The Everlasting Kind

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/56367892.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: F/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy
Additional Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, marriage law,
Inappropriate Use of Malfoy Signet Ring (Harry Potter), but with a twist,
Possessive Draco Malfoy, Toxic Draco Malfoy, Blood, Blood Play,
Vaginal Sex, Confessions of Hatred (but make it sexy), Banter as
Foreplay, No Really They Seriously Hate Each Other, POV Hermione
Granger, BAMF Hermione Granger, Hate Sex, Hate fucking, Biting,
explicit - Freeform, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Death
Threats (but make it sexy), HEA, Vaginal Fingering, Orgasm Denial,
Draco Is Submissive but Only for Hermione, Scratching, in the sense of
they are alive and together at the end, Draco Malfoy Has a Large Cock,
Draco Malfoy is Good at Sex, Draco Malfoy has a filthy mouth, im
talking nuclear waste levels of filth, degradation kink, Praise Kink, Plot
What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, the deep hatred kind,
Forced Marriage
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2024-06-02 Words: 4,528 Chapters: 1/1
 The Everlasting Kind
by megiswritingsomething

Summary

“Vow yourself to me.”

“What?” she questions, her brain too rattled to take seriously the severity in Malfoy's tone.

“What occurs beyond those doors may be a vow forced upon us to take, but let this one be of
our own making.”

Hermione opens her mouth but nothing dares come out.

“Vow your mind and body to me as I vow mine to you, to let you hate it and fuck it and ruin
it for the rest of our lives.”

---OR---

The one where Hermione and Draco hate each other so much that they decide to fuck it out.
Mere moments before their Ministry-mandated wedding.

Notes

Please enjoy YET ANOTHER twitter drabble turned oneshot because I simply can't help
myself!!! This is just pure hate fucking and filth and a whole lot of fun. Enjoy! (this had no
beta, so if you see a typo, no you didn't)

Please do NOT add any of my works to Goodreads/Storygraph or interact with them if

they’ve already been added, as writing is just a hobby that I do for FUN

See the end of the work for more notes

Cover Art By: @victicula
Commissioned By: @slytherinsvault

“Step into the light, darling. Let your betrothed see the pretty dress he paid for.”
The wicked voice slinks up her spine, rendering her frozen within the shadows of the Manor
corridor.

Malfoy’s menacingly tall frame lingers just outside the ballroom doors, formal dress robes
cut immaculately close to his hardened exterior; the final blockade between herself and the
horrors of her fate.

Hell will turn to ice before she gives him even the slightest satisfaction of granting his
request.

“My betrothed so easily forgets his pureblood customs,” she taunts vehemently. “Don’t you
know? It’s bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony.”

Glints of silver flash in an instant as his hand waves and summons her forward, her body a
slave to the charmed fabric constricting around her ribcage with every inch pulled closer.

“Fucking bastard—“

“Ah ah ah,” he coos, relinquishing his magic as she stops right before him. “Can’t have our
guests overhearing such filthy language from the future lady of the house, now can we?”

Hermione’s eyes dip to witness his ring-clad fingers reaching toward her own.

She snatches them back. “The Ministry may have forced me to take this vow, but the lady of
this house I will never be.”

Something wholly ominous falls between them, an unsettling smirk showcasing his sharp
canines.

“You’re right.” This time when he reaches for her, both hands coming to skim along the curve
of her back, her body stops of its own accord, enticed by the spell of his touch. “Ladies are
respectable and proper. A lady wouldn’t dare misbehave, least of all in front of her doting
groom.”

He continues a calculated path up and down her exposed skin, testing fingertips beneath the
thin shoulder straps.

“You my pet…are a goddess most divine.”

Fiendfyre ripples through every nerve ending in her body.

“Sent from Salazar himself to ruin me.”

From the moment she’d been sent to live at the Manor six months ago, another of his
ridiculous stipulations weaved into their marriage contract along with the demand for an
obnoxiously elaborate wedding, he’d afforded her nothing but self-righteous malice.

No greeting was without his usual disdain for her very existence.

Up until the month prior.

The shift was subtle, but only Draco Malfoy could make subtly feel like torture.

Prolonged heated stares across the dining table, unnecessary brushing of hands as they
crossed paths in his mother’s garden, snide banter laced into conversation to force an
argument. She was sure one night she’d almost caught him stalking outside her room.

All of it came to a head this afternoon.

She’d emerged from the steam of her en-suite bath to find the frilly catastrophe of white lace
she’d spitefully purchased with her own galleons, incendio’d to ash in her fireplace.

And a blood-red pool of expensive silk draped carefully across her bed.

The very dress hugging every dip and curve of her body.

“What kind of sick game is this?” she rasps, her own voice unrecognizable for how unsure
and shaky the syllables feel on her tongue.

His eyes seek deep to touch her soul. “The everlasting kind.”

She locks a heavy target upon his chiseled face, masking trepidation with a challenging tone.
“And what if I don’t want to play?”

“My precious little bride…” He leans in, tucking a stray curl behind her ear before yanking
hold of her scalp and eliciting a hiss from her throat. “You’ll be begging and needy on your
knees for me to play with you by the end of this night.”

Hermione could collapse in on herself for the whimper she lets free; a fucked up mix of pain
and repressed desire finding no other outlet than by the force of his hand.

She’s been without touch for so long, never finding comfort in what others attempted to
assuage clean on her skin.

Skin marked so filthy by a blade and a brand in a room only meters from where they stand.

Malfoy tugs again, encouraging more soft moans to find a home between the space they
share. “That’s right Granger, don’t be shy. Give your fiancé a taste of what he’s owed.”

She’d be a fool to deny the physical want stoking hotter and hotter within her core. A fire she
isn’t sure she wants extinguished with each passing moment spent under his hold.

The sudden trill of harps and other charmed instruments flooding out of the ballroom knocks
a modicum of sense back to her brain to break out of his trance.

“Let go of me, the procession is about to start.” She attempts to wrench free.

He wrenches back, clasping tightly around her wrists.

Red clouds her vision.

“As much as I wish you a tortuous death in this moment, I fought for my life too bloody hard
to let you sabotage it now with your psychotic whims,” she hisses, willing every ounce of
strength into the heel of her stiletto-clad foot, stomping straight into his own.

Tossing aside her momentary rage with how beautiful he remains even whilst doubling over
in pain, Hermione makes for the door.

Just as she reaches for the brass handles, a sharp sensation bursts from her chest, back forced
against the wall and mouth tightly covered by an aristocratic, uncalloused hand.

“So eager to throw yourself down the aisle for me… it drives me mad.” Blonde fringe
escapes his elegant coif, shedding with it the once composed layers of his crumbling sanity.

And so too have his flecks of silver disappeared, thoroughly replaced by a haze of murky
gray.

“Is it my vows you’re so desperate to hear? Or is it our marriage bed you truly crave? Fuck
the wedding, I’ll give you both right here, right now.” A hot palm flattens against her
stomach, and if he presses down hard enough he’s sure to feel the panic fluttering rapidly
behind it.

Hermione bites his middle finger, hard, gaining freedom of her mouth once more. “Move
your hand any lower and you won’t have the proper parts to perform either.”

“You know the rules as well as I do, witch,” Malfoy grits, encasing her throat and squeezing
to test her airflow. “This marriage shall be consummated, whether I fuck stars or tears from
those pretty eyes.”

Hermione knows the rules well. Poured countless sleepless nights over the godsforsaken
contract until her limbs succumbed to deadly fatigue.

No loopholes.

No trickery.

Couples must report to the Ministry in the days following the ceremony and each produce an
individual untampered memory of the deed, lest be subjected to the full extent of the
Wizengamot for treason against the Marriage Act.

It’s fucking archaic.

A crime in its own right, she protested to Kingsley. But he didn’t care. His image as the great
harmonizer for all wizard-kind dried any last ounce of his remaining remorse.

“And I intend to give those dusty, wrinkled pricks a real show. No one will question just how
fully the new Mrs. Malfoy was filled and fucked raw by her husband’s cock.”

Hermione wriggles in his grasp but it only pushes his hand lower down her body, his fingers
dancing along the silk covering her ashamedly aching cunt.
A passionate tangle of limbs takes front row in her mind, both frantic and needy with lust to
consume each other whole. Hermione’s aware of his proclivities. Had heard the rumors in
school. She never doubted the extent he’d go to pleasure a woman, to leave her satisfied and
crawling back for more.

Which is why the only doubt lies with herself.

How easy it could be to let go and slip into his trap. The idea completely contradicts the logic
screaming in her head, to build as many barriers and eliminate any threat of attachment.

This is a contract. Nothing more.

“Lost in your thoughts again, love?” The pressure persists on her windpipe, almost drawing
her attention completely away from how high he’s ridden up her dress to bunch at her thighs.

The music grows louder still, almost impossible to avoid with how tight she’s cornered
against the wall. Surely the guests will be checking the time, whispering amongst themselves,
crafting stories about cold feet or a risque affair with an old flame.

“Gods it’s like you do it to torment me...fuck, let me in. Just once. Show me how deep and
twisted that stunning mind of yours is.” Malfoy’s fingers make contact with her bare legs and
the inferno blazes a scorching heat with intent to permanently scar.

She needs a bloody distraction, something to buy her enough time to get through the doors
into the crowd of guests where he’ll have no choice but to follow her lead. The sooner this
charade concludes, the sooner she can go back to ignoring him at all costs.

And what better shock value than to give him exactly what he wants?

“I hate you,” she breathes no louder than a whisper.

He halts his advance up her thigh.

Seems even the purest of bloods stand no chance against the predictability of a starved man.

“I hate you more with every breath you take, with every sun that rises which you still live to
see,” she seethes, adding emphasis to each syllable.

The hand around her throat eases.

“I long for the day in which all light dwindles from your eyes, a curse for every awful, horrid
thing you’ve ever done or failed to do sent by the cast of my wand.” Her fingers dig into the
ancestral wood lining the wall at her back, leaving traces of her common, unworthy existence
to forever be embedded in this house.

Hermione’s lashes flutter as she tilts back her chin, memorizing how deeply ensnared he’s
fallen at the mercy of her words; lips parted, pupils a blown-black frenzy, hot breath heaving
from deep within.
How quickly the pendulum shifts in her favor, rendering the last thread of the two most
ancient, sacred magical bloodlines a desperate mess at the feet of her command.

The startling realization rattles her internal fortress, and with it, shaking loose a truth so
depraved, so deeply shelved and buried atop her mental stacks, that it forces a sickly chill
down her spine.

No.

They’re just words.

Never.

The perfect distraction. He won’t believe it otherwise.

At the cost of her pride.

We stopped caring about that long ago.

Potentially her soul.

If any remains after tonight.

Gods above.

Shaky palms uproot from the wall, slowly reaching out towards Malfoy and grazing lightly
against the lux fabric of his lapels before furling a tight grip that draws their chests to touch.

“I promise to despise you down to your heartless, empty core for the rest of my life. Forever
and always. That’s my solemn vow to you. But until such a day comes where I’m gifted a
reprieve from this waking nightmare"—Hermione’s fingernails trace taunting circles against
crisp white oxford, and only when Malfoy’s eyes drop to her oxblood-lacquered mouth does
she dig them in, summoning a heady moan from her fiancé’s lips—“I expect my disgustingly
wealthy, devoted husband to fuck me whenever I godsdamn please.”

Deafening silence clings heavily around them. And with it, the precious seconds she needs to
slip free.

Yet something more powerful roots her still.

The tight clench of his jaw.

The threaded cords of neck muscle pulling taut beneath pale skin.

The wet glaze his tongue provides across his bottom lip, drinking her confession in on a
ragged swallow.

Hermione Granger severally miscalculates how much weight her words hold in the grasp of
Draco Malfoy.
She makes to turn towards the double doors to her salvation but a crushing blow attacks both
sides of her face, his hands clamping firm with no room for escape.

“Again.” His voice commands, nothing short of frightening intensity.

Hermione rips at his wrists, but swift thumbs hook under her jaw, locking her still as swirling
storms aim to kill. “Speak. It. Again.”

How foolish to believe truths so easily spilled can be boarded up as quickly within the
recesses of her mind.

Idiotic.

Witless.

Naïve.

How foolish to believe something so raw and primal can ever be considered less than mere
obligation.

And to what end will she repeatedly deny her pleasure to die on a hill she’s grown far too
tired of climbing?

The answer strikes a resounding, undeniable chord.

“I hate you.”

“Again.” Possessive hands slide down her neck, biting metallic silver tarnishing every trace
of gold it touches.

“I hate you!” she whines, a plea so unfulfilled it cracks her resolve in two.

“And it kills you doesn’t it, Granger? That I drag you down to such depths. Knowing I’ll
always consume the darkest parts of you. All of it. Reserved just for me.” He digs roughly at
her waist, deep enough to bruise beneath the crushing binds of her bodice.

Averting her eyes to anywhere but him, she fervently wills the hot sensations behind her lids
to cease. But no matter how hard she tries, her body calls upon him, involuntarily pressing
herself further into his hold to seek sick comfort only he can provide.

Something entirely unholy weaves his features into a sinister mask at how vulnerable she’s
become. “Go on, love. I’m a big boy. Give me all you’ve got. Make it fucking hurt.”

Gnawing harshly at her lip, she balls her fists around his shirt, staring so intently past his
morphed facade to find any shards of silver tethering him to humanity.

She finds none.

“IhateyouIhateyouIhateyouIfuckinghateyou!” His shirt shreds in two, her fingers clawing at

his exposed chest as she screams over and over and over again.
“Fuckkkking hell, yes baby, mark me nice and good.” His obscene moans quickly die against
her skin, hot open-mouthed kisses trailing a determined path along the column of her throat.

Hermione tosses her head back, providing zero obstructions to each bite licked raw by the
skillfulness of his experienced tongue.

“Ah!” Malfoy’s teeth sink into an especially sensitive area under her ear and she retaliates in
kind, shoving his outer robe to the ground to bare more of his shoulders for her nails to dig
into the flesh.

“You taste so sweet,” he grounds out through a strained moan, mouth tracing past her jaw to
nip delicately at the area around her bottom lip. “Like something I need to ruin.”

His words reach her ears as a warning, but something in his tone begs for permission; the
unspoken pleading of a reckless man capable of reckless things.

And how desperately she yearns for his reckless ruin.

Hermione captures his lips, weaving her hands into his hair to yank back and collide them
both into the wall.

Malfoy’s tongue sweeps straight through her parted mouth and she’s grateful for his lack of
gentleness, the kind so many others before wrongfully assumed was all she deserved.

Teeth and lips clash violently for dominance between panting incoherent mumbles of “fuck
yes…hate you…need more.”

More.

Anything to block out what awaits her.

Anything to keep the screaming thoughts at bay.

As if hearing her call, deft fingers hike up her dress. He bundles the smooth fabric at her hip
with one hand while the other skims dangerously close to where a slick, messy heat begins to
pool between her thighs.

The closer he gets, the more obvious something becomes, something she’s completely
forgotten until this moment.

“My, my, my,” he hums darkly. “Seems my golden bride is actually a filthy little slut.” Cool
metal rings kiss her bare hip, swirling rhythmic circles where her knickers should be. If only
he hadn’t burned or vanished them all.

“You gave me no choice.” Any snark laced within her tone gets cut short by his middle and
index finger running languid strokes through her dripping folds, petting delicate fingertips to
her throbbing clit.

“That may be. Yet here you stand”—her eyes flutter back with a sharp cry, focusing on how
wide he spreads her cunt open to plunge both to the knuckle—“letting the man you hate most
in this world finger-fuck your pussy like a whore.”

“F-fuck y-you,” she rasps as he works thoroughly through her slick heat, digging indents in
his scalp in hopes they mark and bleed.

“Oh I intend to, darling.”

Without warning he adds a third finger and pinches hard around her clit with his thumb and
pinky, sending white hot sparks through her veins.

“Gah! Malfoy what are you—”

“Can’t help myself, Granger, when you hurt me it makes me want to hurt you right back.”

Lewd, wet noises overtake the mounting crescendo of violins and harps forced to play in their
absence, and the resulting mix creates a visceral rhythm to climb after her release.

“So tight for me, sweetheart.” He licks his lips as he peers down, witnessing his fingers
disappear over and over again into her slick core. “Taking your fiancé’s fingers like they were
made to stuff you full.”

Never has another man’s hands gotten her this close, stroked so exactly where she needs to
take her over the edge. It boils her blood, to experience how effortlessly he can drag her
down yet work her up so exceptionally.

Hermione’s thighs begin to tremble, the coil winding tighter in her abdomen with every flick
and pinch, until—until, “So c-close—Christ—I’m going to—”

Malfoy yanks clean from her dripping folds and the act ignites a rage-fueled moan to tear
from her throat.

“What in hell are you playing at? I swear if you don’t finish this job I will gladly do it my—”

A whirl of ripped skirts and unzipped trousers distract from how swiftly her legs are hoisted
around his middle. She yelps, shimmying further up the wall as she catches her balance on
his chiseled forearms.

“The first time you come for me”—he aligns her entrance to rest before his now unsheathed
erection, so intimidatingly perfect and slick with precum that breath catches in her chest
—“will be with my cock splitting you open.”

It isn’t supposed to happen this way.

Not here, not now, not with her feeling like her skin could flay alive if he didn’t sink into her
right this second.

It’s so undeniably wrong.

But that doesn’t make it any less right.

Hermione grabs hold of his thick length without a second thought, pumping slowly and
dragging the head through her drenched folds. “Well then, what are you waiting for?”

“F-fuck.” Full-blown possession settles coldly on his face. “Oh Granger…how long I’ve
waited to hear those words.”

A slender hand lifts between them, showcasing the plethora of rings that adorn it. But only
one catches her eye.

Intricately carved to house the initial of his namesake, the Malfoy signet ring stares back at
her like a promise most sacred.

He removes the worn metal, the first time she’s ever seen him without it on.

“Give me your hand,” he growls.

“Wha—you’re mental, I’m not wearing your—”

“You will because I say you will.” He rips her left hand from his cock, sliding the piece of
jewelry down her ring finger as it magically shrinks to fit just for her.

She swats his hand away, but can’t help but catch herself admiring her own under the dim
light of the chandeliers.

The gesture is simple, yet brutally effective; with this ring, I thee wed.

To have and to own. Till death do they part.

“Now, wife”—Malfoy permanently brands the title across her body on a graveled exhale as
he notches into her inch by devastating inch —“be a good girl and show your husband how
good hate can feel.”

He bottoms out to the hilt and she nearly suffocates by the stretch; every ridge and vein
nudging her innermost spots like his cock is crafted solely for her. “Salazar above, I should
punish you for denying me your perfect cunt for this long.”

“So f-full, c-can’t move,” she pleads, fluttering and clenching every part of herself around
him to stabilize her limbs.

“Use me, Granger. Hurt me like you’ve wanted to since the day I left you to suffer like an
animal on my drawing room flo— ”

“Enough!” Hermione’s arms snake forcefully around his neck, raking sharp red claws down
his spine and using the momentum to ride up and down his shaft.

“Gods yes, just like that sweetheart, strangle my cock nice and tight.”

“I hate you,” she pants, admiring the blood beginning to pool around his collar and beneath
her nails.
“How much?” he goads, a wicked smile challenging everything she’s come to know.

“So—ah—much. I hate you so godsdamn much.” Her mouth attaches to his sweat slicked
skin, biting and laving his collarbone to fight against the screams climbing up her throat.

“That’s right you do. Give it to me baby. Fuck your stunning hatred into me so I can never be
without.” He steps back from the wall, the newfound freedom allowing him to cup her arse
and meet her thrust for thrust, slamming down without restraint to hit the mind shattering
spot just behind her clit.

“Oh fuck—Mmm—right there, don’t stop, p-please don’t stop,” she begs.

Oh how desperately she begs.

Just like he promised she would.

“Music to my ears,” he whispers, reciprocating generous kisses upon her shoulders and jaw.
“Look down, Hermione. See how deep you take me.”

The shock of hearing her given name spill from his lips for the first time only intensifies her
lust-addled haze, obeying his command to gaze down and witness where they’re joined.

An image so intoxicating she can’t look away, can’t bear to wrench her eyes from how
beautifully her body stretches to accommodate every blessed inch of him, so red and needy
for her and only her.

“You may hate me for the rest of my miserable existence, wife. But not even Merlin can deny
how truly perfect we were made for this.” He pulls out of her to the tip, before slowly
reentering her with considerable self-control. “To do this.”

She almost teeters off the edge with how true his words ring home in her bones.

“I’m so fucking close, please, Malfoy,” she whines, seeking more friction through her thighs
around his middle.

“Give me your hand.”

She doesn’t question this time.

He stills his thrusts, leaving her impaled on his cock by only the grip of one arm as the other
toys with the signet ring on her left.

Hermione watches him effortlessly spin the metal around, until his initial turns down.

The silent question lingers between them but all he provides is, “Touch yourself.”

Heated longing passes from the ring to her glistening centre, begging to be out of its misery
by her hand. Teeth tug deep into her bottom lip as she lowers her palm, placing the biting
cold silver to her clit and gasping from the sensation.
She meets his stormy depths to find him slack-jawed and breathless. “Make my ancestors
weep, Hermione.”

“Ah!” Malfoy slams back into her, the force colliding his ring deep into the sensitive bud.

Just the kind of missing friction she so desperately needs.

He sets a punishing rhythm, one she gladly fights against to sweep the metal back and forth
on her clit.

“Mmm, oh fuck.” Erratic whimpers mix with the harsh groans tearing deep from his chest.
“Yesyesyes, I’m almost there.”

“Going to fuck my cum so deep in your cunt, you’ll never be rid of me.” He weaves a hand
through her curls, tugging down to drive home his point inside her walls. “You’re going to
walk down that aisle with my spend dripping onto your pretty little toes.”

They curl at the thought, the coil in her abdomen bending in on itself and threatening to
explode with how needy she is for one last cataclysmic push.

As if sensing her greedy frustration, he slows his movements, forcing her attention upon him.

“Vow yourself to me.”

“What?” she questions, her brain too rattled to take seriously the severity in his tone.

“What occurs beyond those doors may be a vow forced upon us to take, but let this one be of
our own making.”

Hermione opens her mouth but nothing dares come out.

“Vow your mind and body to me as I vow mine to you, to let you hate it and fuck it and ruin
it for the rest of our lives.”

She replays his words, scans each line of his face to catch a glimmer of trickery, a flicker of
deception in which to hand over herself so freely with secret intention to harm.

But she fails to find anything less than a burning adoration to let her consume him whole, bit
by bit until there’s nothing left to give.

How she craves to take it. Every last piece of his soul.

To destroy with the very hatred she seeks to extinguish in herself.

“I vow myself to you. To hate and fuck and ruin for the rest of our lives.”

Their bond is forever sealed by the most sinister smile she’s ever seen. “Go on, wife. Ruin
me.”

He whispers the necessary spell to end all spells.

His signet ring vibrates to life, and with it, lighting hers eternally on fire.

“Holyfuckingshiteyesyesyes, Draco!” She throttles her finger raw against the throbbing bud,
bucking her hips to chase her orgasm as a collection of bright stars and hot tears stream down
her face.

Another one of his promises, forever fulfilled.

“Only you could make my name sound like a call to worship…such a divine goddess
indeed.”

His voice echoes in the back of her mind but all she can sense is how tightly her walls clamp
down around his length, the vice-like grip sucking him in without grant of reprieve until it
takes what it wants.

He stifles an animalistic groan against her skin. “Fuckinggg gods, Hermione, so tight, I’m
going to—”

His thrusts falter on a sputtered bout of air, spilling every last drop of himself to paint the
inside of her cunt.

They remain that way for several moments, lingering in the hot mess of sticky air that coats
them so completely.

Only when her limbs begin to fatigue past the point of use does he lift her off his softening
cock, their mixed arousal leaving a mouthwatering trail of release to drip off his cockhead.

“Another time, love,” he taunts, voice returning to a husky level of formality.

Draco withdrawals his hawthorne from his discarded robes, repairing torn flesh and clothes,
refreshing her hair and makeup, and scourgify’ing any final remains of sin from their bodies.

All except the slippery mess now hidden under the expensive bloodied silk covering her
body.

“I’ll make you pay for this.” She gestures to where she can already feel the slick drip down
her thighs.

“I know, darling.” He winks something cruel and rights his sleeves, throwing open the double
doors to step through the cacophony of string music. “You promised me so.”

Hermione vows to make it the everlasting kind.

End Notes

This is one of my favorite things I’ve ever written (and also somehow the fastest - blame my
manic brainrot) - I've found a new version of my favorite comfort characters to hyper-fixate
over. Thank you so much for reading!

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