#¸ . • ◬ ━━ bring your own bow ( ooc )

[ask-freaky-jimmy]

tra dầu lên em bé (translation: oil up baby…)

-🎀

Je serai aussi huileux que tu le souhaites~

{I don't know french btw jimmy just likes flirting in it from time to time.}

[tacowacco]

˚₊‧꒰ঌ The Jester and the Princess ໒꒱‧₊˚

🌀 court jester!shadow milk x princess!(fem)reader

🌀 cw: obsessive themes, yandere themes, unhinged smc, mentions of arranged marriage, medieval time period (might not be 100% accurate), and possible ooc.

🌀 a/n: my longest fic yet, 2048 words :))! i hope you guys enjoy this as much i did writing it. inspired by romeo and juilet!! should i make a pt 2?

You were the daughter of one of the wealthiest royal families in Crispia, making you the princess of your kingdom. You were beloved by everyone in your realm due to your unwavering kindness, intelligence, and ethereal beauty. The citizens of your kingdom held you in high regard, affectionately referring to you as “Your Highness” and “Princess Y/n.”

“Father, what's this?” you asked as you accidentally tumbled, due to your inability to see anything because of the blindfold you were wearing.

“Open your eyes now,” your father excitedly says as he removes the blindfold. You blink a few times trying to regain your vision, until your eyes widen seeing a jester before you. 

“Tis I, your humble jester, here to brighten up your mood! Shadow Milk Cookie!” the mismatched-eyed, blue doughed jester said as he lowered his jester hat and bowed. 

“The famous playwright, poet, actor, and jester...THE Shadow Milk Cookie?” you blabber seeing the famous jester in front of you.

“My, my, my, I didn’t know the princess was such a huge fan of mine!” Shadow Milk says teasingly. Your face flushes immediately, and you quickly turn your face the other way embarrassedly. 

“Wait..is he our court jester, Father?” you ask.

“Correction, he is your court jester.” your father corrects you.

“Mine? Mine! My very own court jester!” you exclaimed, believing that this would bring some excitement to your otherwise monotonous royal life. Contrary to popular belief, being a member of the royal family wasn’t as thrilling as many imagined. In reality, your life as a princess was often dull and filled with tedious tasks.

— ˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚—

Shadow Milk truly enjoyed being your personal court jester; he delighted in watching you laugh at his jokes, become captivated by his theatrical tricks, and applaud every one of his performances.

You were different; you adored every single act of art he performed. Shadow Milk noticed how tenderly you looked at him, how your eyes would glisten while staring at him after he finished a play, and you truly adored him.

He admired you deeply—your gentle laugh, the graceful way you moved, and your unwavering kindness to those around you. You were not only beautiful but also perfect in his eyes. You possessed a unique charm and brilliance that no one could surpass or replace, even in the slightest.

He loved you. Love that made him claw at his own skin because he simply couldn't tear you out of his heart.

He despised how your precious smile made him weak in his knees, the sound of your voice as addictive as the finest wine, and your gentle laugh making his heart skip a beat. 

He needed you.

Not in a way a child needed a toy,

or a dog needed a bone but in the way the ocean needed salt.

A flower needs water and sunlight,

a heart needs blood.

When it came to you, an unfamiliar sense of greed overtook him; he felt a strong need to have you by his side—where you rightfully belonged. He wanted you all to himself, to worship you and treat you like the graceful deity he believed you were. His love for you bordered on obsession—he was truly obsessed with you.

He needed you to survive, but there was one problem: your social differences. You were a princess, the heir to the throne and he was a court fool. Yet, that didn’t stop him because he knew that deep down you too also loved him as much as he did.

You were looking at yourself in a mirror, trying the new dress your mother gifted you unaware of the jester lurking. You turned around again, letting a small yelp as you were met with the jester in front of you.

“Ah— Shadow Milk!” you yelped, before he placed a slender finger on your soft lips. Quietly shushing you, “How’d you get here?” you asked. 

“What can I say? I have a few tricks up my sleeve,” he teases, noticing your beautiful gown. “My, my! What's this? I haven't seen you wear this gown before...” he coos, playfully fiddling with the hem of the dress.

“It’s new; my mother gifted it to me for the ball tonight. She told me that tonight's ball is a special occasion, and she’d like me to look more lovely than ever,” you say.

“I’m afraid that's impossible, my poppet. Everything you wear only enhances your beauty, which surpasses even the most beautiful flowers,” he says as he kneels on one knee and gently kisses your hand.

“Oh, you flatter me, my jester,” you say, looking down at him and gently cupping his face. You gaze lovingly into his eyes as you run your fingers through his dark blue hair. The moment is sweet and intimate. Suddenly, it comes to an abrupt end when you hear your mother calling your name, “Y/n? Y/n, are you here?” she calls out.

“Quick! You must go now!” You say, hurrying Shadow Milk. He quickly jumps out of a nearby window disappearing into the forest of green trees and flora. You quickly fix yourself before your mother opens the door, and comes in. 

“Who was that you were speaking to, dear?” your mother questions  

“Ah, nobody, don't worry about it dear mother,” you say awkwardly. 

“Oh Y/n, you can’t go to the ball looking like this. Here, sit down and I’ll brush your hair for you.” your mother says as she picks up a nearby brush and motions you to sit down.

Your mother hummed a tune as she gently brushed your long hair, running her fingers through the soft, silky strands. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror, which highlighted both her beauty and yours.

“Such a lovely daughter I brought into this world,” your mother said, gazing lovingly into your eyes. “You’ve already grown into a woman.” 

“It feels like just yesterday that she was born,” your nurse remarked as she folded some laundry. 

“I hope to live long enough to see the day you get married and have children of your own, Lady Y/n.” Your Nurse said as she gently smiled at you.

“Tell me, my daughter, what are your thoughts on marriage?” your mother asks happily, tenderly holding your hands.

“I suppose I’ve never really given it much thought,” you respond sheepishly. Marriage hasn’t been something you’ve considered yet.

“Then take some time to think about marriage! Your father and I would love to see you happily courted while we’re still here,” your mother says excitedly. 

“Ah...I suppose I could give it some thought,” you say as you awkwardly smile. Your mother cups your face, “That’s more like it.” she replies as she leaves your bed chamber.

— ˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚—

Shadow Milk lurked in the crowd, observing as you danced with various people—unimportant side characters, in his eyes. He believed he should be the one dancing with you; it should be his hands touching yours, and all your attention should be focused on him. Those people didn't deserve your undivided attention; it should belong to him. They weren't worthy of being in your presence, of breathing the same air as you. Finally, after watching for a while, he had had enough.

Shadow Milk ruffles through the crowd of people, his identity hidden behind the mask he was wearing. He shoves through the crowd of people dancing, chatting, and having playful banter until he stops once he sees you. There you are, chatting with one of your cousins–an unimportant side character he thought. He walks forward towards you pushing your cousin aside before asking you, “May I have this dance with you, Your Highness?” 

The people nearby gasp and whisper among themselves, eagerly awaiting your response and next move. “Of course, why not?” you say, taking the masked gentleman’s hand. All attention shifts to the two of you as you make your way to the center of the dance floor. His right hand rests on your waist, while the other hand holds yours, guiding you gracefully. You both move sideways, your feet parting before coming back together. You accidentally stumble, but fortunately, the masked gentleman catches you and twirls you in an elegant manner that charms the onlookers and crowd.

Before ending the dance, the masked gentleman gently kissed your hand and walked away, leaving you captivated and wanting more. You stood there dumbfoundedly, watching as the mysterious man disappeared into the sea of people. Suddenly, something inside sprang and you hustled through the crowd of people chasing the man. 

Finally, out of breath, you caught up to the man. “Wait!” you say, breathing heavily. “I didn’t catch your name, mysterious gentleman,” you add.

“Don’t believe I dropped it,” he teases, turning around and placing his finger beneath your chin to make you face him.

“Who are you?” you ask, completely captivated by the charm of the mysterious masked man. You gaze deeply into his eyes, lost in a trance, until he leans in and kisses you softly. You pull him closer, embracing him in a gentle, passionate kiss.

You pull away and lift the mask off his face, gasping as you see it was your jester beneath the mask the whole time. “Sh... Shadow Milk? How did you get here?” you ask.

He cheekily giggles, “See my dear poppet, as a jester I have numerous tricks hidden beneath my sleeves. After all, a magician never reveals his secrets.” He says this as he prepares to climb down the balcony railings.

“Wait!--Shadow Milk..!” You holler, causing him to abruptly stop climbing down. “Yes, my princess?” he replies. You pull him closer kissing him. You two kiss plant kisses onto each other's lips.

“My, my, I didn’t know the princess had such a soft spot for me,” he teases, planting another kiss on your lips.

“How could I not? After all, you're my favorite jester,” you say, returning the kiss. He pulls away and begins to climb down, “Wait!” you say once more before planting a long, passionate kiss onto his lips. 

“Can’t get enough, can you? Your lips are sweeter than the sweet honey that comes from bees. They're so addicting, my lips seem to always miss their touch,” he says. 

“Lady Y/n!” you heard your nurse call out, “Coming!” you say before pressing one more kiss onto the jester’s lips. 

“Y/n? Y/n!” your nurse called out one more time, “Give me a second!” you holler as you finally press one last kiss onto Shadow Milk’s lips.

“Goodbye, Shadow Milk..I’ll see you again,” you say as you watch him disappear. 

“There you are, Lady Y/n! Your mother has been looking everywhere for you,” your nurse says as she appears behind you. "Your mother says it's time for bed."

"Alright, thank you Nurse." You politely reply as you enter your bedroom, thinking about your encounter with Shadow Milk. You flop onto your bed, giggling and kicking your feet at the memory of him and reminiscing about his gentle kisses and sweet words. Hugging a pillow, you roll over, repeating his name softly in your mind.

Your fingers brushed over your lips, recalling how his lip gently pressed against yours. You already missed his touch. Oh, how you loved him.

"Oh, Shadow Milk.." you reply to a lingering thought about your encounter with Shadow Milk.

— ˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚—

As soon as you woke up, your parents needed to inform you about some important 'exciting' news. You knew that meant nothing good.

“Y/n, your father has arranged for you to marry Count Pure Vanilla in four days’ time, as he has chosen you to be his wife and love,” your mother says immediately. Your heart drops, and you feel tears begin to prickle from the corner of your eyes.

“What? No! I will not marry him!” you say in a fit. 

“Y/n! You will marry him,” he says sternly. 

“No! No! Please father!” you beg.

“Y/n! I will disown you and throw you into the streets if you do not marry him,” he says in a fit of rage. You turn to your mother, and give her a look of hopelessness. "Oh, Mother please!" you cry, tugging the sleeve of her dress.

"Enough is enough. You are marrying Count Pure Vanilla, and that's the end of the story," your mother replies harshly as she drags you into your room, leaving you with your nurse. You tumble onto the ground, beginning to wail as your nurse leans over to comfort you.

"There, there, dear," she says, wiping your tears away. "Perhaps marrying Count Pure Vanilla is the right choice. He is the most desirable husband you could have." your nurse states.

But your heart belonged to Shadow Milk. Little did you know, you were always his to begin with.

[planetveensz]

the feeling that remains — ellie williams

— part 1/7 you meet ellie during highschool, the catalyst of some of the best years of your life... until they aren't. three years after breaking up, you're trying to move on with your life. dina and jesse are getting married; and when dina asks you to be one of her bridesmaids, how could you refuse? but guess who just so happens to be jesse's best (wo)man? tw: second chance romance! exes to lovers! modern!au, fem!reader, slow burn, mult storylines, angst, fluff, first meetings, religious trauma, homophobia, gay slurs, drinking, smoking, mild violence, possibly some ooc vibes, eventual smuttt :p wk: 5.4k, spotify playlist! an: ellie my wife <3 i hope i do you justice in this fic <3 this is probably going to be a bit slower to update, once every two weeks maybe? a lot of this is based off my own personal experiences as a gay woman so it's very near and dear to me :) i am always open to suggestions, feedback, and ideas! so pls send them in! enjoy xx

series masterlist | part 2

IT RAINED THE NIGHT you first met Ellie.

You knew who she was; there were always rumors about her floating around school. People called her terrible names behind her back, said she was someone you shouldn’t hang around. You avoided her not because you believed them, but because you were intimidated by her. 

Ellie was devastatingly pretty; had such kind green eyes and a sweet smile, she was also way cooler than you could ever dream of being. You were sure if you tried to speak to her you wouldn’t get one word out, she made you so nervous.

You watched her diligently from inside Dina’s living room, a paper party hat on your head. Dina invited you over to celebrate her 16th birthday, throwing a small party. Her parents were out of town and her big sister Talia had gotten her hands on some alcohol. You’d known Dina from a very young age; you went to the same preschool and became best friends in kindergarten. Dina was one of your only friends, aside from the girls in your church choir. 

Now that you had entered the second half of your sophomore year, you felt as if Dina stayed friends with you out of pity. She was always dragging you along, taking it upon herself to invite you to things. You appreciated it but had an inkling no one else wanted you around like she did. Dina required that you made an appearance at all events she hosted; she was also sure to bring you to bonfires and house parties, claiming you as her “plus one”.

You sighed and passed a red solo cup from one hand to the other, wiping the condensation off on your jeans. You were tipsy, it was the second time you had ever had alcohol outside of church. When you first arrived, you eyed the cup Dina handed you suspiciously. “Don’t worry,” Dina said, “you won’t go to hell for getting a little drunk.” 

You had taken the cup with a shy smile. “Happy birthday, Dina.” You handed her the gift you’d been holding in your other hand. She gasped, hands falling on your shoulders with the most gleeful smile on her face. 

The wrapping was perfectly done, you had hunched over the thing until every line was parallel and taped down perfectly. You finished it with a charming blue ribbon, tied in a neat bow at the front. “Oh, it’s lovely!” Dina gushed and you preened under her kind words. She untied the bow and carefully ripped open the paper to reveal her present. She squealed, pulling out the special edition copy of Pride and Prejudice. “You shouldn’t have!”

Really, you shouldn’t have. You saved up every cent you earned from chores the last four months to afford the book, but you wanted to spoil Dina. She deserved it, for sticking with you all these years, for being such a good friend. Before you could reply, she snapped that stupid party hat on your head and gave you a big kiss on the cheek. “You’re precious,” Dina said earnestly, “I adore you.”

You flushed at her words, unable to take the compliment. You scratched the back of your neck, attempting to brush off the twisting feeling in your stomach. You laughed awkwardly, “thanks.” Dina snorted, patting the same cheek she’d smooched.

“Now drink up, church girl, the party just started!”

You’d lost sight of Dina a while ago, choosing to stand aside in the living room while people chattered around you. Some music was bumping from an old speaker Dina thrifted with you a few months ago. There weren’t that many guests, a handful of people you knew from school, some of Talia’s friends as well. Ellie was sitting on the back porch around the firepit with Jesse and a couple of buddies, smoking a joint and talking loudly with each other. 

The fire flickered and illuminated the freckles on her cheeks. You smiled to yourself when you noticed her dimple became more prominent the more animatedly she spoke. That’s when the rain started, along with a boom of thunder in the sky. Your little bubble popped and everyone shuffled inside, opting to sit in the living room. You could feel the strained expression form on your face as it became more crowded.

Jesse noisily suggested playing truth or dare and you took that as your cue to leave. You snuck off into the kitchen, filling a glass with water. Your mouth had gone dry from your drink and your head was swimming a little from the effects of the alcohol. The water soothed your throat as you drank it.

“Not interested in playing games?” You choked on the mouthful you were about to swallow, whipping around to see Ellie leaning against the entranceway to the kitchen. Her eyebrows raised at your reaction and you could see that she was fighting off a smile.

You wiped your mouth with your hand. “N-no. Well, yes, I mean—” you paused. “Just needed some water.” You lifted the cup in your hand. 

“I can see that.” Her smile was sly and precarious. You weren’t sure if she was teasing, flirting, or making fun of you.

You squinted your eyes at her, “are you not interested? In playing games, I mean.” Ellie took a few steps towards you. Her auburn hair was damp from the rain and you could smell it on her sweatshirt; an earthy, rich scent.

She plucked the cup from your hands, sipping on your water. She placed it on the counter, empty. “Not really, no. They’re lame.” She tilted her head at you, a hazy look in her eyes.

“Are you high?”

She laughed right in your face, “yes, you priss. That’s what happens when you smoke.”

A raging warmth bloomed on your face. This was maybe the second time you’d ever spoken to Ellie alone; the previous being a bunch of stuttered sentences while you both waited for Dina to join you after school. You didn’t remember her being this snarky. “Okay.” You stressed, “no need to be rude.” You crossed your arms defensively.

She huffed through her nose, a smile on her lips. She flicked the hat on your head. “Just messing with you.” She bit her bottom lip and your gut twisted in anticipation.

You ripped the hat off your head, placing it on the counter next to the cup; suddenly feeling juvenile for wearing it. You plucked up all of the courage you had, from the alcohol and pure spite. “You sure you aren’t being a flirt? I’ve heard things about you, Williams,” you tilted your head playfully so she knew you were joking too.

She was full-on grinning, her eyes sparkled. That dimple below the left corner of her mouth appeared. Your breath caught in your throat. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She leaned in slightly, looking at you with an expression that made butterflies flutter in your stomach.

You scrunched your nose at her, genuinely smiling for the first time that night since seeing Dina. “Y’know,” you turned your head away from her, looking up at the ceiling to avoid her piercing green eyes, “I’ve never smoked before.” 

Her smirk was pure electricity, “well, that just won’t do.” The cutesy butterflies became a hoard of bats when she pulled a new joint out of her back pocket. Her hand grasped yours and you were taken aback at how soft her skin was. You stared at your conjoined hands as she began pulling you to the other side of the kitchen, towards the connecting hallway.

You laughed and allowed her to lead you upstairs to the last door on the right, Dina’s room. Ellie shut the door behind you both and plopped herself on Dina’s window seat. You watched, frozen, as she wrestled the creaky old window open and stuck the joint in her mouth. “C’mere,” she nodded to the space next to her, speaking around the joint, “I don’ bite.”

You sprung into action, stumbling over to her. You sat next to her, your knees knocking against hers. She lit the joint, sucking in air so that the end ignited. She grasped it between her pointer finger and thumb as she passed it to you. “Now, don’t inhale too much, you’re gonna cough a lot cuz this is your first time.” She facilitated, “just take small hits until your throat’s used to the burn.”

You nodded, letting her words sink in. You brought the joint to your mouth, curling your lips around the filter, and breathed in. The taste was pleasant, but the burn was not. You immediately let out a cough, a puff of smoke escaping your mouth, unable to help yourself. You passed the joint back to her.

She smiled at you knowingly, “I was really bad the first time I smoked,” she laughed slightly, “nobody told me to take it easy so I inhaled way too much.” She took a hit of her own. “Coughed so hard I threw up.”

You let out a surprised laugh, shocked to hear that someone with her reputation had a story like that under her belt. “When was this?” You asked curiously.

“Back in Boston, before I moved here.” Ellie explained, “I did it right in front of the girl I had a massive crush on. It was so embarrassing.”

You smiled at her affectionately; passing the joint back and forth, you allowed a light daze to settle over your mind. “The first time I ever drank, Dina and I snuck a whole glass of vodka from her mom’s stash during a sleepover. We got so drunk we had to lay on the floor, everything was spinning so bad.”

Ellie gave you a bemused smile, “damn, church girl has a bad side.”

“I didn’t really want to do it at first, but, y’know,” you shrugged, picking your fingernails.

“What?” Ellie urged.

“It’s Dina.” You stated.

Ellie nodded, understanding settling on her face. “Oh, so you have a crush on Dina?”

“What?” You exclaimed, “no! I mean, she’s my best friend—”

“Yeah.” Ellie interrupted, “your best friend. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.” She shoved your shoulder, laughing at your mortified face. “All closeted girls fall in love with their best friend, it’s a right of passage.”

“Wha—?” Your face flamed with embarrassment, “Ellie, I am not gay. It’s a sin.”

Her eyebrows raised at you and she scoffed. “Right.” She said.

“I have nothing against gay people,” you held your hands up, attempting to explain yourself, “I just can’t—I can’t be gay.” She chewed the inside of her cheek as you accepted the joint from her hands, taking an especially large hit. You cough like crazy when you pass it back to her. “I have no problem with you, I’m sorry I said that.”

“‘s okay.” She said, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear and dropping her head to gaze at her shoes.

“No, it’s not.” You leaned forward so that you could look her in the eye. “I’m not like the other kids at school, I’m not some bigot.”

Ellie laughed at you again, “I got it, I got it.” Her eyes sparkled when the moonlight bounced off of them; you found yourself needing to catch your breath, chest tight. It was the smoke, just the smoke. 

There was a knowing look on her face when she looked at you again, like she understood something you didn’t. “So, what exactly have you heard about me, then?” She asked you suddenly.

“That you’re a… raging lesbian that sells drugs and fights people for fun.” You crooked a smile at her when you said it. Ellie laughed out loud, cackling with her head thrown back. You couldn’t help but join in.

IT BEGAN TO RAIN when your flight took off for California.

You had the window seat and because of your anxiety, you held your pee for three hours instead of squeezing past your neighbors to get to the restroom. While rushing to the airport bathroom, you felt a string of buzzing in your pocket. You pulled your phone out and watched as nearly a hundred texts from Jesse pinged on your phone, stress-ridden and panicked; finally loading after you got cell service again.

You smiled wistfully, using the toilet before even attempting to respond let alone read his manic word vomit. You headed to the baggage carousel as you began to sift through the messages. Most were just mangled screaming, some half-literate, some fully realized thoughts. You rolled your eyes affectionately, a smile tugging on your lips.

Jesse was asking Dina to marry him today.

Instead of sending a supportive text, you decided giving Jesse a call would do a lot more good. He picked up after the first ring. “Jess,” you greeted carefully, “I got your messa—”

“Please help me!” He wailed on the other side of the phone. You attempted to disrupt the laugh that passed through your lips with a cough; he had never sounded this frazzled before.

“What’s wrong?” You urged, eyes flickering to the conveyor belt as it started spitting out suitcases.

“I’m not sure if I should wear the blue suit with a red tie or the black suit with the black tie or the gray suit—”

“Jesse, dude,” you said slowly, “please, calm down. You’re working yourself up for no reason.” You spotted your luggage and huffed as you lifted it off the carousel. “This proposal is super intimate and private, I don’t think you should wear a suit at all.”

“But Joel said—”

“Jess, I love and respect Joel so much, but don’t take advice from a man who’s never been married and hasn’t had to worry about what he’s wearing for a woman since Ellie graduated from college.” You said expressionlessly, all in one breath. There was a pause over the phone. 

Jesse erupted into laughter. “Oh, man,” it sounded like he was wiping a tear, “I can always count on you to make me feel better.”

You couldn’t help the smile that twitched onto your lips. “You should wear dark bottoms with a light top or light bottoms with a dark top. Think dressed up casual, if you go too fancy it’ll clash with the location.” You had the phone wedged between your ear and your shoulder as you fiddled with your purse, trying to grab your sunglasses. “I’ll find some inspiration for you on Pinterest.”

“Ugh, you’re a lifesaver.” Jesse sounded much more relaxed. “Thank you.”

“Of course, Jess, call me if you need anything else, okay?” He made an affirmative sound before you said your goodbyes and hung up. You chuckled, shaking your head at your best friend.

Your next call was to Talia, who said she was parked in front of your terminal. The California heat embraced you when you stepped outside of the airport lobby; it felt like coming home. You loved the feeling of the dry, unforgiving air against your skin. It had been too long.

A melancholy feeling took hold of your heart, squeezing it gently within its bitter palm. So much had changed since you were last in Cali; everything had changed the day you left Cali.

Talia drove a swanky little Volkswagen Beetle, it was a bright yellow and she had the top down. The wind brushed your balmy skin as you drove along the Californian coast; it was like a dream realized. In two hours, your best friends would be engaged.

“The engagement party’s gonna have an open bar,” Talia grinned, one hand on the steering wheel, “you better know I’m gonna abuse that shit after all the trouble we’ve gone through.”

It was true; keeping this massive secret from Dina, being emotional support for Jesse, and helping to plan the proposal. It was a lot of work, but it was worth it.

“She’s going to love it so much, I don’t even care how stressed I’ve been.” You replied, imagining the look that was going to be on Dina’s face when she showed off her ring. 

Most guests didn’t know what the party Jesse had planned was actually for, meaning it’d be a shock for nearly everyone there. Dina loved surprises and having a surprise engagement party after her proposal was going to be like icing on the cake for her.

Talia hesitated and you looked at her inquisitively, “...are you like—worried about Ellie being there?”

You laughed nervously in response,  “now that is something I’m not thinking about.” And you really hadn’t. You had gotten so good at pushing Ellie and all of the emotional baggage that came with her out of your mind. You forced yourself not to think about her; to keep her intimate smiles and loving giggles from resonating in your head.

It had been three years; having thoughts about your ex after that long was kind of concerning.

Talia relented, allowing you to stop the conversation before it happened. You spoke about the dress you’d brought to wear to the party and sent Jesse some outfit ideas from your Dina + Jesse Wedding Inspiration board.

Dina’s face sparkled as bright as the darling ring on her left fourth finger. Just as you thought it would. You were over the moon for her; the choked gasp she let out when she saw you for the first time in the cramped bar nearly made you sink to your knees. Your sweet Dina was finally getting everything she’d dreamed of.

“You’re here!” She exclaimed into your hair as she hugged you tight against her.

You rubbed her back, “of course I am. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” When you pulled apart her eyes were wet with emotion.

“Ugh,” she dabbed at her lashes, “don’t make me cry, you fucker.”

She’d slipped away into the crowd not much longer after that, tending to the other guests who were congratulating her and Jesse. Before you could huddle back into a corner, Jesse squeezed you into his embrace and kissed the top of your head. The tears that burned the back of your eyes convinced you to grab another drink before disappearing.

You signaled to the bartender, who approached you with a smile. “Whiskey, neat,” you said, propping your arms onto the bartop. “Please.”

“I see some things never change.”

Your head whipped to your right at the sound of a familiar drawling voice.

Ellie Williams’ gorgeous green eyes met yours, a hundred-watt smile forming on her face that sent your heart into palpitations. She was wider, fuller, clearly stronger. All signs of youth had been erased from her face with age. She’d always been annoyingly attractive, but apparently, you couldn’t catch a break from that fact even if she was your ex-girlfriend.

Even if she was your biggest heartbreak.

“Ellie,” her name left your mouth like a whisper, or maybe a prayer. How long had you secretly begged to see her again?

“Hey,” she greeted; leaning coolly against the bar, propping her tattooed forearm on the edge. You swallowed thickly.

“When’d—” your voice cracks, “when’d you get here? I didn’t see you come in.”

Her gaze swept down the length of your body and it felt like she just casually set you on fire. “I snuck in a couple minutes ago. I missed the big entrance, don’t tell anyone.” She gave you a half-smile, that fucking dimple creasing the corner of her mouth.

You felt like you were totally fumbling this interaction. She had completely thrown you off your axis; tossed a wrench into your meticulous plans to avoid interacting with her. The bartender placed your drink in front of you and Ellie grabbed their attention to order her own.

You gulped down your whiskey in three large mouthfuls, eye twinging at the taste. Your sinuses cleared and the additional oxygen to your brain calmed you a bit. “Oh—and another whiskey for the lady, please,” Ellie said as you placed your empty glass on the bar top.

You chuckled embarrassedly when Ellie winked at you while she spoke, mortified with yourself. Oh, you were entirely falling apart.

“How’s your mom?” Ellie asked and you released a breath.

“Um—good,” you cupped the back of your neck with your hand, avoiding her face. “She moved up to Boston last year to be closer to me. She’s uh, remarried.”

Ellie’s voice raised in surprise, “oh, you’re on the East Coast now?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, sending the bartender a smile when they placed your new drink in front of you, “moved there for work.” When Ellie didn’t say anything you spared a glance at her.

She looked kind of shell-shocked, a tick in her mouth that made your gut turn. You knew why, but didn’t have the strength to say anything about it to her. “What’s Joel up to? We haven’t spoken for a while.”

Ellie forced a smile, “oh, you know. Being an old man.” She wrung her fingers together like she was building her courage. “So, were you ever gonna tell me that—”

Someone called out your name from behind you. Abby Anderson approached you with her arms open and you let out a gasp when you saw her. “Abs!” You gave her a big hug. “Jesse said you weren’t coming!”

“I wasn’t, but when I heard you’d be here—”

You smacked her shoulder playfully, “stop that.”

“I was able to use some PTO last minute.” Abby’s pouty lips pulled into a smile.

A warm hand brushed your lower back, sending a shiver up your spine. Ellie leaned down to speak softly in your ear, “I’m gonna go congratulate the happy couple, I’ll see you later?”

The musky, spicy scent of her cologne flooded your senses and everything became hazy. She smelled downright edible.

“Yeah.” You breathed out, eyes fixed on the slope of her nose and lips.

She squeezed your hip lightly as her hand moved away. “Anderson,” she greeted Abby. 

“Hey, Ellie, nice to see you,” Abby replied. Ellie sent her a two-finger salute, then walked towards the hoard of people surrounding Dina and Jesse.

“Jesus fuck,” you complained, fanning a hand on your blistering cheeks.

Abby snorted, “how ya doin’?”

You sent her a withering look. “Shut up.”

DINA FORCED YOU to come to her house for a party again.

This time, you arrived before most guests; tupperware of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies clutched in your sweaty hands. You were nervous about the social interaction, dreading it, actually. Your hand trembled when you pushed open Dina’s front door. 

Ellie trailed in after you, keys dangling off her index finger while she held the screen door open for you. She was your designated driver for the night. You insisted you didn’t need one, you weren’t going to have more than one drink, but she wouldn’t surrender.

A cookie Ellie had hand-picked as the best from the batch was hanging out of her mouth. You suspected that was the real reason she wanted to drive you, first pick out of the cookie selection. You rounded the corner and entered the kitchen; some of your anxiety was chased away when you laid eyes on Dina and Jesse.

Jesse squealed in excitement when he saw the treats you brought over. He did a little dance when you opened up the container for him. “You are an angel.” He said as he groaned into the cookie he’d snatched.

Dina smacked his shoulder when he grabbed a second one, telling him to fuck off and save some for the rest. You could see the hearts in her eyes when he turned to her with a sweet smile on his face then devoured the second cookie in one bite.

Time passed, more people were filtering in from the frigid air. You could tell most of them pregamed, eyes drooping and cheeks flushed with blood. One especially belligerent guy you’d seen in the halls at school screamed, “Merry Christmas, bitches!” when he entered the doorway. You cringed, and Ellie laughed at the disgusted look on your face. She pulled you to the couch, shoving a glass of whiskey into your hands.

You cast another look at the sweater she was wearing, a reindeer with the word “horny” underneath it, and dropped into the cushions. “That sweater is so stupid,” you told her for the third time that night, and she gave you a devious smile.

“So you’ve said.” She plopped down next to you, spreading her legs comfortably, “I think you’re secretly jealous. Your sweater looks straight out of a granny catalog.”

You gasp, feigning offense. “How dare you!” Glancing down at your cheerful sweater, you realized that maybe it kind of did look like it could be found in an old lady’s arts-and-craft magazine. There were three snowmen lined up across the front with sewn-in sequins, pom-poms, and other knick-knacks as decoration. You sighed defeatedly, “but you’re right.”

Ellie shoved you on the shoulder as she laughed. You loved seeing her this way, carefree and relaxed. Whether it was the false bravado or misconstrued rumors, your impression of Ellie before your friendship began was completely wrong.

In the months since Dina’s window, you’d learned how similar Ellie really was to you. She preferred the quiet; she liked to read, play video games, and have movie nights. You look back on how nervous you were around her and laugh, Ellie was a big dorky sweetheart at her core. Nothing like the sly playboy-like image you had in your head.

You pulled your legs up, turned to face her, and tucked your socked feet under her thigh as you sipped on your drink. The burn in your throat was pleasant. You leaned your side against the back of the couch as you asked her, “have you finished Jane Eyre yet?”

“No! Shit, I’m sorry!” She turned to you with wide, guilty eyes. You laughed against the back of your hand at her expression. “I’ve been meaning to finish it, but I’ve been playing that game I told you about,” her hands flailed as she spoke, “you wouldn’t believe what happened.”

You suddenly focused in on the way her mouth moved as she spoke. The way she pressed them together when she was thinking of a word to use, the way she licked her bottom lip between sentences. She was so enthusiastic when she talked about the things she was interested in, her eyes lighting up with delight.

You realized that you had been tuning out her words as you stared, only catching the last half of her rant. “Is this about your fungus game?” You asked, playing dumb so that you could see the annoyed expression form on her face. 

“I’ll have you know that fungus game is the most emotionally tormenting thing I have ever played in my entire life.” She stated, looking you dead in the eye.

“Oh, I believe you. Remember how you called me crying—”

“No.” Ellie cut in. You laughed into your whiskey as you took another sip.

“I wonder if I’d survive that apocalypse.” You mused out loud and Ellie snorted from beside you.

“Definitely not,” she said confidently, “you’re too sweet, you’d die after ten minutes outside.”

You gave her an offended look. “I am not that sweet, I’m just nice to you because you’re my friend.”

“Yeah, right.” Ellie teased, “you feel guilty after killing spiders.”

“They are an essential part of our ecosystem!” You defended yourself. 

Ellie snickered like she’d won the argument; you opened your mouth to make another point when someone cleared their throat from beside you. That drunk boy you recognized from earlier stood in front of the couch, glancing between the two of you. “Hey.” He greeted.

“Hi?” Ellie responded, the tone of her voice raising into a mocking question.

The boy didn’t deter, “I’m Axel.”

“Okay?” Ellie’s voice became more sarcastic.

He was looking at you when he asked, “do you want another drink?”

You glanced at your nearly-empty glass of whisky and shrugged, “honestly, I’m good, I wasn’t planning on having more than one. Thanks, though.”

“‘Cmon,” Axel smiled broadly at you, “it’s Christmas! Just have one more—”

“She said no, Axel,” Ellie said firmly, “why don’t you fuck off?”

Axel scoffed, his eyes still trained on you, “why do you even hangout with this faggot?”

Before Ellie could get up to put him in his place, before she could even react to his words, you were out of your seat. Ellie could only watch stunned as you punched Axel so hard in his face that he stumbled, dropped his drink, then fell to the floor. There was a lull in the crowd of people as they watched it all unfold, Jesse pushing through the kitchen to see the commotion.

If that wasn’t enough, you stomped towards a man already wounded, rearing your foot back threateningly. That’s when Ellie finally reacted, standing up quickly and grabbing you around the waist to pull you away as you screamed, “don’t you ever use that word you limp-dick, good-for-nothing—”

“Whoa, whoa!” Jesse held his hands up, trying to calm you down. “What the hell is going on?”

“Get him outta here, Jesse!” You growled, fuming, “get him out or he’ll have two black eyes!”

Ellie hadn’t removed her arm from around you yet, watching as Jesse pulled the boy up and walked him to the front door. She released you when the door closed. Dina approached, grabbing your face between her hands. “You okay?” She asked, watching as you took quick, aggravated breaths.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You said sternly, wiping at the angry tears forming in your eyes. “He called Ellie a—” you send a sidelong glance at Ellie, whose gaze hadn’t left your face during the entire altercation.

“We’re okay, Dee,” Ellie soothed, “he was just being an asshole.”

Dina nodded, looking between the two of you. You huffed, lurching towards the coat rack to grab your jacket and shoes. “Need some air.” You informed everyone before stepping out the back door.

The frigid winter air nipped at your nose as you huffed breaths into the night. Your fists were clenching and unclenching, the buzz of adrenaline still in your ears. Ellie stepped out not five minutes later, dressed in her boots and jacket.

“Hey…” she began cautiously. But you threw all caution to the wind.

“Aren’t you sick of it all?” You asked angrily, turning to look at the side of her face. Your implication goes unsaid. The rumors, the homophobia, the name calling.

“I mean, yeah, but what am I gonna do?” Ellie shrugged, unperturbed. “I can’t control anyone's actions, only my own. I choose to ignore it.” Then she smiled at you, tilting her head towards the grassy lawn, “‘cmere.” She grabbed your hand and a blanket off the back of a chair and pulled you away from the porch.

Ellie spread the blanket out in the middle of Dina’s yard, sitting on top of it and motioning for you to join her. You sighed, obliging. Your shoulders touched when you situated yourself next to her, laying down flat on your backs.

It was quiet for a few moments, then you saw it. A streak of white light flashed across the sky and you gasped; one hand jumping up and pointing to where the burning asteroid just was, the other grabbing her forearm. “A shooting star!”

When you turned your head to see if Ellie had caught it too, she was already looking at you. “Make a wish,” she said softly, her eyes just as tender as her voice.

You dropped your arm and the fingers on your other hand trailed down her forearm to lace her fingers within yours. You smiled, bad mood completely forgotten. “I wish I could see your face again when you realized I wasn’t as sweet as you thought I was.”

Ellie’s astonished expression made you giggle and squeeze her hand. “I can’t believe you.” She said earnestly, turning back to look at the stars.

“I know, I’m full of surprises.” You said cockily, proud that you threw her off so much that she hadn’t been able to come up with a single sarcastic comment. She laughed freely into the crisp night air, you watched her breaths condense and then evaporate.

An overwhelming feeling overcame you, something like endearment or adoration. “I’m so glad you’re here.” You whispered, just loud enough so she could hear you. You weren’t sure if “here” meant “here in this moment” or “here on planet Earth”, but Ellie didn’t seem to care.

She squeezed your hand back, “I’m glad you’re here, too.”

© planetveensz 2024

[blockedbykei]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 (𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇)

🏐 — tsukishima kei x f!reader

— synopsis: something about the stars has always intrigued tsukishima, how even in the dusk of the night, the brighest star would light up the world and burn itself in the process. he also didn't know what to do when that star had turned into the person who seemed to make his days just a little bit better.

— warnings: nothing much, except angst. just soft yet also mean tsukishima who doesn't know what to do with those feelings of his. maybe he's a little ooc. based on "andromeda" by weyes blood.

stars, so miniscule, so far away from his touch, so beautiful even with the stygian waters that it swims on.

every night, after practice, tsukishima would walk his lethargic body home with his headphones in his ears, his neck bent backwards it could snap. but he didn't care, he wanted to watch the stars move and follow him.

he wanted to watch all the dead stars who shined the brightest, the stars that had turned into supernovas, the stars that are created. and he felt at peace— the soft rhythm and reverb of the song humming in his ears, and the stars that lead him home.

and occasionally, adding to his visual and auditory senses, a sweet drink on the palate of his tongue made his evenings better.

tonight was no different.

he had just bid his goodbye to his teammates, although timidly and without masking that annoyance he'd always bore against the little tangerine boy who always had a little too much energy.

tsukishima begins his journey, using the stars as his map, putting his hands in his pockets. yamaguchi hadn't joined him for tonight. actually, he hasn't joined him in a while, always walking yachi home, using her "safety" as an excuse (it really was the reason, but obviously there was another one).

still, he didn't mind the absence of his friend.

anri's soft doo-wop brings pleasantries in his ears as the song begins. his fingers tap inside the pocket of his gym shorts. he looks up at the night sky and connects his own constellations. tsukishima wonders if those stars ever know that they're being admired by millions of people in this planet, even if they'd died billions of years ago.

as a child, he used to think that the stars were the meteors that had killed his beloved dinosaurs. and every night, he would refuse to look up. but then akiteru, despite finding humor in his little brother's childish belief, had decided to tell him the difference between meteors and stars. and then added more information about those stars.

so now tsukishima loved three things: dinosaurs, strawberry shortcake, and stars.

his feet patter softly on the cobblestone that serves as a pathway to his home, the cool air drying the sweat off his temples and cooling his back, which reminds him to wipe his sweat when he gets home before he showers to avoid getting sick.

and then he suddenly comes in contact with a small body.

just outside of sakanoshita market, tsukishima's chest bursts in sudden (but light) pain from the person's elbow. and that person had emit a small noise of surprise and pain, stumbling backwards.

tsukishima was just about to snap, tell the person to look where they had been going and call them an idiot when his eyes met yours.

they're wide, irises darkened from the night's haze, and you're clutching your elbow, headphones askew. you rub the soft skin, a small pout on your lips and tsukishima wonders how painful was it for you to pout like this.

then you look at him and he feels the air stuck in his throat.

pretty.

"oh! sorry. i didn't mean to bump into you." you bow in front of him, hands pliant at your sides. tsukishima's at lost for words, lips only parted and looking at you. he still hasn't said anything when you bring yourself back up again.

"it's- it's okay." he finally stammers out, pausing his music and moving his headphones off from one ear. "sorry for not looking either." tsukishima bows slightly, just tilting the top half of his body.

you smile lightly at him, hanging your own headphones around your neck, scanning his figure. he suddenly feels shy under your curious gaze, watching as you read the print on the left side of his chest.

"karasuno...? ka-karasuno! i go there," you laugh lightly, like that discovery was the greatest news you'd ever heard. "i don't think i've seen you around. well, maybe because i'm new. i'm such a dumbass."

though the last sentence being a whisper, tsukishima contradicts: "n-no. i haven't seen you around either." he takes one step forward towards you, didn't expect himself to be nearer than he'd planned. "tsukishima kei."

you tell him yours in a polite manner, with a smile so bright you'd beat the stars that hover both of your bodies. "you're part of the volleyball club, aren't you?"

he hopes you don't see his wavering blush in the dim lights. "yes."

"cool! what position?"

"middle blocker."

"that's so cool," you face him, neck bent upwards to meet his eyes, hands forming into excited fists in front of you, like how hinata would get enthusiastic about something. "you're really tall. i bet, i mean if you could, you'd hit the streetlights when you jump."

that theory piques his curiosity. his eyebrows raise. "i haven't given it a thought. i will try it soon though." tsukishima finally removes his headphones and leaves them around his neck. he points to the bag in her hands. "what'd you buy?"

"chocolate milk. ukai-chan is your coach, right?"

"how'd you know?"

"i see him enter the gym everyday after classes. he owns this store," your head motions behind you. "can you tell him his mom is a little mean? i actually preferred it when he was watching over the store."

tsukishima smiles a little. "can't. he's our coach. he might actually drop us for his store."

your laugh may be brighter than anything else in existence.

"okay, well, see you around tsukishima-san." you smile at him, the pearls of your teeth glinting in the moonlight, the whiskers of your eyes denote the glee you've obtained from him and tsukishima softens just a little. you wave at him and walk past him.

he turns around, and even though your back was to him, his hand lifts and waves at you.

tsukishima walks home happier than he expected, a small smile lingering on his face.

🏐 —

"who you looking for, tsukki?"

yamaguchi serves his friend a teasing smile, holding the tray carefully in his hands. tsukishima looks down at his friend and deadpans:

"shut up, yamaguchi."

"sorry tsukki."

they sit down on the table hinata and kageyama sit on, the two bantering quite loudly on which flavored milk was the best and is advisable to increase their energy. kageyama says: "banana, you dumbass."

hinata argues that: "it's chocolate! it makes people hyper for a reason. could you watch your language?!"

tsukishima and yamaguchi sit beside each other, their backs to the window of the cafeteria, which meant that tsukishima has a view of the entire room, his height being an advantage despite the large crowds.

he blindly brings his bento out of his box, his eyes never leaving the heedless crowd. yamaguchi, ever the curious, most specifically the friend who always wondered what it is that ran through tsukishima's mind, asked again: "seriously, tsukki, who are you looking for?"

tsukishima huffs. "just sawamura-san. i need a-advice. on my blocks." the lie slips easily off his tongue that yamaguchi can't decide between believing him or forcing the truth out of him.

but tsukishima is slightly disappointed that even after five minutes, he still can't see the color of your hair amidst the throng of students. though his face might say otherwise (rbf), he can't help but feel a little sad.

maybe the star isn't shining so bright today.

he pokes and prods at the vegetables placed on top of his rice, stabbing the carrot and shoving it in his frowning mouth. he doesn't notice that hinata has been observing– no, looking at him. because hinata was never the type of person who could be discreet.

"stingyshima, you look sad," he doesn't know if it's a tease or not, but maybe it is. "is he looking for someone, yamaguchi?"

"i don't know," he shrugs. "he says he's looking for sawamura-san."

"he's right there," kageyama jabs his finger behind him, seeing daichi in line for the cafeteria food. "your blocks haven't been good? figured."

"sorry if i haven't lived up to your standards, king." tsukishima sneers. yamaguchi and hinata laugh, kageyama burning in his seat.

eating his lunch ended quite faster than he thought it would, and soon he finds himself walking along the hallway of the school building waiting for the remaining free time to end. so his boredom drags his feet towards the nearest vending machine.

the device on his ears blocked out all the haze and noise of the world, which left him in his own environment. it eased the nerves that trickled along his veins, rubbed the tension off his shoulders. in his own milieu, he could think whatever and say whatever and do whatever.

just like how stars form themselves however they please, explode and die whenever they want to. tsukishima didn't have better knowledge of stars than he knew of dinosaurs, but it was his own thought and he had the freedom to think whatever it is (although of course, with just a little bit of accuracy and validity).

tsukishima's eyes scan the plastic divisions for the sight of any strawberry drinks. when they land on one, he types the number and slips the cash in. the conveyor belts begin to twist.

but much to his dismay, when the drink was pushed, it never fell.

he tuts in frustration, his head falling backwards to release a tired, irritated sigh.

and then you pop up beside him.

tsukishima jumps lightly when he sees you put your head out and smile at him, clutching his heaving chest. somehow, your laugh had managed to drown out the song in his ears; he doesn't mind though. he thinks your smile was the most beautiful orchestra ever conducted.

he puts his headphones around his neck. "they're incredibly annoying, aren't they?" you smile up at him. "here, i'll help you."

suddenly, you begin to violently shake the vending machine. tsukishima almost feels embarrassed for you, but the lack of audience has rid that feeling. you, with your height, looked like a child angrily throwing a tantrum and had transferred your anger towards an object.

nonetheless, adorable.

finally, the strawberry drink fell down, and you squat to pick it up from the port to give it to him. tsukishima takes it from you and says: "thank you."

"no problem!" you beam at him. "i was actually looking for you earlier. i couldn't see you. did you eat at your classroom?"

tsukishima removes the plastic of his straw. "no. i was at the cafeteria." he doesn't want to admit he's looking for you too, but he hopes you can see it in his eyes.

(you don't. to you, he looked uninterested and entertained at the same time. very hard to read)

"aw, alright. well, i was just wondering if you'd like to, uh, switch emails?" you're shy and he finds it amusing. "not switch like i use yours and you use mine, but switch like i take yours and you take mine... so we could text each other..."

he wants to say that he knows, he's not dumb. but you– your eager eyes of softness look up at him and he forgets how to be so cruel and cold. like you were the kind of fire to melt the falling snowflakes. tsukishima nods.

"sure." he pulls his phone out with one hand from his pocket and hands it to you. you take it and give your phone to him, and it felt smaller in his hands.

when you exchange phones again, there's shyness written across your face. tsukishima can't help but blush with the way the sun kisses your skin the way it would to tainted windows– radiating colors so beautiful he can't help but simply be at awe towards you.

a star is created somewhere far away. tsukishima's heart skips a beat.

"i was actually looking for you, too. earlier." he admits, putting his phone back in his pocket. "i couldn't see you. sorry."

"don't be sorry!" there goes that smile again, always making his heart flip. "we both struggled anyway."

"do you want anything?" he points to the vending machine. "chocolate? banana? strawberry?"

"can i try yours first?"

tsukishima pauses, the straw in his mouth just finishing his sip. there's innocence in your eyes that riles him up the wall in ludicrous ways. he slowly takes the straw out between his lips and hands it to you, with you greedily taking it from him before his hand met you halfway.

he swears he could've been redder than any other person in the world when you so shamelessly put his straw in your mouth.

should i be worried about the germs or the fact that we kind of just kissed but not really?

when you sip, you swallow and he can see your brain ponder on what decision you were going to make. you hand it back to him and say: "yeah, i like that one, too."

how could you act like you didn't just drink from his straw?

tsukishima gets you one, this time without shaking the vending machine and hands it to you.

"thank you." you say, your smile adding to your gratitude.

though it seems as if time has reached its end and a familiar sound rings across the hallway that reminds the both of you that the free time was over. tsukishima sees your pout but you don't directly show it to him.

"well, see you around, tsukishima!" you wave goodbye to him, walking away.

tsukishima stands still, staying at his place. his drink was no longer cold, the condensation dripping down his fingers.

somehow, the colors are brighter, the drink was sweeter, the tension from his body had disappeared, and everything else felt lighter. and even if you were no longer standing in his proximity, that luster you left behind etched itself to him.

you were now his new environment.

🏐 —

you. hi tsukishima! 3:13pm

when his phone dings, he places his waterbottle to his side, tuning out the sound of squeaking shoes and bouncing balls. he sees your name on the screen. he doesn't hesitate to text back.

tsukishima. Hi. 3:13pm

his palms sweat from simply typing that greeting. but his heart seems to beat faster and his chest feels light. he didn't expect that you'd text right away. nevertheless, he feels elated to see you text him.

you. didnt see u at the gates earlier during dismissal, do u have training today? 3:15pm

tsukishima. Yes. 3:15pm

you. oh really? until what time? 3:18pm

tsukishima. 7. 3:18pm

you. okay! thats kind of tiring haha. 3:20pm

tsukishima. It is. 3:20pm

he winces at the possible tone he may deliver, so he adds:

tsukishima. Haha. 3:20pm

"bruh, you text so lame."

it seems that tanaka had been peaking over his shoulder as the conversation ensued. tsukishima hugs his phone to his chest and glares at him. "that's invasion of privacy."

"and that's how to lose a girl," he points at his phone. "you text like you're so uninterested."

yamaguchi looks at the two. "who's tsukki texting?"

"some girl named, uh,–"

"no one." tsukishima snaps. "no one."

"oh, it must be the one tsukishima was looking for earlier," hinata runs– or skips towards them. "stingyshima flirting? i wonder how you look like. i'm smart, but i won't tell you that i'm a smartass because i wanna impress you with my blocking skills. i'm so cool and so tall."

tsukishima hates how hinata mimics him. he bites back. "oh, i'm hinata. i'm so small."

much to his dismay, even sugawara had joined in. "you could tell her that, you know, i'm so tired. but i'm drinking water so that's good enough for me already."

he responds with respect, though dripping his annoyance. "sugawara-san, please don't mimic me."

his phone vibrates again, and everyone else leans in to look. tsukishima snarls and moves away from them, clutching his dear phone to his chest.

you. any chance we could drink later? 3:27pm

you. not alcohol, of course. just milk or juice, or a shake, even yogurt. although, we can't drink yogurt... 3:27pm

tsukishima feels yamaguchi peer over his shoulder, and he knows its him because of that distinct smell of his. he doesn't hide the phone away even when yamaguchi says: "she's asking you out! go!"

"calm down, yamaguchi."

he shakily types his response.

tsukishima. Sure. By the store again? 3:27pm

three dots, he's awaiting for your response.

you. okay! see you there :) 3:28pm

🏐 —

his practice ends at 7 on the dot. tsukishima has never left faster in his life.

though he was always the first to leave, bidding them goodbye before walking his way home. this was different– his goodbye bore that sense of urgency with a twinge of excitement as he clumsily slipped his regular shoes on, walking as fast as he could away from the school campus.

coach ukai had actually offered that they go back to the store together, but tsukishima was in a rush.

it was an eight minute walk to the store. he got there in five.

you were no longer wearing your school uniform. you had your hands at your sides, rocking back in forth from the heels of your feet, your headphones bobbing along with your head as you listened to your song. tsukishima wonders how he would approach you.

a tap on the shoulder? yell your name? appear in front of you? should he turn you around violently and smile awkwardly? should he–

"tsukishima-san!"

he didn't realize that he had spaced out, blinking. you approach tsukishima as you discard your headphones to hang them around your neck, stopping just a few friendly feet from him.

"how was practice?" you pip. "you look exhausted."

tsukishima reddens. "i'm alright. same practice anyway," he rubs the back of his neck. "should we go inside? i'm thirsty."

he hopes he doesn't sound too demanding. but you reacted normally, gave him a pretty smile, and led your way towards the store.

coach ukai's mother sat behind the counter, sporting the same cigarette in her mouth, a garbled greeting escaping her without bothering to look up as she read her newspaper. you and tsukishima find your way to the back where the drinks are.

he opens the door for you, the appliance bulb casting a white glow over your face as you bent and searched for what drink made your veins twitch with excitement.

"by the way, you know yachi hitoka?" you balance your hands on your knees, looking up at him. "she's your manager right? i'm in her class!"

"really?" he queries, swallowing thickly. "you're really smart, then. it's one of the higher classes."

"i try," you shrug shyly, looking back at the selection of drinks. "anyway, i asked her about you. she said that you were a middle blocker, 6 foot something, and that she liked your friend yamaguchi? i don't know, she said it then she denied it."

"oh, she likes him alright," he chuckles. "he walks her home every night."

"really?!" you pick up two cans of coke and clutch them to your chest, standing upwards. tsukishima shyly reaches for another strawberry drink. "i'm mad at her for not telling me that."

you make your way to the front with tsukishima following behind you. you place the contents on the counter, the woman behind muttering something you can't discern as she scanned your orders.

"are you allowed to stay out a little longer?" you ask him, the soft beeps of the drinks grazing his ears. he shrugs again, reaching for his wallet.

"yeah, sure. do you want to do something?" he places the payment on the counter before you were able to take your own cash out. you pout.

"i was going to pay for mine."

"it's alright. it wasn't that expensive, anyway." he smiles a little at you. and it was the first time tsukishima had ever smiled kindly at anyone, except yamaguchi, his mom, and akiteru. "you were saying?"

you pop open your can. "i found this really nice spot where you can stargaze. and, honestly, i'm bored and tomorrow's the weekend. i would have invited you to do this tomorrow, but we're here now!"

he laughs through his nose. "i'm free anytime."

when you both approach the exit, coach ukai and the team stand by the open doors. tsukishima stops on his tracks, his mouth parted the slighest as you tip your head back to drink your soda. when your head comes back in place, your eyes settle on the crowd upon you.

"oh, hello ukai-san!"

tsukishima looks at you through his peripherals before darting his eyes back front. they all snicker, eyes widened at the sight in front of them— cold, narcissistic, mean tsukishima kei, with probably the nicest girl in all of karasuno. yachi waves at you.

"is that why you were rushing to get out, tsukishima?" ukai teases, a cigarette hanging loosely off his lips. "i see you've met my number 1 customer."

he blushes when he's exposed, and he ignores the way you give him a surprised glance.

"so you must be the girl he was texting earlier," tanaka approaches you, offers his hand. "forgive him. he sounds lame when he texts, but trust me if you saw his face he looked like–"

"tanaka-san." tsukishima almost pleads.

while shaking his hand, yachi approaches you with yamaguchi behind her. "this is why you asked me about him!"

"shut up, yachi."

tsukishima could die right then and there. melt into a puddle of sweat and embarrassment. there were words exchanged between you and his ever loving team, the heat on his face becoming hotter and hotter at every second.

he wishes he could leave now.

by the time hinata begins to ask you a question about tsukishima's attitude, he sighs loudly. "excuse us, but we have to head out now."

you look at him again. "we do?"

"yes, we do," he looks down at you. "you told me, remember?"

you smile at him, recollecting your invitation. "oh, yes! we should get going."

you offer your goodbyes to the curious group. tsukishima wallows in discomfort, walking away with his shoulders slightly slumped and a hand in his pocket.

"i like them," you tell him, drinking your coke. "they're nice."

"they're really not," he takes a sip of his drink. "if you hung out with them, you'd be just as annoyed as i was."

his "joke" makes you laugh. first he thinks what could be so funny about his comment, then he realizes you don't actually know that he wasn't joking. the thought makes him swoon just a little.

"so why stargazing?" his and your feet are synchronized, stepping on the uneven cobblestone to the destination that tsukishima still doesn't know. your shoulder is closed to his when you walk; he resists the urge to put his hand out so that they'd graze your fingers, feeling the heat rub on his calloused skin.

"yesterday, when you walked home, i looked back and saw you look up at the sky," you reply. "and i realized that "oh, he stargazes too!" so i decided to bring you to my spot."

"your spot?" you hum in agreement. "why?"

"because it's nice to share the feeling of looking up at beautiful stars." you throw your now empty can onto a nearby bin, opening your second one. "i figured maybe you might feel the same way i do."

if it was admiration then yes, he felt the same way you did.

🏐 —

tsukishima realizes the walk was 10 minutes away from his home. now you're both standing at a hill where you can see all the houses nearby and karasuno at the other side.

you sit down on the ground, he copies you. his bottom sits on the soft soil, his fingers prickled by the grass, and the cold smell of the meadow enters his nostrils.

he thinks that everything is happening a little too fast – he had only met you yesterday, exchanged emails earlier, went out to buy drinks, and now you're both sitting at a hill stargazing like it's a date. your optimism and kindness shakes him a little, leaving him with an unknown thought of what he could possibly do as of this moment.

yet he's still here, watching you gaze at the stars, the sheer glow of the moon kissing your cheeks, the stars reflecting off the mosaic of your eyes. you're radiating this cordial heat that wraps around his right arm that rests just millimeters away from you.

"told you it's pretty," you beam, lips parted, never sparing him a glance. "you see that? that's cassiopea right there."

you point to the sky and squint, and it's only then tsukishima takes his eyes off you and follow the direction of your fingerprint.

you trace the invisible strings that connect each star to one another. blearily, his imagination turns those strings into silver. tsukishima draws nearer towards you, his shoulder now bumping yours, his pinkie grazing the skin of your finger.

"andromeda isn't here yet. but it's the one i've been waiting for the most," you turn your head to look at him.

tsukishima's breath hitches when he realizes that he may have underestimated how close the proximity he had created was, your breath fanning his face. he senses your surprise, the way the bottom of your eyes twitch lightly and your nose scrunches a little.

"i figure maybe they arive in a few weeks," he murmurs. he can sense your surprise and says: "you're not the only one who knows about stars."

"yeah? figured you were more into dinosaurs."

"that's true," he sniffles, you giggle. "when i was a kid i thought that the stars were the ones who killed the dinosaurs. so every night, when i see them, i would always cry 'cause i thought that they might fall here and kill us all."

"pessimist, huh?" when your head tilts up, your chin bumps his shoulder. "anything else i should know about you?"

"there's one thing i want to tell you but i've been making it plainly obvious."

"you have a knack for strawberries."

"yes," he smiles a little, the whites of his teeth appearing between his thin lips. "i like music."

"so do i."

"yeah? what genre?"

"...anri..."

"really?" tsukishima's eyes brighten, maybe even brighter than the stars. "i like her music."

"i thought you were kind of a japanese rock kind of guy."

"i can be many things," you look back up to the sky, your eyes darting between each individual star like you're tracing another constellation. tsukishima's tracing the features of your face like it was his constellation.

"yachi says you're mean, but in a way that brings up the team's drive to play harder," you say into the wind. "please don't be mean to me. i cry easily."

tsukishima wonders if he can even smile more than he is now. "i'll try my best. you're giving me a lot of reasons to be mean right now."

"but you're not being mean to me right now," you poke his glasses and shove them to his face, hurting the bridge of his nose. albeit tsukishima doesn't mutter a single complaint. "you're just being dorky."

"i am not!" he balances his body with one hand behind him, the other tugging on the end of your hair.

"now you're just being childish!"

your laugh beats out all the songs he had to search for to complete every single of his playlists. it was as soft as silk, as dulcet as violins; it was something he'd play on repeat when it played on his headphones. and your sweet laughed matched the way your face became even more beautiful.

tsukishima feels his heart beat a little bit faster.

a star explodes. supernova.

he no longer feels wearied from practice, his body languid from comfort in your presence. and just like last night, he was happy his day ended with something that lacked the usual bothersome feeling in his chest, but something that decompressed every constraint muscle in his body and think of something else that made the corner of his lips smile and his heart elated.

that's why when he went back home, when his mother and akiteru (who was visiting) were dead asleep, he silently descended to his room with a smile on his face, brushed his teeth with the sound of your laugh echoing in his ears, changed his clothes with your scent somehow lingering, and went to be thinking about you.

🏐 —

the past few weeks were more eventful than the days he had to train for the inter-high preliminaries.

the more he saw you, the more he felt himself unwinding like a diurnal motion, every trust and rigor travelling through his veins whenever your aura touched his opalescent skin.

you were the succor to his weary bones. you were the happiness that he never truly found in others. you were the light brighter than the stars could ever give him in the dark.

secrets were passed the way notes would in classes.

you got a sweet tooth? what dessert do you like?

strawberry shortcake, tsukishima said. no regrets, no embarrassment. pure adoration.

did you know that velociraptors aren't actually that big?

yeah? how'd you know that, tsukishima?

it's called reading, he'd roll his eyes. you're in the highest class and you don't read?

his retorts were never used to add insult to injury. that's what he liked about you– you knew when he was serious and when he wasn't despite the fact that tsukishima believed that he was hard to read. it seemed like you were able to read him better than yamaguchi has.

his heart aches at the thought. the ache, painful but so good, but something that he could not discern the true intention.

but he could never let you in him. never in his life.

you. saw a frog and it looked like you. loser. 12:51pm

you and tsukishima had exchanged countless of texts that contained topics that he never expected himself to be indulging in. that familiar ding! of his phone reminded him of you already, because you'd been the only one who constantly texted him more than yamaguchi has.

(also because, well, he set up a different tone for you.)

tsukishima sees your name pop up in a rectangular notification on his screen. he opens it with sweaty hands and a towel over his head, his thumbs typing out a snarky reply.

tsukishima. How could a frog look like me, (y/n)? That's dumb. 12:51pm

he ruffles his towel over his damp curls, the sweat on his temples being sucked into the cloth. he watches the three bubbles appear on your side and you say:

you. because i said so. look! 12:52pm

the attached image looked far from what tsukishima looks like. it was a regular frog, beside a pond, with no thoughts. he rolls his eyes.

tsukishima. I don't see it. 12:53pm

you. thats because youre not LOOKING. do u see his eyes? literally you. i think its the mouth, haha 12:54pm

he laughs either way despite not having seen any similarities. but laughing seemed to be a mistake, as he forgot where he was at the moment.

"quit laughing, tsukishima. you'll slack off," kageyama taunts from afar, face etched into an arrogant smirk. yamaguchi approaches him, peeking over tsukishima's shoulder to snoop on the conversation.

"are you worried i'll ruin your game, king?" tsukishima rubs the back of his neck, tilting his chin upwards. "my apologies."

you send him another text: omw there to see u :p 12:59pm

the latter's growl was overpowered by yamaguchi's hum of interest. "tsukki, that frog does look like you."

"yamaguchi, how nosy are you?"

"nosy enough to ask when will you tell her that you like her?"

tsukishima's eyebrows furrow. he did not like you. during those weeks, the both of you did more than just exchange texts in any time of day– often you'd meet after classes and buy a drink when he didn't have practice; sometimes you'd wait for him until seven in the evening so you'd both go up the hill again and talk mindlessly about things that tickled your brains.

in those few weeks, he had learned more about himself than he ever had with anyone else.

and he feels, though never actually given any attention to, that his days ended with a smile on his face rather than feeling boredom creeping up his shoulder like a grim reaper would on a dying soul.

instead, it felt like he was resurrected; tsukishima felt like a shooting star falling through evening, the fire pulsing through his veins as he fell. with you, he felt like everything else had color, that everything else made sense.

his life became brighter that it seemed like hinata's hair was actually on fire from the bright orange hues.

so no, he did not like you.

"i don't like her." he wipes the sweat that dripped onto his glasses. "don't be ridiculous."

"yesterday, when you were eating, you kept talking about how this (y/n) girl told you how the dinosaurs from jurassic park were created. and all of us were talking about one piece."

"so? it's way more interesting."

"but not her?"

"yamaguchi," he bemoans. "nothing is interesting about her."

that lie. that sickeningly, macabre, heartbreaking lie that it even hurt him to say it. tsukishima also doesn't understand why yamaguchi has a horrified face plastered on him, but he realizes he wasn't looking at his friend, and was looking behind him.

he whips his head around.

the tips of your shoes had mud on them from the dampened soil. your umbrella hung loosely around your wrist and dripped on the ground. your fingers clasped around a small contained with what seemed to be strawberry shortcaked that looked delectable enough to make his stomach hurt. and your chest heaved from what he assumed was the aftermath of rapid walking.

despite the sight that had made his head spin, the affliction that twitched from your frowning lips and the gloss that made your eyes shine from dejection had turned the situation into something so monotone he feels like his soul had just left life.

a star dies in the middle of the galaxy.

tsukishima thinks the regret plastered on his face may be seen. he hopes that it is.

the sound of squeaking shoes and ricocheting balls continue, but the ringing of his ears are louder. you swallow thickly, shuffling on your feet, and approach him hesitantly like he'd burn you if you were near him.

"i brought you this because you looked so pale yesterday after you practiced," you say softly, though he could hear the pain in your tone. tsukishima takes the container from your reaching hand, and swears he sees your breath hitch when his fingers graze yours.

"thank you–"

"see you around, tsukishima," you bow, before you hurriedly leave the gymnasium.

it felt like the room was shrinking rapidly on him, his muscles pressing in on his body in a suffocating manner. yamaguchi puts his hand on tsukishima's shoulder, leaning down to check in on his distraught friend.

"tsukki," his eyebrows are raised in concern, voice loud enough to snap tsukishima out of his pity daze but low enough that everybody else remained distracted. "hey..."

"i'm fine," he looks up at him. "it's nothing. i'm- i'm fine. let's just go back to practice."

his fists clench when he shoves the cake into his bag and walks back into the court. his blocks are futile when he thinks of your eyes. his serves hit the net when he thinks of the frown pasted on your lips. and he feels himself at the bottom of the game when another star dies.

he just doesn't know if it was his or yours. could a heart break two times?

🏐 –

tsukishima had a crisp trepidation towards the true veneer of love.

he believes he was too young for that, that he was in a stage where he would have this deep passion for things that were alive albeit something that he can't touch nor interconnect with– hense is unfathomable love for dinosaurs, stars, and strawberry shortcake.

so whatever it is that he was feeling for you – he doesn't know if it's love. tsukishima feels like he could die if he didn't see you for a single day; his feet and his body restless up until you both meet after practice.

tsukishima is even more restless now.

there wasn't a single text from you since 12:59 in the afternoon.

there was almost a hundred texts from tsukishima since 3:00pm, the time he had excused himself early from his practice.

he lays on his bed, his headphones on but no music. he wasn't in the mood to put himself up in brighter spirits. his back rests uncomfortably on the thick mattress, his curls splayed across his pillow, a hand on his chest and a hand holding a fork, his feet spread apart.

and the strawberry shortcake you gave him rests on his chest, half eaten, his mouth chewing sadly on the sweet delicacy.

"do you think stars have thoughts?" you asked. tsukishima found this beguiling and preposterous simultaneously, however the curiosity that happened to lift his lips into a dazed smile made him release a teasing retort:

"you certainly don't."

you threw a grape at him. he caught it with an open mouth. the sun was about to set, but the warmth was enough to prevent the both of you from shivering idiotically on the hill at the cold breeze. "i'm approaching an epiphany, asshole."

your vulgarity made him smile more. "celestial bodies, more specifically stars, do not have thoughts. but they're alive, and they function into a cycle."

"unorthodox minds like mine go out of the box," you rolled your eyes. "sorry, i'll put it in simpler terms so you could understand. i have a very creative mind."

"oh yeah?" tsukishima tilted his head sideways to present his interest. "and what'd you mean by that?"

"you know how stars die and create themselves?" you queried. "it's like how phoenixes rise from the ashes as they're reborn. but when a star resurrects, they're called "zombie stars," right?"

"yeah."

"and i'm not saying that they have a mind of their own, but if you were to input your own thoughts into a star, then yeah, it's like they resurrect themselves to live on with life over and over again, and don't you think that's exhausting? they're like dead stars, and they still shine brightly, and it's ironic, right? because something that has been dead billions of years ago still shine. it has a meaning into it that people just... completely ignore."

"so an analogy?" his eyebrow raised.

"yeah, something like that," you licked your lips. "when you see a bright star, and you don't know if it's a dead star. but imagine stargazing and finding love in something that has been dead long ago."

tsukishima's body softened. "uhuh."

"but what if you keep loving that star? and that star just receives so much of that love that they're able to resurrect themselves. well, obviously loving a star isn't actually gonna bring it back to life because there's a separate scientific explanation for that, but i'm saying that– that if you love something, or someone, hard enough that you're able to bring light into their lives, then that's possible.

and they take all that love for the benefit of their life and... they burst into something beautiful called supernovas."

tsukishima stared at you, his gaze ever so adoringly. "and what's the point of this epiphany of yours?"

"that loving someone that has been gone inside their body is possible to save them and bring them back to life to turn them into someone even more beautiful."

tsukishima sits back up, a whiplash from the quick commotion.

it was already night when his thin curtains were tainted black from the dark glow of the evening.

he pushes himself off his bed, slip his way out of his home and clumsily puts his shoes on to find you.

and he knows exactly where you are.

so it's no surprise when he sees you all alone, laying down on the meadow of the hill, blooming flowers grazing your cheeks in any way the wind blows. tsukishima stands and stares at you longingly, his fingers twitching beside him.

"(y/n)."

he says your name like an oath to the stars. you sit up, hearing his voice, cheeks dry with tears melting onto your skin. tsukishima's heart breaks the slightest when he brings himself up the hill.

"what are you doing here?" you ask him, voice so small he'd think you were whispering.

to his surprise, tsukishima falls onto his knees in front of you. he finds it endearing that despite the reduce of his height, you still look up at him. then he takes your hands into his, his thumbs tracing every ridge of your knuckles, looking deep into your eyes.

"i didn't mean what i said." he declares like he was under jurisdiction of the judge. "you are–... the most interesting woman in the world. the most beguiling, the most entrusting, the most beautiful."

your eyebrows furrow, hands shaking in his grasp. "what are you saying?"

"that i'm an asshole." he admits. "you are so interesting that every epiphany of yours pulls me back on the ground and into you. that epiphany you had about dead stars that resurrect themselves from getting so much love? shit, (y/n), that may be me."

you let out a tiny gasp, maybe a breath of reliefz his face is so close to yours, his knees in between your legs, bumping the side of your thighs. "what?"

"i–... i don't know if you love me. you don't have to. but you've made my days brighter and gave my life meaning that i felt like i was resurrected. like all the pieces in me were brought back together. and everything else just felt... alive."

finally, you smile. just a little, but it was enough to make the grass greener and the color of your shirt turn pastel, your eyes vibrant in the night. "yeah?"

"yeah," he laughs, idiotically he may add. "i like you. i like you so much. i like you more than i like dinosaurs."

you guffaw, throwing your head back, hands never letting go.

a star resurrects. a supernova explodes.

"i like you more," you say, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

it was enough for him to jump on you to press his lips on your awaiting mouth, gently pressing you down on the grass, his hand on the back of your head to soften the blow as he settles himself in between your legs.

his mouth, sweet with strawberries and ardor, his hair soft like flowers when your fingers tangle on the golden locks, his glasses pressing against the space between your eyebrows and the bridge of your nose, his tongue that hovers respectfully on top of your bottom lip.

innocent, lips full of solicitude, he kisses you deeper and with care, his head tilting to open his mouth the slightest so that he could get closer to you. the small sound that emits from your mouth makes him pull back and smile shyly.

his eyes had the galaxies reflected off his eyes that it made space seem like they were golden from his irises. you take his glasses off, placing them beside you, and let your hands rest on his face; tucking his hair behind his ear as you do so.

and above your intertwined bodies, andromeda swims across the stygian night sky, traced by invisible strings. just as tsukishima predicted.

tsukishima could stare at you for the rest of his life.

tsukishima loved four things: dinosaurs, strawberry shortcake, stars, and most especially:

you.

reblogs and feedback are appreciated!

[chuchurio]

"To the sea, you'll find me."

* Childe x fem!reader Synopsis: Childe must go to war. You promise to wait for him, waiting weeks, months, and eventually years with no sight of him. still, you remain loyal to him, things don't always go as planned though. Genre: Angsty (?), a little ooc, Yearning, implied deaths, fluff near the end! WC:5.6k

a/n: Yes. This is basically Odyssey/Epic brainrot, but make it the handsome ginger.

You frown, handing Childe the last satchel full of bread that’ll feed the army, risking their life in this rebellion. When he knew it was his turn to stand up for his people, he was preparing fleets by dawn. You, on the other hand, remained silent. 

That night, the palace was more active than usual. Maids were rushing around, and servants were grabbing items and bags, anything that was in reach, preparing for the departure of the King. His eyes keep flickering back to you, waiting for you to respond to the news of his departure. You didn’t. 

He’d raise a hand,  gesturing forward, the servants bowing respectively before scattering away. 

His footsteps are heavy, the sound growing closer until it stops right beside you. 

The distant shouts of men and hurried movements would fill their silence, frozen in their own time. 

 “I’ll come back to you.” He whispered, his fingers pushing back a free strand of hair. Your heart throbs, fighting back the tears that wanted to spill, because no matter how much you plea for his stay,  he still will leave for war. 

“I know you will.” You cupped his face, taking in every feature of his one last time. Even if you didn’t say it out loud, a part of you was afraid, so deeply afraid this would be the last time you see him. The innocent coo broke your silence, its little plush hand reaching up curiously to grab at her father’s hand. 

He chuckles, his gaze visibly softening at the sight. He presses his finger against the little hand, allowing her to curl her fingers around it. You couldn’t help but look back up at him, the faint smile he wore, the way he stared at your child. 

“Ajax.” He looks up, staring directly at you. 

“Promise me.” Your voice trembles, and he knows that you’re truly keeping quiet, so he doesn’t hesitate. “It’s me. When do I fail ya?” He smiles, and that only strengthens your worry. You couldn’t fathom to never see it again. 

“This isn’t a joke, Ajax. Give me your word.” His eyes can’t seem to harden when looking at you, your struggle to remain calm for his sake will only confirm his choice to marry you. Because if not you, then who? 

He presses his forehead against yours, sighing for a moment, your heart slows down, his voice only a soft murmur, “I won’t give you a reason to cry.” You kissed him gently, one last time before you began to miss the taste. 

In less time than you can count, he’s filled the ships. The men who carry the weight of their families leave it at the harbor, tearful goodbyes and hopeful hugs around you. 

He fixes the wool coat, his touch lingering longer in certain areas. His fingers tugged at the furred ears of your hat, trying to keep it down. He didn’t say it, but his blue eyes held none of the excitement they usually had. 

“Snezhnaya needs their King.” He broke out of his trance, his blank stare now on you. The tip of your nose was a darker rogue, and the cold allowed a different shade to form. 

“It’s a good thing they got their Queen,” he teased a smile that just barely reached his eyes. You touched his hand, slowly interlacing them into one. “She’ll be waiting…” you paused, a sigh leaving your lips, “I’ll be waiting..” 

Dawn was kind enough to let the moon show off for a little longer, letting you have Childe for just a second more than you should. 

He watches you in the stillness, slowly bringing your wrapped hands to his mouth. He holds it there longer than intended, but you knew this was his way of sealing his promise. 

He will come back to you. 

“Snezhnaya will never know its luck.” He muttered into your skin, his breath tickling a bit. 

You’ll smile at him; a more public goodbye. He hugs you so tight, but it doesn’t feel like enough. He pressed a rough kiss to the top of your head, and in the middle of your embrace was his little bundle of joy, the gears to his decision. 

You remain on land, and thousands of families split, including yours. You hear encouragement, along with cheers of hopeful victories, but all they had was hope.

 You watch his silhouette become a blob and then nothing. Your daughter curled to your chest, unaware of what she’ll be missing. 

You weren’t always the most patient, but for him, you were willing to sit and wait. 

 Time-tested your word. 

You’d grow accustomed to the silence in your halls. The long corridors keep you company more often than not. The words that were once reassurance turn into a haunting pause.

After years of waiting, Snezhnaya never lost its cold, the freezing breeze similar to a sharp warmth. As the queen of this land, you keep your head high, your hair twirled into an updo that would give you a composed appearance. 

Because truth be told, you’re crumbling. 

Rumors of your husband being long gone spread like wildfire within months of him leaving. You’d await every ship, every foreigner with open arms and all ears, in the hope they’d bring news of your dearest Ajax. Not even the birds would chirp a response. 

You’d be questioned about your position; he earned the title, but with his absence starting to show through the cracks, men were interested in a taste of the power. Take Snezhnaya and his token prizes right under his feet. 

Your fingers ran down each string, braiding it into the other, crossing, and repeating. There was something peaceful about repeating the same actions, it was the only time your head got rest from the constant questions, suggestions.. confessions. 

You’ve heard not a thing after the war. The travelers passed by and spread the news of your people who left. Word got back that you were victorious, and that brought little relief in your heart. 

Celebrations would be heard on every street, things were looking up. You were happy to spend money on quality decorations, you had to commission merchants, artists, and the crest decorating the paper mache. 

They were never hung. 

 With no sign of the king or his army, the people began to whisper, it was slow but crawling up the street and toward your castle. You didn’t blame them,  You understood it wasn’t doubt but tradition to have a king by your side. You were more than capable, always had been. 

“Mom?..” 

The voice brought your fingers to a stop, breaking you out of your thoughts. “You keep forgetting to knock, sweetheart.” 

“I did.. 3 times for good measure.” the soft thud of the heavy door closing behind you made a sigh leave your lips. You don’t even remember holding back your breath. 

“Sorry, I must have my head in the clouds..” a chortle left out of you, trying to ease the young girl’s nerves. You feel a warm hand on your shoulder, slowly moving down and looping around your neck. 

“Can I have mine there too?” She asked softly, her embrace warm. You lean back into her hug with a smile. Sometimes when you hear her voice, no matter how feminine.. you think of Childe, his promise not to leave her fatherless. 

“Of course you can..” 

The comfortable silence was kind upon your ears, the window giving you a view of cushions of white that formed. Your eyes closed for a second, basking in the whispers of the snow, and the quiet that lingers in the room. 

“I heard he has armor that makes him appear feet taller.” The younger girl quipped, her head resting on your shoulder. You hummed a response, making her continue, “That he was an enigma. I heard that one from the baker down the market!”

You chuckled but kept your eyes closed, keeping your gestures to a minimum. 

“I also heard.. he won the war .. and he’s coming home..” she lowered her voice, trailing off. It stung the poor girl the same way it made you look over your shoulder to comfort your child. 

But she was barely a child anymore; her stubby little hands were longer and gentle, and her cute babbles had turned to eloquent sentences. Your baby was flourishing right in front of you. 

You gesture for her to sit down on the chair beside your own. There were two chairs, one for you to sew, one for her to watch you. 

“He will come home.” You reassured, your hand squeezing her own to console her. Archons know you need to heal yourself too. 

She didn’t respond, playing with your fingers as if a question weighed heavy on her mind. She has a look similar to yours, a bit lost, a bit hopeless, and impatient. It makes you chuckle, her frustration making her eyes narrow just the way Childe’s did. 

“What is it?” She was surprised to even hear something out of you. 

“Your father was afraid you’d lose any part of him while he was gone.” Your fingers brushed through her hair, reminiscent. “But you’re everything he was and even more.” 

And she was, the charming smile was riddled of her father, the competitive nature that she had, a hunger to succeed—This palace could never make her feel as much yearning as when she looks at the product of their love. 

She was like a ghost, the closest thing you had to Childe. 

She crinkled her nose before softly resting her head on your shoulder. Her hand rested atop of yours with gentle circles soothing you, “We’ve got time.. I’ll make sure to make time..” she whispered, silently watching the tapestry you had sewn. 

And like she said, there was time. You’re used to the routine, working elegantly on a tapestry honoring the king by day and delicately undoing it by night. That’s what you told yourself, that you were delicate with it. 

There were nights you’d go to the tapestry and snag at the ends of the thread. Your head was hot, and the portraits only made this heavy burden you carry grow. Your nails would dig into the craft and tear somewhere as a starting point for tomorrow. Your fingers would burn as you broke into the tapestry, and you’d cry the first few years, but with time, your face would only twist into a scowl. You were angry with the archons; there were times you were angry with Childe, and then there were times when you were angry at yourself for not being strong enough.

You feel the faint breeze of the night, calling for your attention. Slowly, you move to the edge of the open window, letting the scenery call out to you. The sky is a soft blue, the ocean reflecting the bulbous shape of the moon. It brings a sweeping thought each time, so hopeful, and part of you believes it’s naive, yet you know.. Your gut tells you he’s there. 

You rest your chin on your palm, the other clutching your chest as your heartbeat slowed to its normal rhythm. You speak to no one, but surely the sea will deliver it for you, 

“I’ll buy you all the time you need.” 

When your maids ask you why your fingers are tender and your hands have blemishes, you’ll smile and respond,  “I keep assisting in the kitchen; there is no need to worry, ladies.” 

A moon cycle would pass before your daughter bursts into your room, heaving and face red. 

“Sweetheart, what happened–”

“They know.” she gasped out. 

Your eyes widen, flickering to the unfinished tapestry. You look back at her, and although there is fear gnawing at you, your daughter seems petrified that the truth is out. As a mother, you swallow the emotion to ease her own. 

As a queen, you have to prepare for the worst. 

“Know as in speculation?” Your daughter shook her head, struggling to catch her breath. “No. they’re chanting for justice, that–that you owe them, mom–” she’s tripping over her words, making you reach for her hands. You run your thumbs across her hand and soften your tone. “It’s okay. I’ll make a statement.” 

You walk toward the large dining hall, your daughter by your side and fixing her tiara. The roars of anger grew louder as you stood behind the double doors. 

“If I were a man, they would listen to what I say,” your daughter muttered, upset that her own claims get ignored even with her status. 

“Don’t let that stop you from speaking up.” You tuck a stray hair behind her ear, fixing her up just a bit. 

She gives you a worried smile,  letting out a sigh. “Is it going to be okay? We can call for the diplomats and guards to feel more secure–” You chuckle, shaking your head. 

“No, I got it from here.” 

She frowns. “Are you sure?” 

“I wouldn’t let them touch a hair on you.” You smiled and gave her a reassuring nod before turning back to the doors. 

When you pushed them open, there was no silence, but the anger was more than deafening. You could feel the stares gravitate with each step you took, like the center of a bright light. All of the gazes trail back to the princess who walks behind you. 

‘We’ve waited long enough!’ ‘When will there be a king?’ ‘Y/n, make your choice!’ 

‘Justice! Justice! Justice!’ 

‘King is long gone!’ ‘No more delay!’ ‘Y/n who shall be crowned?’ 

A mix of complaints, urgences, and disappointment rang through the hall, and there was no deterring this. You have avoided it long enough. 

You raise your hands only to slowly bring them down, motioning them to quiet down for your response. 

Even when they demand of you, they follow your orders, the yells and chatter growing silent. 

“Gentlemen, I must make an apology to you all. I’ve been grieving my loss with no progress; your impatience is understandable.” 

They're watching you in silence, expectant, their eyes demanding and visually threatening the next words that’ll come out of your mouth. 

You take a deep breath, coming to your only and last option. 

“The man who can string my husband’s prized bow, shoot through 12 axes to the center of this target,” as you speak, your servants are quick on their feet, setting up the axes, foretold if the day were to come of this challenge, to arrange your final act of freedom. 

It took some time before it was set, the men smirking, even chattering between themselves knowingly as if they weren’t each other’s enemy starting from here on out. 

“Will sit at the throne, ruling by my side as king.” Ecstatic cheers echoed through your halls, cocky assumptions without even touching the bow. You watch in silence,  reaching around your neck, and unclipping the ruby that rests on your chest. 

You raise your voice, cutting through the conversations. “It must shatter this ruby, a possession of the king, a gift for me!” Of course, you wouldn’t let any man just replace your husband. 

Some smiles remained, while others scowled at the new requirement. Who were they to complain.. you gave them what they wanted. 

You glance down at the necklace, your heartache just as raw as when you watched his ship depart. 

It was hard to let go of it. But with its destruction, so will your strength and vitality. You’ll succumb to the fate of this very gift. 

You allow the maidens to hang it behind the target, and expectantly, the men gather round hungry for a start, smiling and seething with pride, muscly and boastful. It was a pile of nothing that could compare. 

You’d ask to replace the glimmering ruby waiting to shatter behind the target but you knew your daughter would deal with the consequences. 

Some of these men weren’t men— boys. When it comes to power no one gives a damn. You weren’t even allowed to grieve the king. No, not you. 

You stare blankly at the crowd, tossing the bow with a necessary force, the only glimpse of odious resentment. 

“Do your best, and may the Tsaritsa grant you her strength.” 

It’ll never be enough. 

You watched the first few with little anticipation, the closer one got to the center, the more blood would rush to your head. You didn’t want to guess if it were the nerves that you were right, or that one would eventually manage to shatter your necklace.

“Mother.. if you must, you may leave..” your daughter spoke softly, respectfully around the suitors and maids, her hand on your arm. 

You smile and give her a nod, “That I shall..” your eyes move back to the men, towering, blind mice leading the other. 

You stood up, offering one last look to the suitors before slipping away into your halls. You perch on the window, hearing the birds caw and soar through the skies. For such a gloomy situation, it was a beautiful day. The sun is smiling, the sea is singing, and something about it makes today just so special. 

“Find your daughter.” 

It was a distinct voice, you’d never heard it before. You whip your head back, looking for the source. There was nobody, not a single soul around you. You take a step away from the window, trying to process what or who you heard. 

Is that important? Your gut sinks, and that is enough to drag you back into the dining hall. She’s gone. 

Your eyes dart toward the suitors almost accusingly, although they’re still preoccupied with the task at hand.

Where is she?.. 

A simmering panic settles in, rushing down the halls. You’re used to her disappearing, but never when these men were nearby. It was the one thing you asked of her. 

You’d enter vacant rooms, swift through the kitchen, and the gardens – not a single sight of her has been confirmed. 

Until the sound of shuffling made you stop in place. 

“You piece of shit- let me go!” 

‘Woah there, didn’t know the princess had a dirty mouth,’ a dark chuckle barreled into your bones, your blood running cold. A suitor has already broken off. 

You press your body against the wall, your heart screaming for you to move, your mind and body disagreeing on your next course of action. 

‘Come onnn, I’ll show you just how good being a woman is–’ A loud shriek left the man, and a hard thud echoed, your daughter audibly wincing. 

‘This bitch bit me!’ He barked out, making you turn the corner with swift ease. 

He glares down at your child, the same look reflected up at him. ‘The queen doesn’t need you anyway, I’ll do her a favor’ 

“So kind of you to offer yourself.” It was merely a whisper from you before kicking at the back of his knees, knocking him down in surprise. There was no leeway for him to get up, you straddle his back and grab a handful of hair. 

A harsh yank back before slamming him down against the tiles. 

You heard a groan, your arm like a heavyweight slamming his head right back down with a firm grip. Then you did it with more intent, shoving him to meet the beautiful tiles Childe let you pick. 

He had you picking colors, designs, types of wood, all these small and significant differences to make the castle to your liking. 

“Ohhhh, I think red would look much nicer.” He exasperated, nudging your shoulder. 

“I think it would ruin the atmosphere, neutrals will look best, something warm but not dark, and a design at the center, see my vision?” he didn't respond, his gaze lingered on you.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just like hearing ya.” He gave you a coy smile, making you roll your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. 

“Corny.” You muttered, making him chuckle, “oh? Is that so? Let me show you what’s really corny—“ he grabbed you by your waist, lifting you higher in his arms, earning a yelp and fits of laughter.

You always thought he had a way of getting what he wanted, but he never attempted to with you. 

Getting you had been enough. 

“Mom! That’s enough!” 

Your face felt hot, your knuckles white as they continued to rock the man’s head into the tiles, the cruel crunch and thick liquid audible. 

The warm droplets falling on your hand, you were heaving. You’ve been crying with a rage that had been begging to come out. It got the best of you. 

His nose was flattened, disfigured. He was surely dead, with the features melting into the other, you finally let go. 

This random guy had just proven your point why red floors would’ve been a terrible idea, it makes the place more solemn. 

“We— We have to go —“ screams could be heard from the dining hall. The sound of scattering, fear, and anger fell upon the halls of your home. 

You stumbled back up, picking up the ends of your dress, the fur at the bottom uneven as you lifted it. “Upstairs, go— go!-“ Your daughter's reflexes kicked in, finally standing up from where she had been previously thrown. 

The noises from the dining hall erupted out into the corridors, screams from men spilling through the castle. You watch as your daughter rushes toward the main stairs, picking up the ends of her dress and sprinting upward. You follow behind, staggering to glance back at the chaos. 

You caught glimpses of the suitors, the higher you climbed, the more you could see their bodies decorating your floors. Your tiles were drowned in a scarlet red that resembled your carpets. Whatever had come through, its aim is deadly, ruthless even. 

“Where do I–” You grab her by the hand, tugging her toward your room. It was the safest option up there, an emergency exit carved due to Childe’s persistence. If Childe were to come back.. His castle would have been overrun, his home in shambles from the inside. 

There was no time to think about it. 

“It’s a threat, isn’t it? Someone has gone rogue.”Your daughter lets out a sigh,  running her fingers through her hair, trying to comb the situation. 

“It was bound to happen, right? – No one is willing to let it go- Mom, you knew it would get this bad? Right? –” 

You were busy bolting from corner to corner, a woven bag in your hand as you placed valuables inside. The truth is, you never thought of stalling this long. You didn’t think you had to. Somewhere along the way, you had to realize that you needed a way out. 

“Mom!” Her voice was trembling, making you stop for just a moment. You tie a knot on the bag, your words hard to push out. 

“I didn’t want to do it.” You pause, placing the bag on your bed. “I didn’t plan to wait so long, or that I’d be relying on my gut, I didn’t plan to be this helpless.” You did everything to your wits' end.  Extended grieving, openly abstaining, distractions around Snezhnaya that’ll keep the buzz long enough, the tapestry, the challenge, everything. 

You look toward her, clutching the bag close, “You don’t need to worry, I’ll take care of the rest here..” She looked at you suspiciously, “What do you mean–”

The rustling down the halls, doors being slammed open with the echo travelling down the halls. 

“I mean, there is no time. You will leave. Uncle Teucer will receive you, and– and you let him know that the throne has been defied.” Her face dropped, shaking her head, “No I can’t leave–” 

The closer the slamming got, the less time there, and the groans of anguish from the bottom grew faint. 

You urged her into the large closet, her retaliations falling silent, her eyes trembling with fear not for herself but for you. 

“If you don’t hear me anymore– listen, you don’t hear my voice, you break at the stone, there should be an open space leading to the dock. Don’t wait too long for me.” 

She’s struggling to speak, only able to tug you close for a hug. Finally, she breaks down in tears, hugging you so close as if you were to vanish. 

“I’ll meet you there, sweetheart. It’ll be okay,” you coo, running your bruised hand through her hair, combing her sobs to silence. You don’t know how long you remained that way, this woman shrinking in your embrace, like when she would hide in your arms from the harsh storms at a young age. 

You didn’t want to alarm her. 

You give her one tight squeeze before letting go, closing the doors for her safety. The thudding was growing louder. 

You press your body against the large door, collecting yourself the best way you can. You rush to the bed, time is trailing at your feet, and every decision you’ve made has led to this. You kneel to reach for the familiar bronze-headed spear. It was yours in your days of traveling, one you used before settling down to become queen. 

You never thought you’d have to use it this soon.

The door barricaded you, the harsh thuds as someone—or something tried to gain access. You prepared yourself, kissing your wedding ring while aiming the spear right ahead. 

You’ll die serving your people. You'll die protecting your baby. You’ll die if you have to. 

The door didn’t hold out for much longer, crashing open with a slam to the ground. Your eyes are trained on the dust, aiming back with your arm. Your heart thrums in your ears, pumping loudly through your head.. 

You’re scared, but not enough to surrender. 

“I don’t care who you are. Retreat.” You couldn’t hide the tremble in your voice, pointing directly at the gouged-out area where your door once was. 

The anonymous figure walked forward, making you do the same. Your arm lifted higher, ready to strike down.

“Back off.” 

The dust settled down, wanting to show you a gift,  to reveal a face you have yearned to meet again. Bloodied, with fresh wounds, and with clothes torn at certain points. But alive. 

“Ajax?” 

The spark in his eyes was gone, and the coy smile you were always greeted with looked impossible with how he barged into your bedroom. 

“(Y/n)..” It was barely audible, making your back straighten, your eyes scanning every feature. He looked different, so.. so tired. 

His gaze was dull, signs of aging riddled across his face,  scars where there were none before, a frown where there never used to be one, his gear tattered, and the helmet was missing altogether. He looked like Childe, 

But signs of what he was once were out of sight. 

You watch him silently again, slowly reaching your hand out to him, trying to touch his face.  

“Is it really you??” 

He didn’t smile, but a long sigh left his lips, his shoulders loosening at the sight of you. “I couldn’t break it.” He hoarsely spoke, evading your touch by placing the very ruby necklace you left back in your hand. Intact. 

Your eyes softened, unable to stop yourself from clutching it close. “Thank you.. I’ve missed you–” your free hand extends up, trying to cup his face. 

He flinches back, stiffening at your attempt. You furrow your brows, your hand in the air, waiting to be accepted. 

“Ajax. . .” your fingers moved just a bit, his eyes flickering over to them with unsurity. 

He looked hesitant to breathe; his eyes were dim but hopeful to be in front of you again. “I’m a bad person. You know that.. right?” He muttered, his eyes trained on your hand before going back up to your face. 

You look at him in confusion, whispering back, “What do you mean?” 

“I killed so many people... I’ve had blood on my hands from the moment I left you.” He breathes in as if he were to shatter, like he didn’t pull himself from the depths of solitude to stand in front of you again.

“I’m nothing that you should accept. You deserve someone better, someone who didn’t crush others, someone who can be warm.” He grabs your hand, pressing it to his chest, silently requesting that you feel his heartbeat. 

It was irregular, beating in a rhythm you still recognized. 

“Did you go into war thinking you wouldn’t?” You asked softly, not sure how to approach his emotions, there’s turmoil he carries, and in sight it awakens the dormant ones he left here, with his child and wife. 

“I’ll taint you.” He tried to reaffirm as if it would stop you from clutching his skin, a fist forming against his chest. 

“Aren’t we all?” He tore away from you, shaking his head, “I betrayed many, I watched my men die, I couldn’t save a single one, y/n I am not worthy of a thing.. Especially not you.” He paused, narrowing his eyes at the ground, then back toward you, “I’m not who you think I am.” 

You stare at him silently. He’s not going to budge, you’ve never seen him so tormented by his past. He’s suffered greatly from the moment you knew him, and he was bloodthirsty for experience and adventure. But not like this; 

“Fine. You’re not.” 

His frown deepened, frozen in place. “In that case, grant me one last wish,” you muttered, looking down at the necklace in your palm. 

You dangled it, stretching your arm out towards him. “Take this and bury it. Far, far away, it is a rock that deserves rest.” Any ounce of exhaustion on his face was replaced with shock. 

Then anger. Hurt. 

“You .. You serious?” His voice was barely a whisper, looking at you with disbelief. 

“It took me days to make this happen— I gave that to you as a promise, you know that? From the same stone you held out to me!” His earring still remained on his ear, the only thing of his that wasn’t completely damaged. The beautiful ruby was split in two, jewelry that remains with both of you.

“I gave that to you before our wedding day. I traveled everywhere and this was for you!” He was yelling; his hand pressed to his chest, 

“You know that as a queen, you can’t get rid of something like this!” His voice was raw, he looked like he might genuinely burst into a rage of tears.

Tears brimmed at the corners of your eyes, the loss of youth, the loss of time. His loss. “I’m your wife first!” 

You endured countless comments, Loneliness, parenthood, and grief from the moment the sun arose to the dawn where you still lie awake in a pitiful nightmare. 

“The sea won’t take you, the soldiers won’t take you, not even the archons can take you—“ you roughly grab his hands and press them to your heart the same way he did to you. He doesn’t dare look at you, struggling to process your words.

“You’re not at war, I’m not war! Don’t fight for me when you’ve had me all along— Ajax, I’m commanding you to look at me!” The faucet started on its own. Somewhere along the way, you managed to break his.  You watch the life in his eyes color in, unable to hide how nice it felt to see it again. 

“I’ll be your right hand until my bones cave to this dirt. Do you hear me? I would wait and wait, wait to see you in flesh or when I dissolve because I’m yours.” 

He’s always been a bit broken, but so are many; the difference is this man has been stripped of the very pride you adored. And if it took you till old age to rebuild him, then that’ll be your fate. 

“I will always be yours.” 

His eyes softened, a cry of sorts leaving his lips as he pulled you into a hug. You hold on to him, your fingers holding him so close just to make sure he won’t disappear. Sobs leave your body, and he reassures you with soft words, apologizing for your wait, while you continue to reply with apologies for his journey. 

He cupped your face, tear-streaked and reddened. You didn’t wait for a cue; you leaned forward, meeting his lips with a tender kiss. He pulled you closer, feverishly tasting you.  It’s been too long. 

His hands ran over your body, tracing every curve he had memorized from the moment he left. You run your fingers through his hair, reminding yourself that he was right in front of you. You’d break away for a breath, and he found it as a sign to kiss you again, leaving you lightheaded, urgent. 

Finally, he pulled away, out of breath. His eyes were warm, and his thumb brushed against your cheek. He pressed his forehead against yours, “I’m sorry,” he muttered. 

You smile, closing your eyes. It’s been too long. 

“Never be sorry.” 

. 

.

. 

You kept your promise to your sweet girl. Heading to the dock the same way she went. Childe hadn’t said anything, but he held your hand firmly, fingers enlaced. That was all you needed. 

Considering all that's been damaged, the sun does seem brighter, the sea a lot quieter today. Blood that’s been shed doesn’t compare to the soaring high in your chest. 

Walking down the wooden trail, you tug him toward the docking area. 

You told her to leave, and surely you should believe she left. 

But there she was in the cold. Silently waiting, sitting at the edge of the dock. It’s the most silence she’s gotten in a while, you can’t blame her. 

You feel Childe grip your hand harder, his eyes wide at the sight of the girl. 

“Sweetheart,” you said softly, making the girl jump in surprise. She glances back, a look of relief crossing her features. Her eyes then flickered to Childe, her brows furrowing, scrambling to get up to get a better look.

“Father?..” she whispered, a question, almost a request. 

He opens his arms, trembling to hold up. 

“I’m home.” 

[vonlycsnn]

✧ — PICTURE PERFECT

~ VON LYCAON X GENDER NEUTRAL ARTIST! READER.

SUMMARY: You're a famous artist/illustrator in New Eridu, absolutely tired of trying to deal with recent problems. then you decide to call Victoria Housekeeping Co. for some help, it was the best decision of your life.

- cw/tw: none.

- A/N: im so obsessed over this man its genuinely concerning, pls help. also this might be messy/ooc(?)...it's my first time writing this kinda stuff so bare with me.

Being such a well-known artist in New Eridu is tough work. Not only do you have to keep up with your clients' demands and expectations, you also have to deal with thieves trying to steal your work. 

You were thankful that some of your most valuable artworks were in museums that had incredible security, but even so, those bastards are still trying to break into your mansion and steal your canvases that have yet to be delivered or even unfinished.

Understandably, you grew tired of all the stuff you went through, slowly becoming restless from the amount of sleepless nights you had to fight through. To the point where you wanted to quit art completely but you just couldn't. Art was your passion. You've been drawing for nearly your entire life; you couldn't quit now.

Thankfully, a kind client of yours took notice of your situation and recommended Victoria Housekeeping to you. At first you were skeptical; there's no way a housekeeping company could help you with these problems, right?

—

"I don't think they'll be able to help me..." you kindly said. The client merely smiled and gave you a pat on the shoulder.

"Just give them a call. Trust me."

—

And here you are now, constantly being served and protected by the members of Victoria Housekeeping. You were extremely grateful for their service; they've made your life so much better than you expected. 

You've grown so close to them that you became one of their most respected clients, having to be close friends with each of the members. You didn't want to say that you had a favorite attendant, but you do have a preferred one. 

Rina, although her general services are incredible and you'd always find yourself having a great time with her, her culinary skills are...questionable at best, but still, you didn't want to upset her by any means. 

Corin is a sweet girl. When the two of you became acquainted, you saw her as a little sister. Although you were surprised at how strong she is for her age, you didn't think much of it. The problem with her is how much she doubts herself; you'd have to constantly remind her that she's not doing anything wrong, and as much as you hate to admit it, you were pretty annoyed.

Ellen, well...she isn't too enthusiastic about regular housekeeping jobs, not to mention she's always low-energy. But the number of times she saved you from the most dangerous situations was enough for her to gain your respect. Plus, talking about internet trends with her is always fun.

And there's Lycaon. Oh, did you have so many words about him. To keep it simple, he was just right. His services are always near perfect; he has saved you countless times from hollows and thieves; he is elegant; he is a gentleman; you could ramble about him all day for all you cared.

To be perfectly honest, you grew a crush on him. Every time he'd lean behind you to see what you're working on, you'd always freeze in place. Too flustered by what was happening. Every time you'd hear his voice, you'd melt. The way he acts just makes your heart flutter...He was perfect.

As your own personal request for him, you wished he'd spend more time with you. Be it in the mansion or outside. He smiled, bowing down in front of you.

—

"As you wish, master. I'm more than happy to spend time with an amazing artist such as yourself." He said. You saw his tail wagging ever so slightly, but decided to say nothing; you merely smiled.

—

Every now and then he'd come to your office to check on you; he'd bring you food every time you lost track of time; he'd give you a massage whenever you had free time.

"It's always important to maintain a good posture, master." As he would say.

But being an attendant for a full-time artist comes with its own challenges. Other than having to constantly be on guard at night for possible thieves, he'd always let out an irritated sigh whenever he saw your workspace covered in paint. Especially when you're making abstract art. But he understands that art can be messy sometimes, and that's fine.

Every time you get a commission to make abstract art, you'd always rent a workspace outside of the mansion. Just so Lycaon doesn't have to deal with the mess.

But other than that, the two of you were grateful for each other's company.

Much to your dismay, however, your feelings for him grew the longer you spent time with him. You became so close to Lycaon than any of the other attendants; he knew your weakness, he knew your strengths, and he even knew some of your secrets.

You couldn't express your feelings for him with words, and so you did what you knew best: to draw. As a request, you asked Lycaon if you could take a few pictures of him. Of course he obliged. Amidst the photography, he asked.

"If I were to be bold to ask, master, what is the purpose of this?"

You merely smiled at him, saying that it's nothing important. A part of him knew about what you're planning, but he decided to keep quiet and merely chuckled.

After the interaction, you quickly but stealthily took a small canvas and a few of your painting supplies.

—

Days passed, and the painting was finally ready. You have pulled many all-nighters to finish this; you spent so much time carefully adding details and capturing his looks to the formerly blank canvas. And you couldn't be happier with the results; you just hope it was enough to make him understand the message you're trying to pass.

You took a deep breath and finally called for him. He quickly arrives at your workspace, noticing the medium-sized easel and the small paint stains on the floor. Your back was facing towards him, trying to hide the painting from his view. Realizing what to do, you flipped the canvas and turned towards him. He was understandably confused, and you were too nervous to say anything. You quickly walked up to him and handed the canvas to him.

"Here. I...made this for you." You said in such a shaky voice, he was almost concerned. But he gently grabs the canvas, and finally, he turns it to reveal the drawing. He was... speechless. Absolutely speechless. Just standing there, appreciating what he's seeing. You stuttered, trying to get words out of your mouth.

"...as a way to express how much I'm thankful for everything you've done. You're an amazing attendant, and I wanted to repay you somehow. W-well, other than using money." You awkwardly laughed, fidgeting with your fingers.

Lycaon continues to silently admire your work of him. You captured his features so well; the colors were so nice to look at, the pose, the lighting... it was so beautiful. He always appreciates the time and effort you put into your artwork. Secretly, he has been going to your workspace at night to admire all of the work you've done. He couldn't help but laugh once he saw how red your face was.

"My sincere apologies, master. But if I may ask, what are you trying to say?" He asked, almost in a teasing matter. Oh, he knows.

You panicked, so overwhelmed by the situation at hand. A part of you is trying to come up with lies, but ultimately, you gave in.

After taking a deep breath, you officially admitted your true feelings. Well, in the simplest way possible. You couldn't help but cringe at what you've said. This is so embarrassing, you thought.

Lycaon smiled, looking back at the painting to caress the sides of the canvas. He chuckled once more.

"What an astonishing way to express such feelings towards someone. I must say, master, I'm truly impressed."

The thiren carefully puts the canvas on a small table next to him, then he walks towards you. Gently grabbing your hand.

"As for what are my thoughts regarding all of this," he then proceeds to kiss the back of your hand. You jumped to his action, watching every move he made. He looked back at you softly.

There you heard it—the words that'd make you fall to the ground instantly.

"I'd be delighted to be more than an attendant for you, my dear."

[milotraflgkl]

.☘︎ ݁˖ PT. 2 of Law being Delusional

.ᐟ WHO: Trafalgar D. Water Law from One Piece

.ᐟ CONTENT: ooc?, law being soft, hinted confession/feelings, fluff

.ᐟ WORD COUNT: 1196

.ᐟ AUTHORS NOTE: I hope yall all enjoy this, there will be a part three but i might have to make yall wait for it so i can get through some older requests that im still behind on then once im done i’ll be able to write more random things i feel like writing. here is part one!

Law had been trying to deny his feelings but every time he’d close his eyes it was just.. you. He hated it and he knew at some point he was going to need to confront his feelings, to face you and look at you after almost two weeks of avoiding you. He never realized how important you were in his day-to-day life, the times you’d bring him coffee to wake him up as well as bring him small snacks throughout the day. He wasn’t sure why he felt so strongly about the situation, especially since he was the one who told you to shut up and pushed you away. He would grumble something as he brought his hands up to his head, leaning against his hands as his elbows rested on the table. He was trying to figure out how to talk to you, to bring it all up, and to take back what he said. To tell you that he wanted to talk, to bother him, to annoy him. All of the above.

Finally, he caved. Making his way around the submarine glancing into every room to try and find your face, to hear your voice, to see you again. He finally would make his way to the lounge area, finding you sitting there reading a book that he knew he had read before and you had caught home reading it. It made him grow nervous, the realization that you probably also continued to think about him and probably more than he thought about you made this all more nerve-wracking. It was stupid, he felt like a dumb teenage boy going to confess his feelings to his first-ever crush. But- He wasn’t going to confess his feelings! … Right? At this point, there was a blur between what he was going to do in the current moment and his body started to move on its own as he walked over to you looking down at you for a moment before he cleared his throat.

Flinching you snapped up to look up from your book, staring up at him as your eyes scanned his face and tried to figure out what even was happening in the current moment. With the way that he held his hat over his eyes and tilted his head to look away from you, his body language was strange and unusual. After a moment of staring at him in shock you clicked back to reality and shut the book moving to stand up, “I’m sorry, was I in the way?” You ask him as you slightly bow your head down to him and keep your eyes to the ground, worried you had done something else wrong and he was here to get onto you.

He hated the fact that his words had caused you to believe that just being even a bit in his area meant that you were in his way, he almost reached out but he quickly remembered that he didn’t want to open up the chance of physical contact. “No, I wanted to talk to you.” He said in a flat voice, his brows furrowed as he stared down at the wall next to him that was decorated with a bookshelf that was filled to the brim with different types of books. “I wanted to apologize for telling you to shut up and pushing you away like that…” He grumbled as he had a heavy frown on his face his eyes trying to distract himself by reading the different titles of the books.

You stared up at him in shock, was he… apologizing??? You weren’t sure how to react, especially since you weren’t sure you’d ever seen your captain apologize even if he was wrong - he was stubborn in that sense. You took a deep breath and then swallowed thickly, “It’s… okay.” You whispered out, you didn’t mean for your voice to sound so quiet, and silently swore under your breath for how weak your voice even sounded. You noticed how he didn’t even look toward you but you didn’t notice how his whole body tensed up, you slowly lowered your head to look at the ground in defeat. “I thought about how I had acted previously and it was too much, especially between a Captain and his Crew.” You spoke up, wanting to say what you needed before anything.

He snapped to turn to look at you, being greeted with the top of your head pointed in his direction. His eyes widened and he paused as he stared down at you before he took a sharp inhale, reaching over to grab your shoulder causing you to look up at him. “I didn’t mind it.” He admits, that his expression was stern yet his voice almost seemed to falter at the admission and he could feel his ears beginning to heat up when you made eye contact with him staring up at him with those… eyes. He quickly retracted his hand and subconsciously wiped his hand off against his shirt and then dropped it down to the side of his body, you didn’t take the act as offense as you knew your captain's feelings on physicality, and him even trying to touch you made you feel something.

“Thank you.” You whispered back out to him, your eyes scanning his face and glancing at the pink that had decorated his ear almost giggling before holding it back and swallowing it thickly. You watched as he turned to look away again, his eyes scanning the different books but wasn’t paying attention to what they said, and seemed like he was trying to figure out the words he wanted to say to you. “I wouldn’t mind if you went back to… acting how you did.” He said in almost a whisper, your eyes stared up at the side of his face admiring his jawline and then hair that decorated up to his hair and you felt your whole body heat up by just how attractive your captain truly was. “Yes, Captain.” You respond without a thought before tensing up and looking up to see if what you had said was.. bad timing. He didn’t seem bothered.

“Good.” That was all he said before he suddenly turned around and walked off, leaving you to sit there and process the whole interaction before you started to do a small dance and squeal a little bit. You finally got your spot back to annoying your Captain and he liked you being there, you were thrilled while Law sat in his office with his head in his hands and his face best red from embarrassment at his actions and words. It would take him a while but, he’d get used to you being around. Came to enjoy it and missed it whenever you were busy or gone, often trying to go out of his way to check up on you if you haven’t been around for a long time. The crew didn’t notice at first until maybe a week or two later, they were happy the uneasiness was gone now but there was another issue…. the way that their captain was acting with you was foreign.

tags: @paraniodidiot @elationa @valval08

[cryptidghostgirl]

I have another chubby reader for you! I was only gonna ask for one but YOURE SO AMAZING I JUST HAD TO PUT IN ANOTHER REQUEST😞😩 Alastor x chubby!reader, where reader goes out with angel Dust to a party or something wearing a *cough* slutty *cough* outfit and Alastor SEES THEM WEARING IT 👀 and he gets possessive of reader and won't let them leave with angel (whose smirking in the background and fluttering his eyelashes like he's innocent because reader and Alastor are bother emotionally constipated or something and haven't confessed to each other😤) and reader is nervous enough wearing something so revealing already (but they felt good enough in their own skin to wear such an outfit; that confidence is quickly fading when Alastor stops her from leaving with the outfit) so she gets the wrong idea that Alastor thinks she disgusting or body shaming her 🥺 but Alastors just ranting about being ladylike and "dressing like a proper lady" , Angel Dust is now watching this heartbreaking train wreck happen and tries to intervene but then Alastor turns on him about tainting the reader or something but reader has heard enough and just quietly just turns around and walks to her room heartbroken 😭 then angel yells at Alastor and tells him everything *shocked Pikachu face* and goes to reader to fix this misunderstanding, you take it from here????? BUT THEY DO CONFESS

(I LOVE ME SOME HURT/COMFORT AND LOVE CONFESSIONS! YUMM!)

A/N I love your requests and I'm so glad you liked how Sweet turned out. I am actually really proud of that one myself. Of course I will write this. 11/10.

Pretty Bunny (Alastor x Chubby!Rabbit Demon!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: Hurt/comfort. Body image and weight stuff. I feel like Alastor is a bit ooc but I think this is cute so I don't super care.

Word Count: 2,049

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

“And where exactly is it you two are off to in such a hurry?”

Y/n and Angel froze, Angel's hand resting on the handle to the hotel's door.

"Well?"

Exchanging a covert look, Y/n and Angel turned to face Alastor. Y/n clasped her hands innocently behind her back, looking up at Alastor through her lashes which Angel had done up in silver falsies, and Angel fixed a smile on his face.

"Just out." Y/n hummed.

"Yeah," Angel chimed in, draping one of his lower arms over Y/n's shoulders and bringing her into his side, "little Y/n here deserves a night out on the town and some fun."

Y/n quickly elbowed Angel in the side. The spider demon knew Alastor and his opinions on the night life of Pentagram City. He was tempting fate. Alastor raised his eyebrows.

"You deserve 'some fun,' do you?" Alastor asked, fixing his gaze on the shorter of the pair of demons.

Angel released his grip on Y/n, shoving her forward slightly. She stumbled a bit, shooting him a glare before looking carefully back at Alastor. His scrutinizing gaze traversed her form with care. Angel had insisted on dressing her up and while the outfit he had put her in was a bit out of her comfort zone, Y/n felt incredibly pretty. The little white satin dress hung from her hips, playing gently against her thighs when she walked, and the black knee high platforms made her at least a couple inches taller. Angel had even placed black satin bows around the bases of her rabbit ears to tie the whole thing together.

There were also the chains, thin and dripping off her body. A necklace here, a carefully placed waist chain there, she looked practically angelic. Alastor crossed his arms, tapping his foot menacingly as he impatiently waited for an explanation.

"Well, we've been working so hard to become better people and it's been three months since we've done anything... fun. Besides, it was my birthday last week."

"Uh-huh." Alastor nodded, his lack of amusement with the situation obvious, "And where exactly are you two planning on going?"

"Oh come on, Smiles. It's just a club I know." Angel sighed, "You're starting to sound like Charlie. I thought you wanted to see us fail."

"That is true." was the only response the Radio Demon gave Angel before fixing his attention on Y/n once again.

She was beginning to grow uncomfortable under his piercing stare. Y/n wrapped her arms around herself, her shoulders hunching slightly.

"So what is the issue, Alastor."

The name felt foreign on her tongue. Although she had been a guest of the Hazbin Hotel practically since its creation, she avoided Alastor. At first, it had of course been due to intimidation. Then, as he had slowly begun to reveal his true colors to the residents of the hotel, it had morphed into something entirely other. Y/n thought that the Radio Demon, one of the most feared overlords in all of Hell, was pretty.

Y/n had never been good at dealing with crushes or flirting or anything. She avoided him like the plague. Her tail twitched thoughtlessly with trepidation, shifting her skirt just the slightest bit, revealing just the smallest big more of her thighs.. It was the last straw for Alastor.

"You're not going out in that."

Angel pressed his palm to his forehead, shaking his head. Love was his specialty, the act and the feeling. It was obvious to him Y/n had a thing for the Radio Demon, and not just because she had revealed the information to him in one of their late night talks. He never brought it up with the rabbit demon who had become a dear friend in the time they had known one another, but he was relatively certain Alastor had some interest in her as well. The Radio Demon seemed to constantly be a few steps behind her, entering rooms she had just left, letting his eyes linger on her when they did their group exercises.

At Alastor's words, Y/n's mouth fell slightly open. Her breath caught in her throat, a shiver running through her.

"Oh."

Her voice was strained and Angel could tell she was holding back tears. Y/n turned away from Alastor, her shoulders slouching even further.

"That is no way for a proper lady to dress." Alastor continued, not seeming to notice the effect his words had had as he lectured the smaller demon, "I mean, you're barley wearing anything at all! For goodness sake, your shoes are covering more than that dress an-"

"Alright," Angel cut in, stepping up beside Y/n and pulling her into his arms, "that's enough big guy."

"You're clearly tainting her with your promiscuity." Alastor sighed, "What, you want to bring her to some club so ignorant wimps can drool over her all night? Or maybe that's what she wants to have happen."

Y/n pulled herself from Angel's grip and marched right up to Alastor. Her eyes wet with unshed tears, he looked down at the finger she was jabbing into his chest in mild shock.

"You are mean." she stated, "I can't believe how wrong I was about you. I thought... god!"

She let her finger fall and crossed her arms over her stomach once again.

"You ready to go, sweet cheeks?" Angel asked and she shook her head.

All the fight had gone out of her.

"No, you go ahead without me. I think... I think I'm just gonna go to bed. Thanks for... yeah."

With those parting words, Y/n stormed upstairs. Angel and Alastor watched until she had long since disappeared into the depths of the hotel. Slowly, they turned to face each other once again.

"What." Alastor said in the most deadpan tone Angel had ever heard come from the demon.

"How could you do that?" Angel asked accusatorially, taking a step towards Alastor, "She is the sweetest little menace on the planet!"

"Do what?"

Alastor's brow furrowed in confusion. He didn't think he'd said anything wrong, done anything wrong. Y/n was the one who had over reacted, stepped out of line, right?

"Do you have any idea how long it has taken her to be confident enough to wear something like that? She has worked so hard on her relationship with herself and... and... she felt pretty. Why would you say that shit to her?"

"I... what?"

"She liked you, ya dumbass! She cared about what you thought of her!"

Alastor took the slightest step back, his hand not grasping his microphone raised to his chest, hovering over his heart.

"I am afraid I don't understand you."

Angel sighed, trying to calm himself.

"Look. Y/n has a crush on you and you just told her she wasn't pretty."

"No I didn't. I told her she should be more ladylike. A crush on me?"

"Yeah well, that's not much better. She is who she is and she is wonderful! The way that she dresses doesn't change any of that."

"She has a crush on me?" Alastor asked again, dumbstruck.

"Yes you idiot."

"But she never speaks to me. I thou-"

"That's cause she's nervous. Geeze, you are dense."

Y/n jumped in shock as she caught sight of Alastor using his shadows to teleport into her room through the reflection of the mirror. Her makeup half off, she turned to him.

"The fuck are you doing here?"

Alastor opened his mouth, about to make a comment about her language before thinking better of it and closing it again. Y/n rolled her eyes, her anger and hurt having festered into irritation. She turned back to the mirror, using the cotton pad in her hand to take off the last of her mascara. Alastor watched her face through the mirror as she tossed the cotton pad to the side.

Reaching up, she slowly began to disassemble the sculpture of a hairdo Angel had put her in.

"Why are you here?" she asked again, placing a bobby pin on the table.

"I came to... apologize." he replied, taking a small step forward.

"What, did Angel force ya' to?"

It wasn't often her accent slipped out. Y/n had been raised in Brooklyn but her parents had been insistent she work not to have the accent. People didn't take people who had them seriously, they said. It only ever made an appearance when she was drunk or feeling any emotion to it's extremity, especially anger.

"No, I am here of my own volition."

"Yeah, sure." she scoffed as she pulled the last of the pins from her hair, allowing it to fall freely around her face as she turned back to him over her shoulder, "I totally believe that."

"It was not my intent to make you feel like you weren't... pretty." Alastor carefully said, avoiding her eyes, "Just tha-

"If an apology involves an exception, is it really an apology?"

Alastor had never been good at this. Apologies or any of the other feelings he had been actively suppressing about the rabbit demon since he had come to the hotel. She stood up from her chair, walking over to him.

Y/n knew the clock was ticking, felt the heat of the tears building in her head again.

"What." she asked, throwing her arms out to the sides and looking around the room, "Ya' think I'm ugly? Unladylike? Is that because I let Angel dress me up or because I'm not stick thin?"

"Y/n."

There were tears dripping down her cheeks now. She looked away, crossing her arms tightly across her stomach in protection.

"Just leave, Alastor."

"Y/-"

"Leave!" she commanded, "Get outa here!"

"Y/-"

"I don' wanna talk to you! What don't ya' get about that!"

"Y/n!" Alastor grabbed her shoulder, turning her to face him.

"What!" she yelled back, tears streaming hotly down her face, "What, Alastor."

"I... I think you're beautiful."

The tears stopped, Y/n's eyes wide. Fueled by a sudden wild courage Alastor continued, grabbing her hands in his own.

"I do. You... I don't have the words. You..." he shook his head, "I really don't. You are a wonder."

Her nose twitched subtly, her ears adjusting themselves atop her head.

"But then why... why did you say those things to me?"

"I was jealous." he anxiously admitted, "I never meant to make you cry."

"Jealous?" Y/n repeated with a slight laugh and Alastor nodded.

His cheeks were hot and his heart pounding in his chest but he refused to look away from Y/n. Releasing one of her hands, he reached into his pocket and retrieved a handkerchief. Gently, he raised it to Y/n's face, patting away her tears.

"You were jealous."

He wasn't going to be able to escape this one.

"That some other guy was gonna see you like that? Was going to charm you and hold you in their arms while I did nothing? Of course I was."

"I have a confession to make." Y/n said after a moment.

"And what might that be?" Alastor asked as he took another step closer to Y/n, still holding one of her hands in his.

He tried his best to repress a smile, her bashfulness was so endearing.

"I maybe, kind of sort of... think you're beautiful too?"

She looked up at him through her lashes. He let go of her hands, grabbing her by the waste and pulling her body into his.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." she nodded shyly.

"You know, I might have heard something along those lines from Angel just a bit earlier."

"From... that little bitch! I mean snitch! I mean both actually I guess."

Alastor laughed at her antics.

"So, pretty bunny, what are we to do with this revelation?"

Y/n's ears cocked. Alastor could feel her tail twitch, brushing up against his arm where he held her. A shiver traveled down his spine.

"Oh I don't know." Y/n feigned indecision, her hands finding her way around his waist as well, bringing them even closer together, "Maybe you should ask me on a date? If you're interested."

"Interested?" Alastor laughed, leaning down, "Of course I am."

[colonelarr0w]

Promised Protector

Sypnosis - When a particularly pushy Araj begins to make Astarion revert to a past self that he had been trying so desperately to grow from, it leaves you to step in. It leaves Astarion with a small realization -- you did care for him, really truly cared for him.

Warning(s) - mature themes, foul language, mentions of abuse (physical and sexual), Araj being an ass, slightly OOC Astarion

Word Count - 1.8k

A/N - Trying my hand at BG3 fanfiction. I have yet to actually play the game, so I'm going purely based off of the playthroughs of others and random clips that I've found sprinkled around YouTube. I do plan to write more for this little vampiric shit, so y'all can leave requests for him as well!

“Must we be here darling? I’m not rather fond of dungeons with … medieval torture devices.”

You bite back the breathy chuckle in your throat as you continue forward, eyes expertly searching your surroundings to ensure that no creature in the dark would ambush you or Astarion. 

“For a creature that usually prefers the dark, you’re quite the complainer,” you bite back, tilting your head to cast a glance at the vampire over your shoulder. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, shooting you a warning glare – one that you laugh off. 

“And for a creature as clumsy as yourself, you’re doing quite well in avoiding any potential traps.” Astarion’s eyebrow raises as you now shoot him a glare. His shoulders rise and fall in a nonchalant shrug as he moves to walk in sync with you, scarlet eyes scanning his surroundings before they allow themselves to return to you.

“I am not clumsy. It was one time,” you roll your eyes, continuing forward and clenching your jaw as Astarion dares to chuckle at your side. “Rich coming from the one who threw a tantrum even after I revived him.”

“Darling, need I remind you that you dropped an entire building on my head?” Astarion whips his head to the side to face you, his eyes narrowed now in a pointed glare that only brings a wide smile to your face. In any other situation, he too would have smiled simply at the sight of your own, but your revealed teeth only make his chest twist in faux anger. 

“And need I remind you that it was an accident?” 

“In what world is dropping a building on someone an accident?” Astarion murmurs under his breath, stopping when you do. Your eyes flicker to a figure standing just a few feet in front of you – a drow. 

She turns as your footsteps and Astarion’s become more audible, curiosity painting itself onto your face as you both approach. Her eyebrows raise, and you’re not sure if her expression is one of intrigue. 

“Hello,” you say politely, bowing your head in greeting as the drow eyes you curiously, irises raking over the entirety of your figure before they curiously flicker to peer at Astarion. 

“Araj Obladra, a pleasure,” the drow returns just as politely as you, her head dipping in the same bow that you had offered her. “How nice it is to stand in the presence of a True Soul … and her paled companion.”

Astarion’s eyes roll at the nickname, you catch it just out of the corner of your eye. But you choose to ignore it for the sake of not wanting to stir up any unnecessary drama – you had come to Araj for a reason, after all. 

“I’ve traveled to inquire about your services if you’re willing to provide them,” you explain, already noticing a glint in Araj’s eye. You’re not quite sure what expression it’s meant to convey, but from the way that she shifts from one foot to another, your gut tells you that it may not be the most positive. 

Another thing you notice … how her gaze continuously flickers to Astarion. 

“But of course,” Araj replies without hesitation, angling her body so that it faces Astarion rather than you. Your eyes narrow, brows momentarily pinching together. Just what was she playing at?

“You seem … interested in my pale friend here,” you think aloud, immediately wishing that you could swallow your words the moment that you register both Astarion and Araj’s reactions. 

“It is not every day that one encounters a vampire spawn,” Araj notes, the term bringing a disgusting taste to Astarion’s tongue. His nose scrunches in that same disgust, and for a moment, a flicker of anger dares to flare up within the depths of your chest. “After all, in exchange for blood, I craft potions.”

A hum rumbles in your throat, though you say nothing. Araj continues, choosing to ignore the expression you wear – the anger that you so clearly display. 

“All I truly need is a single drop, and then whatever potion you require … well, I can brew it,” she explains, finally moving from where she stands to circle you and Astarion. It reminds you of a predatory lion, one with slit-like pupils that eyes its prey before promptly pouncing on it. 

“And with the rest of it?” you prompt with a raise of your eyebrow. “My blood, I mean.”

“I shall keep it for myself … other potions need to be crafted, as you well know.”

She steps forward, extending her hand and holding her palm out to you. For a moment, you simply think, pondering whether or not you should even trust the drow – especially considering how her eyes still dared to flicker to Astarion. Why was she so interested in him?

You can sense Astarion’s worry from over your shoulder, the feeling rippling off of him like rolling ocean waves. But even with it, you lay your palm over Araj’s. 

“There, finished,” Araj says, already stepping back from you the moment that your skin comes into contact with her own. Her eyes, once again, meet Astarion’s. 

“And now wh—“

Araj’s attention turns completely now to Astarion, who momentarily falters underneath her gaze. His worry for you morphs silently into disgust directed at the drow. 

“There’s still much to discuss,” Araj comments, a smirk just barely pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Such as your paled companion.”

Astarion glances at you, and in return, he’s met with an expression of suppressed anger and jealousy — that would be a conversation for later, he dictates. 

“He’s a vampire, is he not? Or vampire spawn?” Araj’s eyes wander over Astarion, drifting down his entire body and ignoring the way that his eyes narrow in a glare at her. She turns then back to you, once again choosing to ignore the fury that glints in the depths of your eyes. 

“He belongs to you, am I correct?”

If you weren’t angry before, you were now. Your eyes flicker to Astarion, his expression a mixture of hurt and shock – it was one that you had never seen him wear before, and with the way it made your heart positively crack, you never wanted to see it again. 

“The last I checked, he was his own person,” you turn to Araj angrily, “he does not belong to anyone.” 

Araj bites back the chuckle that threatens to crawl up her throat, lifting a hand in front of her mouth as she laughs breathily into the skin of her palm. Your teeth grind against each other, jaw setting into place as the drow regains herself. 

“Oh, you were serious?” Her eyebrow lifts, the sight of it taking everything in you to not lunge at her and promptly wedge the blade of your dagger into the skin of her neck. “It’s adorable really … if he truly believes you, that is.”

Astarion swears he could hear one of your teeth chip with how roughly you set your jaw into place. His eyes wander down to your hands, taking note of how they clench into white-knuckled fists. Your fingers itch towards the blade in its holster, but you fight the urge to remove it. 

“Does your spawn have a name?” Araj shifts her attention back to Astarion, eyeing him once again. He opens his mouth to speak, but with a speed that feels almost inhuman, you answer for him. 

“His name is Astarion, and if you dare to call him my spawn again, I will surely–”

“Now, now darling!” Astarion’s hand closes around your mouth, palm pressing to your lips as he flashes you a too-sweet smile – hoping to whatever God was above him that you wouldn’t turn your anger onto him and plunge a dagger between his eyebrows. “Let’s be civil, yes?”

You bite back the angered insult that bubbles up in your chest, swallowing your words and settling back on your feet. Astarion nods, slowly removing his hand from your mouth before he turns to Araj.

“It’s been quite the dream of mine, being bit by a vampire … spawn or the like,” Araj explains, her tone taking on an almost dream-like lull. You can already feel the bile rising in your throat.

And it seems that Astarion shares your sentiment, what with the way that his eyebrows raised and his lips curled in that adorable little scowl. 

“I’ll have to decline,” Astarion is quick to answer, shaking his head and taking a tentative step away from Araj, almost as if he’s trying to hide his body behind your own. You allow it, going so far as to then sidestep him and stand protectively in front of him – an action that he smiles gently at. 

“I’ll compensate–”

“He said no, thank you very much,” you butt in, glaring down your nose at the overbearing drow. She falters on her feet for a moment, but just as quickly, she recollects herself. “We’ll be going now.”

You turn on your heel, reaching swiftly for Astarion’s hand before promptly leaving – not once sparing a glance to the disappointed drow over your shoulder. 

< … >

“Darling?” Astarion hesitantly lifts the flap of your tent, ducking beneath it and entering. You hum from where you sit at your desk, tilting your head slightly to show your acknowledgment. “Are you alright? Your lively presence was missed. You left me to deal with … them … on my own.”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as you turn in your seat to look at Astarion. At the sight of your face, he falters, his expression softening. 

“You’re still upset over that vile drow, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am Astarion!” you rise from your place, throwing your hands up. He flinches, not having expected a violent outburst from you. 

“She … she thought that I had ownership of you! All because of what, the fact that you’re a spawn and not a vampire? The nerve of some creatures disgusts me! I mean honestly–!”

“Darling.”

You pause, head lifting so that your gaze finally meets Astarion’s awaiting gaze. His eyes are soft as they gaze at you, lips turned upward in a smile of equal softness. He approaches you, offering his hands to you – which you take without hesitation. 

“I want you to know that I … appreciate what you did for me today,” Astarion admits quietly, speaking low enough that you could barely hear him. “It has been many years since I was able to choose my own.”

You soften, squeezing at his hands. “Astarion, you deserve to have your own voice. Nobody should be able to control what you do besides … well … you.”

He draws you closer to his chest, arms locking around your waist as his face buries itself into your hair. You chuckle lightly, returning his embrace and laying your face against his shoulder. 

For 200 years, Astarion had never known the sound of his own voice. 

But now?

Now he knew the sound of it, and he knew that it mattered. 

[bones4thecats]

TFOne request: Megatronus x Fem!Reader who was an unofficial 14th Prime that presided over Cybertron's music.

┗ Song of the Spark; TF1! Megatronus ┛

Characters: Megatronus (Transformers One) A/N: This is my second TF One piece, so there may be a couple OOC things happening with some characters. Just warning you there. But, I do hope you like this, @sassycandypoetry! ⇘ Summary: When you find out you were carrying, you wanted to make sure in case anything happened, your sparkling had someone to watch after your offspring. But, when you tell someone, you three neglect to notice the blue and yellow figure behind you, listening angrily.

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🎭 Steps of large weight alerted the surrounding Cybertronians. They all looked up and smiled. Walking inside of the room was two of the most beloved Cybertronian leaders, the powerful and gigantic warrior, Megatronus, and his dearest sparkmate, the creator of music for their planet, Y/N.

🎭 You hummed along with your steps. Like your lover, your mask covered your face, but, instead of having one pair of optics, you had four. Two were placed below your normal ones, and while it would unnerve many, the way they glowed a beautiful blue like his own, he couldn't help but be entranced at the sight of them.

🎭 Megatronus adored you a lot. You were strong and obviously built very well for a fighter, but you were also very kind of loving of your people. Despite the time the war of Cybertronians and Quintessons, you always found a way to connect everybody. Even the other Primes had to admit, you were close to becoming an honorary one.

🎭 The soldiers stood and bowed to you both. You blinked and nodded at them, telling them they were dismissed for the day and could return to their homes to see their families.

"Starscream. May we speak with you?" You called to a singular seeker.

🎭 Starscream turned around and looked at you, nodding and stepping to you both. He took a knee and stared at the ground. You just chuckled and grabbed his servo, pulling him to stand up as Megatronus watched silently.

"Starscream. You have been leading the High Guard for very long, and you have been doing a spectacular job."

"Why- thank you, sir."

"For eons I've been looking for someone to hold onto my dream of uniting Cybertron though not only our words, but through our hymns. Every song I have written and have sung to be passed on are ones I hope bring us closer and motivate our people to be their best selves. But, I believe there are certain ones that are planning something darker."

"If you don't mind my prying, who are you speaking of?"

"Nobody who shall be named." Megatronus spoke. "It is a mere hunch as of the present."

"Understood, sir."

🎭 You smiled and lightly gripped Starscream's shoulder, making him look into your optics. He cocked an optical ridge and watched as you raised your wrist, tapping the button on the back of your servo.

🎭 After you tapped it, a glowing blue holograph appeared. He looked at it carefully as you scanned through it all. You went through many bots before landing on one. Himself.

🎭 You hit his face and dragged a designation to his title, renaming it to General Starscream of the Cybertronian High Guard. His optics widened as you submitted it, successfully changing it permanently.

"With your new title of having near complete control over the High Guard, I entrust this dream to you. But, you mustn't tell anyone else about it, is that clear?"

"Yes, it is clear."

🎭 Megatronus laid his servo on your shoulder as you pulled up one more holograph. This time, it was the moving images of a small, glowing dot in darkness. A small hum came from the ball of light as it's glow brightened and dimmed almost every second.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"A growing sparkling, yes."

"C-congratulations, Megatronus and Y/N! I'm very happy for you both. But, what does this have to do with your dream?"

"Inside of this spakrling's growing spark is a blessing. One made by myself and my sparkmate. If anything happens to either of us, we would like you to raise them with this single goal in mind."

"Ruling Cybertron by yourself is beyond difficult. Having others there to help you is something they must understand as they age. Allies and loyal followers much like you are the reason we Primes stay in power and keep you all safe. I want our sparkling to be the same as us and their relatives are." You began. "Please, Starscream. Keep them safe just in case we cannot."

🎭 Starscream nodded and saluted you both before bowing and glancing back at the holograph. You dismissed him, but before he left, you reminded him to tall nobody of this talk.

🎭 He agreed and flew off to his two fellow seekers, Thundercracker and Skyquake. They waved to you both and flew home. A smile overtook Megatronus' face behind his battle mask as he held your servo and laid his helm on top of your's.

"They'll be safe no matter what, my voice."

"I know that now, my muse."

🎭 As you both walked off, you were unaware of the figure behind the pillar. A sparkling was something that could pose a huge issue in his mission to succeed the Primes. And the fact that you asked Starscream of all Cybertronians to care for the thing? That just put him in his way!

"Looks like I need to put my plan into effect sooner than intended..."

[water-to-drink]

Be a Gladiolus in a Field of Belladonnas pt17

“Degenerates Like You Belong in Prison”

(Synopsis): After being captured by Fontainian authorities you are placed in confinement and are forced to come to terms with the fact that you’re on your own

Part 1 Last Part Next Part

✧ Masterlist ✧

(Characters): traveler!Lumine, Paimon, abyss prince!Aether, Childe, Wriothesley, Sigewinne, Neuvillette, Jean, Al haitham, Kujo Sara, Ayato, Ganyu, Ningguang, ???, ???, ???, & ???

(Tags/Warnings): This takes place before Fontaine’s archon quest, gn!reader, harm is done towards the reader, not beta read, possible ooc characters, (if i missed anything lmk)

(A/n): I can’t embed links in post anymore, if anyone has any suggestions or ideas than please feel free to share

(Word Count): 2k

Heavy footsteps echo throughout the lavish halls. A soldier clad in golden armor makes her way to a large door that leads to their Grace’s quarters. With an equally heavy hand she pushes the door open and there she sees your doppelgänger sitting on their golden throne

They turn their attention towards the lowly soldier and the look in their eyes sent shivers down her spine

“What is it?” Your doppelgänger spoke coldly

The soldier bowed before them and hesitantly whispered “Uhh, the imposter… was captured, your Grace…”

“Where are they being held?”

“In a maximum security prison in Fontaine, your Grace…”

Suddenly the room was filled with a maniacal laughter, the soldier looked up to see your doppelgänger doubled over in laughter

“Finally! That rat has been caught! I bet they’re a crying mess!” Your doppelgänger cackled out while falling out from their throne before standing up at full height, towering over the kneeling soldier. “Hehe, you’re dismissed. I have to make arrangements for that filthy imposter’s execution.” They said with an evil smirk that also uncanny

Rough and calloused hands grab your arms and drag you into an underwater prison, which you learned it’s named the Fortress of Meropide

Your feet drag against the iron floor, the guards don’t let you walk, preferring to drag you wherever they are taking you. You take in the surroundings and see that the walls and floors are all made of iron and has dingy atmosphere, you just can’t help wallow in your own misery

Finally the guards stop in front of a door with a deadbolt lock on it, a third guard presses in a code and the door opens. The guards shove you into the room and slowly walk through the door. You look up at them to see they’re taking out their batons. Realizing what’s going to happen you instinctively curled up into a little ball, making sure to protect your head and stomach

The guards bring their batons down on your helpless form, their blows mercilessly and brutal. You don’t know how you were beaten for you just pay attention to the floor, mainly the bolts protruding from it. Examining each unique scratch the bolts have was all you could focus on, even counting every scratch you could see, you were so focused that you didn’t notice the loud sound of the door opening

“What is the meaning of this?!” The strong voice broke you out of your trance and made the guards stop beating you

“Your Grace! We’re just-”

“I don’t want to hear it! Get out before your punishment is worse than it is right now!”

The footsteps of the guards quickly became more quite as they rushed out of the room. You lifted your head to see a muscular man with black and white hair kneeling over you

“Don’t move, I’ll get Sigewinne to look at your wounds.”

Your eyes felt heavy and before you knew it

A small girl with two unusual horns on her head that look soft to the touch entered your room, she looked uncomfortabled in your presence. She slowly walked towards you and stopped by your bed

“I’m going to need you to take off your jacket.”

You followed her instructions and put the Fatui jacket right next to you. A look of horror filled the young girl’s face, you saw a few tears forming in her tear line. Before you could ask Sigewinne what’s wrong she blinks away her tears and starts to bandage your bruised arms

The two of you didn’t utter a word to each other and after she finished patching you up she handed you a cup filled with a strange liquid

“Drink this, it’ll help with the healing process.”

You wordlessly took the drink and examined it, the concoction gave you an uneasy feeling like this drink wasn’t meant for human consumption

“Don’t worry, it’s not poisoned.” You looked up to see the same man from before. “It’s safe to drink but it will taste weird.”

Your eyes felt don’t have much confidence but at least if is poisoned your death won’t be at the hands of your imposter. You downed the drink and instantly your mouth is filled with an unpleasant taste, it almost taste like that awful medicine your parents forced you to take as a kid whenever you were sick

Your parents…

You wonder how they and your friends are doing?

How long has time past since you’ve been gone? Have they filed a missing person case? Your taken out of your thoughts when Wriothesley speaks

“Since you’re an usual case, I have decided that you will be in solitary confinement. You will be given 3 meals a day and be allowed some time out of your room.” He heads towards the door and Sigewinne hesitantly follows him, before he could close the door you see Sigewinne wordlessly mouthing a word that you can’t quite understand

Before you think you a grasp on it the door is closed and you hear it locked leaving you alone with only your thoughts to keep you company

Outside Wriothesley walks into his office and makes a phone call

Half way across the world a phone rings and a woman picks it up

“Hello this is the Liyue Qixing, Huixin speaking.” The secretary spoke with a little hesitation due to her limited experience working a telephone. “Yes, he’s here. Wait one moment.” Huixin stood up and handed the phone to a man with long white hair. “Mister Neuvillette you have a call.”

“Hello?”

“Neuvillette, the imposter is in my custody, they’re in solitary and have no way of escaping.”

“That’s good to hear. I will let them know.” Neuvillette puts the phone down on the base before turning towards the other envoys and sharing the news with them

“That’s a relief.” Jean said

“We shouldn’t celebrate just yet, we must take every precaution to ensure that they don’t escape again.” Al haitham stated

“I don’t know why their Grace insist on waiting and not killing that vile imposter.” Kujo Sara crossed her arms

“Questioning their Grace’s actions, that’s almost blasphemous.” The Natlan high priestess joked

“Chimalma is right, we are no position to question the actions the highest among the gods.” Ayato advises

“So who is going to make their Grace, aware of this recent update?” Ganyu asked looking around towards the others in the room

“Their Grace is already aware.” Nigguang announced causing the others to look at her in surprise

“H-how did they take the news, relieved I bet.” Ganyu asked

“They weren’t relieved. I would say more elated.” Ningguang explained while leaving the part out where your imposter looked maniacal. The Tianquan won’t forget the look of fear on the poor soldier’s face as they described their Grace’s features to look almost demonic like

Staring up at the same wall you’ve been staring at for the past couple of days, the only reason you know a few days have past is because of the food the guards have given you

You can recognize some breakfast food items, like toast with butter, eggs, pancakes, and a few strips of bacon. The food is okay, most times the food is tolerable while some it feels almost inedible. You miss the food you grew up with, the smile on your face it brings to your small features

Without anything to do you think back on your home

Your friends and family

How are they doing? Have they notice that you were gone? Have they even file a missing person report? All questions that rumble around in your mind

Another question that you often asks yourself is where are the twins and Childe?

Were they captured along with you? No, Aether could easily open up a portal to the abyss when things get too hot, so why hasn’t he opened a portal in your cell? Have they decided that your too much trouble to save? All of this mess started when you first arrived here, everyone was happily living their lives until everything went out of whack

Perphaps the twins and Childe thought that it was better for you to be killed off by your doppelgänger

Tears filled your vision, you curled up into a ball and cried

You cried and cried

Until you had enough of crying

“I going to get out of here.” You told yourself. “I’m not going to lay here and wait to die.” You stood up from your cot and wiped away your tears. “No matter what. I will get out of here!”

You hear the lock on the door and it opens to reveal Wriothesley. He has a lunch tray in his hands, he walks in and put the tray on the desk in your cell, a pleasant and welcomed surprise compared to the guards just throwing your food on the floor and making it spill onto the floor

Wriothesley looks around to see the baroness of your room. “I came in to see how you’re holding up.” Wriothesley sees your tear stained face and had to fight the urge to go over to you and to hug you, take you somewhere that isn’t this hellhole. He doesn’t know why but he composed himself before continuing on. “Since you aren’t allow out of your cell like the other inmates, can I offer you some form of entertainment? Within reason of course.”

You took a while to think of what you want to say before deciding on something that might help you

“I want a book.”

In the depths of Teyvat, there a sky of deep blues and purples is looked at by a certain harbinger. A sense of nostalgia fills his chest, but before he can get too wrapped up in his old memories he turned towards the twins, mainly Aether who is trying and failing at composing himself

“What do you mean, their Grace is in the Fortress of Meropide?!” Yelled the prince

“That is what our intel suggests, your highness.” Spoke an abyss mage

“If their in the fortress of Meropide, then why can’t we sneak in and take them out of there?” Paimon asked

“It isn’t that simple, all of Teyvat knows that we’re on their Grace’s side and will do everything in their power to stop us. They might even try to kill us if they see us approaching the prison.” Lumine explains

“Maybe we can get one of the lectors to disguise themselves and enter the prison?” Aether wondered aloud

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” Childe spoke

The twins and Paimon turned towards the ginger, Aether stormed other and grabbed him by the collar

“What the hell do you mean, harbinger?!” Aether hissed out. “Their Grace is in a maximum security prison and their execution is quickly approaching, time is of the essence!”

“We both know that the Fatui wants their grace safe and sound, so don’t think I’m not as concerned as you!” Childe grabbed onto the blond’s wrists

“You two, stop it! We’re all worried about their Grace!” Lumine shouted as she got in between the two men

“I know that the news has already reached Snezhnaya, and knowing a certain associate of mine, she’s already has a plan to get their Grace out.”

In the overworld of Fontaine, rounds of applause are held in a theater

Even some roses are thrown on the stage where a young magician and his assistant are standing. The two look nearly identical except for his sister who had cat ears and a tail

“Thank you, you all have been wonderful tonight!” Spoke the magician before walking off stage and returning backstage

There a blonde boy was waiting for them with a phone in his hands

“Lyney. You have a call, it’s Father.”

Going up to the young man, Lyney takes the phone and puts it against his ear

“Hello Lyney.”

“Hello Father.”

“I have a special assignment for you and Lynette.”

Taglist:

@chuuya-brainrot @creation-magician @tartarsaucechi1de @vvyeislazzy @aludicpoet @undecidingfate @annoying-mary @randomnatics @bore2808 @esthelily @yurivision @angelamelamela @chocolatekuns @mmmhyperfixation @legendaryexperthideout @lapinaenmicoche @sinsdumbdrabble @ghost-mint @rebeccawinters @imyme20 @nymphsdomain @sun7lowxr @blackcoffex @itz-luna @flowerpesky @land-of-eternity @deathcvltcivilofficial @d4y-dr3amer @yuriclouds @artwitch @mercy-not-merci @xyaxyn @starxvs @dreamoffireflies06 @desirabletravel @bidisasterforever @dxprived4-starboys @angstylittleb1tch @lhaol

[isawritesshit]

The Color Blue - Chapter 1

image taken from @ lovevivianne on pinterest

Synopsis: As the only daughter to the leader of the Kamo Clan, you were trained and protected to one day bring your father honor through your marriage to the heir of the Gojo Clan. However, your husband ended up being something that your family never prepared you for. As you come to navigate a new world of politics between the clans, your husband convinces you that there is nothing wrong with honoring yourself too.

Warnings and Content: fem! reader and slightly ooc! (?) gojo (ig; i feel like i didn't write him as in character as i wanted), cursing, allusions to and anxiety about marriage consummation, themes of traumatized and anxiety-ridden reader, themes of forced/arranged marriage

Author's Note: Fuck me in the ass, it took me wayyy too long to get this out to y'all I'M SOOOO SORRY GUYS I DIED AND NOW I AM REBORN BACK AND SEXIER THAN EVER! Anyway, I'm at least happy to finally get this out for you guys because you guys gave me so much love for the prologue (mwah mwah). If you have yet to read the prologue, pleaseee do so! Provides some good context to the premise of the story. I'm going to flag once more that there will be themes of nsfw and physical/mental abuse down the line!

Word Count: ~7.3k

___________________________________________________________

"Are you afraid of me?"

He spoke. You masked your surprise easily. Did you look afraid? What made him suspect that? How do you answer?

Respond clearly. "No, Gojo-sama. Apologies if I seem at all startled in any way. I am taking in my new surroundings," you replied with a slight incline of your head towards him.

Satoru's eyebrows raised a little. It was the first time he had ever heard your voice. As he suspected, it was graceful and beautiful, but still so sad. And what was with the honorifics? He waited a second for you to say something else, but nothing came. "Do you like it? The house that is." Satoru figured the only way to get anything out of you was to ask himself.

He asked you a question. Respond clearly. Tell him what he wishes."Yes, your home is beautiful Gojo-sama. I'm very fortunate to be living here as your wife." Your words sounded exactly the same, clipped and poised to perfection like the small smile you had on your face. Your skin was cold despite the amount of fabric that covered it, but you refused to shiver. You refused to tremble despite the fear you were feeling. Yes, you had trained and prepared yourself for this. You would be fine.

Satoru only cocked his head and crossed his legs, observing you like a painting from where he sat on the couch. "Thank you." His voice conveyed his usual charisma, but the look he was giving you did not. He sighed as you only bowed your head again and said nothing. He could tell you were afraid, you just didn't wish to admit it. Was it stubbornness or nervousness that had you standing like that before him, looking both strong and weak at the same time?

After a few moments, he spoke again, this time with a little more calmness and reassurance. "I don't bite, y'know." Not a word left your lips at that. You didn't even move. It was like he had a statue standing in a wedding dress in the middle of his foyer. Not a statue, a corpse, with unfeeling, empty eyes. Maybe you weren't happy with the current situation. "Did you like the reception? I'm sure you had input in the planning."

Take this chance to show your worth. "I planned the entire reception, Gojo-sama. I hope it was to your liking." You clasped your hands even tighter as you waited for his reaction.

Satoru raised his eyebrows. "Oh, wow. I'm sorry then, I'm sure you liked it because you put it all together. Well, uh, I definitely enjoyed it, and I'm sure everyone else did too. You did a great job. Uh, thank you," Satoru chuckled. He meant every word. Planning an event of that nature must have been a daunting task and you had done it all on your own. You must be pretty independent.

"Of course, Gojo-sama. It was my duty," you replied with another bow. The fear in your gut subsided at his words. It seemed he could be won over by acts of service.

Duty. That's when it clicked in Satoru's head. You saw this as 100% a duty. Well, it wasn't like he didn't see this arrangement as a duty too, but it had always been more than that to him. It was both a duty and an enjoyment. At least, that's what he hoped it would be for the both of you.

He said nothing for a few moments. You didn't move. He could tell by the uncomfortable silence that the household staff was probably listening from somewhere nearby. Perhaps that also made you uneasy. "Let's head somewhere more private," Satoru murmured, and stood from the couch.

Private? A chill ran down your spine that worsened when he made his way over to you. Were you both going to-

You remained silent as he took your arm gently and led you up the steps of the grand staircase. He moved slowly, watching and searching you for any indication of emotion or feeling, but you gave him none. He cleared his throat before speaking once more. "That outfit seems uncomfortable. I'm surprised you've been able to wear it all day."

Your mind was running circles around his words, but you didn't show it. Is he going to offer to take it off me? Why is he being so gentle with me? Where is he leading me? A bridal chamber? A bedroom? "It is not uncomfortable, just a little heavy," you responded, forcing yourself to keep your voice even. "The tailors did a fabulous job with it."

Satoru hummed and muttered his agreement. He would take this as slow as possible. He knew that the first thing he would have to do was make you comfortable. "I see. If you would like, you may change out of it, and I can take you on a tour of the rest of the estate. Or, you can sleep if you're tired."

This seems like a test, you thought. Which option would he prefer? "I can change and join you on a tour of the home," you responded. "If that is what you wish of me."

Not exactly the answer he was looking for, but an answer nonetheless. "Alright. I'll show you your bedroom. It's apart of my rooms of the estate. I hope that's alright," he said as he guided you towards a set of double doors down the hall.

Satoru stepped before you to open the doors himself, a few staff members walking out past. You assumed that they were finishing their cleaning for the night. You could tell a few of them looked at you as they passed, though you never looked up to meet their gaze.

You could tell these were Gojo's chambers, as they were decorated somewhat differently from the rest of the house. While the entire house had a more contemporary feel to it, his part of the estate added western styles to it: gray and white furnishing, an upstairs that led to an open second floor balcony overlooking the first floor living room space, comfortable carpeting, and a woodsy, homey scent. There was a dining area and billiards further to the right to entertain guests. Truly a home within a home.

Satoru led you up the stairs, watching as you looked over the second floor railing into the living room. When you reached the top, he gestured to the first door on the left. "This is my bedroom here, in case you ever need to find me," he said as he moved you two forward. "And this one is yours." He opened the next door over.

Satoru let you step into the room first. "I wasn't sure what you would prefer in terms of the color of the room and everything, so I had a few of my staff design it for me. Do you like it?" he asked, a slight guilt to his tone. He felt bad that he knew almost nothing about you. He didn't even know where to start when he began planning to incorporate you into his home, but he figured an inviting bedroom would be a start.

"Yes, very much so" you replied. The room was bigger than your one at the Kamo estate. The furniture was made of oak wood, with the room itself having accents in white and various shades of purple. The canopy bed was plush and had silk sheets. Most of your attention was drawn towards the bookshelf in one corner, which already had some of your books as well as many new ones. The closed curtains, which had little butterflies sown on them, had moonlight escaping into the room. The wall to the right had another door, which you assumed led to the bathroom and closet. "Thank you for arranging this for me, Gojo-sama."

You moved your gaze down as you turned to face him. "Of course," he chirped.

Silence once more.

He sighed audibly. "You're gonna hurt your neck if you keep looking down like that, pretty girl. Especially with that monstrosity on your head," he said softly as he approached you. You stilled, jumping a bit as Satoru reached his hands forward to grasp the top of the headpiece. "Shh, I'm not gonna hurt you, okay? Just taking it off for you," he murmured when he saw you tense up. He removed the headpiece gently, letting your hair fall. He resisted the urge to touch the soft locks upon seeing them unbound, and instead opted for setting the headpiece on a side table. "There. Feels a lot better, doesn't it?"

"Yes. Thank you, Gojo-sama." You still didn't look at him. After a pause you asked, "May I go change now?"

Why did you ask for permission? "Sure," he answered, a little confused as he watched you retreat into the bathroom. He stood awkwardly in the room as he heard you shuffle around behind the door. He sighed and leaned against the bed. What was it that had you so... uptight? Why wouldn't you relax?

Meanwhile, you made yourself busy undressing and slipping out of the heavy fabrics of your wedding garb in the bathroom, hanging up the piece and choosing a simple, flowing dress to change into. You looked into the mirror once more, and paused.

You had forgotten about the white lace lingerie your handmaidens had forced you into while dressing you this morning. A provoking technique, they had called it. It was beautiful, the entire ensemble having been comprised of silk and lace with little flowers adorning it, but you felt incredibly uncomfortable now that you saw yourself with it on. You felt more like a prized ham, wrapped up and ready to be eaten. And that is my responsibility tonight-

Your thoughts were broken by the sound of movement coming from the room. Right. He's still out there. You thought back to how he had taken off your headpiece. You couldn't help but be frightened for a moment, but then the way he removed it had been... gentle, as all his other actions toward you had been.

You were used to men like him: large, imposing sorcerers, with big egos and even bigger amounts of cursed energy. However, when any of those men came close to you, maybe even to just put a hand on your shoulder, their touch was also gentle, but not in the way Satoru was. They were gentle and domineering. Satoru had been both gentle and considerate.

But what he had called you...

It still felt like he was trying to get something out of you. And you didn't like it.

You slipped on the dress over the lingerie, letting the soft velvet material warm you as the skirt ended at your ankles. You had always liked this evening dress.

Satoru's head shot up when he heard the door click open. You stepped back into the room, ready to be led. Your apparel took him aback at first. He had expected you to choose something comfortable, a t-shirt and leggings at least, but you still came out dressed like you were going somewhere. You looked beautiful though, and he supposed it was nice to see you in something that wasn't clan-styled regalia (didn't matter that he was still wearing his outfit from today).

Satoru said nothing as you took his arm and let him lead you into the estate. Although he didn't look directly at you, he observed your movements. Beautifully robotic was the way he could best describe it. But why?

Then it dawned on him. The wedding had been ceremonial, so your actions there he could ignore, but everything after... it was like you were still in the ceremony, even in this moment. He saw it firsthand when you said your goodbyes to your family. You would be seeing them so much less now that you were married, yet neither of your parents nor siblings hugged you or expressed any emotion when sending you off.

Then finally with himself. You never looked at him. You complimented him at every opportunity. You asked for permission to go get dressed.

He could never get you to relax. To be comfortable. It was like you were being monitored by some invisible camera that he couldn't see and that you feared.

Duty. 100% a duty.

He looked down at you once more as you walked down the hallway, eyes trained ahead. Yes, those eyes had been his first sign, he realized. For what once held liveliness and curiosity in youth had been replaced with a senseless, dull husk of what he remembered.

Something had happened in those seven years since he last saw you. He felt sorry for you.

He felt sorry because he felt like this was somehow his fault.

But that wasn't going to stop him from trying to be the best he could to you.

___________________________________________________________

An hour later, Satoru had shown you about half of the estate, everything between recreational rooms, kitchens, dining rooms, and his own personal office. Yet, as he talked, you seemed disinterested, elsewhere.

The both of you were on the first floor, walking down a hallway with floor to ceiling windows on the left wall.

"There's not much left to show you, or at least anything that's interesting anyway. If there's anywhere else you'd like to..." Satoru's voice trailed off when he looked at you again, staring out of the windows as you passed.

There. You looked out the windows toward the estate garden, your eyes wide, glittering, and curious. He opened his mouth and then closed it. You looked like a little girl staring at a new doll in a toy store. Finally, something that he could read from you that you refused to hide. Wonder and interest.

Satoru stopped walking when the two of you reached a set of glass doors that led outside. "Do you want to see the garden?" he asked, almost chuckling when you nodded eagerly. "Let's go then." He opened one of the doors to let you through, watching you with amusement. You still kept your face neutral, hands folded over your chest as you stepped out into the open air before walking, practically running, over to the vast flower beds and trees across the lawn.

He just stared as you bursted with this sudden childlike excitement. So you can be won over somehow. Satoru laughed under his breath, a small smirk on his face as he went to join you. You started by walking between bushes, running your hands along any part of the plants as you could. He never would have guessed that you were interested in plants, but now that he thought about it, it made sense. He could see you being the type of girl that's interested in feminine things. Things like dresses, books, and maybe even chocolate desserts. Things like flowers.

You were kneeling next to a bush of blue hydrangeas as he approached. He thought you looked perfect like this, the moonlight playing off of your hair, skin, and dress while you ran your fingers along petals. However, when you realized he was getting closer, you quickly got up and returned to how you were in the foyer: standing straight, hands clasped, and head bowed. It stopped Satoru in his tracks, but also made him understand a little more of how you worked.

You must see a husband, him, as an authority figure that you have to please. Satoru didn't know why. Maybe your family pushed you to be a good wife, but now you're just taking it too far. You must be able to relax when you're comfortable, or when you're alone. That had to be it. Right now, you seem to view this place as comforting, so he had to be the same.

And if he seemed to make you feel uncomfortable, he would leave you alone.

But first, he had to try to get through to you.

"Do you like gardens?" Satoru asked, even though the answer was really fucking obvious.

"Yes, Gojo-sama," you replied. "I like flowers and plants. They are a great enjoyment of mine. Your garden is the most magnificent I have ever seen."

It was the best Satoru had ever seen too, but at this point, he couldn't tell if you were lying to him just to make him happy. He took a step closer and huffed a little. "Y'know... you don't have to call me that. I mean, I'm your husband, not the emperor," he chuckled, though he was dead serious. Laughing through it was the only way to show that he wasn't mad at you. "Why do you like flowers? Or these ones in particular?" He gestured to the bush that you had been admiring.

If you were nervous or scared, you didn't show it. You seemed to be pondering for a moment as you looked at the bush. "I... don't know. Flowers have interested me since I was a child. I used to keep up a garden at home."

A garden that you'll never get to take care of again, he realized. "Well, if you want or... if you need something to do, I can have someone show you where we keep our gardening supplies. You can do as much or as little as you like of course."

Your eyes lit up at the request. "That would be lovely, Gojo-" He could tell you were about to add the "-sama" at the end, but stopped yourself. He still smiled at the way that you seemed to beam in the current setting.

"What other things do you like? Do you have any hobbies?" Satoru asked, watching as you continued to run your hands along the plant.

"I like music," you stated.

"Really? You play any instruments?" He proceeded to raise his eyebrows as you listed a slew of different types that you knew how to play, though you added that piano was your favorite. "What else?"

"I like... cooking, and cats, and," you settled one of the hydrangeas in your hand, "the color blue."

Satoru hummed in response. He felt like he was getting somewhere. "Really? Well in that case, I guess I should've had your room be that color."

"Purple is still just as nice," you replied with a small smile. It was brief, but he could tell it was genuine. It took his breath away. It was almost embarrassing, this effect you were having on him.

"Yeah, I guess." Satoru dared to move a step closer to you. He could see you tense, and decided this was as far as he would get. Maybe now was the time to get some answers out of you. He watched your hand continue to rub the petals. "How do you feel about... all of this. Really."

"Your garden is dazzling-"

"No, I mean our... situation. Be honest with me," he said gently, but the way he worded it almost made it sound like he was pleading with you.

You paused before answering. Your hand stopped moving. "This marriage is just as important to me as it is to my father and the Kamo name. I will do right by him to ensure that it succeeds. And not just for him, but for you as well." Your tone was light and sophisticated, your voice sweet as can be, but it still felt fabricated. Rehearsed. Satoru wasn't buying it.

After a few moments, he decided to try something a little bold. "Look. I'm not your father, okay? And this isn't the Kamo estate. You don't have to be so... restrictive around me. I know this is, like, your first time ever talking to me, but I'm not some authoritarian." He almost regretted the words when he saw your guilty face. "But of course, that also means I'm not going to control the way you act. You can do whatever you want, say whatever you want. It's all fine by me." Silence again. "(Y/N)?"

You seemed... confused. Satoru spoke again. "Are you feeling alright? All I'm saying is I want you to be comfortable here. If that means... not interacting with me as much, then I get that."

Still nothing.

Satoru sighed. Maybe he needed to take a different approach. Maybe he just needed to leave you alone for a while. "If there is... anything else you want to see, I can show you. Otherwise, I'm going to go to bed. You can stay out here as long as you want..." he said softly. He began to turn away from you, listening for your movements as he started to walk inside. You only walked from your spot and moved further into the garden.

The halls echoed with the sound of his footsteps. That went... much differently than expected.

He thought back to fantasies he used have of what this night would look like: learning more about you, showing you around the estate, laughing with you until both of your stomachs went numb.

Kissing you for the first time in that garden, and, if you wanted it, carrying you back to his room in seconds.

But as he thought more about it, Satoru realized just how unlikely those scenarios would have been, especially with the current situation. He speculated that your behavior was a combination of your familial expectations, anxiety, and the fact that you were meeting him for the first time. Not to mention, he knew he wasn't the most approachable-looking person in the world.

This was going to take some time. He would let you get used to the house first, get used to seeing him and the other staff around. Then eventually, you might begin to open up to him once you felt safe.

Or you might not talk to him at all.

Satoru really hoped it didn't come to that.

___________________________________________________________

Some time ended up being much longer than what Satoru thought you would need. It had been a week since you last spoke, and you made no effort to approach him.

He did get some semblance of a routine you kept. You were definitely a busy body, always up and ready with a full breakfast waiting for him on the dining room table before he was up (although, since he had the following two weeks after the wedding off, he was sleeping in later than normal). By the time he was finished eating and getting ready for his day, you had gone halfway through your daily routine, which included cleaning and managing the state of almost every room in the whole building. Once that was finished, you prepared lunch, taking your portion out to the garden to eat. The rest of the day you used for your own recreation, usually something along the lines of taking walks, reading, or taking care of different parts of the garden. Of course, you still had time set aside to make him dinner before you stayed in your room for the rest of the night.

Just noticing the things you do throughout the day was a source of admiration from him alone. Satoru knew that the kind of work he did would be considered maddening and dangerous, yet he accomplished everything with ease. He couldn't help but think of you in the same light. You completed the same tasks everyday without fail or signs of fatigue (gods know he could barely clean a fucking toilet without gagging). He noticed that the meals you cooked were not just chosen randomly, but instead were meant to be perfectly balanced in terms of nutrition while still complimenting every bite he took. In other words, fucking delicious. Satoru knew he wasn't a bad cook either, but you made five star meals like it was no one's business.

He would see you often around the house, your skirts or dresses flowing as you flitted about. He could tell you favored modest clothing, usually in either knee to floor-length dresses, or blouses with skirts of the same length. Your makeup was simple, your hair always done up and clean.

Whenever he was close enough to you or entered a room you were in, you always bowed politely and addressed him, never saying more than was needed, before returning to whatever it was you were working on. Satoru knew if he asked, you would sit down and have a conversation with him or eat with him, but he wasn't going to push it. He wanted to be sure it was something you were okay with.

Yet hours and days dragged with almost no change. What was meant to be your two week honeymoon break passed, and Satoru had to return to his missions. Somehow you had already known what time he gets up to eat, and, just like almost any other day, there was a breakfast waiting for him.

No sign of the person who cooked it, though.

Satoru decided he couldn't take this anymore, the awkwardness and silence. No, he was going to find you and asked if you wanted to eat this breakfast with him.

Luckily, he found you in the kitchen putting away dishes you had just finished washing. "Good morning, (Y/N)," he said, trying to sound as polite as he could without frightening you.

You must have been lost in thought, because you jumped when he said your name and turned towards him.

Head bowed. Eyes down. Hands folded.

He was tired of it.

"Good morning, Gojo," you replied. "I hope you had a restful evening last night."

"I did..." he said. "I was just... wondering if you wanted to eat that delicious-looking breakfast you made with me. You're allowed to say no, of course." He felt stupid having to add that last bit.

"Apologies, Gojo, but I already took my breakfast this morning, but I sincerely appreciate your offer." He felt his stomach drop inside him a little. "Is there anything else I can get for you?"

"No, it's fine. I'll be home later tonight." He tried to keep his tone from sounding disappointed. He couldn't be mad at you for eating before he asked you. However, Satoru wanted to end the conversation positively, with something not so... stale. He turned to walk to the door, looking once more over his shoulder at where you still stood. He opened his mouth once, closed it, and then opened it again. "You look gorgeous today, by the way."

That surprised you. Not the words necessarily, nor the fact that these weren't your best clothes, but the way he said it. Like he meant it. It stirred something in you. You decided to look up at him, but he was already gone.

A while later, Satoru was dressed and ready to go, his car parked just outside with the AC blasting. He walked down the grand staircase... with you waiting for him at the bottom.

You were waiting for him. He paused in front of you once he reached the bottom of the steps. You had assumed your usually stance, but... he could tell you wanted to say something.

"I... realized that I never asked what you would like me to make for dinner for when you return..." you said as if you were just realizing that you were standing here, and you needed to make up an excuse.

It tugged at his heartstrings a bit. You had never asked if he had a preference for dinner, so... this was you trying to approach him to start a conversation. "Well, whatever you want to make is fine. You're such an amazing cook. I would never not eat anything you make," Satoru exclaimed with a small smile before leaning in a bit as if telling you a secret. "But, if I must request something, I reallyyy like mochi desserts," he whispered before pulling away. "But you didn't hear it from me."

Your small smile and barely noticeable laugh made his heart explode. Pride swelled in his chest. So you have a sense of humor in some regard...

He smiled and walked past you to the door, walking through before-

"Gojo," you called from across the room. Satoru turned at the sound of you calling his name.

"Have... have a nice day today..." you said, giving him a small bow.

His eyes widened in surprise before he flashed you a grin. "You too, pretty girl." And just like that, he left, the door shutting behind him.

Satoru was trying to do his best not to holler in excitement on the other side of the door. You went out of your way to meet him at the front door and ask what he wanted for dinner and told him to have a good day? He felt like a middle school girl. A stupid smile plastered itself on his face as he walked to his car.

And stayed for the rest of the day after.

___________________________________________________________

The next few weeks went just the same: him waking up to breakfast that you sometimes stopped by to eat a few bites of, you saying goodbye and asking what he wanted for dinner at the door, and him coming home to that meal in the evening, which you occasionally ate with him also.

Satoru felt pretty spoiled if he was being honest. He never liked those mysogynistic views on gender roles, especially when it came to the roles of a husband and wife, but he was now understanding the appeal. He had assured you a few times that you didn't need to have something home cooked and ready for him each time he came home, and that he was just as fine with takeout, but that never stopped you. He knew it was serious, if not a little concerning, when he asked for a three-tiered Danish cake for dessert as a joke and you had made two because you, in your words, got bored and had the time. He didn't even know he owned the cooking supplies needed to do that. Nevertheless, to say he ate most of that within a few days would be an understatement.

As time grew, Satoru had been able to observe you more closely. There were the normal things, like the type of books you liked to read (mostly poetry), what time you liked to take your walks (sometime between 3:00 and 6:00pm), and what days you went to the grocery store and farmers market (Wednesdays, if he's correct) despite household staff insisting to him to tell you to stop because it was technically their job. He could never find himself to do so.

Then there were a few... less fortunate things. You still don't look up at him, for starters, and your voice still retained that proper, unnatural tone. Besides the times where you say goodbye to him in the mornings, you always observe and never speak unless he speaks to you. You have a cell phone, but you almost never use it, so he assumed you probably have no friends that you contact, or even family that wanted to contact you for that matter. Lastly, among a few more things, you always try to sneak an ice pack from the fridge some nights when you think he can't see it in your hand as you walk back to your room with it. He never knew what it was for, until he saw it on your neck while you read in the library, something he had to peak through the doors to see.

You get neck pains because of the subservient posture you forced yourself to have around him, and Satoru started to think just how far back this training you had been given goes. He knew that you couldn't get neck pains from bowing if you've only been doing it for a month.

One day, he brought the situation up to Yaga as they watched some student sorcerers training out on the grounds. "You really don't know the kind of backwards training the Kamos put their girls through?" Yaga asked, fixing a stitch on one of his jujustu dolls. "I thought you knew what you were getting into, especially since you're in one of the clans yourself."

"Well, I'm starting to see it," Satoru says with a wince. "I just don't know how to get her to... relax, I guess. Act normal, y'know?"

"Do you think she even knows how?" Yaga mused. Satoru went still. "The Kamos are traditionalistic; their customs span all the way back to the Golden Age of Jujustu as a way to preserve the glory of that time period. This includes how they train their... females."

Satoru furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't know much," Yaga said, a piece of the string in his mouth as he adjusted a stitch. "The kinds of things like how to please a husband, how to raise kids, how to behave around authority figures, which includes men. Weird stuff like that. And if (Y/N) is Arao Kamo's only daughter that was betrothed to marry the Six-Eyes wielding Gojo clan head, you can expect her to be well educated in that regard."

Satoru sighs. He felt stupid for not looking into that, for chalking it up to some kind of anxious defense when it was much more than that. "I'm a real fucking idiot."

"Yeah, well, while that may be true, there's not much you can do but give it time. With the kind of stuff she was brainwashed to believe, the least you can do is give her some patience," Yaga said, finishing up his patch.

"True, but that'll take forever," Satoru groans, looking out at the young sorcerers sparring. "She won't do anything unless I tell her to. She doesn't know what it's like to just... have some sort of free will."

"Then maybe show her what's like to have one," Yaga says with a groan, settling back into the bench they were sitting on.

There was a pause before Satoru chuckled. "This is the one time you've actually given me advice that I considered listening to."

"Good. You should, otherwise I'll send you on another mission from this weekend," Yaga grumbled.

"Fine, I'll listen."

___________________________________________________________

That next day, Satoru planned on asking you about something when he saw you before he left.

"Hey, pretty girl," he quipped with a smile as he walked down the stairs, enjoying the slight blush that formed on your cheeks, something he had noticed the past few times he called you that.

"Good morn-" your gentle words were cut off by a sudden cough and a sniffle that caught his attention. He stepped in front of you.

"Hey, are you alright? Is your throat okay?" he asked, his usual teasing tone replaced with one of concern.

You seemed to pause for a moment before speaking. "I'm alright. Something caught in my throat is-" You coughed again, this time more aggressively as you turned to cover it.

Satoru's brow furrowed. He gently pulled your chin so you could face him again. He felt your forehead with the back of his hand. "You're burning up, (Y/N). You probably have a fever."

"I can assure you, Gojo, I feel-" You gasped as you were suddenly lifted into his arms, his hands resting underneath your back and knees as he walked you back up the stairs. He smiled a little when he felt you throw your arms around his neck.

"Please don't lie to me, (Y/N). How long have you been feeling like this?" Satoru asked calmly as he carried you to your room. You looked down at the floor.

A pause. "About the past two days." Satoru sighed.

He opened the door to your room and set you down on the bed. "Hold tight, okay? I'm just going to go grab some things..." He left and returned a few minutes later with an ice pack wrapped in a towel, some medicine, and a glass of water.

Setting the items down on your bedside table, Satoru started by ripping two pills out of their packaging and handing them to you with the water. "Why have you been walking about like normal when you've been feeling this way for the past two days?"

You took a moment to take the pills before answering. "I am well enough to complete my usual routine, so I saw no need for rest. I had the staff prepare your meals to make sure you did not catch my illness," you replied weakly, trying not to cough.

Satoru shook his head. "But we have people hired here to do those tasks anyway. You still need to take care of yourself." Your brow furrowed.

"But I'm still-"

"Don''t fight me on this," Satoru butted in. You lowered your head, eyes despondent. "I don't mean to say I don't appreciate what you do every single day. Really, I really appreciate it. But I don't want you doing anything when you're clearly feeling like shit."

"My apologies-"

"Don't apologize. Please." Satoru's mouth tightened when he saw the ashamed look on your face, the way your shoulders caved slightly. He spoke again, this time more smoothly. "I'll call Yaga to cancel my appointments for today. Just let me take care of you... and don't feel bad about it. Okay?"

Satoru didn't care that he was almost begging with you, but he needed you to understand that that's all he really wanted right now. To take care of and cater to you for a change instead of you constantly doing so for him.

"But, you might get sick too..." His chest tightened a little at the guilt you displayed, your tone of voice, the slight whine in it.

"That's fine. Just means I don't have to go to work longer," Satoru chuckled, moving to sit on the edge of the bed next to your legs. "But don't think that's the only reason I'm here with you now, of course."

Your lips moved into a small, downturned smile as you huffed a laugh. You weren't even smiling in full, yet he thought it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

A sharp, painful sounding cough from you broke the silence. Satoru handed you the water again, propping another pillow behind your head. Once you finished, he took the water from you and handed you a woolen blanket that you had resting on the end of your bed. "I'll get some lozenges for your throat and some tissues. For now, just rest for me, okay? I'll come back to check on you, but if you need anything just yell. I'll be in my room," he said as he adjusted the ice pack onto your forehead.

"Okay," you whispered. You looked almost... stunned. Like you never expected this. It made Satoru sadder than he would like to admit.

After a few seconds, he stood, turned off the lights, and shut the door quietly. He walked away right before the sound of your soft cries reached the door.

___________________________________________________________

Satoru looked after you for the next two days, making sure you took medications and got proper rest. Even when you were well enough to get back on your feet, he still made your meals and brought you ice packs and popsicles at night for your throat.

He apologized the first few times he served you food, scratching the back of his head and laughing. Sure, his grilled cheese and tomato soup wasn't bad, but it was embarrassing compared to your culinary genius. You never replied, looking back at him with a perplexed expression.

Satoru noticed this, and he had his suspicions as to why you may be confused. Because you had been living with him for the past month and a half, he was able to easily discern what your looks meant, or at least, what he thought they meant. Your confusion was not necessarily because of actual confusion, but rather, because you weren't used to gestures like this. It was a little disheartening, of course, but slowly, you began to accept them with a small smile and nod of your head. It put him at ease to see you that way.

Now was the third day Satoru stayed home to be with you, and because you seemed to be doing much better, he knew this would probably be the last day he would have to do so. Thus so, he wanted to make the most of it.

It was early afternoon when Satory began to approach your room. You had taken to sleeping in while being sick, and if there was one thing he had definitely learned from this time with you, it's that you could sleep when you weren't waking yourself up at a certain time. He found it cute, and somewhat surprising.

He snuck into your room as you slept, gently placing the reason he came in on your bedside table: a vase, with those blue hydrangeas in it. And just as he was about to walk out, you called his name.

Satoru stilled and turned slowly. You were staring at the flowers on the bedside with a haphazard, exhausted look on your face. God, and just when he thought this moment couldn't get any more precious...

"Fuck, sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up. Goddamn, and I had it all planned out too! Having you wake up to flowers, I was just gonna get cracking on some blueberry pancakes and everything-"

"Oh... are we celebrating something?" you asked, looking between your hands and the flowers.

"No, 's just because. Unless there's something you want to celebrate? Happy your-fever-decreased-from-103-to-101 day?" he chuckled. "Anyway, I'm going to attempt to make pancakes even though I'm ass at it. Hope you're okay with Frosted Flakes as a fall-back option." Satoru turned towards the door again. This woman has him adding blueberries to his pancakes-

"Satoru...?"

He paused, stopped, buffered, restarted. Did you just call him Satoru? His brain was running laps around the replayed sound of your voice in his head as he turned. He was elated, estatic, down-right jolly, one might say.

And then all that was thrown out the window he faced you completely, and you were looking right at him.

Head up. Eyes bright. Smile... paragon.

"Thank you... for taking care of me."

Satoru knew you weren't just talking about this past three days. He felt like a five year old boy laying his eyes on you again for the first time as he, the ever so confident, swaggering, and teasing Gojo Satoru, flushed. "Yeah, no, it's no biggie, you deserve it cause you do so much and you're my wife so I kind of have to and-" he bumped into the door behind him, "fuck, you know what? I'm just gonna shut up and go... pancakes... haha, yeah..."

This poor man Satoru turned the corner and facepalmed, shutting your door behind him while your small laughs could be heard from the other side of the door. Running a hand through his hair, he tried his best to compose himself while he walked away, but then your face flashed in his mind again, and it was like he had a buzz that reached from his brain down to his whole body. He was smitten.

Once he reached the kitchen, soft music playing from his phone, he searched up that pancake recipe. While he began to get out ingredients, there was a knock as someone entered through the doors that led to the rest of the estate. One of the household staff.

"Sir, there's a guest at the front door," the woman stated.

"Who?" Satoru asked as he leaned over the counter while scrolling through the recipe.

"Arao Kamo, sir."

Fuck.

___________________________________________________________

tags: @leonora13x @cole-silas @feeiry @mysuperrainbow @tw0fvced @emptybrain01 @xixiwang @drilled-brain @lvieee @xxkoyukixx @we-loveebony @sereniteav @ilovecoyotepeterson10 @baby—vera @jebemticeluporodicu @louannfox

I love you guys

[safination]

Partners in Death...and Life.

Part I: Radio's not dead

| Part 2: Radio Will Be Dead if He Doesn’t Explain Himself. | Masterlist| ao3 Pairings: Alastor x wife!reader Tags: fem! reader, established relationship, human!alastor, hopefully not but just in case ooc!alastor (I'm trying my best to keep him as canon as possible) acroace!alastor

"Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you. Quite a pleasure!” One hand reset on his chest, and the other shoots into the air. It’s the bow you did in high school, back when you wanted theater to pay your bills. A performer’s bow. You chuckle. “I don’t think it will be quite the pleasure you think.” “Is that so?” Alastor’s smile remains constant. “And why would that be?” You show him the tray you’re holding. “I’m here to do your sutures.” [Or after a seven-year absence, you find the man you were married to in life, not only back in town, but also helping . . . *checks notes* . . . the Princess of Hell run a hotel aimed at rehabilitating sinners who were sent to the bad place for a reason.]

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

You pass the tissue box—the third one already.

Your patient blows his nose, rubbing snot off his snout. He has to stretch his arms to reach his nose. Alligators are known for their long snouts. His nostrils flare when he sniffles.

Used tissue is discarded on the pastel-pink floor despite a pastel-pink trashcan stationed by his webbed feet. It’s been the same pattern for the last fifteen-minutes. Tissue, Sneeze. Floor.

“—and I have this . . . uh . . . like this real bad itch on my eye. I keep rubbing and rubbing but it doesn’t do shit! My eyesight’s gotten worse—It’s already fucked up but this is just different. My roommate hissed at me about getting blood all-over the carpet floors if I kept scratching my scales. Oh. Oh! I’ve been snee—achew!” Alligator snot lands on the pastel-pink floors of the clinic.

Your eyes twitch.

He takes another tissue and waves it around his head. “The top of my head is killing me. Ya’know where that is right?” He blows his nose. “It’s right here,” he says, inching his head closer to you. “The last nurse I went to was blind as a bat! Literally, she had the wings and everything. It was kinda hot.”

“I’m well aware of the location of your head,” you say. “You can lean back now.”

Tissue. Sneeze. Floor

Tissue. Sneeze. Floor.

Tissue. Sneeze. Floor.

Pastel pink floor.

Underneath the mix of feathers and hair strands, the bustling of the waiting room catches your ears. Someone curses, booming and violent at another waiting patient. A cough, a sigh, a barf. Painful curses erupt after that. You bring a hand to your ears, wincing as your eardrum ring. Pentagon City’s best and biggest hospital needs better doors, but those lazy sloth fuckers at the top invested at the first material they found.

The alligator sneezes into another tissue. He flicks it with his wrist, and it hits the pastel-pink wallpaper adorned with closed eyes. Maybe Belphegor should be the sin of Pride instead, considering all items are covered in her symbol.

“I really feel like t’was those exterminators ya’know?”

You do not, in fact, know. Half of what this young man says is incomprehensible.

His snout sways left to right when he shakes his head. “It’s only my second one, and this was a close call, and uh . . . well, ever since then I’ve been like this. One even got to my roommate. “

You hum, leaning back on your chair. You should petition to for thicker doors. And while you’re at it, better interior design, and better paint—something that isn’t pastel pink.

“Ugh, and it’s so not cool that this new roommate of mine’s been shedding since the day they moved in,” he says.  “Speaking of shedding, do you think it’s because of those exterminators? Do you think they like spread some sort of weird pollen to make us sick? They’re totally the type to do that.”

You take your pen—your pastel-fucking-pink pen—and poke his alligator sinuses.

Hell does have its own brand of humor. You gave your 20s to studying human anatomy, only to die and find yourself with the need to re-learn the boring part of biology.  (Two books on reptiles, four on mammals, and fifteen on sea creatures.)

“YEOWCH!” His teeth stick out again. You do not know what this means.  “What kind of nurse ar—“

“Doctor.”

“—you? That’s not the top of my head!”

You push back on of the feathers on your head. “Your roommate ‘hissed’ at you? And they’ve been shedding fur for two weeks now.?

“Yeah . . . ?”

You stare at him. “Have you ever considered that you’re allergic to your roommate?”

“Ooooooooooh,” he says. ‘Yeah, I was allergic to cats back when I was alive.”

You grab your (pastel-fucking-pink) prescription pad from the desk drawer. “Control it with some antihistamine. Four pills every 12 hours.”

His teeth start showing. You’re not sure if he’s frowning. It’s hard to tell. “Pills, really?”

You toss what you were writing into the massive pile of germs, mucus, and tissue. “I can give you a nasal spray. I’ll flush the mucus then insert a spray that prevents build-up,” you say. “They last for two weeks and then you’ll need to come back.”

He grabs the last tissue from the box. It still lands on your floor. “Ma’am nurse, do you have any more of this?”

You sigh and reach for a fourth box of tissue. “It’s doctor,” you say. “We keep nasal sprays here in the clinic. I’ll just grab one and you’ll be out in fifteen minutes.”

“No can do,” he says. “Before I died, my coach told me to stay away from that non-organic shit. It’ll mess us up real bad apparently. All those steroids.”

“You have phencyclidine sticking out of your coat pocket.”

“Pheny—what?”

“ . . . Angel Dust.”

“The porn star?”

“The drug. You have drugs sticking out of your coat pocket.”

“Come on, nurse—”

Threads erupt from your fingers. It snakes around his wrist, coiling and twisting.

He jerks his arm away and cries out when you tighten your hold. Your threads wrap around his legs. It pulls against his waist. Magic binds his arms, and tightens around every joint he owns.

You stop, only when the alligator struggles, trashing against the clinic chair.  His teeth bare and he snaps at whatever he can reach. You tug on one of the thousands of strings digging into his skin. His jaw snaps shut, and it will stay shut. Another tug and his back stretches to straighten. You move your fingers as if a piano laid before you, and he sits up like a good puppet.

Another month of clinic dury will be your punishment if those sloth from down below are lucid enough to do their jobs.Sadly, killing this idiot would have you suspended for three months.

“I am a doctor,” you tell him. “Do not make me repeat myself.”

The tension on your strings marks even the few scales scattered on his body. He’s a real idiot if he continues to struggle.

Delicate movements of your fingers bring him forward, his back still strained, and tilt his snout at a forty-five-degree angle.

Your threads elongate as you move toward the clinic drawers. It loosens around you, careful at keeping you able to move freely. It’s one of the handier parts of your magic. You shake your hands and the threads detach. It sticks to the floor to keep the alligator as your puppet. You scrub your hands thoroughly before taking the nasal spray and filling with with distilled water.

You place on nitrite gloves. It’s always best when dealing with bodily substances such as mucus.

You place a pan underneath and jam the tube up his nostrils, hosing his sinuses with water. The tension of his binding keeps him still. (If you ignore his whining, then that’s your business. The brawl you heard from the waiting room drowned it all out anyway.) He starts breathing better when all the snot flushes to the pan.

“Finished,” you say with satisfaction. You grab your prescription pad and write one for a nasal spray. “I cleared the mucus buildup so you shouldn’t feel any more headaches. The spray will keep your nose clear for as long as you use it. Come back if you start to feel any discomfort. For the rashes just get cream.” You point at the pastel pink door. “The exit’s right there.”

The threads dissolve in the air. He rubs his wrist, trying to soothe the red marks that your strings bring. You hand him the signed prescription.

He doesn’t close the door on his way out.

The broom and dustpan are hidden in one of the taller cabinets—pastel-pink like everything else in the room.

(Well, not everything. The radio sitting on the corner of the counter gives a splash of red into the room.)

You sweep the tissues into the dustpan. Your control over your strings is much more proficient when living beings are involved. Inanimate objects whip around when you use your magic on them, and radios have been difficult to purchase recently. It’s more convenient to clean using your own hands.

“Tagatha,” you call out when the floor is clean. “You can bring in the next one in.”

Silence is your reply.

“Tagatha?”

Your ears quirk. The noises are faint—an occasional cough, silent weeping, and muted voices coming from the television. You peek out the door, eyeing the crowd formed around the corner of the hall where a pAstel-pInK television mounts on the wall.

The door closes with a faint click. You sink into the cushions of the office chair. Vox’s yapping bore you. It was probably some man-child debate about the new extermination date.

Although . . . those serialized dramas he produces, sadly, are interesting enough to be consumed. If asked for your honest opinion, you’d tell them that they were a hot pile of smelly garbage, but you like to leave it playing mindlessly in the background.

Your husband will throw the television out the window the first chance he’ll get.

Too bad he’s occupied.

You grab a piece of paper from the drawer. Management is forcing you to write a thousand-word formal apology. There are about three-hundred words left to write.

Getting caught dissecting the dead bodies from the morgue is a mistake that won’t be repeated. One dead body and suddenly those lazy fuckers have diligence weaved into their DNA.

The body was already dead, and it’s not every day a chance to poke around a chimera’s entrails appears.

The sinner would contribute to something meaningful at least. You’re stuck on clinic duty until you dot your last sentence, and not a moment before

The coffee’s cold now, but consumable.

You reach across the desk, feeling for the knob of the radio. You twist until you feel the clink. Music fills the air—the same twenty-five songs on a loop. You stare at the radio for a moment. Just . . . a small . . . single moment.

 . . . On your kitchen counter, that second cup of coffee should be cold by now. It’s always cold when you trudge through the door. It’s been cold and untouched for years.

Yet, without fail, that second cup you brew will always be waiting for its owner.

“Salutations!” You snap your head to the radio. “Good to be back on the air.”

Huh? The feather on your hair preens. You swipe the radio, your hold on it feather-light.  You turn the knob responsible for volume. The static noise stings your eardrums.

“—ile since someone with style treated hell to a broadcast. Sinners rejoice!”

Murmurs erupt outside your door. You blink and find yourself slamming it open. One foot after another, one step after the other, brings you closer to the television. Your shoulder throbs when you bump into someone, but you keep pushing until you see Vox and his tacky suit enlarged on the screen.

“What a dated voice!”

A reply comes from the radio. “Instead of a clout-chasin’ mediocre video podcast.”

Your feather rises higher. Laughter escapes your lips, it leaves a dry taste. That . . . that ṁ̵̭͔̲̙̦͎̝̜̲̠͙͇̂̏̃̐̂̓̊̂̕̕o̴̢̭̝̙̤̬͚͐̅͗̌̇̂̌̕ţ̷̛̝̂̿h̶̯̟̙̲̘̟̟͙͔̔̋͊̋̿̐͘͜͜ę̶̗̰͔̫͔̗̝̘̻̰̓̓̈̊͜r̵̨̂̏f̶͖̻̱̺͕̹̫̭̠̚u̸̬̺̯̟̦͖̅̂́́̌̚͝ć̴̖͙̰͈͕̉͌̈́́̈̔̀̉̍́͜͠ḳ̴̨̧̗̫̗͖̞̟̑͌̂̀̈́̀͆͒ę̷̛͓̼̟͍̆̆́͆̾͛͝r̵̹̮̤͓̗̹̈́̎̉͌̾͌̏͑̋̚͝.

“Doctor!” Tagatha screeches when she spots you. “I am so sorry. I’ll bring in the next one right away!”

Your eyes are trapped by the screen and your ears by the radio. “It’s alrig—”

Tagatha grabs the closest person to her and shoves you back into the clinic. The door slams shut just as everything goes dark and silent. (Well, it’s not completely dark, once your eyes adjust you can still see as if the lights were open. Another small perk to this body). Your radio, along with the power, stopped working.

“Oh my!” Your new patient bleats.

“We have generators,” you find yourself saying. “I’m sure the power will come on in a minute.”

The cushions of the chair do little to ease your nerves. You pat your hair, trying to get it in control. A pile of feathers starts forming on the PASTEL-FUCKING PINK FLOORS. T̴̹̜͇̅̅͗͜H̶̰̗̄Ơ̶̡̡̻̗͖̋̎̓̓S̴̨͉̝̻͋̽̆́͆Ẹ̸̡̢͐͐͠ ̷̨͚̞̙̀͒̆̆͊Ŭ̵͕̲̪͇͓͐̚G̷̹̝̦̬͊͒Ḷ̶̭͓̎̏̈͘Y̶͇̟̍̉̚ ̷̟͎͕̞͂͑̂̇À̶͉̍̄̈̚S̸͖̖͕͑̏͛̈́S̶͚̤̼̯̀ ̶̻͆P̷̬̝̉Ä̵͕́͊̌S̸̢͍̆̓͝Ṫ̸͖̲̠̾̉͜͝E̷̺͆L̷͖̏͐́͝ ̶̛̟̽͝P̷̪̔͜I̴̹̥̹͖̮͒́̏͘N̸̳̙̼̾̆̿Ķ̶̟̞̜̉͊̓̂̚ ̵͈̬̃̿̄̈́̋F̵̨̨̼̫̘͘L̸̙̠͎̓̆́O̷̧̘͚͉̤̓O̷̤̟̱̼̤͋̍͐R̷̰̝̓͌̌Ș̵̲̝̈́ “Excuse me?” You will paint this room red with the blood of management.  You tap your foot again, and again, and again. “ . . .Doctor?”

Your neck snaps in her direction, eyes wide and staring.

“The . . . uh . . . the lights are back.”

You blink at your patient—huh, she’s a goat. “I apologize,” you say, smiling. “Please, tell me, what brings you here in this hellish afternoon.”

She holds up her bleeding arm. “It’s been like this since the extermination,” she explains. “Some angle got me. Luckily, I was able to run off before I was finished. I thought it would heal on its own like it usually does but it just hasn’t. It keeps bleeding.”

“Well, angel-induced injuries are my specialty,” you say. Tucked away to the side, a mirror hangs. You catch your reflection, and you blow your hair away from your vision, your red sclerae “This will cost you. Injuries caused by angels are . . . difficult to stitch, but not impossible—not for me at least.”

“Oh, yes.” She bleats one more “Dear God, where are my manners? I’m sorry can I ask for your name?”

Your smile widens. “Of course. I’m—"

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you. Quite a pleasure!” One hand reset on his chest, and the other shoots into the air. It’s the bow you did in high school, back when you wanted theater to pay your bills. A performer’s bow.

You chuckle. “I don’t think it will be quite the pleasure you think.”

“Is that so?” Alastor’s smile remains constant. “And why would that be?”

You show him the tray you’re holding. “I’m here to do your sutures.” He steps closer to take a peek. You watch him as his eyes gloss over your matches then your needle driver, then the alcohol lamp. His smile wobbles when he lands on the syringe.

You move the tray, dropping it down on the little cart by the examination chair.

“There’s no need to worry.” You beam at him. “I have the steadiest hands in this city.”

“Hmmmm,” he says. “You must be the other doctor then.”

“Not at all.” You point to your uniform, where the initial ‘NP’ is embroidered next to your name. “Just the nurse practitioner.”

He takes a closer look and reads your name. “Then I have no reason to fret. None at all! In my experience, doctors usually have their noses buried in their books. It’s the nurses that actually get the hands-on experience.” Alastor’s hands move when he talks. “What’s such a talented practitioner doing in such a dinged-up clinic?”

“Management caught me in the morgue dissecting the dead—It’s how I practice my stitches.”

“Really, now?”

You bark a laugh. “Not at all—I’m far too smart to get caught.”

“A witty sense of humor and a steady hand! I am in good hands, indeed.”

You take a seat on the rolling stool. “Yes, yes,” you say, waving your wrist. “You make fine compliments, Sir. I’ll be sure to be extra gentle.” You point towards the examination chair. “But, please hurry to the chair. You’re dripping blood on my floor.”

Alastor glances down. His eyebrows furrow as he glares at where the blood seeps from his sleeve . . . almost . . . almost as if he’s angry. “My apologies,” he says, allowing his blood to drip to the floor.

Alastor shrugs off his coat. It’s rare to see such a dark red—only a few choose such a color. You hum. Alastor is a well-dressed gentleman. Lovely. Those are your favorite kind. He drapes his coat over the spare chair, ignoring the coat racks the clinic provides.

You turn away and wheel yourself closer to one of the drawers on the counter. It takes two attempts until you find the stash of sterile gloves. “Take your seat when you’re ready,” you say. “I’ll take a look once you are.” You place the gloves on the little green cart, right next to your tray.

Alastor takes his seat, landing with an audible ‘humph’. He smiles at you, sleeves rolled and arm ready. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

You hold your palm out. “May I?”

His smile wobbles—it’s a small change in expression that you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t looking. “Of course.”

Along his forearm, a long and sharp cut wounds him. The sight of grime that covers the opened abrasions makes you inwardly cringe. You need to clean these as soon as possible. “Why was this not checked sooner?” You rest his hands on the armrest and use your foot to bring the cart closer. “This looks old, and not at all like a freshly deep cut. I prefer it when patients come to me with fresh wounds.”

You grab a bowl with distilled water and pour in a sterile solution. “I assumed it would heal on its own,” he tells you. “It was quite a surprise when it did not.”

“I need to clean this before you die of infection.” You dip his arm into the bowl. He remains silent, but you feel the tension of his muscles under your fingers. “Hopefully there will be no next time, but just in case, next time, please don’t wait a month.”

He laughs, and there, you faintly see it—a twitch in his eye. “It was only a week actually.”

You smile to yourself. “I’d prefer it if it was only a few hours.” You dry his arm with a soft towel, his arm still tensed underneath your touch. “There, much better.”  You release your hold to go to a shelf filled with different labeled vials and select the one you need. With the clean syringe, you draw the contents of the vial. “You’ll feel a bit of a pinch,” you say. You tap its side. “It’s morphine— wouldn’t want you screaming and writhing”

You study his face for a second. There’s just that same dismissively polite smile.

“You can look away if you wish,” you tell him. “It’s why we pin such . . . er . . .interesting decorations around. . . . May I?”

You feel it again when Alastor inches his arm closer. His muscles tense under your touch. It’s almost as if he wishes to pull away. You keep your hold feather-light, but firm.

“Are you a hunter by any chance?” you ask. You don’t prick him—not yet. Not when tension coils in your hold.

“You could describe it that way,” he says, chuckling like he’s told a humorous joke. (You don’t understand why.)

“I figured you were.”

Alastor slides his glasses up the bridge of his nose. You inject the morphine into his skin, right inside the soft pink tissue. Good. Alastor relaxes when he speaks, it seems. “I do love a good hunt,” he says. “How ever did you know.”

You release your hold and discard the syringe. “Your hands are rough,” you tell him. “And hunters always have this silly notion that injuries magically heal given enough time—along with farmers, actually. Although, farmers are usually much more deluded.”

He flashes that same polite smile. “I'm guessing you’re not a hunter then?”

“How ever did you know?”

You watch his eyes flicker to your palms as you re-arrange the needles. “Delicate hands.”

You flash the same polite smile right back at him. You take a match, and light the alcohol lamp.

Soap spreads all over your palms and up your arm as you scrub your hands. You slip your hands into the sterilized gloves, careful not to contaminate the surface. “I’ll begin now.”

Alastor hums in reply.

You take a scapple and pass it over the flame. You poke him, lightly, but he doesn’t react. Satisfied, you cut back fibrous tissue underneath the skin. You replace the scapple with a needle driver. There was a quiet click when you pinch the tiny curved needle. You pass it over the flame as well. “Can you do me a favor? Can you tell me how many stars are on that wall over there?

Alastor turns to look at you, but you block his eyes with your palm, shielding him from your stiches.

“The wall isn’t over here.”

“I assure you, I’m not afraid of a silly needle.”

“I’m sure you are,” you say. “However, you’ll forgive me if I don’t take your word for it. The last three people who said that took one look and started squirming. One even fainted. It makes your life miserable, and my job harder.

He counts.

“Out loud please.”

He does as he’s told, rather reluctantly.

Hands steady and determination set, you pierce the soft pink tissue with your needle The tissue nearest to the surface is always delicate. You’re certain not to catch any fat in your suture, for fat dies, and a loose stitch is useless. “Well, isn’t this fun!” he says. “I really feel nothing.”

Your concentration does not break. “I don’t remember there only being twenty-six stars. I’m positive there are more.”

“Why is someone as talented as you only a nurse practitioner?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a nurse,” you reply, tugging on the needle. “Well . . .we . . . we certainly could be paid more.”

“Why not become an actual doctor then?”

“My father couldn’t afford it. He wouldn’t send me . . . and . . . hmm.” You smoothly pull the suture thread and begin the next stitch. “And I enjoy this.”

He looks down at you. “Is this all you’ll be satisfied with?”

You focus back on your stitching, hiding your glare. You bring your needle underneath the flesh, making sure to catch the soft tissue. You’re doing an uncommon stitch, but it would be a shame to leave a scar. “You sound familiar.”

You pause to look at him, His smile brightens, and it actually looks like a genuine elated smile. “Why, I’m a radio broadcaster. You might have heard me there.”

“Oh yes,” you hum, turning back to your stitching. “Alastor . . . I remember now. The ladies and I listen to your broadcast as we do our crafts.”

“Knitting?”

“I personally prefer embroidery,” you say. “I get to practice my stitching and make beautiful art.” You pull the thread and begin a new one, stitching his skin like they were shoe laces. “You’re quite the humorous gentleman, I must say, and quite a lovely taste in music. We enjoy your broadcast very much”

“Do you have any of your artworks here?” he asks you. “I would be eager to see them.”

“Maybe next time.” You tug the suture, and his laceration snaps to a close. You tie a knot and snip the end. “Unfortunately, I’ve finished your stitches.”

“Next time then.”

You discard your gloves and go back to the shelf with the vials. You fill up another syringe. You jam the needle into his skin, not enough to hurt, just enough to scare him a bit. “To prevent infection.”

He jerks away from you. “What happened to that gentle touch of yours?”

“It’s still a sharp object, Sir. They tend to hurt.” You smirk and carefully clean the remaining blood on the skin around the sutured wound. You take a bandage from your cart and begin wrapping it around his forearm, covering your sutures. “Don’t forget to drink your pills every 8 hours, with a meal in your stomach, preferably. Replace the dressing every three days. You can come back here or if you’re able to do so, you can change them yourself. Any by the good God, please, visit the nearest hospital should this incident repeat.”

Alastor slides off the examination chair. He grabs his coat as if you didn’t just stitch him close. You start packing when you notice him fixing his bow tie, and smoothing his hair. Huh . . .There’s blood on his coat, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Like he’s used to having it there. Like it’s just something he’s learned to live with. “You were wrong by the way.”

“Pardon?”

“It was quite the pleasure to meet you.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Next Part |Part 2: Radio Will be Dead if He Doesn't Explain Himself| Hello, welcome to the hell that's been plaguing my head. In case you didn't know Belphegor is the ruler of the sloth ring, and she seems to be in charge of medical-related stuff in Hell. I have the story mostly plotted out, it's just a matter of writing it down. If you have any questions, ask away

[tinylilacbun]

j o i n h i s w o r l d ⋆ ✴︎ ˚ ｡ ⋆

warnings: usual squid game angst, blood, death, slight ooc thanos?

What on earth did you sign up for. At first, when the salesman approached you, telling you there's a way of how you can pay off your debt simply by playing some games.

Of course you said yes, who wouldn't? You thought you had a certain headstart, given the fact you're a regressor and love playing many different games.

So, you obviously didn't expect that you would be playing for your literal life, people getting shot left and right and you're only alive thanks to Player 456 giving orders and taking the lead.

When you got back to the dormitory nothing felt real, as if this all was just a fever dream, some kind of sick joke you just don't understand.

And when you thought the universe was giving you mercy by letting the remaining players vote if they want to stay and continue the games in hope of more money or if you want to leave and receive the money that's already collected, it gets immediately crushed when the majority of the people want to stay.

The 'X' batch on the right side of your chest feels heavy, a mocking reminder that even if you wanted to go home you are still stuck in here, trying to cope with everything that happened since you woke up.

To try and distract yourself you take out the two bows from your hair, frowning at the speckles of blood that's staining the white fabric, and continue braiding two small braids, trying to ignore the fear that's creeping up and your mind screaming at you to regress.

After tying the bows to the end of your braids you pull your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them as you force yourself not to cry.

You couldn't even bring yourself to eat much, only poking around and eating a few bites, closing the little container and hiding it under your pillow together with your water bottle should your appetite return.

You jump at the sound of metal clanging against each other, lifting your gaze to a purple haired guy standing beside your bunk bed, his hands gripping the frame above you, a smirk on his face.

"Hello there, neighbor." He drawls, not noticing the unease you're feeling right now but he does see the confusion on your beautiful face. "We're bed neighbors, see?"

He points to the empty bed right next to yours before crouching down and tilting his head at you. "Let me introduce myself. I'm Thanos. Your hopefully soon teammate if you're interested." He says, reaching out to toy with the little bow in your hair and you flinch lightly at the unexpected touch, moving your knees and revealing the 'X' batch.

He pouts at that. "Already want to go home? We barely even started, sweet cheeks."

"I'm scared..." You finally managed to whisper out, which is actually a stupid move, you shouldn't admit something like that and make yourself look weak because that's something that could kill you even faster. "I-I don't wanna die here..."

"Then you should join Thanos world." He straightens himself, pressing his hands to his chest before doing a spin and pointing a nail polished finger at you. "Because Thanos can protect you."

You bite your lip, hesitating to accept his offer, and even through his drug haze he notices that, moving in a swift motion to sit right in front of you with his face close to yours. "Just think about it. You know where to find me."

He taps your nose, scrunching up his own before retreating to his own bunk bed, plopping down with his hands resting behind his head.

You can feel your face heat up suddenly, some butterflies flipping in your stomach as you glance at him, quickly laying down on your side so your back is facing him after he winks at you.

[fr3sh-tragedies]

[Resident Evil Village] Donna Beneviento x Female Reader - "Attached"

[Requested]

Summary: Donna gradually manages to get used to how affectionate you can be. So much so that she starts to initiate forms of affection herself.

Word Count: 7.29k Content + Warnings: Slightly OOC Donna (and possibly Alcina), talks of insecurity and loneliness, language (?), brief allusions to sex

- - - - [Masterlist] - - - -

[A/N]: I got a little carried away with some of the dialogue. This was just fun to write, honestly. I couldn't think of a good way to write the ending, so the pacing might seem a bit off. Also, I'm trying out a new banner for my stories, but I'm not sure if I'll keep it.

Enjoy!

Affection wasn’t something that was necessarily common in the Beneviento household. Even with her dolls there to keep her company over the years, Donna very seldom found herself being comforted by their small embraces, subconsciously reminding herself that they weren’t doing it of their own accord. Being reminded constantly of the fact she was in control of every action each doll made, she never truly felt as though there was love in them.

It had been so long since her parents had been around, and even though she was taken in under Miranda’s supposed care, not once in her lifetime did the priestess show her the affection, nor the approval, she had been desperately craving.

All throughout the rest of her childhood, adolescence, and most of her adulthood, Donna found herself alone. Even when she was surrounded by her “family” during meetings and other events, she could never seem to truly rid herself of the feeling of loneliness. She had convinced herself with time that she would be fine all alone – she deserved it, and it would be better for everyone anyway. As a result, she hardly ever left her home unless someone forced her to or if she had to visit the Duke for new supplies.

She grew accustomed to the silence in that cold manor, every unexpected sound causing her to panic until it passed. Improvising unfamiliar acts of affection was difficult to do on her own, which ultimately led her to create new dolls that were more mannequin-like that she could cradle or lean against when she felt particularly lonely. Some mannequins were designed specifically to be able to hold her close, and although she was immune to the effects of the pollen she used to cause hallucinations, she still managed to find a way to force a heartbeat and breathing that wasn’t there in order to bring herself some deluded sense of comfort.

Often, she ended up falling asleep cradled in the wooden arms of her creations, usually in the den on the couch, or on the sofa in the study during the middle of a movie. It was a rare occurrence for her to sleep in her own bed. It was too painful most nights to roll over and see the empty side of the bed, cold and lacking anyone there for her to wake up to in the morning. Most nights, she wouldn’t let herself sleep until she physically couldn’t stay awake any longer.

Because of all of this, her twenties dragged on for an eternity. 

Once she realized just how alone her younger sister was once she reached her early thirties, Alcina took it upon herself to send one of her best maids to the Beneviento household to provide her both with help around the house and some much needed company.

She hadn’t given any warning, only sent the poor girl out to the grounds in a carriage with a few other trusted servants to ensure she made it safely. Had she been sent to walk there instead, Donna would’ve taken notice immediately and likely killed the young woman. However, she recognized her sister’s carriage instantly and stopped herself from reacting too harshly. She answered the door herself when a knock echoed down the halls, assuming it was either Alcina herself or her daughters.

Frozen immediately at the sight of a stranger standing there at her doorstep, Donna found it impossible to speak. When you bowed your head and explained your situation, the Lady subtly motioned for Angie to answer for her, screaming at you, the stranger, and asking why there was no warning of your sudden appearance.

“Oh, my apologies, Lady Beneviento. I had assumed Lady Dimitrescu had called or sent a letter prior to my arrival. I hope I’m not intruding on anything important,” you had whispered, your voice so gentle and sincere that Donna couldn’t find it in herself to be entirely angry with you. ‘It wasn’t the poor girl’s fault,’ after all, it was Alcina’s, and she made a mental note to call her later and give her a piece of her mind.

Wordlessly, Donna lifted her hand as a gesture to stop talking, one in which you obeyed immediately. “You silly girl,” Angie screeched, laughing almost maniacally as she clambered to your legs and climbed to your shoulders. “You worked for the Big Hat Lady, didn’t you? Why would she send you here? Were you too useless around her crusty, old, gigantic castle?”

“Oh, no,” you answered with a small laugh, puzzling Donna on how calm you seemed to be. She reminded herself that you had probably seen far worse and more bizarre things while under Alcina’s reign. A talking doll was surely something unordinary, though there were deeper horrors out there that outweighed even the pure discomfort Angie brought to others.

“Nothing like that. I assure you I do my best.” Donna hummed, disinterested and unamused. Still, you continued. “If I’m being completely honest, I’m not entirely sure why she sent me here, but I’m sure she has a good reason. I was honestly hoping I would be able to ask if you knew why, but… well, it seems we’re both at a loss.”

You seemed so casual about everything: you weren’t uncomfortable standing in front of possibly the most feared Lord in the village, you didn’t seem scared or startled when Angie came bounding around the corner, and you weren’t trembling even a little bit under the unsettling views that surrounded you. As annoyed as she was with this sudden intrusion, Donna had to admit she was still a little intrigued by you.

Perhaps some good would come from your stay after all. It would certainly be a nice change to have more time to herself outside of her projects. If someone was there to help take care of the cleaning and organizing, she would have more peace. More effort could be put into her dolls, she would be able to spend more time reading and researching, and she wouldn’t be alone. Regardless of knowing she likely wouldn’t be able to bring herself to talk directly to you, it was still a comforting thought to know there would be someone there – someone she couldn’t control, but someone she could instead rely on to make things lighter on her shoulders.

A moment passed before she sighed, stepping aside and welcoming you almost unwillingly into her estate.

“Thank you, my Lady,” you murmured with another charming smile, lifting your suitcases and carrying them inside. Once the front door was closed, Donna turned to find you standing there, patiently waiting for your first order. “I’ll show you to your room,” Angie announced, still perched on your shoulders. Without getting down, she grabbed ahold of your sleeves and began yanking them in the direction she wanted you to go.

Biting back a small snicker at her motions, you followed her demands and made your way to the stairs, still clutching your bags in your hands. Donna watched until you disappeared into the guest room that used to be her bedroom as a child. She didn’t know you entirely – only caught glimpses of you occasionally during her visits to the castle – though she still hoped that old room would be suitable and you would find it comfortable here. Using Angie distracting you to her advantage, she made her way to the lift and lowered herself to the basement, where she found her landline and dialed her sister’s phone number with a practiced motion.

Two rings before Alcina picked up, and it seemed she already knew who had called.

“Donna, darling, before you start lecturing me, will you give me a chance to explain myself?” Snarling through her words, Donna agreed to stay silent and listen. “Yes, but it better be a good reason. You know very well how I feel about strangers.”

“I know you aren’t fond of new people, but I can assure you I sent that girl with the best intentions in mind. She’s one of my best maids: kind, obedient, very level-headed. I figured she would be a good fit for you. I–” “Scusi?” Donna interrupted, on the verge of hollering. “Oddio mio! Fai sempre quello che vuoi, ed è esasperante!” Before she could continue with her verbal tirade, her eldest sister interrupted once again, prompting her blood to boil further. “Donna, please listen to me, dear,” her voice was almost strained.

A small slipped past Lady Dimitrescu’s lips, almost silent from the other side of the phone. Donna could picture her pinching the bridge of her nose as she spoke – could see her brows furrowing and causing her skin to crease in disdain. “I promise you I will explain myself, but you must listen to the entirety of what I have to say.”

“Make it quick. If there’s no viable reason for that girl to be here, I will send her back immediately.”

“I’m explaining my reasons, if you’ll be patient with me for just a moment.”

When silence fell between them, Alcina took it as a sign of the doll-maker’s reluctant compliance. “I noticed over the years that you’ve been lacking any sort of assistance down in that manor of yours, amongst other things. I know you won’t enjoy hearing it, but you’re alone, Donna, terribly alone. Anyone can see it, that’s how painfully obvious it is. That can lead to horrible tricks from the mind. You shouldn’t have to do everything by yourself. Some company would do you good, even if it’s just a maid there to help keep things tidy. I worry about you, truly, but there’s so little I’m able to do for you if you won’t accept the help I give you.

“That’s why I’m asking you to give this arrangement a chance. A month, at most. If you still aren’t satisfied or comfortable with her being there with you by then, I will send for her return, but I would appreciate it if you tried.”

“Alcina–” Donna started, grunting in distrust.

“Only for a month. I’m in no way suggesting you try to court this girl or even grow close to her. Just be cordial so you’ll have someone there with you that you can rely on at any given moment. She’s kind, patient, and respectful of any person, which is why I assumed she would be a good fit for you. She won’t step over your boundaries or interfere with anything you’re struggling with unless you ask her to. Please, whether you’re ready or not, give her a chance.”

A brief moment passed where Donna could only part her lips, though no words would come forward. She wanted desperately to protest against what her sister had essentially thrown on her so unexpectedly, though some part of her – the loneliest part, she knew – wanted to have someone here with her. Her sister trusted you, and you hadn’t caused any trouble that resulted in reprimand while you were still under her care, so there was a chance you wouldn’t be a nuisance the way she thought just a moment before.

Her mind wandered without her realizing it, filling itself with every potential way of what could go wrong. Silently, she was grateful that the familiar, comforting voice of her sister filled the space once more. “Donna, dear? Are you willing to give her the opportunity to stay with you? I only ask a month of your patience on her behalf.”

“You promise you’ll have her leave if I’m not satisfied with her company by the end of the next month?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Cazzo,” she whispered under her breath, tilting her head away from the phone to hide her words further. Suppressing a small groan, Donna nodded her head, though she knew her sister couldn’t see her. “Fine, she has one month. Be prepared to have one of your carriages sent here by then.” A soft, satisfied hum escaped Alcina’s lips in response. “I’ll have one prepared in case things go awry, but I assure you that you’ll enjoy her company. I hardly wanted her to leave myself, which is why I’m entirely confident that the only reason I’ll need to see her again is when my daughters and I come to visit during the summer months. They’ll be thrilled to see her again either way.”

“If we’re done with this conversation, I’ll have to hang up. Since there was no warning that this girl would be showing up on my doorstep, I’ve made no plans on what she’s to do around here. I’ll have to come up with a few things as I go.” “Yes, I understand. I’ll call you again next month to check in and see how things are going. Does that sound alright with you?”

“Yes. Goodbye, Alcina.”

“Thank you, Donna,” was her only reply before Donna placed the phone down, refraining every part of herself that wanted to shatter it and toss the remains far away.

Just above, she winced at still being able to hear the shrillness in Angie’s voice, and she knew she’d have to join you and the mouthy doll soon enough. To give herself a moment to breathe and steel her nerves, she took the time to straighten out her veil and suck in a deep breath. It took more effort than she would’ve liked to admit to force her legs to carry her back to the lift and not collapse beneath her as she stepped inside, turning hesitantly to tap the arrow and send herself back to the main floor.

When she arrived, Angie was already making her way to the elevator door, cackling as she tugged your hand so you’d follow her. “Donna, the silly girl told me she knows how to play piano! Isn’t that great? Now you’ll have someone else to sit with you and keep you company while you make new friends!” Scowling down at the doll, Donna shook her head, though she didn’t have a chance to speak before you did.

“Angie,” you started, chuckling at the doll’s antics, “I don’t want to impose on anything. I’m sure she’d prefer your company over mine. She seems far more comfortable with you.” Somehow, in the short amount of time you had been left alone with her, you had managed to get on Angie’s good side, which was made evident when you crouched down and lifted the doll into your arms. A smile painted your lips, even as you looked back at Donna.

“Now that you’re back, I was wondering what you’d like me to do around the house. I’m willing to do whatever you need.” Taking some time to think of what needed to be done, Donna made a small motion with her hand, silently asking you to follow her back into the small study. Angie, once you were close enough to the sofa, leaped out of your arms and landed on one of the cushions, excitedly bouncing up and down and causing you to chuckle again.

The Lady sauntered to the desk tucked on the far wall and slid the top drawer open. Her hand dipped into the small drawer and plucked a sheet of paper from a stack, as well as a pen, which she then placed onto the surface of the desk, pushing the drawer until it closed. As you wandered over to join her, she scribbled out a list of chores for you to do, adding a small note at the base of the sheet. When she turned and handed it to you, your eyes immediately scanned over her neat handwriting, specifically the words formed at the bottom. ‘Under no circumstances will you go to the basement.’

She stayed there, standing rigid as a board and staring at you expectantly. “Thank you, my Lady,” you suddenly blurted, that gleeful smile never faltering. Surprised, she blinked. She had partially expected you to question why the basement was off limits, then reminded herself yet again of all you had likely witnessed at her sister’s. “I’ll get started right away. Angie,” some part of her felt disheartened when you turned away to plant your focus back on the small doll still hopping on the sofa.

“Will you be keeping Lady Beneviento company?” From behind her veil, Donna’s eye shot over to Angie, awaiting her answer. “Nah,” the small doll replied, stilling her movements on the cushion and making a dismissive motion with her hand. “I’ve got to make sure you do everything right, after all! Besides, Donna has her other friends to keep her company.” “Other friends?” “The other dolls, silly girl!”

“Oh, I see. I’ll have to meet them sometime.” Donna couldn’t resist clenching her jaw tightly at your words. “Are you mocking her?” Angie accused, now speaking for Donna as she crossed her arms. “No, of course not,” you answered truthfully. It didn’t seem you noticed how thick the tension had grown. If you had, you certainly didn't pay it any mind. “Dolls can be friends. I’d be happy to meet them someday, if you’d allow me to, my Lady.” You turned to her again, and she couldn’t help but fall motionless at the sincerity in your eyes.

You truly weren’t mocking her.

There was no hint of judgment or sarcasm in your tone, nor did it seem like you were saying it out of duress. You were being honest.

Unsure of how to respond, she could only offer you a simple nod, one that would’ve gone unnoticed if you hadn’t been staring directly at her.

Again, you smiled at her without a shred of fear, another gesture she would have to grow used to.

“I’ll get started now. Is there anything specific you’d like me to prepare for dinner?” At that, Angie shook her head rapidly. “No, no, Donna will cook, not you!” A little puzzled, you looked over at the doll-maker yet again. “Would you prefer to cook?” Another wordless nod was sent your way. “Okay, well… in that case, I’m excited to see what you’ll make.”

Then you left the room, still cradling Angie in your arms and entertaining her endless banter. With the list clasped in your hand, you began working around the house, cleaning, tidying, and organizing everything you were instructed to. By the time dinner was served, it was clear you were exhausted, though you made no comment on it. Instead, you were given a plate of one of Donna’s favorite dishes to prepare, left to eat it on your own accord in the dining room.

Donna, still adjusting to the idea of having someone else in the house with her, insisted she’d eat alone in her workshop down in the basement, which was still off limits to you.

Angie was there to keep you company and let Donna know what was happening. The doll-maker couldn’t bite back her prideful grin when you raved about how delicious her cooking was, cleaning your plate off in record time. You were visibly relieved and excited when you learned that she would be cooking every meal herself.

This routine continued over the next month. You’d be given a new list of chores to do for the day, meet briefly with Donna in the kitchen until breakfast, lunch, or dinner was ready, eat alone in the dining room, then carry on with your duties until you were finished. A few days in, Donna had taken notice of how quickly you managed to complete your given tasks, watching with curiosity as you tried to create ways to entertain yourself.

Angie wasn’t always there with you to keep you company, so you had to find new things to do on your own without overstepping your bounds. It didn’t take long before Donna gave you free reign of everywhere but the basement. You were allowed to pick any book you could find throughout the house, could prepare your own snacks in the kitchen, could watch a film if you desired, you were allowed to do pretty much anything once you were finished working for the day.

Donna had forgotten about her scheduled call with Alcina, hardly even giving it a second thought at first when she heard her sister’s voice over the phone. “Donna, dear, how have things been?” Humming, the doll-maker shrugged to herself. “Things have been good here. How are things with you?” “I’m doing well, thank you.”

A long, drawn out silence followed, one in which Donna grew increasingly confused. Finally, Alcina cleared her throat, audibly expectant of something specific from her younger sister. “Well? Do I need to send for her?”

“Hm? Send for who?”

An exasperated sigh greeted her. “The girl, Donna. The maid I sent to you a month ago?”

“Oh, yes, of course. Her.”

“Do I need to send for her?”

She paused, staring blankly at the ground. Off and on throughout the weeks, she had been preparing herself to scold her sister for even having the idea in the first place. She thought of the few choice words she would sneer at her as she snarled out her demands to make you leave at once. The entirety of the past month had been expected to be a living hell, though after she thought to herself for a moment, she realized that hadn’t been the reality at all.

You had been incredibly helpful, never failing to be courteous and respectful with the special charm only you seemed to have. The manor had never been so clean, not even when Donna was a child and still had her parents to help out around the house. No matter how strenuous it was, you ensured you’d clean every part of each room from top to bottom, never missing a spot.

Angie had grown to like you on top of everything, which was a hard goal to achieve. Not once had you treated the doll unfairly. You always joined in on her tea parties, kept her company when Donna needed to be alone, cracked jokes without scolding her for her unruly sense of humor, and overall treated her kindly.

Kind. That’s what you were.

Even towards Donna herself, you never seemed to hold any sense of resentment or disregard for her comfort or security. You’d learned to read her body language alone to know if she was in the mood for chatting, and even on the rare occurrence where she voiced her own thoughts without using Angie, you didn’t pressure her to say more when she fell silent. There was an understanding, it seemed, one that didn’t need to be pointed out to know it was shared.

She was insecure, that much was obvious. Still, you were as patient with her as you were with Angie, and that was something she’d never be able to understand. She was appreciative of how you treated her – seeing her as who she is rather than fearing her every move. In the beginning, she had grown nauseated at the idea of someone convincing you to leave her each time you left to retrieve supplies from the village.

She didn’t understand why she was so anxious over the possibility of you leaving because of her. After all, she was the one who had been on the verge of begging Alcina to take you away. It seemed you had grown on her in such a short amount of time. It was a hard thing to admit to herself, especially as she stood in that hallway on the phone, but she liked you. She enjoyed your company, regardless of the fact she rarely had the courage to speak with you on her own.

She didn’t want you to leave. She couldn’t let you.

“Donna?”

Forcing a small shaky breath to steady herself, Donna was brought back to the present at the sound of her sister’s voice. “No, you won’t need to send for her.”

Alcina chuckled on the other side of the line. “I told you you’d enjoy her company. She’s quite a sweet girl, isn’t she?”

“Sweet, yes. She’s very kind, even to Angie,” Donna murmured, ensuring her voice lowered itself for the last comment. Another gentle laugh greeted her ear. “Well, take good care of her for me, will you? She’s very dear to my daughters, as well as myself. It will be quite a hard task to find a maid as valued as her.” A soft smile graced the doll-maker’s lips. It was rather calming to know her sister thought so highly of you. It lowered the chance of you somehow ending up hurt if you ever joined her on a trip to the castle.

“I promise you she’ll be happy here,” was her reply, voice thick with reassurance and sincerity.

And she kept true to her word, constantly finding new ways to keep you content and even opening herself up to you. It surely took time, however. You hadn’t been given the opportunity to see her face uncovered until you had already lived there for two years. She had led you into her workshop in the basement, requesting for you to tidy things up after she had realized she had neglected the cleanliness of the room for too long.

As you cleaned, Donna returned to her projects, propping up a doll and a few pieces of cloth. A small notebook laid beside the doll, filled with different measurements she’d need for its clothing. It only took a few minutes before you heard her cursing under her breath. When you turned from the desk you had been dusting, you found her holding the notebook almost taut against her veiled face, clearly struggling to read what she had written.

“Lady Beneviento, are you alright?” You had asked, cautiously moving to stand beside the table she was standing at. Her head perked up, turning to you as if she hadn’t realized she had spoken aloud. “Yes,” she stammered, glancing back down at the small notepad, “I’m just used to putting my veil away while I work here. It’s why I haven’t let you down here with me before. I’m afraid I can’t see my writing very well with it on.” A nod was your reply, though you eventually moved to tidy up the desk again.

“Well,” you started, turning away, “you’re still free to take your veil off, of course. Please don’t let my presence here with you stop you from working comfortably.” She shook her head, more to herself than you. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. I’d only scare you away with the hideous monstrosity I hide.” “I can assure you, my Lady, you won’t scare me. I’ve seen horrendous things both in Lady Dimitrescu’s and Lord Moreau’s domains. Besides, if you’re anything like your portrait by the stairs, I highly doubt you have a hideous monstrosity hidden away beneath that veil. You must be just as beautiful.”

Although she stood dumbfounded at your blunt choice of words for what felt like an eternity, you were soon greeted with a scoff. “You’re a fool to believe such a thing. You know nothing of me.” You turned to her then. Seeing the look of pure confusion and what seemed like betrayal contorting your features nearly made her regret her words instantly. “But… Lady Beneviento, I do know you. These past two years–”

“Stai zitto.”

Your small journey to return to her side was cut short at her harsh tone. Such a plain-spoken phrase, laced purely with a concoction of venom and insecurity. You couldn’t bring yourself to move any closer. “All you know of who I am has come solely from those wretched villagers who smear my name through the mud at every given opportunity. They’ve painted a portrait of me, and it’s been glazed over time and time again with their harsh judgment. That portrait is not me, nor is the one you claim to find beautiful.”

Her breathing grew ragged as she spoke, voice leaping in volume as she recalled every rumor that found its way floating through the village like a fog. A short moment passed before she had to drop the notebook onto the table. Her hands were shaking far too violently for her to hold it comfortably.

“Cazzo,” she hissed, clutching at her palms and squeezing them tightly together in a futile attempt to steady them. Finally regaining your courage, you stepped forward, placing a hand on her shoulder only for it to be slapped away. “Non toccarmi!” With your hands held up in surrender, you allowed yourself a brief moment to choose your words carefully. “Please, my Lady, listen to me.”

A mocking laugh met your words, Donna now turned to you with her arms crossed. You could see how her nails dug into her sleeves and skin to a painful degree. “I have no reason to listen to you,” she retorted coldly. “I know that, my Lady, but I’m only asking for a short amount of your time. Will you hear me out?”

Had you been able to see past her veil, you would’ve seen how her eye narrowed as it focused on you – would’ve seen her brow furrowing deeply and creasing her skin – and you would’ve seen her lips pulling themselves tightly back into a scowl. Regardless of being unable to see such things riddling her face, you could tell from her tense figure that she was truly uncomfortable. Even so, when she made no effort to decline again, you parted your lips to speak once again.

“I know you must think that I’ve followed and believed every rumor there is out in the village related to you, but I assure you I’ve never paid any mind to such unnecessary lies. I’ve seen you, and I’ve seen how you treat others, even if Angie is the one to speak for you. During my time at the castle, I was able to watch when you’d spend time with Lady Dimitrescu or her daughters. It was clear there was some tension with your sister whenever you’d speak to her about your meetings with Mother Miranda, but you always treated her kindly.

“I couldn’t understand why the other maids feared you each time you’d come to visit. I still don’t understand. You’re everything the villagers claimed you aren’t. You’re a kind soul, my Lady, and you’ve only continued to show me that with every passing day I’ve stayed here. When I grew bored after finishing my tasks for the day, you and Angie would help me find a way to entertain myself. You’ve provided me with shelter, food, security, and a type of friendship I’d never thought I’d find.” Slowly, you took her hands from her arms and cradled them in your own, watching as the pads of your thumbs grazed soothingly over the backs of her knuckles. She stiffened, though she didn’t pull away.

“I promise you that, regardless of whatever you may think is bad enough to keep hidden even in the safety of your own home, I will never judge you for who you truly are. There’s nothing you could do to make me turn away from you.” Silence became tension once again, though you weren’t sure if it was caused by your words or your close proximity to the doll-maker.

You didn’t pull away, instead standing there and waiting for any kind of reply from her, even if she were to shove you away. Surprise flooded your senses when you felt her hands finally shift in yours to comfortably squeeze them back in return. “You’re an incredibly naive woman,” she mumbled, though there was only affection in her voice. It was clear she was smiling as she spoke. You smiled back at her.

Hesitating, you wondered if it would be acceptable for you to ask her to remove her veil. As though she could hear your thoughts, she slipped her hands out from yours, lifting them to her veil and toying with the hem. When she paused, you glanced back up at her with curiosity. “Would you mind turning around for a moment?” You nodded and obeyed instantly without a word, turning on your heel and waiting patiently for her to let you turn her way again.

It only took a moment for her to shuffle a bit behind you before you were granted permission to face her. When you did, you smiled at the sight of her veil pinned partially away from her face, only revealing half of the same face you saw each day when you’d pass her portrait.

“I was right. You’re beautiful.”

You had managed to gain enough of her trust for her to reveal the healthier side of herself, though it took even longer to see that part of her consistently. Another two years flashed by. You had grown rather close to Donna, so much so that you were finally allowed to address her by her name, and she sat you down in her room one night for a talk. It was then that the whole of her veil was finally removed and set aside. Putting every bit of her trust in you in that moment, she showed you the worst part of her – the part she despised the most.

She had expected anything but the reaction you had. As she built up her courage over time, she had imagined you losing every ounce of color in your face, your skin growing clammy. She pictured you screaming or groaning in utter disgust. She even envisioned you treating her like the monster she was and running for your life, leaving her all alone again.

But you did none of those things. You smiled at her so kindly, and it was a shock to her system to see the adoration in your eyes only grow at the sight of her. “My god,” you whispered, lifting your hands and cradling her face in them without hesitation. It was impossible for her to hide the crimson reddening her face at your actions, affection still an entirely foreign concept to her. “You’re just as stunning as I figured, Donna.”

A quiet laugh escaped her as she shook her head as much as she could in your hold. “I’ll never understand how you find everything beautiful.”

Even as she protested against how genuine you were being, some part of her finally felt at ease. She had shown you her biggest vulnerability, and you were still desperate to stay by her side. Each time she took her veil off in your company, you were nothing but positive, tossing out compliment after compliment in her direction.

Soon, she could be found lingering around the house as she worked, lacking her veil on most days. She’d tug it back on if the Dimitrescus came for a visit or if she had another family meeting with Mother Miranda and her siblings, but she found it far too comfortable when she was alone with you to hide herself away. With time, her trust in you grew alongside her endearment, and it didn’t take long for her to understand what her feelings for you were. She denied them for months, but Angie eventually scolded her for being so cowardly, expressing her annoyance with seeing just how hopeless Donna was on her own.

She spent time – weeks leading to months – trying to conjure up a plan on how she could let you know of her feelings. There were so many things she wanted to try, wanting to ensure her confession was genuine and romantic.

However, none of those plans came to light. Her feelings were made known purely by chance.

You had invited her to watch a movie that Angie had picked out from the Duke’s cart. She accepted with glee, thrilled just as she always was when you made an effort to include her in your plans. With her help, you set up the film and flipped on the projector before planting yourself on the sofa and making yourself comfortable. Donna watched fondly as you bundled up underneath a soft blanket and grabbed the bowl of popcorn you and Angie had prepared ahead of time.

With a smile, she joined you on the couch, albeit leaving a few inches of space between you to avoid coming across as too bold. She let herself lean against the back of the sofa, resting her head against the cushioning with a content sigh as her gaze focused forward on the film. As the movie progressed, you shared a few words with her, though – much to Angie’s dismay – it quickly turned into playful banter, something that had become a common occurrence.

Already knowing where things were headed, Angie snuck out of the room without notice. At one point, Donna moved closer with one of her teasing remarks, her hand sliding to you and resting on your hip without much thought. You didn’t refuse her touch, nor did you seem uncomfortable. You seemed rather inviting with her affection. You made it clear that you didn’t mind when you pulled her into your arms and practically cocooned her with the blanket.

She yelped in surprise at first, but you both burst into fits of giggles immediately after. Her laughter settled before yours, and she was left to gaze up at you, eye stricken with so much love that she was sure you could see hearts in it. Her smile was warm when you calmed yourself and stared back down at her. Curiosity sparked in her for a moment, wondering if you could feel her heart hammering heavily against her ribs as clearly as she could hear it in her ears, though it was diminished and replaced with the all-too-familiar feeling of need and desperation.

No other words had to be shared, she knew. It was clear from the small gleam in your eyes that you were needing her just as badly as she needed you in that moment. Surprisingly keeping her composure, Donna leaned up until she hovered above you, leaving you to feel her breath on your lips as they brushed against hers. One look back at you let her know everything was okay, and she finally allowed herself to close the gap, sighing in satisfaction at the feeling of being so close to you.

Every urge and ounce of desperation for intimacy that had built up over the years finally melted away peacefully that night and was instead replaced by the love that swelled up in her heart. As you laid in her arms, head resting against her bare chest as you slowly caught your breath again, she tilted her head down and pressed another feather-like kiss to the top of your head. When you turned to look up at her, she smiled.

“I love you.”

The next several days that followed, those three words were shared between you and Donna on a near-constant basis. They were heard so frequently that Angie insisted she carry a blanket or pillow around to cover her ears with, whining each time you or the doll-maker made a flirty or corny comment to the other. Donna had essentially attached herself to your side, always wanting to be where you were and vice versa. When you’d end up alone in a separate room, it wouldn’t take long for her to find you and join you in whatever you were doing.

A week after her confession, she’d unwillingly headed off to another family meeting. You had to convince her that morning to get up for the day. She clung to you in bed, groaning and whining anytime you tried to pull away, until you ultimately managed to wake her up properly with the promises of those kisses she adored so much. Reluctantly, she got dressed after a quick shower and wandered downstairs with you, where you peppered her face in kisses before helping her put her veil on, watching with a smile as Angie hopped into her arms once she made it to the front door.

You waved goodbye to her as she left, then returned to bed to rest for a while longer. After waking up only a couple of hours later, you trudged to the lift, then across the house until you made it into the kitchen, which only caused your stomach to growl loudly in anticipation. Rummaging through the cabinets and pantry resulted in you finding a small box of pasta and several herbs and spices to add to it. It didn’t take long to collect everything you needed before you found yourself standing by the stove, chopping up your chosen ingredients with a practiced ease.

After accumulating everything onto the small cutting board, you shifted carefully to the stovetop, where you then began scraping the chopped up herbs into the pot of boiling water, then placed the board to the side as you grabbed the spices and sprinkled them in.

Shortly after setting the pasta into the pot, you heard the front door open and shut. Immediately after, Angie’s quick footsteps echoed throughout the house until they eventually vanished upstairs. You hummed and smiled to yourself. She was most likely looking for you. “Tesoro?” Donna’s voice called out gently, helping you realize she was still by the front door. Heavier but slower footsteps were heard rounding the corner and nearing the entrance to the kitchen, ones in which you recognized right away. You turned to look at her when she walked in, smiling gleefully when you saw her veil had already been removed, fully allowing you to see how her eye lit up and her lips tugged upwards into a smile at the sight of you.

“Hey,” you whispered, voice still thick with fatigue. “You’re home.” She nodded, sauntering to stand behind you and plant her hands firmly on your hips, leaning forward to let her lips graze over the side of your neck. “I missed you,” she murmured against your skin, smiling when you chuckled. “You were only gone for a couple of hours.” “Yes, but I wasn’t exactly thrilled to leave this morning, if you recall. Those damned meetings are never useful anyway. I’m not sure why Mother Miranda insists we have them. It always just ends with Alcina and Karl arguing.”

Humming in thought, you slipped your hands down to rest on top of hers, briefly lifting one to peck the backs of her knuckles before lowering it to rest on your hip again. “Well, it’s over now, so you can relax again. You’re home.”

A sigh slipped past her lips as she moved to pull you back until you rested comfortably against her front, allowing her to wrap her arms around you properly. Again, her face returned to hide in the comfort of your skin, her lips pressed gently against your shoulder. Far before you ever arrived at her home, she had gone to countless family meetings, all of which ended the same: returning to the manor with a throbbing headache that she would have to deal with all alone.

She supposed she owed thanks to her older sister for introducing you into her life. Next time, she promised herself, she would tell her how grateful she was, but for now, she only wanted to cradle you in her arms and let all the stress and tension from the day melt away. You were the very thing that made this place a home – you were her home. Never again would she have to worry about isolation, nor would she dread returning to the estate each time she left, the cold, empty silence a long-forgotten memory now that she had you.

Humming, she hid herself further against you, allowing her eye to fall shut as she took in everything about you that never failed to bring her comfort and peace. She nodded.

“Yes. Now that I have you in my arms again, I am.”

Thanks for the all of the support, by the way!

Started on: November 7th, 2024 Finished on: November 18th, 2024

[babey-fruit-bat]

Molliter Nix Cadit - Softly the Snow Falls

Caracalla goes to great lengths to cure your home sickness, in more ways than one 💍🎄🥂✨

Please Note:

Slight time skip, fast slow-burn, strangers to lovers

Not sure if this will be OOC for Caracalla- author has not seen movie but has seen some spoilers - I heard Dondus is a boy in the movie- author took creative liberties and she’s a gal now

Reader wears braids in hair and is referred to as female- no other descriptors !! Viking/Norse communities ‘adopted’ people from all walks of life and never had just one ‘look’

Language translations list at the end of story (It’s just Google translate rip) xx

🕯️🕊️🎄🥂🕯️🕊️🎄🥂🕯️🕊️🎄🥂🕯️🕊️🎄🥂🕯️

Rome seemed worlds away from your home the closer and closer you got to city center

The sounds, smells, and colors were dulled to your senses as you were brought before the young emperors through the palace gates

Your home in the North had seen much destruction, not from the romans, but other enemy ships and villages

And so you’d fled away with other young woman and children in hopes of peace, of freedom

You should have known it wouldn’t be so simple

You stood facing petty theft from a roman carriage with food, you plead in your broken tongue as best you could for them to spare you- the bread in your hands ripped and flung away

It was fate that Geta had allowed Caracalla to bring Dondus to the city hearings today to keep his boredom and episodes at bay- she was usually always able to calm him

The bread landed close to the emperors feet and Dondus leapt down at once, never one to turn away a snack

With tears in your eyes you watched as a pet was allowed the full loaf over you and you hung your head in defeat- your fate was in their hands

Ever the lady, Dondus ran to share a piece of bread with her master, looking at you with her wide eyes

Caracalla took the piece of bread and popped it in his mouth before speaking

“Where is she from? She’s not Roman, nor Greek?”

A guard bowed and spoke “She hails from the North, the savage lands”

His eyes glittered darkly realizing she was so far from home, from family or friends- only you, all alone, and what was a poor girl to do? Caracalla could use some fun, he’d tired from the same concubines and you looked so different from any Roman citizens

Your hair in serval braids marking victories over your enemies while on the road, dark eye makeup and clothing to blend into the grey, cold Earth- you stuck out like a sore thumb in the richly colored city

He declared no harm to fall you and ensured you’d be treated as his guest, Geta rolled his eyes but had no objection to his brothers latest conquest

Caracalla had you and your few belongings moved to a room in his wing of the palace- gifting you every finery the next morning, including a glorious rose water bath and large breakfast right to your bedside.

After you were dressed in the softest rose shades, complimenting your figure draped in glittering finery

You saw little of him throughout the first weeks dedicating time to learn the roman culture and language.

When the servants found you presentable he had you accompany him throughout the day.

Between meetings and social gatherings you felt as much of a pet as lady Dondus, who affectionately rode on your shoulder most evenings.

It was one evening she joined you in your room, both resting on a table as you scribbled away in a journal.

You’d written so many stories from your first day and escaping death to the witness of gladiator tournaments and the place gardens.

It felt as though you’d entered your own Valhalla and praised your Gods for a safe journey. The solstice was approaching and though the Romans had their own celebrations and Gods you’d not forgotten yourself or family.

It was a quiet, early morning, not even the servants had rose out of bed

Caracalla, unable to sleep his mind plagued- and venturing out of bed, found you weeping in the gardens. The pines set out for Saturnalia so similar and different to yours back home

He sat softly next to you bringing you close in a warm embrace, wrapping an outer layer of his toga over you keeping you warm on the stone bench

“Why do you weep, Dulcissima?”

Your journal beside you, you’d opened the page with your writing about the winter solstice- ‘Yule- the Winter Solstice” is what you called it

Visions of spiced cakes, roasted meats, ale and mead, every recipe you could remember, drawings of Yule decorations and traditions, gift giving and the stationary scent of dried oranges hit Caracalla full force

Not only inviting him into your small world but realizing you were terribly homesick, the festivities of Saturnalia looking so similar were no help to your sorrow

He was determined to do everything in his power to impress you with a Yule festival fit for a Goddess

It was a week of strait planning and preparation, forgoing his formal duties in favor of planning the perfect feast.

He’d demanded the largest pines found in the city displayed in the grand hall of the palace

Droves of servants rapidly created ornaments, bits, and bobbles made of metal by the hundreds, placing each one on the tree with care despite the task at hand

Meticulous effort went into creating each recipe to perfection, in Caracalla’s eyes nothing was good enough, he’d tasted every dish and hoped it was close enough to your meals back home

You arose the day of the festival, maids preparing the bath in Caracalla’s room and leading you in, scrubbed down with rich oils of vanilla, cinnamon, clove and cherry

You were dried and dressed in a deep green and gold stola with a soft white fur collared cape

Your hair was styled in sweeping, grand braids with gold pieces and a pine wreath replaced the traditional laurel

You felt like a Goddess dressed so nicely for what felt like the most magical day

You’d spent your time the past week crafting a gift for Caracalla, a beautiful new blade, bronzed handle engraved with the sacred runic words Viska, Sigur, and Ast, the last word you’d treasured the most

You found yourself growing fonder and fonder of Caracalla’s company and the time he made for you each day grew longer and longer

He’d said he found it impossible to stay away from you- plucking the nearest flower down to place behind your ear the first month of your stay

That memory felt so familiar now as Caracalla met you on the steps “You look divine, Carissima - You’ll outshine all here!”

You could say the same for him, looking nothing less than regal in a long emerald toga and donned a golden laurel

You blushed as you took his arm guiding you to the grand hall with a confident stride, the tree aglow with candle light and strung with red berries

You delighted all night sharing a large feast, music, you friends company and relished the grandeur Calla had spent so much effort to display for you

He made you feel welcome, invited and included- he warmed you from the inside out

As the festivities died down he pulled you aside to the gardens, they were decorated with silver and gold garland illuminated by the moonlight

You walked hand in hand stopping at a stone bench with a cover when a light snow began to fall

“It seems you’ve brought Aquilo’s spirt to Rome this season- it was a wonder I found you” he sighed caressing your face

You grabbed his hand lifting your gaze to his “It seems that Rome is becoming more like home the longer I stay”

“I have one more surprise for you, Dulcissima!” He whispered excitedly, leaning closer to you “Dondus?”

You gazed up a she dropped down to a lower branch and dropped a bundle of leaves into his hand before scurrying off for more treats from the grand hall

“Have you ever heard the story of visci, Cor Meum?” He said, taking you hand once more

You shook your head never hearing this story but recognizing the plant and the tradition it carried back home you hoped his story would lead you down the same path

You giggled with a blush as he pulled you in by the waist holding the bundle over your head “Let me show you, Carissima” his lips moulding perfectly to yours in an unbreakable kiss

It seemed to last a lifetime in only a few moments and he knew he could have no other in his life

“Mea Omnia please be mine? I’ll give you anything you could desire- you’ll want for nothing except to spend you days committed to your passions- I’ll treasure you always. With you by my side I will be unstoppable in every way- Make me feel alive- whole. Become my Empress?” He held a crafted ring with delicately placed emeralds surrounding a lavish diamond in the center, inside was carved the symbols of Mars and Venus- a true work of art.

A soft gasp left you, eyes welling with tears at his truest, most vulnerable confession

“Of course my Calla! How could I turn away your love, your bewitching displays of affection? You see me as I am and who I am becoming, as I see you” you pulled out your gift to him, the dagger embellished with your language, a sacred blessing for you lover

“It’s blesses the wielder with wisdom, victory, and love, things you now have much success in” you said, a giddy lilt in your voice. He swung you around laughing softly holding you close and slipping your ring on your hand

“I shall wield it every day if I must, vanquish anyone who would try and take you away from me!” He taunted and slipped the dagger into an inner pocket

Now strolling arm in arm again he pulled you in for another kiss, the snow softly coating you both in the silent, perfect night

🕯️🕊️🎄🥂🕯️🕊️🎄🥂🕯️🕊️🎄🥂🕯️🕊️🎄🥂🕯️

Anyways!! Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed xx

📜Tag list: @doodle-with-rhy @s-lverwing @certifiedcodbabygirl

Language Translations:

Title - Molliter Nix Cadit - Softly the Snow Falls

Dulcissima - Sweetest

Carissma - Dearest

Viska, Sigur, and Ast - Wisdom, Victory, Love

Aquilo - Roman God of winter and the North wind

Visci - Mistletoe

Cor Meum - My Heart

Mea Omnia - My Everything