arm gradually warming against your skin, heat pulsing strangely through the surface and dark seams alike, but whatever curiosity you once had about it you restrained from the fear of disrespecting him dissolves quickly once he hits another spot inside you that leaves your brain mushy. It’s your first time together, yet he already knows your body this well…
You're face to face while losing yourselves like this, both forced to watch each other abandon any pretense of friendliness in real time. Ashveil makes no effort whatsoever to suppress his own sounds either, low and ecstatic moans spilling from freely from him every time you tighten around his cock. He kisses your mouth before leaving more bites across that have your back arching, rinse and repeat.
Soon your legs are pushed nearly against your chest and the angle changes enough to make you cry out properly. He reaches impossibly deep like this, while your legs wriggle in the air uselessly as he keeps forcing your walls to adjust to his size.
“Please… it’s too much…” You whine out as you throw your head back against the pillow.
And yet, Ashveil still seems unsatisfied. Every thrust seems to leave him wanting more than the last time, his expressing growing more and more wrecked each time you moan for him, as if no amount of closeness could ever fully scratch that terrible hunger rooted inside him. Deeper, harder, faster—
“Fuck…” he groans loudly, adding to the ongoing noise reverberating against your bedroom walls. “You’re so good to me, baby… Just keep taking it like that…” He leans in closer to your face and his forehead presses briefly against your before he snaps his hips against your ass harder again. “Gonna make you come so hard.”
The praise only makes you clench tighter around him, and you mewl. Ashveil swears under his breath and grabs the headboard before he loses control completely, letting one of your legs slip down. Unfortunately for you, it only gives him more force behind each trust.
“S-slow down…” you gasp. “You're gonna break my bed…” you say, but it’s all a ghost of rationality speaking for you as you pull him closer by his shoulders.
“You need it. I know you do,” he growls.
He keeps fucking you like this, your nails dragging down his back hard enough to leave marks while he shudders beneath the sting of it. He likes the pain; likes the proof you’re overwhelmed enough to claw at him.
He lets your other leg go, so he can let thick globe of saliva suddenly spill from his mouth onto your cunt before he rolls it across your clit with slow but heavy circles of his thumb, watching your eyes roll back the same way.
“W-wait…” you say eventually.
“Just a bit more, pretty girl—”
“No, Ashveil…” you whimper.
He slows down rough to look at you properly, even if it comes with difficulty. “What is it?”
“M-more lube,” you admit breathlessly. “I’m getting sore…”
Maybe it’s not the sexiest interruption, but some concern flickers across his expression… even if frustration triumphs over the feeling.
“Don’t worry,” he says quickly, “I’ve got it.”
Still half inside you, Ashveil reaches automatically toward the nightstand beside the bed, already opening one drawer before clicking his tongue in annoyance.
“Dammit, you moved it to the other drawer.” These words slip out without him thinking.
The room goes still.
Ashveil freezes when he notices you tense up.
“Why you looking at me like that?” he asks carefully.
“How did you know it was moved?”
“What?”
“You said I moved it.”
He stares at you, in a way that makes your stomach tighten unpleasantly. It makes him look much more different, like he dares you to oppose him further.
“We’re seriously discussing lube logistics in the middle of sex?” he asks with irritation, already opening the second drawer instead. “Relax. Nightstands are the most obvious place imaginable to keep it.”
“Yes, but…” You swallow. “How did you know I moved it?”
“I thought you mentioned reorganizing your room before.”
“But I didn’t—”
Before you can continue, he squirts lube over himself and pushes fully back inside you in one rough thrust, effectively knocking the thought from your head altogether.
“Just focus on me,” he says more sharply now. He doubts he can stop at this point anyway.
More unease brews in your guts despite the pleasure right beneath. You try speaking again, but he thrusts deeper immediately after and your protest dissolves into a broken gasp instead. Tears spill freely down your cheeks from sheer overstimulation while your hands press weakly against his shoulders as if attempting to still keep him away.
Then he flips you onto your stomach. The sudden movement knocks the breath from you entirely, and you’re once more surprised, and maybe a bit concerned by his strength. Your face is pushed into the pillows while Ashveil lays his weight over your back as he drives back inside your hole again, his long and thick cock hitting your pussy hard. He doesn’t want you seeing how wrecked and pathetic he looks, yet he craves to be as close as possible.
He pounds into your hard enough to force little sobs from your throat and make it nearly painful, one hand gripping your hip while the other presses against the back of your neck to keep you still beneath him. You squirm like one of his preys underneath him, feeling the sharp sting of his sweaty skin clashing with yours, but he ignores the way you scratch back at him from the intensity, soiling the pillow from your tears.
“Stop overthinking,” he grows near your ear, tickling your sensitive skin with his long hair that flows to his tempo. “And take it properly.”
The command sends another flush of heat through you despite everything.
You’re trembling uncontrollably by now, pleasure building too fast for your body to keep up with. Ashveil isn’t far behind either, judging from the way his thrusts keep losing rhythm whenever you squeeze around him especially tightly. You can feel the ways he’s pulsing as he keeps you so full.
Then his hand slips beneath your stomach again to rub over your clit unceremoniously. It doesn’t take him much before your orgasm crashes through you so violently, your vision whites out for a moment. Your mouth falls open soundlessly against the pillow while drool dampens the fabric beneath your cheek even more, your body twitching helplessly underneath him as wave after wave keeps hitting.
The way you tighten around him finally send him over the edge too. A broken grunt tears from his throat as he collapses heavily against your back, his cock spilling thick warm inside your cunt in long bursts.
For a good minute, neither of you moves, catching your breaths. You shake, feeling sweat stick to you all over your body.
Then Ashveil slowly pulls out, watching his release leak down the inside of your tights.
Before you can sit up fully, however, he catches your waist.
“No. Not yet,” he growls.
He pushes you back down, and drops between your legs before you can properly process what he’s doing. The first drag of his tongue through the mess between your thighs makes your entire body jerk violently.
“Ashveil—”
He groans against your hole instead, licking into you eagerly while cleaning you up, as if to either remove his stain from you or keep the part of you inside his body. He cannot stand wasting even this final intimacy between you.
It’s too much, and you’re far too sensitive post-orgasm. Yet every attempt to squirm away only results in him tugging you back harder while your cries grow increasingly pathetic against the pillows. His tongue pushes deep inside you, gathering every drop, before returning to your clit again, licking up every trace of wetness and cum alike with shameless greed until another smaller orgasm wrings through you embarrassingly fast.
By the time he finally lifts you upright between his legs afterward, your thoughts feel sluggish and disconnected. Still, little things begin surfacing unpleasantly through the haze now that the intensity has faded enough for your brain to function again.
All these months of him appearing where you are, just excused by his supposedly excellent detective skills. Knowing your dog’s tastes. That random receipt. The way he moved through your bedroom without hesitation. The way Princess calmed down too quickly—and, now come to think of it, he didn’t have any allergic reaction either.
The drawer thing.
Ashveil occasionally said something dumb, yet everything was somehow explained, but the drawer thing now bothers you especially. You feel so stupid, believing you should have done your research about him before getting friendly better, no matter how lonely you might have been yourself.
You notice the way his hold on you firms, as if he became aware of the dilemma that rules and shifts in your body language. You're scared at the thought of what he might do should you tell him that truth.
“You good?” he asks quietly, holding his face in the crook of your neck.
“Yeah,” you answer automatically, though uncertainty bleeds through your voice. “I just need to…” Then you try pulling away.
He lifts his head and eyes you suspiciously. “Something wrong?”
“No,” you say tiredly. “I just wanna use the bathroom.”
Ashveil watches you carefully for a longer moment before finally loosening his hold.
You stand up impetuously despite your shaky legs and begin gathering your discarded clothes against yourself.
“I see,” he says slowly. “I’ll wait here.”
But he does not believe you for even a second, his heart hammering in sudden distress. The moment you leave the room, he quickly dons on his clothes. Quietly moving closer to the hallway, he listens.
He can hear your voice, muffled and nervous—speaking on the phone.
Oh no.
He moves fast, pushing through the door. By the time the call starts connecting, he’s already behind you, snatching the phone from your hands before you can even notice him.
With your hand managing to grasp at least the bottom half of the device right in time, you quickly disconnect the line.
“Hey,” he says sharply, breathing heavily and trying to retrieve the electronic, “who are you calling? I told you the police would be useless in this situation.”
“I-it wasn’t the police!” you blurt out, lying. Your eyes open wider. “Wait… How would you know that.”
Shit. He just keeps implying things. “Who else would be you be calling at this hour?” he asks, bitterness rising into his voice. “A friend? So you can tell them you regret sleeping with me already?” He glares at you.
Yet his thoughts spiral into something much more fragile than the sense of disrespect. Real, honest fear he hadn't the occasion to experience in a while.
Please. Don’t ruin this for him.
“That’s not it—”
“Then what is it?”
“I wanted to…” Your voice trembles. “Order us some food.”
“You said you were going to the bathroom.”
“It was supposed to be a surprise.”
“Then show me the phone.” His hand tugs on the phone you still clutch. “If what you’re saying is true.”
“That’s weird,” you say defensively, shrinking back. “You should trust me more.”
“And you should stop looking at me like I’m about to kill you.”
The words come out far worse than he intended, as Ashveil can see you flinch.
Silence stretches between you both and that damn phone, suffocating and ugly, until finally the pressure snaps and you can’t hold it in anymore.
“Were you the one stalking me?” you ask with small dread. “Breaking into my house?”
Ashveil stares; then he laughs through his nose, disbelieving, and steps closer to pull you against him before you can retreat further.
“What are you talking about?” He twist off and puts your phone aside on the small table before his hands settle on your arms in attempt of comfort. “Oh, I get it now. You’re exhausted all that happened tonight, and your mind is playing tricks with you. That’s understandable, sweetheart, so we should just rest—”
“It all makes sense now though!”
“What.”
“All those weird comments you kept making!” Your voice rises despite your worry he’ll snap. Even that rough sex seems worrying in hindsight. “You showing up everywhere I go, acting like you know things you shouldn’t! The lube thing! Someone breaking into my house and somehow knowing exactly what they were doing—”
“It's not what you think it is!” he butts in, while nearly shaking you.
“That’s what people always say when it is what you think it is!”
Alright. Maybe you’re correct. Still, you are missing important nuance here!
Ashveil exhales deeply and rubs a hand over his face, more exasperated than angry. “Okay. Fine,” he acquiesces. “Maybe some things looked strange. But have I ever hurt you?”
The questions stops you from trying to pull away from his hands.
“So you can believe me when I say I don’t have bad intensions.”
He’s not denying it. He’s explaining it, sounding like someone already aware he has crossed too many lines to convincingly pretend innocence.
You feel bile come up to your throat, stuck in terror. He is your stalker, and you just have slept with him.
All those walks together, “accidental” or “deduced” meetings, all those services right in time— You can’t believe how blind you’ve been, but you don’t even want to imagine how many times he may have followed you, watched you, entered your home. You have a worse issue on your plate, your safety compromised.
You finally go for the door.
The second you bold away from him, ripping yourself from his grasp, Ashveil’s expression changes into something vicious.
“Come back here!”
You sprint through the apartment, heart pumping so hard it makes you taste blood. Unlike him, you know this layout—no, scratch that. He knows it too, much to your fear, and he’s fast.
You barely reach the hallway before strong arms hook around your waist from behind and lift you off the floor. You scream immediately as you kick and thrash against him.
“Let me go!” you scream. “Help me—”
He curses under his breath and quickly sets you down again to clamp a hand over your mouth so the neighbors cannot hear you.
“Hey, stop screaming!” he hisses desperately into your ear. “I’m not going to hurt you. You just need to listen to me for five minutes.”
You fight him anyway, digging your heels against the floor while he attempts to drag you backward, trying not to actually manhandle you harder than necessary.
Then unexpectedly, Princess arrives.
The barking explodes through the house once she sees you in your distress, loud and and furious enough to make Ashveil panic too.
“Princess!” you cry weakly against his palm, the sound muffled.
The dog only gets louder, teeth bared now.
Honestly, the betrayal stings Ashveil a little. After everything, all those treats and secret visits over beef jerky, he really thought they had achieved some sort of understanding. He could be her second owner. Even her dog father, in a horribly domestic fantasy he occasionally indulges in when particularly lonely.
Turns out Princess is more like a queen of this kingdom, and she’s still loyal to you, choosing you over treats alike.
She’s a good girl which he should praise her for, but her timing is still extremely inconvenient.
“Princess,” Ashveil warns, “quiet!”
She barks even harder, not liking his tone at all. His pulse spikes at the thought of your neighbors hearing her and finding it alarming.
Ashveil hates himself for what he says next. “Tell her to stop,” he says coldly from behind you, “or I'll make her stop.”
It sounds a threat enough to you, as your sobs burst violently against his palm. It’s unbelievable he’s been such a bastard all along, now betraying you in the worst way imaginable for a pet owner.
He doesn't want to hurt the dog and he’d probably cry afterward if he actually had to, but the fear has already pushed him to resort to more extreme measures.
“If I move my hand,” he says more gently now, “will you calm her down without screaming again?”
You nod, terrified for Princess’s safety. So slowly, he lets go of your mouth.
“P-Princess.” Your voice shakes terribly. “Go. We're just playing.”
The whine you hear in response tugs at your heart.
“Please,” you beg her.
Princess hesitates for another second before reluctantly retreating down the hallway, her tail low.
Ashveil exhales in relief.
“See?” he says quietly, not sure if he’s reassuring you or himself. “Nobody’s getting hurt.”
You don’t answer, still scared, so he continues, “Listen.” He slightly eases his grip on you, though not enough to let you break free easily. “Here’s what's going to happen.”
But your terrified brain only hears: “here’s what’s going happen to you.” Especially if Ashveil he no longer looks like your strange detective anymore. He’s bigger, stronger, and definitely capable of vile acts. In a way no amount of self-deprecating humor of a pathetic dog at your doorstep can soften now; a broken-legged wolf finally cornered yet still having it in him.
Ashveil’s own thoughts are spiraling just as badly. He doesn't know what Mister N would do if he suddenly dragged home a terrified woman in the middle of the night. And if you disappear entirely, there’s every chance somebody connects him to you eventually, and he refuses to ask Pearl for help in something so revolting. You pass through with him by your side often, enough for some of the public to recognize you two.
He doesn't want your relationship destroyed completely either. Even with your trembling in fear in his arms, the desperate parts of him still want to salvage it.
“You and I are going to talk,” he says after brief pondering, trying to even out his breathing. He has to stay strong for the both of you. “You’re going to listen to me properly and realize I mean no harm.”
Right as he lets you go, his hand finds yours before leading you back towards the bedroom that now feels claustrophobic. Your obedience as you follow him is no more than anxiety towards repercussions.
This time, he sits down on your against the headboard with you trapped on his lap, arms wrapped around your waist while you remain stiff like a prey in freeze mode. The moment he presses his face into your shoulder, all of that aggression turns into something weary.
Yet the fear he’s going to hurt you cannot leave, no matter how much he exposes his belly.
“It was one time,” he murmurs weakly. “Just this once.”
“I don't believe you.” You squirm on his lap, bracing your hands against his shoulders, but he only tugs you closer.
“Someone experienced at breaking into your house would not leave something as stupid as a grocery store receipt.”
Well, he would, but…
And to you, that sounds like a sound argument to you. However…“That doesn’t prove your innocence!” you argue with tears of fury prickling your tears as you glare down at him. “You could have gotten comfortable! And even if it were to be one time thing, that doesn’t make it okay anyway!”
“I know.” His voice cracks, quieter. “I know it doesn't. I just… needed to be close to you,” he looks you deep in the eyes as he says that, all sad-sappy. Then he hides himself in your shoulder again. “I’m sorry if it makes me look disgusting. Or frightening. Perverse. I know how it sounds.”
It’s a touch-and-go situation. One wrong sentence and perhaps you'll hate him completely. Or maybe you’ll pity him again. Or maybe you’ll find him even more disturbing, demanding that he disappears from your life entirely—he’d break apart like tawdry pottery right after.
As the admission settles heavily over your already addled head, his body suddenly jerks. You feel warm tears hit your skin, those that he cannot stop for once.
Truly a selfish man he is.
At first, you almost think he's taking it deliberately—and some part of him is, leeching off your empathy. Ashveil is not stupid; he knows exactly how soft-hearted you are, and how difficult it is for you to stay angry at someone visibly suffering.
However, the tears themselves are real, falling shamefully no matter how tightly he clenches his jaw.
“I have no one left,” he says shakily, crumbling at your expense. “Do you understand that? I scrape together enough money to keep the lights on, I sleep in a damn refrigerator to ease my arm pain, people either hate me or want something from me, and then…” His grip around you tightens so much you almost suffocate. But he needs to hold onto you. “Then you happened.”
Your chest tightens painfully and it's not his because of his iron hold. All these weeks of him following you, hesitant at first, doing acts of service for you—wordlessly demanding to be useful. Lighting up at a simple nice sentence or trying to impress you dumb ways.
You thought he's just a people pleaser, someone who in the end wants to help everyone. Yes, he seemed a bit lonely, but you didn't anticipate this extent of grief.
“But why…” Your own eyes water even more from the pressure of his woes. “Why wouldn't you just ask to spend time with me normally? We already saw each other all the time…”
“It’s… different.”
“Different how. Are you being stupidly prideful or something?”
Ashveil goes quiet for a longer moment again. The real answer sounds pathetic. Saying “I wanted to be near you even when you weren’t choosing me, as humanly possible” is not something most people would admit aloud.
“No. I…” he weighs his words carefully, “I didn’t want to suffocate you. I know what I’m like, once I care about someone, I…” He laughs weakly through the tears. “I get attached, deeply. So I thought if I stayed nearby quietly, it wouldn't burden you.”
“And that warrants breaking in?” You look at the top of his head, your lip trembling at the thought.
“No,” he admits immediately. “To be fair, it sounds insane when said out aloud.” Another small laughs escaped him. “Cowardly.”
“Were you stalking me too?” you ask again.
“Define stalking.”
You stare at him with disbelief. “Ashveil!”
No denial makes it clear to you.
He lifts his head, speaking frantically as it occurs to him that you’re at your wits’ end, he willing to admit at least something so you could find it within your heart to forgive him. “Fine!” He wipes his eyes aggressively with the heel of his palm, the other hand still holding your waist. “I followed you a few times. But only because Planarcadia’s dangerous and you have absolutely no survival instincts sometimes and—”
The slap cuts him off sharply, his head turning from the impact. He looks back at you slowly, smiling wistfully. “Yeah,” he says quietly, “I deserved that.”
He’d take that over you leaving him. You still haven't tried to kick him out—not that he’d let you succeed in it easily—which he desperately takes as a positive sign.
“Don’t stop,” he says with a quiver, tears still stubbornly clinging to his lashes. “Keep hitting me if you want, if it makes you feel better.”
And so you do.
It's easy to let anger overtake you after everything. Your palms strike his shoulders, his chest, his face once more, while something twists furiously inside you, wanting him to stop looking so miserable. He should stop acting like a kicked dog after frightening you half to death.
“How could you do something like this?!”
“I know
“You lied to me.”
“I know.”
“You’re insane.”
“Probably.”
Yet Ashveil only takes it, not trying to defend himself, only making sure you don't leave his lap; as though punishment is preferable to the thought of you leaving him.
However, seeing him crying properly again, looking all the more shaken and choking on his sobs, the sight snuffs the rest of your anger out before you can continue. The lamp beside your bed shines light on how worn out to the bone he is, painting ugly caricature of the man you believed to know differently. The guilt, even if misplaced between you two, tears you apart.
“Stop being so meek!” you yell, starting to cry on your own. “I don’t know what happened to you, but…”
You truly don’t know and he doubts you’d want to know. Or maybe you would, striving to understand him as part of your empathy, and you’d simply frown upon the truth. About Kronstadt, La Mancha, battles full of hunger and destruction, companions reduced to fragments of themselves… About phantom pain and endless revenge, vendetta and the hunt, centuries spent surviving when he no longer wishes to.
“Hey, hey…” he murmurs, trying to bite down his tears. “Hey, it’s okay…” Slowly, he pulls you both back down onto the mattress, holding you and your trembling body against his chest. “We don't have to talk about all that tonight,” he whispers softly. “You’re exhausted.”
You do realize you should push him away, scream again, throw him out and never let him near you afterwards.
You must be insane or gullible or stupid or anything such, for you let him stay by your side. You curl yourself closer to him, needing some reassurance. You can’t pinpoint whether you're simply overwhelmed and he’s the nearest comfort to reach, you're just lonely on your own, or if somewhere along the way, Ashveil genuinely did become important to you. The responsibility now feels forced onto you anyway.
That choice to accept his touch elates his chest for a moment, he nearly laughs from the joy. Forgetting himself about his typical concerns and the price to pay for them should they be overlooked, he tucks your head under his before starting to rub your back. Holding you like this is as wonderful as he imagined.
“Can we…” he begins, a bit less torn, sniffling out the last sobs. “Can we try again? No more secrets like that this time.”
There will be secrets, of course. Things he can never safely tell you. But smaller ones, perhaps…
“I’ll be good for you. To you,” he promises like his life depends on it. “I need you.”
“I don’t want you to be good for me!” you cry out into his chest. “Just… be.”
The words affect him more than anything that has been done so far. Words he doesn’t deserve and that he mustn’t endorse, words that he still chooses to selfishly cling to. If he perhaps has only a few years left, he wishes to shine bright under your light.
“Then…” He swallows hard, his ears ringing from the surge of happiness that went suddenly through him; at least, the closest thing he’s felt to it in ages. A small ray of sunshine, overshadowing his guilt and dullness for a moment. “Will you let me stay near you?”
You know you shouldn’t. Every nerve in your body screams at you that this is wrong, unhealthy being the least intimidating and meddlesome part. He violated your privacy, lied to your face, manipulated you, and frightened you so badly you though this night might become your last.
But how can you feel anything but cruel when Ashveil cups your face so carefully, lifting your gaze at his, and looks at you as if you have handed something dying an unexpected reason to keep breathing? Perhaps some weak part of you recognizes that loneliness more than you would want to admit.
Against all reason, you nod your head against his palm.
Ashveil smiles.
Unlike yours, it isn’t a pretty smile at all.
If you’re still here, thank you for reading! <3 Comments and reblogs are appreciated.
la squadra and dramatic child!reader? like formaggio could lightly nudge them out the way and reader would fall down dramatically and hurt themselves for absolutely no reason, i find dramatic people who do stuff like this so hilarious lmao
I apologise for this taking so long I got obsessed with tomodachi life and it was all I could think about for a few weeks
La Squadra x Dramatic Child Reader
It's always hard to have a kid in the house
But you know what's harder?
Having a kid that's overreacting at every situation
AKA Prosciutto's personal Hell
You're the only kid he tolerates, really
And he would do anything for you too
But it would be just a little bit easier if you weren't whining that your cereal weren't the same brand you usually eat at 7 in the morning
"I don't like thoseeee"
"You literally said that those were your favourite cereal last week"
"They're NOT the same"
"Yes they are"
"They are NOT"
He had to buy you the exact brand of cereal later because you wouldn't stop whining about it
And because you said that you won't eat breakfast ever again
But don't worry, Prosciutto doesn't have to suffer through your antics alone
Risotto, in particular, has it worse
Especially because he has to explain to your teachers why you randomly decided to just fall in PE class
"It is the third time this month", he muttered, putting a bandaid on your knee because OF COURSE you scraped it while falling
You just shrugged, "I didn't feel like running today"
There's also your unfounded health scares
Melone has to very patiently explain to you why you physically can't have tuberculosis
"You don't have tuberculosis"
"How are you so sure?"
"...You have a vaccine and one of the symptoms is persistent cough, usually with blood. And you just sneezed"
"Well MAYBE it's the new strain of tuberculosis and I'm the first person to have it", you sighed dramatically, "I can already feel the illness spreading through my body"
Illuso and Formaggio are the only people who got used to it at this point
Illuso once had to pull you away from the scalding pot on the stove
"OW! Why do you have to pull me so hard?"
"Yeah yeah, sorry for saving your life"
And Formaggio had to slightly nudge you away, as he was carrying some heavy boxes
Of course he heard you fall after this
"Hey! Why did you push me? I think I broke my leg from the impact"
"Don't worry, we'll just have to cut it off then", he said nonchalantly
Needless to say that you stood up without any problem right after this sentence
It is easy to scare Pesci though
Because why on earth would you randomly fall off the couch?
You two were watching tv and the next thing he knows, you're already on the floor
"Oh god are you okay? Can you stand? Are you hurt? Do I need to call for help? Do I-"
"I wanted to experience the fall"
"What does that even mean??"
It took a lot of convincing from Prosciutto for him to calm down that day
With Ghiaccio things are bit.. different
In the way that you try not to get on his nerves
Don't get me wrong, this man would take a bullet for you
It's just easier for everyone if you don't irritate him
an: oc ashveil omg i was horny asf i needed to write this so bad 😩
ashveil is so sex starved bcuz he's always on the move and doesn't have time to settle down in one place until he does.
he took you with him on this specific mission because of your case solving prowess and because your boss secretly likes you.
he'll lay down on his back while his fingers are digging in the flesh of your thighs, locking you in place on his face.
he kitten licks and spreads open your folds, sucks on your clit, tongue fucks you like you're the first meal he's eaten in weeks. you're crying your boss's name like a broken record.
his dick standing up straight drenched in his leaking cum, twitching violently, desperate to be touched. pressure building in his lower abdomen at your taste and the sweet sounds escaping your lips.
your grinding your cunt faster on his face, cutting his source of air. he's happy to be in the position that he is in! he could die happy if he wanted to.
ashveil's moans send vibrations through you, his lips sloppily attaching themselves to your clit, sucking hard making you scream his name.
that skilled tongue of his makes you see stars. you're coming hard on his pretty face. he swallows everything you have to give him while you're coming down from your high.
you slide off his face with a sinful squelch noise. he looks fucked out already, you smirk down at him.
"ready for round 2, detective?" his eyes go wide for a second as you place his hat on your head. ashveil had no idea how much of a nasty woman you really were..
a shy man with a big cock who guides it into you with his hand, softly moaning as you squeeze around him. stays inside of you for a moment, unmoving, because he is so grateful to be in you. thanks you and proceeds to fuck you like a feral animal
"I just saw the latest leaks that Lohen's constellation is a rabbit. So, what if Alice turned him into a rabbit and asked you to take care of him? You have no idea the rabbit is actually Lohen, and the two of you end up eating, bathing, and sleeping together."
OH DEAR, ANOTHER ONE HERE?
Lohen x apprentice!reader: approximately 1.4k words (I genuinely cannot stop writing unless I’m satisfied with the background of the scenarios). Uhh might be ooc Lohen cuz..well..there’s really not much known about him. Use of “you” only. Not proofread bc I had to stop writing 7 times and continued building my mc house instead.
ALICE has always been one for entertaining almost every idea that pops into her or her daughter’s head. Somehow, as her newly appointed apprentice, you’ve been on the receiving end of the results. In fact, when it came to rather..material things, she’d just shove it to your hands like you had no choice! (Which you didn’t, really.) Hence, every time a guest comes over, you’d always hear about how ‘personalized’ your room was—given that there were things decorated that were contrasting, to say the least.
Looking around your room in a humble home in Mondstadt, you’d just have to agree with them, sighing as you recalled a memory of one of her whims.
“I tried experimenting on turning hilichurls into plushies!” She once excitedly exclaimed, holding up a cotton-made, somewhat creepy miniature of a hilichurl. “Isn’t it cute? My, my, I’d say we can even dress it up!” Giggling, she set it down for a moment as she talked (mostly to herself), while you had to stand there in silence. Because, what? What does she mean, she just turned a hilichurl into a damned toy?! Needless to say, that toy now rests in your nightstand with a few other trinkets. ‘Oh goodness, the poor hilichurl..he even has a frilly dress on now..’
If Alice wasn’t enough of a headache for you with all her weird experiments, the Vice Captain just had to come to the picture as well. He’d approached you with a smile once, on your first encounter outside Mondstadt’s gates, when Alice first sent you to the town. He was sent to welcome you in, and you thought he was a rather strange but easy to talk guy. He was just to show you around, and it was the case for at least a week. Until after, asking if you knew how to fight. Once you responded no, he’d asked if you can make something to fight.
Obviously not! Was he crazy?! You had to smile at him just to not explode.
Since then, you’d tried avoiding him and Alice (which, really, you can only do so much before you get sentenced to #dropout).
Again, it’s not like you can hide from Alice anyway. Because she just showed up in your room. With a bunny.
“What the—!” Your shock was cut short by your mentor’s hand shutting you up as she tutted. “Now, now. I did tell you not to curse, yes?” You almost scoffed. Still, you nodded and she retracted her hand from your mouth to the.. oh, that’s a rabbit. Bunnies, you’ve seen, are definitely smaller. Oh dear, here’s another one of her experiments…
“This young one was–!” It was your turn to cut her off, “–was another unfortunate experiment? Or a just-to-be?” You sighed, taking the rabbit in your hand. It looks normal, even if it had unusually red and some sort of blue colored eyes. Still, you figured she was just about to use it. Hell, maybe she already started. Poor, unfortunate thing. You hugged it, caressing the fur in an attempt to comfort the animal. “Master, please stop torturing these souls!”
She gasped, hand on her heart like she was offended. “I do none of the sort, I’ll have you know! This is all in the name of advancing magic, dear.” As if. You rolled your eyes, “Okay, and how would this cutie have helped?” The rabbit seemed to jump a bit at that, which made you look pensively. “You’ll see! Buh-bye now, take care of him, ‘kay?” Before you could react properly, she was gone. So this is a male?
Clicking your tongue, you turned your attention back to the rabbit at hand. “You hungry, little guy?” Cooing at its affectionate nature—which seemed off, for some reason— you made your way to your kitchen area. You didn’t have much besides a few staple food items like cabbage, so you figured it would do. Not even bothering to cut it, you tore out a piece as you leveled your head the same as the anime, nudging the piece to its direction. “Here, eat.”
You swear the rabbit looked pissed. Shit, maybe it’s the type to explode? How different is this from the one that Outrider had? Better treat it nicely. Laughing awkwardly to yourself, you spoke in a slower, nicer tone. “Um..uh..bunny, eat this so you don’t die of hunger, ‘kay? Do you not like it? Aww.” Taking it into your arms once again, you tried feeding it to the best of your abilities.
After a while, it seemed to relax in its position in your chest. Yes, chest. Well, maybe it was comfy. “You sleepy, little guy? You know, you’re much better company than I thought.” Sighing, you thought of the people around you. It might be strange to be acquainted with an animal, but at least it doesn’t pose a threat. Yet. “Better than a certain mentor of mine or a crazy, battle maniac of a knight, at least.”
The rabbit didn’t seem to like that because you swear it just attempted to kill you with the way it jumped to your face. “Hey—!” What monster is this?! It almost tackled you into the ground!
After a good 10 minutes of arguing (?) with the animal, you were left laying down on the floor, breathless. You had to admit defeat—fortunately it didn’t kill you, but somehow it now opted to rest on your neck. Scary part is it seems ready to use its claws. You take back your earlier statement, this rabbit was nuts! Another scarier part is that it stinks.
“Okay, you maniac, if you don’t kill me first with your claws I’m gonna be killed by your hygiene.” Huffing, you strutted towards your bathroom. “Guess we’ll have to make sure you’re clean.” You had to bathe yourself, anyway. You set it down on the counter, preparing before undressing yourself and getting in the bath.
Until sudden splashes of water poured down your form as the rabbit jumped in with you. For goodness sake’s, isn’t it supposed to be scared of water?! “Ah come on! I was gonna clean you up after me.” Still, it’s not like you had the skill to battle and argue and nag a crazy rabbit in the bath, so you just suck it up, taking it into your arms once again as you grumpily reach for the soap.
You swear the rabbit looked pleased with himself as you held him in all your naked glory. Archons, even animals are perverted now? This is starting to get real strange, but you chose to ignore it for the sake of your sanity and tried your best to not displease the little animal. (Keyword: best, as it somehow had a goal to knock down everything that could be knocked down. It even got a hold of something sharp for some reason..)
By the time you’re getting into bed, you’ve stopped caring about the details. It’s been a real exhausting day. For some reason, this little maniac reminded you of someone who, for some reason, has yet to show himself at your doorstep with a request to make something for him yet again. In a way, it’s like an animal counterpart..
But you couldn’t think straight enough to care. Opting to put on meager clothes, because you’d rather not suffer through the heat of sleeping beside an animal with fur, and embraced it anyway. Even if it might just pounce and kill during your slumber. “Goodnight, little guy. You should..really thank me for.. getting you off of her hands, you know..?” You smiled as best as you could while your mind was fighting with unconsciousness, which won in the end anyway as you drifted off to sleep.
Unfortunately, you might have thought too much about the Vice Captain before you slept.
Because why else would he be in your bed, sleeping beside you, and basically cuddling you if not for you being in some sort of weird dream?!
That thought quickly evaporated as he shifted in his sleep, seemingly. No, this couldn’t be the knight that bothered you with that teasing smile and eyes. He looked too peaceful and innocent. You refuse to accept it.
Maybe you did something to offend the archons as he suddenly stirs awake, eyes taking in your form. “Oh? What a lovely sight to see in the morning. Dare I say, rivaling the one last night.” His lower morning voice echoed through the room, somehow having more audacity to shift closer and nuzzle into your form, as if he wasn’t already holding you with his hand in your waist and his other underneath your head. “You seem uncomfortable, little mage. I thought you found me cute?”
self-portrait by anonymous on ao3 is truly the fic of all time to me i have reread it an embarrassing amount of times in the past year but it truly is that good
You have a secret to tell Bepo and the captain can't know.
pairing(s): trafalgar law x reader, heart pirates x reader (platonic)
warning(s): alcohol consumption, hangovers
a/n: hehe idk about y'all, but i've definitely been drunk enough to forget who people are and how i know them. thought i'd write something silly about that kind of thing with my favorite nerdy doctor, hehe. enjoy!
I do not give anyone permission to copy, repost, or translate my work. This includes to A.I. programs. However, you are free to like, comment, and/or reblog it.
“Psst. Psst, Bepo!” You whisper yell to Mink across from you. You and the rest of the Heart Pirates are settled around a bonfire, drinking and enjoying each other’s company. After all, even your somber, serious captain recognizes you all deserve to let loose once in a while.
And let loose you have.
You are sitting happily on a log near the bonfire, happily drinking your third… fourth… fifth cup of sake. Your cheeks are flushed, you’re swaying a little too much in your seat, and you are full of unwarranted confidence. You’re also sitting next to Law, who is eyeing you with careful concern as you get more and more intoxicated.
Bepo looks away from Penguin, who he had been talking to, and meets your eyes. He tilts his head in acknowledgment, saying your name in response.
“Bepo, I have a secret to tell you!” You inform him, still whisper yelling, still loud enough for him to hear you from across the party space, and still loud enough to catch the attention of the entire crew.
Looking around cautiously, Bepo takes notice that several members of the crew have turned their attention to you. After all, you’re not being subtle, and the impending secret might be interesting.
“Are you sure you want to tell me right now?” Bepo asks nervously, beginning to wring his paws together. “Everyone is listening.”
“They can’t hear me, Bepo!” You laugh, taking a confident sip of the drink still in your hand. “I’m whispering! Only you can hear me, silly!”
“That’s not— That’s not how that works,” Bepo argues, still attempting to save you from the inevitable embarrassment sure to follow in the morning when sobriety finally comes to greet you.
“Sure it is! Anyway! My secret!” You swing your arms out excitedly, right arm swinging right in front of Law, who carefully removes your drink from your hand without a word, setting it on the ground away from you. You don’t notice.
“Are you ready?” You grin at Bepo. He nods, but not without shooting his captain a concerned look that says, Don’t you plan on stopping this? Law just shrugs, returning his attention to you.
“Okay. Don’t tell anyone. No one—and I mean no one—can know!” Bepo nods, encouraging you to go on. Law stiffens. Maybe he should stop you. Law says your name. Low. Warning. You’re already talking.
“Bep, I have a huge—I’m talkin’ massive—crush on the captain!” You start to giggle. Your face feels so warm, your smile feels so big, and the excitement coursing through you makes you teeter in your seat a little. You feel a hand grab your bicep, steadying you. You don't pay too much mind, though, as you continue to stare at Bepo.
Bepo's mouth drops open, Shachi and Penguin burst out laughing, Ikkaku smirks into her drink, and Law? Law just raises his eyebrows at you, mouth slightly ajar, shock evident on his face, and hand still holding onto you. Of course, the shock is not from the contents of the confession—no, he knew that already—but from the timing and the ridiculousness of the confession.
Bepo says your name cautiously. "You know, I think everyone knew that already," he says gently, almost as if trying not to spook you as he breaks the news your secret was never really, well, secret.
"Yeah! That's not a secret!" Shachi chimes in as he catches his breath.
"Everyone knows you have the hots for Captain," Penguin adds helpfully.
"That's enough," Law finally says, finally releasing your arm now that you've regained your balance.
"What do you mean everyone knows?! That's crazy. You're the first person I told!" You argue, a frown gracing your lips, and so incredibly wasted—unaware that you and Law have been together for years. Funny side-effect of alcohol: the occasional tendency to cause temporary memory loss.
Bepo looks incredibly lost—torn between sparing your feelings or insisting upon the truth. Shachi and Penguin start laughing again. Law just sighs deeply and says your name, earning your attention. You turn to face the captain of the Heart Pirates.
"Law?!" You nearly shout. "How long have you been there?!"
"I've been here the whole time," he deadpans.
"You... you didn't happen to hear anything, did you?" You ask, voice timid and nervous all of a sudden.
"You mean did I hear you confess to having a 'massive crush' on me? Yeah, I did."
You swallow nervously before shaking your head to try and clear your muddled thoughts. "Ah, well. You know what? It's true. I do!"
"I know," he says, tone exasperated as his lips threaten to curl into a soft smirk.
Ignoring the comment, you take in a deep breath and keep talking, turning your body to face Law fully, reaching out to grab his right hand, holding it tightly between both of your own hands.
"Captain, since you know everything now anyway, I have a very, very important question to ask you." Law raises an eyebrow at you, prompting you to continue. The crew watches on with bated breath, excited to hear what more nonsense will leave your mouth.
"Do you have a girlfriend?" You ask, eyes earnest, tone serious. Earnest.
The crew inhales, letting their hands fly to their mouths or turning their entire bodies away from the scene in front of them, trying not to laugh. Law's lips part in shock, eyebrows raising into his hairline. He stares at you a moment before steeling his face again and responding.
"I have a wife, actually," he says, watching you carefully and beginning to regret not cutting you off from the sake a long time ago. Drink two was probably enough, but you'd insisted you were fine and two turned into three turned into four turned into five.
I have a wife, actually.
The words burn in your ears as you stare at Law in front of you. You feel your lip begin to tremble and bite down on it trying to stop yourself from crying, yet you feel the tears begin to prickle in your eyes. You let go of Law's hand and turn away, wiping quickly at your eyes to try and hide the evidence of your upset. When you answer, you speak slowly, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice.
"Oh," you say softly. "That's nice. She's really lucky."
The crew can't help it. Shachi and Penguin burst into loud laughs again; Ikkaku lets a wide, amused grin overtake her face; and even Bepo is laughing, covering his mouth with his paw and trying to hide his glee. Law just sighs loudly.
"I should have cut you off hours ago," he says tiredly.
"Cut me off? What? I didn't mean to offend you, Captain! I'm sorry! I wouldn't have said anything if I realized you were married!" You feel the tears start to run down your cheeks, unable to prevent yourself from crying at the thought of cutting you off from the crew. Who knew an innocent crush on the captain would be so devastating for you?
"Not from the crew," Law says dryly. "Cut you off from the sake, woman." He sounds a little irritated, and you feel your frown deepen.
"I'm so sorry!" You say again, letting your arms wrap around yourself as you attempt to calm down.
"Who is she anyway? I can't believe I didn't know you were married."
Law says your name, stressing the word as to pull your attention back to him.
"You are my wife."
You blink. Once. Twice. You are my wife. You stare into Law's eyes and try to pull out any hint of him messing with you. You find only truth.
"Really?"
"Yes."
Your lips pull into a wide, goofy smile.
"This is great news! Oh, my goodness! Law, this is so exciting! I'm your wife?! I'm your wife?! I'm your wife?!" You giggle helplessly. "How did I forget?! This is so exciting! I'm so lucky!"
You then hurl yourself into Law's lap, positioning yourself so you're straddling him, and let your hands grab either side of his face. Immediately, you start peppering kisses all over his face in between giggles.
"Tch! Stop, you. The crew is watching."
You don't stop until Law manhandles you off of him and informs the crew the two of you are done for the night. The last thing you remember is Law picking you up bridal style and carrying you back to the Polar Tang.
.
You groan as you flop down into your seat at the breakfast table, gratefully accepting the hot cup of coffee someone slides your way. You grab the mug with both hands, leaning over it almost protectively. You scrunch your eyes closed, blocking out the overhead lights, and inhale the bitter aroma, letting it wash over your incredibly hungover senses.
"You okay there?" Penguin asks, a hint of amusement lacing his words.
You groan in response.
"How much do you remember from last night?" Shachi chimes in, leaning forward across the table, eager for a response.
"I remember the bonfire, laughing, and drinking a lot of sake," you say. Then, you pause and look up at the pair of your crew mates sitting across from you with matching evil grins. "Why? What did I do?"
"Nothing!" They say at the same time, just as Bepo joins the group.
You eye them suspiciously. "I wasn't so drunk I did something stupid I don't remember," you say. You attempt to say it confidently, but you doubt that your statement is even remotely true if your pounding head is any indication.
"Sure," Penguin says.
Bepo rests a reassuring paw on your shoulder, calling out your name. You turn to look at the Mink.
"You confessed your love for Captain, is all."
You raise an eyebrow. "That's not bad or embarrassing," you say confusedly.
"No," Shachi agrees, "but asking him if he has a girlfriend and crying when he tells you he's married is."
You stare blankly.
Moments pass.
"You're lying," you finally say.
"He's not," a tired and possibly amused voice cuts in. Everyone turns to see Law quietly walking into the room and towards the pot of coffee someone had made prior to your own arrival. He pours himself a cup and then turns to face everyone, leaning back against the countertop.
You feel your face flush.
"Come on," you say weakly, "stop pulling my leg."
"We're not," Law assures, a smirk pulling at his lips. Oh, he's definitely amused by the situation now.
"I really asked if you had a girlfriend?"
"Mhmm."
"And I really started crying when you said you were married."
"Mhmm."
"And you just... let me?"
"No, I told you that you are my wife." He's still smirking, though. You're certain there's more.
"Then what did I do?" You question.
"You jumped in my lap and started kissing me in front of everyone," he says smoothly, taking a sip of his coffee.
You stare at him another moment. Then, you glance at the rest of the crew gathered.
You sigh and turn back to your coffee.
"I'm choosing not to be embarrassed by this. That is a completely valid and understandable response to forgetting you're married, being told your husband is seeing someone, and then realizing it's you he's seeing."
You take a long, slow sip from the cooling coffee in front of you and listen as the crew around you laughs.
As you sip on your coffee, though, you feel a gentle pressure at the crown of your head as Law plants a kiss there.
"Don't worry. I thought you were cute," he whispers in your ear before walking off.
Law gives terrible love advice to Penguin while clearly ignoring his own painfully obvious crush on you.
Law X gn! reader | ONE SHOT
tags: fluff, sfw, friends-to-lovers typeshi(?) law being timid
a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe
word count: 1.1k
masterlist | ko-fi
: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊
If there was one thing Trafalgar Law wasn’t qualified to do, it was give romantic advice.
Sure, he was a brilliant surgeon, a pirate captain, and had a smirk that could make a nun sin, but when it came to feelings—specifically his own—he was a flaming shipwreck in a storm of emotional denial.
And yet, here he was, arms crossed, giving unsolicited love advice to Penguin like he was the therapist from a soap opera.
“Just tell her she’s inefficient,” Law said with a straight face. “It’s a compliment.”
Bepo blinked up at him. “...Captain, I don’t think calling Penguin’s crush inefficient is going to help his chances.”
“You asked for honesty,” Law muttered, flipping through his medical journal like it was more interesting than this disaster in progress. “Efficiency is attractive.”
“To you, maybe!”
You, meanwhile, were watching this entire trainwreck from the galley door with a cup of tea and the kind of secondhand embarrassment that deserved its own trauma counseling.
“Law,” you called. “Did you just say ‘inefficient’ as a flirting tactic?”
He didn’t even look up. “It’s a practical compliment.”
You snorted. “What’s next? ‘Your presence improves my survival odds by 6.4%’?”
“…Depending on the environment, that’s a generous estimate.”
You and Bepo shared a look. A look that screamed, Why is this our captain?
The whole thing had started that morning when Penguin had walked into the common area in a flurry of nerves and confessed, “I think I like someone.”
Law, who’d been reading while pretending not to be listening to music in one earbud (yes, he still used wired ones, don’t ask), barely lifted his gaze. “Then tell them.”
Penguin shuffled. “It’s not that easy.”
“It’s the truth.”
“And what if they don’t like me back?”
Law gave the emotional equivalent of a shrug. “Then adapt. Rejection is survivable.”
Penguin groaned from the couch. “Cap, you can’t treat love like it’s battle tactics.”
“It’s a high-risk operation involving fragile variables and potential bloodshed. Sounds pretty accurate.”
Shachi nodded. “Okay, that’s fair, but also incredibly bleak.”
And that’s when Law was voluntold by everyone that if he was going to act like he knew how love worked, he had to give actual advice.
Hence: Doctor Trafalgar, Love Expert?
“Okay,” you said, taking the empty seat beside him and plucking the journal from his hands. “If you’re so good at giving advice, help me out.”
Law narrowed his eyes. “With what?”
“I think someone likes me,” you said casually, leaning back like you weren’t about to stir up the most delicious chaos. “But I can’t tell if they’re just awkward or trying to be subtle.”
His jaw tightened. “Who is it?”
You shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s why I need your expert opinion.”
Law closed the journal and set it down very deliberately.
Everyone in the room went very still. Bepo, Penguin, and Shachi exchanged silent screams with their eyebrows.
“Well,” Law said coolly. “What are the signs?”
“Hmm,” you hummed. “They hover a lot. Make excuses to talk to me. Kind of avoid eye contact but also stare when they think I’m not looking.”
His eye twitched. “Stare?”
“Yeah. And once, they brought me extra rice even though I didn’t ask.”
Silence.
Law stood up. “That’s suspicious.”
“Oh?”
“Sounds like they’re trying too hard.”
“Ohhh?” you said, biting back a smile.
“They’re probably nervous. Emotionally constipated. Bad at expressing feelings.” He said all this like he wasn’t describing himself to an absurdly accurate degree. “Possibly repressed.”
“Should I confront them?”
“No,” he said quickly, a little too quickly. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“It might scare them away.”
“But if they like me…”
“Then wait for them to say something first.”
Bepo coughed. “So… basically just let them suffer in silence?”
“It builds character,” Law said.
You covered your mouth to hide your grin. “You’re such a romantic.”
Law’s ears turned pink. “Shut up.”
Later that day, Shachi cornered you near the engine room with a look of deep judgment.
“You’re torturing him.”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
He pointed a wrench at you. “You know he likes you.”
“Do I?”
“You’ve been fake-flirting with a ghost for the last week just to get him to react!”
You smirked. “It’s good cardio.”
Shachi groaned. “He’s gonna combust. I saw him look up love confession rituals on his snail phone last night.”
Your eyes widened. “No.”
“Yes! And he accidentally joined a forum for single dads in North Blue.”
You wheezed. “He’s going through it.”
“So help him out!”
“…Fine.”
The opportunity came the next morning when you walked into the kitchen and found Law staring at a mug of coffee like it had personally betrayed him.
He didn’t look up when you entered, just mumbled, “Morning.”
“Morning,” you said, walking over. “Sleep okay?”
He made a grunt of vague disapproval.
You sat beside him. “Thinking about your crush?”
He choked on his coffee.
“I mean,” you said, oh-so-innocently. “That mystery person you gave advice about.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re very nosy.”
“You’re very obvious.”
He gave you a look. “I don’t have a crush.”
You tilted your head. “Are you sure? Because everyone on this ship seems to think you do.”
“Everyone on this ship is bored.”
“Bored enough to notice how you go quiet when I talk, how you walk into rooms I’m in and pretend it’s for unrelated reasons, or how you stare at my lips when I eat dessert?”
He went dead silent.
You leaned closer. “So. Doctor Trafalgar. Any prescriptions for yourself?”
“…Shut up,” he muttered, face flushed.
You blinked. “Wait. That was a confession.”
He got up.
You grabbed his wrist.
He froze.
“Hey,” you said, suddenly softer. “I like you too, dumbass.”
He blinked.
You reached into your pocket and pulled out a little red candy. “I was going to make you say it first, but you looked like you were about to diagnose yourself with heartbreak.”
He blinked again.
“…You like me?”
“God, yes. Even when you’re being a brick wall with nice tattoos.”
“…I have more than just tattoos,” he muttered.
You grinned. “Yeah, you’ve also got a charming inability to express affection. It’s cute.”
He shook his head. “You’re insufferable.”
“You’re blushing.”
“I’m leaving.”
“You’re still holding my hand.”
Pause.
He looked down.
He was.
“…Tch.”
You laughed and tugged him back down. “Stay.”
“…Fine.”
Later, Penguin came in to find the two of you sitting shoulder to shoulder, quietly sharing a plate of snacks.
“Captain?” Penguin said, tilting his head. “Did you take your own advice?”
Could you do a Morticia and Gomez Addams dynamic with Dracule Mihawk?
He just gives me old school romance vibes..
Dracule Mihawk having a Morticia and Gomez style romance HCS
Masterlist
I don't think the two of you are 100% Morticia or Gomez, I believe you are both a mixture between them, having a little of both inside of you.
For example, he is not the kind of men to dance and kiss you middle dance like Gomez, but you are. In this case he is more like Morticia, just looking at the crowd with a smirk.
Your passion is well known in the seas, especially for the other sichibukai and marines.
They never try to mess with one of you two except it is neccesary, cause they know the other will come and kill them.
In the castle you both always are around each other, wether it's touching each other on some kind of way while reading a book, sharing a little wine and having the most comfortable silence or watching the other from afar with passion.
You both always say a lot of compliments to each other, private or public, and people ussually don't get them or find them really unconventional.
Mihawks kisses always feel deep and passionate, ussually slowpaced. It feels like he is trying to tell you everything he can't with his words.
His touch is heavy and determinated, you always feel comfortable in it.
You both are a power couple, obviously. It is somehow that you both know each other perfectly, no need for unnecesary drama or distrut.
Only jealousy, cause sometimes you or Mihawk feel a little spicy and decide to take on the others nerves just to see the passion reborn.
Due to Dracule's long absences, when he comes back there is a really dramatic passionate welcoming from both parts.
Mihawk always greets you with a kiss on the hand, which sometimes can be a little "shameless", as some people may describe it.
You like massaging his back when the sword fighting leaves him soreness and he does the same with your feet. It ussually ends up transforming into a hot make up session.
You are ride or die, from the moment you both encountered each other you knew you would be together.
Fierce flashes of lightning illuminated the entire forest surrounding the castle, revealing secrets the dark woods refused to expose to the sunlight. The distant thunder echoed like a haunting symphony in your ears, and the wind danced with the fabric of your nightgown like a lost child’s soul yearning for a little closeness.
With the heavy scent of damp earth and death in the air, you waited for the storm while enjoying the cloudy night. Hidden by clouds heavy with rain, the full moon didn’t shine that midnight.
Strong arms slowly wrapped around you as a lightning tore through the dark sky. A deep, loved voice spoke behind you; as always, his sharp hawk’s eyes never missed anything, especially when it came to you.
“What torments your mind, my love?” Taking your hand in his, Mihawk kissed the wedding ring on your finger before trailing slow kisses along your shoulder and neck. For him, words were never enough to worship you. “I hope I am the object of your afflictions, just as you are mine.”
Smiling softly, you rested your head on his chest as you raised your hand to stroke the rough stubble on his face. “Oh, dear, have no doubt — you will always be my agony.”
“However, I was thinking…” You turned back to face the castle garden thoughtfully, a romantic idea refusing to leave your mind. “Isn’t this a lovely place for us to be buried together? Side by side, six feet under… in matching coffins.”
“Cara mia…” Mihawk whispered, drawing your gaze away from the garden with eyes as red as fresh blood staining the white snow.
“Can you imagine?” you continued, mesmerized by him just as he was by you. “The worms gnawing at the flesh of our lifeless bodies… rotting together for all eternity...”
With your face in his hands and tender fingers caressing your soft skin, Mihawk whispered against your lips before surrendering to the desire that had consumed his soul since he found you alone on the balcony, watching the cold night — beautiful as a devilish angel.
“Death has never sounded so sweet to me before, my dear.”
a/n: as always, i dont know if i really liked it, but i just felt in the mood to write to him. Plus, i didnt watch the op live action, but my god, mihawk's actor is fucking gorgeous. i wanna a husband now.
