#(drawn on my lunch break today)

[tracfone]

Sillies

[solarmorrigan]

“Hey.”

Eddie looks up from the inventory sheet he’s bent over (the new shipment of records isn’t going to record itself – Christ, that was awful, Henderson is contagious) to see his coworker Kyle poking his head into the back room.

“Someone left something for you at the counter.”

“Who?” Eddie asks, brows furrowed.

Most everyone in town seems to have let the murder accusations drop (embarrassed enough by their own fanatical reactions that they’d much rather forget the whole thing), but a few people still treat him like a felon walking free; it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.

“Uh, real normie-looking guy. Gives you a ride sometimes.”

Eddie blinks. “Steve?”

“Yeah, sure.” Kyle shrugs. “Says you left it in his car.”

Whatever Eddie is expecting to see when he follows Kyle back out to the front counter of the music shop, a brown bag lunch isn’t it. He most certainly hadn’t left that in Steve’s car this morning.

Steve hadn’t even given him a ride that morning.

But it’s got his name on it, sure enough, in Steve’s weirdly neat handwriting. The asshole even drew a little heart next to it.

Eddie can already feel a smile pulling across his face as he snatches up the bag. Maybe he hadn’t forgotten his lunch in Steve’s car, but he certainly hadn’t brought one in with him. He’d been planning to hit up the McDonald’s down the street if he got desperate, but whatever Steve’s brought him is bound to be better.

“Your girlfriend pack that for you?” Kyle asks.

Eddie lets out a little huff of a laugh, for a minute not quite sure how to answer.

Gender assumptions aside, Eddie doesn’t know what to call this thing with Steve – this thing where they’d started screwing and then they’d started falling asleep together without screwing and then they’d started spending all their free time together and now Steve does things like pack Eddie lunch and bring it to him at work.

“Sorta,” he finally settles on.

“Dude, if she’s making you lunch and writing little hearts next to your name, she’s more than ‘sorta’ your girlfriend,” Kyle says.

“Yeah… Maybe,” Eddie allows, because – well, because maybe.

“Pretty nice of your friend to drive it over, though,” Kyle says. “Pretty sure at least half of my friends would’ve just eaten it.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says again, warm and a little smug, “Steve’s a good dude.”

He digs into the lunch sack and finds an apple sitting on top (of course), a baggie of Keebler fudge cookies (score), and a Tupperware container filled with–

“Oh, fuck yes!” Eddie hugs the precious little tub full of macaroni and cheese to his chest like he’s doing his best Gollum impression. There is nothing in the world better than Steve’s mac and cheese.

It’s still warm.

“I’m taking my break!” Eddie declares, skittering off to the back room before Kyle can argue.

He sits himself down in the employee break area (a crappy folding table, two mismatched chairs, and a microwave so old he’s probably getting radiation poisoning just by sitting next to it) and digs in to the cheesy goodness that is Steve’s cooking.

He’ll eat the apple after, he reasons.

(No he won’t.)

As he eats, his eyes drift back to the crumpled brown bag, to the little heart drawn in bleeding black sharpie, and he thinks.

-

Steve’s house smells like chicken and herbs when Eddie lets himself in early in the evening, and oh, Steve must be in a good mood today.

Eddie feels spoiled.

He finds Steve in the kitchen, wrist-deep in sudsy water as he sways back and forth absently to the tune of the rock station coming from the radio on the windowsill. The room is warm, and something delicious-smelling in a covered pan is simmering on the stove, and the space behind Steve is invitingly empty, just waiting for Eddie to sidle up into it.

Eddie feels so, so spoiled.

Steve doesn’t startle when Eddie slides in behind him and wraps his arms around his waist, but Eddie isn’t really surprised anymore; it seems like Steve can always tell when someone is there.

He does glance over his shoulder, though, just long enough for Eddie to see the smile on his face before he turns back to the dishes. “Hi.”

Eddie’s pretty sure the smile on his own face is softer and infinitely more besotted. “Hi.”

“Good day at work?” Steve asks.

Eddie hums, pressing a kiss to the top of Steve’s shoulder. “You brought me lunch.”

“I’m glad Kyle actually gave it to you,” Steve says. “Wasn’t sure someone else wouldn’t eat it.”

“I got it,” Eddie says, as if there was any doubt with the way he’s still smiling in between trailing little kisses up Steve’s neck.

Steve shuts the water off and dries his hands on the towel hanging off the cupboard door before turning in Eddie’s arms to give him a proper kiss. “It was good?”

Eddie hums again. “You brought me lunch.”

“We’ve established that, yeah,” Steve laughs, allowing Eddie another kiss as he grins.

“You made me lunch,” Eddie says, pecking another kiss to Steve’s lips, still smiling like an idiot. “And you drove it up to the store for me.”

Steve shrugs, a little coy. “It’s my day off. I had time to kill.”

“Kyle says that makes you more than sorta my girlfriend,” Eddie replies, as if that will make any sense at all to Steve.

Whether it makes sense or not, it does make him laugh, and Eddie peppers kisses all over his face while he does.

“So it was good?” Steve asks again, when he’s caught his breath.

“You made me lunch and then you drove it over to me,” Eddie stresses. “It could’ve tasted like ass, and it still would’ve been the best thing ever.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but is more than obliging to the deep kiss Eddie pulls him into after that.

“But just so we’re clear,” Steve says when they break apart, “it didn’t taste like ass, right?”

“Oh my god, no,” Eddie finally relents. “It was literally the best thing I’ve ever eaten. I’m going to marry you so you can make that mac and cheese for me every day.”

“Every day, huh?” There’s a funny little smile climbing back over Steve’s face. “You sure you won’t get sick of it?”

“Nah,” Eddie replies confidently. “Never.”

They’re both smiling a little too much now to really kiss, but they make a good go of it anyway.

[Prompt: Smiling between kisses]

[satoruhour]

a/n: something possessed me and i just started writing ... / 1.2k

warnings: age gap (reader in 20s and in uni, nanami in his late 30s), oral / cunnilingus, doggy, daddy kink, implied overstim, unprotected sex, creampie / breeding kink, like brief fingering?, implied multiple rounds, n*sfw under the cut

thinking about dad’s best friend!nanami who helps you to move into your university dormitory, arms flexing against his tight dark blue shirt as you try not to stare. it’s unbecoming, eyes trailing over the sweat dripping down his forehead, the sharp lines of his jawline and furrowed brows, espeically since he met your dad long ago when he first joined the company, seeing you from time to time in your father’s office in high school. but nanami never thought he’d see you to grow up to be the woman you are today, moving into your very own room with a bright smile — ready to take on your major and the world.

“everything in?” your dad asks with tears in his eyes and you simply push his shoulder, telling him how i’ll be fine, dad! before hugging him in between boxes and plastic bags. just behind him, nanami shoots you a gentle smile too, recalling on the times when he’s seen you help out at the office in your gap year, where you slip in little sandwiches on your lunch breaks. he thinks it’s you wanting to revisit old times where your father would buy danish pastry just for you to give it to the blonde man, but you’re hoping to melt his stoicism even further to the point of wanting things to happen — things you didn’t even want to admit out loud — with how fine nanami has aged over the years.

but one visit turned into two. the second one with your dad where rather, they talked while you worked on an assignment, but you enjoyed both of their presence. two turned into three — the third where nanami has already memorised how many steps it would take to reach your room. three turned into five, and five turned into nine where his hand would wander past your bedsheets and onto your figure, where casual talk about his work turned into conversations about you and what you liked. but nanami was always afraid of crossing over.

it was the tenth visit where dad’s best friend!nanami shows up sweaty and panting like he needs to tell you something, but when your eyes drift down to the hand he tries to hide the gears click in your head. it was only fifteen minutes ago that nanami has himself cooped up in the admin toilet downstairs, fist pumping his cock impatiently while he imagines your tits in front of his face, bouncing. where your hips do the same, whining out into his neck as your pussy clenches and gushes around him. it’s because he was interrupted by a knock that the first thing he did was to come here, but he wasn’t thinking straight. that all fades away when your hand cups his bulge, squeezing slightly that nanami wants to unbuckle his pants, but you drag him into your room before he can do it.

dad’s best friend!nanami who has your panties stuffed into your mouth as he eats you out on the dormitory bed, slurping every last bit of your juices up while his mouth works wonders on your dripping cunt. “nanami-san! p-please—” it’s a struggle to talk through fabric but you manage to get the words out, hips starting to hump into his mouth, feeling nothing like this before in your life as he nibs and sucks on your clit. nanami hums into your pussy and his arms tighten around your thighs, “please what? words, baby, use your words.” you shiver at the timbre of his voice, alongside the smoothness in which he removes your underwear. “but not too loud, or else everyone in school will know what a dirty slut you are for your father’s best friend.”

dad’s best friend!nanami who has your face shoved into your my melody bedsheets as he pounds into you from behind, shirt held up by his teeth so he can the way you take just all of his fat cock. by now, he’s drawn out multiple orgasms after holding back on you for so long — it was a sight, a babbling, pathetic mess on the bed while your cum drips from your core right down to the sheets. it’s beyond easy to slip into your hole, and nanami has to squeeze your waist so hard to try not to cum that you’re telling him to loosen his grip and he apologises with kisses down your back. he’s only kissed you once so far so you moan into the second kiss that night, hips moving back onto his pelvis before he slams his length right into you.

dad’s best friend!nanami’s demeanour changes altogether after that sweet, sensual kiss, pushing down on your arch before setting a pace, dick twitching from how tight and warm you felt around him. “can’t believe you kept this pussy from me for s’long…” nanami is entranced by his best friend’s daughter’s cunt, sucking him in so well he starts to realise that maybe buying sandwiches everyday wasn’t simply for reminsincing. you fight against his strong grip, smiling up at him, deliriously. “yeah? it’s all for you, daddy.” and nanami forgets his own rule, groaning out loud at the drop of the name as he continues to slam into you. it’s so wet and sticky, pre-cum mixed with your cum together with the slap of his balls on your ass, it was so fucking disgusting in that room and you loved it.

whines of “daddy’s” were all that was coherent from your mouth, headboard of the bed rocking with naanmi’s rough thrusts as you become more and more intoxicated on his cock. nanami easily removes his shirt, then, reaching an arm around and starts to rub your clit, feeling your pussy flutter around him before you’re jolting in surprise at the sudden orgasm, mouth going slack and your eyes seeing white from its intensity. nanami slows down just a little for you to adjust, but soon he rails into you again, low grunts leaving his lips before he’s asking where you want him to cum and he wants to burn your fucked out expression into his brain and seal your whimpers from ever escaping his thoughts.

“wan’ your cum in me, daddy— p-please!” you moan out, spreading your cheeks and pussy lips to tell him you were serious. “b-but—” nanami was getting lightheaded, your walls feel too good around him and he just wants to cum. “wonder what my dad would think having his best friend fill me with so much cum that he knocks me up? that would be exciting, right?” and nanami scoffs at what a filthy girl you are. sure, if you wanted his cum dripping out of your cunt while you attended lectures, while your joked with your dad, he’ll give it to you. he’ll give anything to you. there’s a choked moan that leaves nanami as he stills, pumping you full of his semen while your fingers close around the sheets and your pleas are muffled by them. you can fill each spurt of cum from his tip, flowing into you so well that it dribbles out from your pussy, pushing it out before there’s a swipe of nanami’s finger plunging into you.

��if my sweet girl wants my cum, she’s going to keep it in. well — after i give her a few more loads, of course.”

so many dorm escapades.. maybe im projecting a little cause is this so difficult to ask for???

[afictionaladventure16]

A Little Unsteady (Tim Bradford x Teen!Fem!Reader)

The Rookie Masterlist

Summary: Y/N finds herself back at square one and desperate for a break. Tim has always felt like something was missing in his life and when Y/N stumbles into the police station looking for his girlfriend, he feels drawn to her, like he was called to help her.

Warnings: Mentions of abuse and death

Word Count: 3,138

Authors note: Let me know what y'all think of this, might make it into an angsty series! Send in the requests!

Shit. 

“Fuck,” you whispered to yourself, your mind racing to a million thoughts. The sound of a million voices rang through your ears as you entered the building, but that was all an exaggeration, it was only a room with maybe a good thirty people. 

Spending your lunch period at the police station was the last thing you wanted to do, but you were desperate and eager to find that familiar face. You knew Rachel hung around the police station when she wasn’t in her office, whether it was for work or personal, this had to be the place she was gonna be at. 

Walking up to the front desk, anxiously tapping your fingers on the counter catching the lady behind the counter's attention. The lady’s eyes landed on your fingers, “Can I help you, hon?” 

you clenched your fingers to your palm, “Sorry,” you gave her an apologetic smile. 

She smiled, “I get it, police stations give lots of people anxiety. What can I help you with today?” 

You were quick to notice police officers standing near the counter looking through files and some sitting down and typing away on a computer. “I- Um, I’m looking for Rachel Hall. She’s a social worker and sometimes she’s here.” 

“Rachel Hall,” the receptionist repeated as she looked through the log-in log. 

One of the officers quickly turned his head, “You’re looking for Rachel?” He asked. 

You looked over at him, giving him a nod. “You know her, Officer Bradford?” 

“Yeah, she’s… a friend. She’s actually here doing some paperwork.” He walked over to where you stood, “I can show you where she is.” 

You gave him a hesitant nod, and he gave you a reassuring smile in return before thanking the receptionist and walking out of the room. You followed his lead, he turned to look over at you before asking, “So, how do you know Rachel?” 

“She used to be my social worker before…” you trailed off, clearing your throat. “Doesn’t matter.” 

Tim decided not to press on any further as he led you to a meeting room where a lot of social workers come to do wellness checks and supervised visitations, among many other things. He knew Rachel had been at the station for a supervised visitation, one that unfortunately had to be conducted within the police station for safety reasons. Thankfully, she was done with her visitation and was just finishing up on her paperwork before heading back to her office. Tim liked to believe she stayed longer just so she could see him or even catch a glimpse before she headed back out. 

“Rachel!” You exclaimed, letting out a sigh of relief as Rachel quickly turned her head, surprised to see who had called her name. 

“Y/N?” She got up from her seat, “What are you doing here?” 

You walked over to Rachel, “I needed to see you, you’re the only one who would believe me.” 

Rachel glanced at Tim who just gave her a shrug, “What’s going on?” 

“I can’t stay at that house anymore, there has to be something you can do.” 

Rachel sighed, “Y/N, I’m not your case worker anymore. Anything I do would get me in trouble.” As much as she wanted to do something, it would be putting her job on the line and it meant she wouldn’t be able to help other kids as well. She was already at risk for making a huge mistake on a case a couple weeks back. 

Tears began to well up in your eyes, “I can’t stay there.” 

“Y/N, why can’t you stay there?” Tim asked.

You glanced over at Tim, remaining silent. “Y/N, what did they do to you?” You didn’t respond, you had come here for help but the words had escaped you. You didn’t know how to tell the one person who helped you escape a hellish home a few months back, a home that almost cost her, her job; that the home she thought would be safe is far from it. “Did they hurt you?” Looking back at Rachel, you gave her a nod. 

Rachel let out a shaky sigh, there were times when she lost hope for the system. This was one of those times. She looked over at Tim before looking over at you, “You have to tell Sasha, Y/N.” 

“I did tell her!” You said in frustration, “But she hasn’t done anything! It’s like she doesn’t even care.” Rachel didn’t want to defend her friend's behavior, but this didn’t sound like her. At least not from how she knew her. 

“I-I,” she sighed, “I can’t do anything Y/N.” 

With pleading eyes, you gave her an understanding nod, “I just don’t want to go back there.” 

Tim hated seeing this part of the job. Seeing how the system worked and how it meant that kids within the system went to homes that didn’t even care about their existence. “What if I did a wellness check?” Tim asked, “That way, I can come in and check on you, and then your foster parents will know that someone knows about the situation?” 

“Like a scaring tactic,” Rachel added. 

“Exactly, It’s not the best but it could help,” Tim tried his best to be hopeful. 

It wasn’t what you wanted. It was far from it, actually, but beggars can’t be choosers. “Alright.” 

Tim offered you a ride back to school and you accepted. The whole car ride back, you felt defeated, given that all you had received was damage control. Nothing could be done about your situation, not yet at least. 

“So, what grade are you in?” Tim asked, trying his best to distract you from your thoughts. 

“I’m a freshman.” 

He nodded, “any thought about college yet?” 

You shook your head, “even if I did, I doubt I would even be able to go.” 

“There’s always scholarships,” he said with a hopeful tone. 

“Did you go to college?” You asked. 

“No, actually. I went into the military then I became a cop, obviously.” You nodded, “That could also be an option too.” You didn’t say anything in response, you drew attention back to the houses you passed by on the car ride. Tim cleared his throat, he knew what it was like to be in your shoes. Wishing for someone to help you from the people that were supposed to protect you. “So, what’s your story?” 

“What’s yours?” you retorted. 

Tim rolled his eyes, usually, he wouldn't have played this game. But something within him felt like you needed to hear his story, maybe it would you realize that everything could turn out okay, even if everything at the moment felt a little unsteady. 

“I grew up with an abusive father, I spent most of my life fighting to survive.” He gave you a quick glance before focusing back on the road, “So I know what’s it like, to wish someone would just help, for someone to just take you away from the one place you’re supposed to feel safe in.” 

You remained silent for the next few minutes, Tim groaned at the sigh of the traffic ahead of him. “We’re going to be here a while,” he commented. 

You sighed, “my dad died in front of me,” you spoke up. 

Tim glanced over at you, “my parents were high school sweethearts apparently and when my dad passed away, my mom couldn’t handle it. I’m sure if you went down skid row, you’d find her lying on the ground somewhere with a needle stuck in her arm. I’ve been in and out of foster homes since I was eight. My mom's been in and out of rehab since then.” 

“That’s not easy,” Tim commented. He had a lot of things to say about how your mother handled things but to each their own. His heart ached at the thought that you didn’t have a good structure in your life. 

“Nope,” you responded. “Rachel was the only one that ever did something to take me out of my previous foster home, even if it almost cost her job.” 

“And now you feel like you’ve wasted all your resources.” 

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Just five more years and I’ll be out of the system's hands.” 

The traffic began to move again. Minutes later, Tim pulled into the school parking lot. “Before you go,” he began as he reached into his shirt pocket, took out a card, and handed it to you. “If you ever need anything and I mean anything, you give me a call.” 

You took the card, giving him a small smile, “Thank you, Officer Bradford.” you got out of the shop, closing the door behind you. Giving Tim a small wave goodbye before you snuck back into campus. 

Tim made it his personal assignment to check up on you from there on out, to make sure you were all right, not just for you but for Rachel too. It was the least he could do, even though everything within him wanted to do more. He wanted to save you from your personal hell, but it was impossible for him at the moment. 

When he made it back to the station, Rachel was there waiting for him, “How’d it go?” 

“I gave her my card, and told her she could call me if there’s anything she needed. I’ll do a wellness check before the end of my shift,” he stated. 

“Thank you.” Rachel sighed, “She was one of my first cases, so she means a lot to me.” The two of them remained quiet for a moment, the situation between the two of them has been different since Rachel got a job in New York. “Promise me something?” 

Tim looked up at her, “Anything.” 

“Look after her for me? While I’m gone. She could use a guardian angel.” 

Tim smiled, “Of course.” Tim couldn’t help but feel a dreading sensation within him, he hated that he couldn’t do more. 

The weeks to come were difficult for Tim, with Rachel leaving and all the shit that went down within the station. He felt drained but didn’t show it. Tim needed a change within his life, something to make him work harder within his life. He had his dog and he was happy with his dog, but he still felt like he was missing something. 

There were times when he couldn’t help but wonder if everything hadn’t happened with Isobel if they would have had children by now. What their life would have been like. That’s all he could think about, the what-ifs. 

“Look, everyone has their first puppy, it’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Tim commented. Lucy, his boot, had been dealing with her first puppy as a rookie. He couldn’t help but tease her about it. 

“Whatever,” Lucy brushed off. 

Tim chuckled as he kept his focus on the street ahead of him. They were heading back to the station to end their shift. Tim was ready to go home and watch the game, to just relax for the next couple of days. 

“Any plans for tonight?” Lucy asked. 

“There’s a game on tonight.” 

“Of course,” she rolled her eyes. 

Once they arrived to the station, Tim was quick to do all his end-of-shift duties before clocking out. He groaned to himself as he stepped outside to be met with darkness. He hated how quick it was to get dark in the winter. 

He got into his car and began his journey back home, listening to music on the way. He came to a slow stop as the light turned red, he glanced towards the sidewalk. It took him a second to process what he saw, he quickly took another look, “What the,” he muttered to himself. The light had turned green and the car behind him honked. Tim groaned and turned his signal light on before pulling off to the side. 

Quickly getting out of the car, he tried his best to catch up to the person he had just seen, “Y/N!?” He asked. 

You quickly turned around, “Shit,” you muttered under your breath. 

“What are you doing out here?” 

You held the strap to your duffle bag tighter, “Um, I-I I’m” Tim waited for you to come up with a good excuse, “I’m on my way home,” you smiled. 

“Really?” You nodded, “then you wouldn’t mind if I gave you a ride?” 

“Well-” 

“Y/N,” he said sternly. 

“Fine.” 

Tim smiled, “let’s go.” 

You followed Tim to his car, getting into the passenger seat as he waited until you had your seatbelt on before driving off. “How you’ve been?” He asked as he began driving in the direction he had just come from. 

You sighed, “Fine.” 

Tim sighed, “I know it’s been two weeks since I’ve done a wellness check.” 

“I didn’t say anything about that.” 

“I know, I just felt the need to apologize,” He reassured. “Have they-” 

“If you’re gonna ask if they’ve hurt me, no. Not since you’ve seen me.” 

“Good,” he responded. 

“You can drop me off at the corner,” You commented. 

“No, I’m going to drop you off in front of your house,” Tim stated. He knew what you were doing, you weren’t fooling him. You were walking the direction away from your home and you had a duffle bag. It was obvious. 

He stopped in front of the house, “here you go,” he said with a smile. 

You clenched your jaw, you hadn’t stepped foot in that house within a week. Going in now would be a death trap. You couldn’t do it, you couldn’t open the car door and get out of that house. Knowing that Tim would wait in his car until he saw you walk inside that house. 

“Well?” 

You sighed, feeling defeated. “Stop acting like you don’t know.” 

“Where have you been staying?” You shrugged, “Y/N,” he said sternly. 

“Under some bridge near Skid Row.” 

“Near skid row!? Y/N!” He exclaimed, “do you have any idea how stupid that is?” 

“I was desperate to get out!” 

“This is the second house we’ve gotten you since I’ve met you, you know what Sasha said! It’s either this or the shelter.” 

“And I chose neither!” 

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose, “how long?” 

“A week.” 

Tim looked at her with wide eyes, “It rained for three days straight this past week!” He sighed, “I gave you my number so you could call me if you needed something and this is what you do.” 

“I wasn’t gonna call you, so you could just have Sasha send me to another home that’ll treat me the same way.” 

“What’s wrong with this one?” He asked as he sat back in his seat. 

“Well, when you say it that way-” 

He sighed, “I’m asking because I need to know.” 

You rolled your eyes, “I caught him watching me…” you looked down at your hands.

“Watching you?” 

“He watched me shower,” You hated how it made you feel, how you just felt exposed every time he would look at you, even if you had clothes on. Tim undid his seatbelt, “Please, don’t go in there.” 

Tim wanted to disregard your request, but he knew the last thing you needed right now was for him to make things worse. It was an issue that would be dealt with tomorrow, for now, he needed to find you a place to stay. “You have a place to stay tonight?” You shook your head, “You do now,” he commented. 

You gave him a confused look, “I have a guest bedroom, you can stay there tonight.” 

“You don’t have to”

“I’m not letting you stay under some bridge near Skid Row nor am I letting you stay in that home. I’ll call Sasha in the morning, for now, you can have my guest room.” 

You wanted to argue with him about how you could defend yourself, but who were you kidding. You’re only fourteen and let’s face the facts. You wanted to sleep in a warm bed. 

The ride back to Tim’s place was quiet and usually, you hated it. The quiet meant you had time to be left alone with your thoughts, but for the first time in a while, your mind was at ease. The drive wasn’t long, Tim helped you carry your duffle inside his house. You heard the tapping of nails hitting the floor, and you were quickly greeted with paws on your chest and a tongue slobbering all over your cheek. 

“Kojo, down!” Tim exclaimed and the dog quickly got down. “Sorry about Kojo.” 

You couldn’t help but smile as you kneeled down next to the dog to give him some love, “you should’ve said you had a dog, I would’ve said yes a long time ago.” 

Tim couldn’t help but smile as you giggled at Kojo’s antics, “Come on, let me show you where you’ll stay tonight.” He gestured for you to follow him. 

You got up from your position next to Kojo and followed Tim down a short hallway, “Alright, the bathroom is the door at the end of the hallway, help yourself to whatever is in the fridge except for my beer. That is off limits, even if you were of age.” He placed your duffle on an ottoman that was placed at the end of the bed, “Do you need any essentials? Toothbrush, toothpas-” 

“I have everything, thanks.” You took in the sight of the bedroom, out of all the rooms you had lived in, many in which you had to share with others, none compared to this one. This one felt inviting. It felt warm. 

It felt different. 

“Everything okay?” Tim asked. 

You gave him a nod, “Yeah, perfect!” 

“Alright, I’ll be in the living room watching a game that started an hour ago, if you need me. You hungry?” 

“Nah, I’m good,” as if on cue, your stomach made a loud noise. 

“it says otherwise,” Tim smirked, “I’ll order some pizza. I’ll let you get settled in, feel free to make yourself at home alright?” 

You gave him a nod, watching as he walked out of the room. You weren’t sure what to do first, to unpack your things or take a shower. Should you unpack your things, if you were going to be sent somewhere else tomorrow? You let out a sigh, laying on the bed, you couldn’t help but wonder, What if you just stayed here instead? 

No, you didn’t want to be more of burden to Tim than you already were. He had done enough for you and was already extending his kindness by letting you stay the night. No need to extend it any further. For now, you were going to allow yourself to enjoy this comfort. To enjoy the warmth of the invitation. 

Taglist: @daffodil0darling

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Yandere König Headcanons

Warnings: Some 18+ Moments (Nothing Explicit), Social Anxiety, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Bullying, Acts of Revenge, Gaslighting, Kidnapping, Underwear Stealing, Possessive Behaviour, Yandere Behavious, Toxic Behaviour, Intimidation, Social Sabotage, No Pronouns used for Reader Except 'You', etc.

Wordcount: 14,544 words

A/N: Hey Guys, Happy Valentine's Day <3 ! Thanks for stopping by to read my fic ! Much love and wellness to you all :-). I've had to split the bulk of the text and the ending into two posts because Tumblr will not let me keep them in the same post - it just won't save or post. A link will be provided below the main body of text to take you to the ending post <3

You and König became friends the very same day you met.

You were a new student to the school that König called Hell; not yet alive – conscious – to the incessant bullying and ignorance that occurred there.

Upon seeing you for the first time, feet pointed in, shoulders rigid, lunch pail squeezed – compressed – tightly between your tiny fingers, König felt… strange.

He’d never met you before, but he already felt that there was something to be done in the way of you.

As to what that ‘something’ was was completely lost on König.

But alas, he tore his resting head from his palm, his senses sharpening as he was drawn from the fantasy world he’d crafted for himself, becoming aware of his surroundings,

He watched you, for the first time, a child no older than himself, nigh-quivering under the curious gazes of students.

As if by instinct, König’s gaze drifted to the table that housed his tormentors.

And, sure as ever, their eyes held nothing less than malice. Intent.

Something in him told him to sit up straighter, to get his hands off the desk – anything to appear bigger than how he did now.

He recognised this feeling. Though, he’d never felt it towards a person.

In König, it only ever manifested whenever he happened upon some small, injured creature.

Despite being just children, König was already a little taller than everyone else in the class; foreshadowing of the monster he’d become, whose horns just peeked through his skull, made him an inch or three taller than the rest.

And yet, he was still the butt of every joke, the object of needless ridicule.

Little did he know that would all change the very same day he met you.

Something in him prompted him, told him, to talk to you, to find out as much about you as he possibly could.

An impulse he had never known until today.

Though, as to how he’d initiate conversation was tricky.

He could barely talk to his own parents, let alone a complete stranger.

As you peeked up from the floor every now and then, scanning the room and all its pieces, its players, your gaze fell upon König.

His heart fitted, adopting an irregular rhythm – a genre of music he’d never heard before.

Usually, he’d tear his gaze away, look down or out the window.

But he couldn’t.

With you, it was impossible.

The seat beside him was empty, a sliver of mercy his favourite teacher had imparted on him.

The possibility that you would be seated next to him – that you might choose to sit beside him of your own volition – filled König with a dangerous sense of hope.

He found himself clenching his fists when you made a move to go to him, taking but a small step in his direction. The right direction.

Before the teacher pointed to another seat halfway across the classroom.

König deflated, his shoulders sagging, his mood dampening as if sodden with tears.

He looked upon your reluctantly retreating form, your friendship withering away with each step you were forced to take.

König looked upon his teacher that day with something he hadn’t felt for them before.

Contempt.

The lesson dragged, yet playtime loomed.

It was less of a break for König than it was an opportunity for his bullies to find him. Capture him.

Yet today, he was the one seeking them.

He’d seen the way they’d looked at you, leered at you, repeated your name in mock mimicry when the teacher called on you for attendance.

König’s heart thrummed in his chest, an off-key harp.

He swallowed thickly, trying to hear over his internal symphony’s failing orchestra.

He almost considered calling off the search and searching for a teacher to help when he heard it.

You.

A sniffle. Then, insults.

Hissed and seethed and quiet, just below the radar of the adults ‘watching over’ the students.

König turned, only to find a long corner before him.

He pressed himself close to it, and listened.

Another sniffle, verging on a cry. Then, more insults.

The Cycle.

König’s fists clenched, his heart flared with the anger he’d felt many a time when he’d been on the receiving end of such torment.

Yet somehow, now that it was you receiving it, it was as if the cap König had set atop his anger, to prevent himself from doing something drastic, or displaying too much emotion, had blown off.

The anxiety that occupied König’s every waking moment boiled with his growing fury, a chemical gas that threatened all life that came into contact with it.

Without thinking, blinded by something greater than his limitations, he embarked the corner.

There you were, surrounded by four boys, each as diabolical as the last.

Devils in cherubs’ clothing.

König’s shadow descended upon the scene, covering your cowering frame.

The leader turned around.

He gave a sly grin, and turned partially from you.

He didn’t even have the courtesy to face König completely.

“Oi, oi,” he said, voice shrill and piercing. König stood his ground.

“And what’d’you want, König,”

König said nothing still, though the expression on his face was twisted, a far cry from the doe-eyed boy he was just two minutes ago.

The leader, when König didn’t answer, abandoned you, leaving you to his lackeys.

He approached König with a walk too old for his body, a cheap imitation of intimidation.

He only came up to König’s chin.

“I said–” he poked König’s chest, punctuating each word with a demeaning splinter.

And yet, König wasn’t paying attention to him.

He was looking at you.

You, having your hair pulled and your shirt practically torn.

König’s eyes narrowed.

“What. Do. You. W–”

Everything happened so fast that König scarcely thought it happened at all.

One minute, the bully was barely chest-to-chest with him. The next, he was on the floor, wailing, clutching his nose in his hands.

König almost couldn’t look away as a thin trickle of blood seeped between the boy’s fingers, staining his hands, and the concrete, a dark red.

König’s body shook, much like that displayed in starvation. He caught a glimpse of red along his knuckles.

And then, looking up from the bully, to his dumbfounded lackeys, he found you.

The lackeys were slowly backing away from you and making their way around König, as if he were a tiger, to their leader.

“Leave (Y/N) alone.” he said to the group, his shoulders heaving with his fresh victory.

The odd few nodded, mouths agape as they watched the leader struggle to get up onto his feet.

König walked past them and, taking cautious, slow steps towards you, stopped just shy of three feet away from you.

You were still shaking, your eyes wide as you craned your neck to look up at König’s face.

König felt giddy. A bubbling feeling welling up inside his chest.

Though, something caught in his throat. Something uncharacteristic of this situation.

“Hey–” König said, coughing, clearing his throat, when his voice cracked.

His face began to heat up, and he tried again.

“Hey,” he said, quietly.

You, awe-struck, with your mouth hung open, said nothing.

“I’m (Y/N)–...wait, no…I’m– König–”

König’s stilted introduction, and the fumble he made of it, was cut short with a soft, almost invisible feeling.

You’d thrown your arms around his middle and buried your face in his chest.

He looked down at the top of your head, only your hair visible.

The warmth on his face multiplied, growing hotter by the second as the gratitude in your muffled words – your ‘thank you’s – spilled from between the fabric of his jacket.

And, that feeling from before, the one that told him to act, returned; prompted him to do that which he thought best.

He put his arms around your shoulders and held you.

Only a moment later did you look up at him, eyes reddened with tears.

“I’m (Y/N),” you said.

König smiled, his teeth crooked.

“Hello, (Y/N).”

Immediately after the incident, a swarm of students gathered where the bully lay, ultimately unable to peel himself from the floor, his lackeys too frightened to turn their back on König for even a second.

The incident was passed around the playground like folklore, and König, and yourself, never had any trouble from those bullies again.

They’d all but discredited their leader, claiming that he’d “Tripped and fallen on a  rock,” and hadn’t finally gotten what was coming to him.

They could hardly say otherwise when König was staring them down with the look of hatred they’d all so mastered.

The group was disgraced, some of the boys eventually refusing to come to school altogether, transferring.

And all the while, you and König became inseparable.

That was the day you learnt what true friendship was.

Your parents came to know König very quickly, as his family came to know you.

You both walked home together every day, memorising the paths to each other’s houses “In case aliens invade and I need to find you!” as König justified his vested interest.

The first time he visited your house was like visiting another country.

You were much different at home than you were at school.

For one, you were more vibrant, more prone to voicing your opinions rather than keeping quiet.

And König found this quality to spark something in him.

The fact that he had gotten to know this side of you while no-one else had felt like an accomplishment.

Whenever you had anything to say, he was listening.

Regardless of how menial it was, how borderline unexplainable or just plain complex, König tried to make sense of it every time.

The two of you would spend every waking moment together, never apart for a second save for sleeping and the singular day of the week when your family would take you away somewhere; and even then, König was often invited to go along.

You had sleepovers as often as you could manage, exchanging stories like currency in a continent where only you and König lived.

König’s favourite to recite was Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell Tale Heart, which, the first time he relayed it to you, had you peeking out from beneath your bed sheets, shivering.

That night, as König tried to sleep, he heard you whisper his name in the dark.

He spared no hesitation as he answered.

“König,” you said. “Will you…” your tiny voice barely permeated the suffocating dark.

“Will you sleep next to me ?”

König froze, then, as understanding gripped him, he thawed.

He clambered out from his sleeping bag and onto your bed, unsure of where to look or what to do once he got there.

He rested his arms above the sheets and stared up into the abyssal ceiling, hearing your breathing next to him.

You shifted closer, wrapping an arm around his front.

König became a corpse.

He stiffened, his breathing stopped, and he dared not move a muscle for fear of doing something wrong.

“Thank you,” you said. König could feel your smile against the fabric of his shirt.

"Goodnight, König,” you whispered, your face buried into him as it had been the day he confronted your bullies.

Swallowing thickly, and, sliding an arm around you, König shot a reply into the darkness.

“Goognight, (Y/N).”

After that night, König began to feel…different where you were concerned.

He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it would hit him whenever his mind drifted back to you, which he found himself doing much more often than he already did.

Considering you were his only friend, you already occupied a good portion.

König always shelved the feeling, promising to try and make sense of it later.

Later, later.

He tested his tolerance for physical contact again one day when you were both walking home.

He’d calculated what he was going to say, to do, and, taking a deep breath, he grasped your hand in his.

His palm was sweaty, the anticipation of this action weighing on him all day.

He couldn’t even bring himself to look at you – to see your reaction.

His heart spasmed.

With nothing to say, to rebuke, you just smiled and squeezed König’s hand.

He felt a weight fall from his shoulders, the sky clearing, his face heating with that feeling of butterflies rather than crushing doom.

You would walk hand-in-hand everywhere you went after that.

Eventually, when all the stories you each had to offer were spent, you found another way of amusing yourselves – of remaining connected regardless of how far away the other was.

The Bestie Bible.

A scrapbook, patchwork, Frankenstein’s novel of shared memories, diary entries; testaments of the people you were.

The book would be passed between you each week; a ‘safer’ alternative to sending letters where your parents were concerned.

An encyclopaedia of your lives right at your fingertips.

You got to know things about König that not even his own family knew, details that he was too shy to tell you, causing him to write them to you instead.

Like his hopes to become a ‘protector’ when he got older.

Little did you know, he wanted to do it for you – to protect you.

That part, he kept to himself.

And vice versa, König got to learn of your life, too; everything from your second favourite colour, bands you were into at the time, your favourite foods, shows - anything.

And he’d feverishly consume your every entry, committing them to memory.

Bible verses.

Whenever he was with you, he felt as if his whole world got brighter, that he could see a clear future with you and him in it.

And that feeling would always come with you. That damned feeling.

It only strengthened the older he became, heating his cheeks and knotting his words in his mouth.

And he’d shelve it, every time.

Because his time with you was precious.

That much was innate; he just knew.

He didn’t have time to understand, only to enjoy.

You celebrated birthdays together.

Every year, without fail, König would buy you a present that remained as timeless as your friendship.

And you’d always thank him the same way; a bone-crushing hug, a squealing “Thank you!”, and a lifetime of gratitude.

That, and one birthday, you kissed his cheek, sending him bright red, making both your families point and coo and stare.

A social nightmare for König, one which you rescued him from by finding a table to hide beneath and sit with him.

You apologised. He told you that you’d done nothing wrong.

You didn’t kiss him again after that.

Which, little did you know, evoked something from within König that was stronger, more potent, poignant, than the feeling he’d felt before. Its predecessors.

At what point König stopped seeing you as just friends was clear to him, yet the shift in his behaviour was subtle enough to be a snake hidden in the grass, a knife slipped between the mattresses – the ribs.

Or, perhaps he had always been that way. Completely and unequivocally in love with you and simply unaware of it.

Or, as close to love as one as young as him could interpret his feelings to be.

But that didn’t mean he understood what he was feeling.

It was light yet strong, a great army pounding on the walls of an even greater empire. A takeover.

He’d lay in bed most nights, hands clasped over his racing heart, as he thought of you, your smile, your everything, and he’d hope beyond hope, pray beyond heaven, that this feeling would last forever.

At first, he’d condemned it, and while he continued to shelve it, he couldn’t deny the butterflies you made him feel.

The warm jitters you’d give him whenever you’d hold him.

One day, sat in the tunnel of your favourite slide, in the local park you and König had claimed as “ours”, you sat together, waiting for your mothers to pick you up. König sat close beside you, almost fused to your side.

His hands shook in his lap, his gaze drifting to yours in a similar position, just lacking the jitters.

He wished he could be calm like you, to not be plagued with the mental anguish that he was born with.

He’d rehearsed this many times the night before, speaking with himself in the mirror – the only person aside from you he felt comfortable talking with – and prepared himself.

He took a deep breath, and before he could think about what he was doing, took your hand in his.

König waited a second, then two, before looking to you and gauging your reaction.

You didn’t even flinch, instead looking back at him with a small smile.

You squeezed his hand as you had done many times before.

So why did this time feel so different?

“What’s wrong, König ?” you said, tilting your head.

Wrong wasn’t even a word when König was with you.

König stifled the urge to withdraw, to retreat to his bedroom and hide beneath the covers of his bed until the day melted away and began anew, wiping your memory of this ever having happened.

But, again, König ignored the impulse.

He breathed deeply, hoping you wouldn’t notice as he tried in vain to placate his racing heart.

“Do you–” he swallowed, looking away, into the skyline of the fading sun, a sun set, then returning to you.

“D’youwannakiss?”

It came out so fast that even König had a hard time understanding what he was saying.

Your eyebrows crumpled, and you looked down in thought.

König’s heart stopped.

Had he said something wrong ? Had he offended you?

He thought his body would just seize up and release his soul to the heavens right then and there.

You turned to face him, your previous expression dissolving.

“König, we’re twelve. We don’t know how.”

It took König a second to understand what was happening until, yes, of course, the answer came to him.

Come to think of it, he’d only just realised.

His, and your, only knowledge of what ‘kissing’ was was something that people did when they loved each other.

He knew he loved you, though he knew the love he felt for you was different from the love he felt for his parents, or other family members.

He was rather sparse on the friend front, so he had little to compare you with there.

He bit the inside of his cheek, and, thinking, found a solution.

He said nothing as he placed his forehead to yours.

You seemed confused for a minute, before you understood and applied equal force, your forehead resting against König’s.

And you stayed that way. Just you and König sat in a kaleidoscope of childhood with your heads pressed together; two halves of an arch way, one side meaningless without the other.

Act 2

Your childhoods came and went, a flambaic fanfare of hopes, dreams, and cartoons. And your teen years gave way to feelings you’d never felt before.

And throughout it all, König was at your side.

Even now as he shot up in height, you lagging behind in that same department compared to him, he would gladly bend the knee to take your hand in his.

As was the case on your first day of high school, where you and König hurried down winding, identical corridors that you could only ever have hoped to be liminal; too many people existed here for them to be so.

Eventually, you found your classroom, miraculously having an identical timetable – at least for now.

And as you sat beside each other, your knee bouncing, watching the students filter in, König squeezed your hand in his, casting you a small, quivering, nervous smile.

Your shared anxieties would continue on from this day forth, solidifying as, just as you had been in elementary, you and König seldom spoke to anyone outside your duo, having created an impenetrable wall through which nobody could enter and neither of you could leave.

Your habits from elementary continued on, too; you both completed homework together, you had sleepovers, you continued the Bestie Bible.

But something was…amiss.

This feeling, this loss of something, grew as you did, and by your early teen years, you realised what it was.

It was around every corner, at every block of lockers, leaned against them, gazing into the eyes of the most wanted.

Love.

Sure, you knew what love was, hypothetically. You could identify it on paper, sense it between two people you’d never even met. But you never felt it.

Not the kind that you observed, anyway.

Perhaps it was your young curiosity.

Perhaps it was simply a longing for something new.

But you wanted to feel what everyone else seemed to feel.

What on-screen heroes and heroines so easily attained.

And thus began your pursuit of that which would be your downfall.

Your gaze would begin to linger more on boys in your classes who you could see yourself liking.

Prospectors, you called them to König.

Your first mistake had been ever trying to like someone in the first place.

At your sleepovers, your homework and study sessions, your park wanders, you’d spill your heart to König.

Just not in the way he wanted you to.

You’d tell him of guys you thought you may, perhaps, just a little bit, be interested in.

The first time you told König, he almost laughed.

He cast you a doubtful look, only to unfurrow his brows, unhook the smiling corners of his lips when he found you to be dead serious.

That night, König went to bed with what you could characterise as indigestion of the heart.

What you’d said didn’t sit right with him. Stirred a storm in his chest.

And he hadn’t even interpreted your words correctly.

He thought you just wanted to be friends with other people.

More people.

The idea made him anxious, made his nerves light with doubt.

And he calmed himself, looking upon your Bestie Bible, reminding himself that your friendship was God, stronger than all the forces that kept the earth together.

Or so he believed.

One evening, weeks later, during one of your routine visits, König sensed a shift in you.

You were quieter, almost as if you had clouds drifting around your crown.

Over time, as your desire to experience more, do more, grew stronger, your gaze began to wander to your classmates.

One in particular.

Just some boy, really nothing objectively noteworthy about him at all, save for perhaps his kindness, his wit, and another benign personality trait you could romanticise.

Initially, you thought little of him.

But as the weeks crawled by, and you had extra time in your classes to simply retreat elsewhere, into another world, he would be there, smiling, waving.

And you would speak with him, imagine what his opinions would be, what his voice would sound like up-close.

Fleeting instances of a desire for friendship.

That’s what you thought they were.

What else could they be ?

Meanwhile, you and König still shared as much time together as you could, even when school was becoming troublesome. Difficult.

You’d study together, have sleepovers, write in your Bestie Bible and exchange it like a letter, a story almost as old as you were.

Whenever you’d fall asleep, König would watch you, unabashed and unfettered.

An identical habit to that he’d created during childhood, with a similar goal in mind; to protect you.

Though, that was not his only motivation now.

König would watch you, watch over you, and look for as long as he liked upon your sleeping features.

And, as he advanced into his later teen years, he couldn’t deny that he found you to be very attractive.

Anyone with eyes and common sense would !

He always found his heart stuttering, his breath catching, his body heating at every docile gesture you made.

Not that you knew this, of course.

He’d studied, learnt enough from watching failed couples and friendships in school to see where mistakes were made – where friendships ended due to another’s impatience. Lack of restraint.

He made sure to avoid them at all costs.

And so he fed from you as you slept, unawares, your vulnerable state further motivation for him to protect you.

From what ?

He didn’t quite know yet.

But he held an answer, and it hung in his mind, a constant.

Everything.

During your study sessions, König began to notice that your attention seemed to be elsewhere.

Let me rephrase that; he’d noticed weeks ago that you seemed taken with something, but König couldn’t tell what.

He’d studied your Bible many times over, trying to find something indicative of your newfound interest.

And yet, nothing struck him.

Nothing new, at least.

And now, sitting here with you, König grilled you. Politely, with enough characteristic fragility in his tone that made him sound endearing enough to be spared any wrath you’d think to impart on him.

“Nothing’s wrong, Köni,” you assured him, smiling.

Your words were clear, but your eyes held a dream in them, a haze which settled over them like clouds before the moon.

König’s eyebrow raised, and, with a playful lilt, pressed further.

“That’s not true,” he said. He put his pen down and rested his hands upon the table.

“Something’s occupying your mind – I can see it.” He took a shallow breath, trying to keep his mouth stretching into a smile for as long as he could.

The fact that he didn’t know what was causing you to be this way killed him.

He recognised it in you, much as he recognised it in himself.

Love.

Or the infantile beginnings of it.

And yet he knew not from what it was borne.

You shrugged him off again, smiling, returning to your work.

“Really, König, it’s nothing !” You made mindless markings on your paper. “Now come on, drop it. We have a history test tomorrow.”

That night, König couldn’t convince you to stay over.

You both knew the evening would drag on ‘til the early hours of the morn, and neither of you wanted to fail this test.

As König embraced you, his giant form eclipsing yours, he saw the back of your bag unzipped.

He knew exactly how many seconds he had until you’d pull away.

Without a sound, he slipped his hand inside and withdrew the paper you’d been scribbling on earlier.

For once, he withdrew first, though it pained him to do so.

That night, he looked upon the paper.

There was little he could decipher from the obsolete doodles and scribbles, but something did stand out to him.

A name.

Nothing more.

The name of a boy.

It was given neither ceremony, nor decoration, simply slapped onto the paper as if it belonged there.

Looking at it made bile churn in his stomach, so he folded it, tucked it away somewhere he didn’t have to think about it.

The next day, it was his turn to receive the Bible, his makeshift friend, to give a near-identical account of experiences as you.

Given how you were both attached at the hip, there was little fluctuation in your day-to-day encounters.

In all honesty, he’d hoped that whatever had been plaguing you last night would emerge in the pages of that book, somewhere between the Frankenstein’s monster pages of glitter and brightly-coloured card paper and receipts from shops that exposed a most ambitious fashion sense.

And, like an answer from God, it did.

Laying in bed, leafing through the shared history book you and König shared, he sought your latest entries.

His heart burned as he discovered them, and, enthusiasm unmatched, he consumed every word.

He’d initially suspected that perhaps you’d taken up a new hobby, was maybe, in even a miniscule capacity, planning a gift for him, what with all your secrecy and all.

But König could read you like the book in his hands, and though he wanted to believe anything that crossed his mind, he knew any answer he came up with wouldn’t be the right one.

He truly had no way of knowing what was making you tick.

And then, he saw it.

A needle in a haystack; a whimpering puppy in a darkened alleyway.

A name.

A confession.

König’s body seized, his heart palpitating, his mind beginning to burn.

His throat tightened, and his stomach clamped shut, causing an immediate sickness to shoot through every nerve in his body.

The corners of his vision darkened, as if a cloud – or the cape of a villain – had settled over him.

And for a second, König thought that this was death.

There, in your handwriting, your letters, your words, was the cause of your distractment.

‘I like someone,’ you said, and König heard your voice in his ears, his head, as if you were speaking these words to him now, tearing his heart out now. ‘A boy from our class – the one who sits at the front, with the vintage biker jacket.’

König’s mind acted of its own accord, searching every frame of memory from the beginning of your school career to now to find the perpetrator.

All the while, König’s throat stung, the antiseptic truth bleaching, purging, the hope that had grown there over the years, a feeling which had persevered above all others.

The tightness in his chest gave way to a smouldering, burning, second death, the peeling of his heart in two, acid poured into the separate halves to be drunk by you, disintegrating the cumulative joy he’d felt there. Once.

The pages of the book tore in König’s hands, his grip on the edges enough to give the impression of a seizure, or some primal, uncontrolled bodily spasm.

The searing behind his eyes gave way to tears, an onslaught that choked him, choked him as the fiery clump in his throat burst into a sob.

König threw the book aside, feeling minimal relief from having done so, instead simply discarding the cross from his Hell-skin.

It hit something, unknown damage being done.

It would not compare to the damage done to König.

His hands clawed at his chest, pounding against the skin as if to search for the stolen heart beneath.

No words could, or would, leave König, no language of anguish or despair elaborate, violent, or loud enough to express what he felt.

On his knees now, König keeled over himself, compacting his large frame to a ball, as if to disappear entirely.

His mouth hung open, moulded to The Scream’s tune of horror, saliva stringing from within and onto the sheets.

He sobbed, convulsed, the same, nerve-frying stress that turned one’s hair white crushing him.

He knew now.

He knew what that feeling was, all those years ago, as another, younger version of himself lay in the same bed he wept on now, the agony his older self was benign subject to unseen by him, merely a pin-prick in the fabric of the universe, a bout of sadness, brief and fleeting, the desire to mourn, if only for a second, yet not knowing what for.

That feeling he’d felt…

It was love.

In all her most glorious, radiant terms, what he’d felt since the beginnings of your friendship, to the tumour it had developed into now, malignant and all-consuming, was love.

König wanted to part from it. To tear its parasitic tendrils from his mind and erase it so thoroughly from the universe that none should ever know it again, not its name, nor its face. Neither its feeling.

König’s face, pressed into the sheets to stifle his cries, to block out external stimulus, was scrunched in a portrait of terror, mid-scream, mid-death.

Eternities passed. The infernal suffering encapsulating König in its current made him break out into sweats, soaked his shirt and his body.

Through the dense thicket of heartbreak, König saw a thinning of trees, a glimmer peeking between distant gaps.

He searched for it, sought it, followed it blindly – anywhere but to be here.

An idea was brewing. A dangerous one.

König fled to the treeline, tangling in the vegetation and clawing his way free, sacrificing whatever material sentimentality he had to propel himself to freedom.

Body shaking, trembling, König threw himself into the light.

He shot up from the sheets, still clutching his spectral heart in his hands, breathing heavily, panting.

The idea settled, nestled in the forefront of his mind, incubated and basking in his attention.

König’s eyes darted from one dark corner of his room to the other, only the lamp by his bedside enough to fend off the monsters.

That, and the demon which sat upon his shoulders, bringing with it a weight which did not crush König, but grounded him, anchored and committed him to the plan festering in his mind.

If I can’t have you, he said to his two selves, the spirit of his innocence watching helpless and fraying from the sidelines.

Then nobody can.

Every time you returned with your findings, of guys you thought were nice, of those whose personalities you analysed and decided would be optimum for your first relationship, König felt his blood start to simmer.

Anything to get you away from those Prospectors.

You were slipping away from him.

He knew it.

Especially when you started liking that guy.

König never bothered to learn his name – not properly. Even after he’d seen it square on your research paper like it was printed there intentionally.

And besides, it seemed to please you greatly whenever he’d get his name wrong, making you laugh.

Every night whenever you and König lay parallel, one on the floor and one on the bed depending on whose house you were staying at – since when did you stop sharing a bed…? – all you could seem to talk about was this feeling your whatever-he-was gave you.

And König listened, albeit unwillingly.

Though, even as he lay, fists clenched beneath the bed covers, his ears would prick as you relinquished something new, something palpable, taintable, to him.

Like how he drove a car, how he was an athlete, how he was tall – “Not nearly as tall as you, though, Köni~” – and how he’d be taking you to the school dance.

König felt his heart seize.

Oh no.

That wasn’t right.

Everything faded into white noise after that, König’s head burning with a thousand ways to separate you and your “crush”; how to remove him from your portrait and replace him with König.

But, having been willfully confined to the incredibly small circle that was only you and König, your social skills left… a lot to be desired. Made it easier for König to keep a closer eye on you without you flitting off to your other ‘friends’.

And whereas König never even thought about trying to alleviate his affliction, the “curing” of yours was all you ever thought about.

Each night, as you lay in bed, you dreamt of another you who was unafraid of public speaking, of private speaking. Of interacting in even the most broad or minimal of capacities.

Of talking to him.

And whenever you’d wake from those dreams, your chest puffed with the remnant confidence your alternate self gave you a sample of, it would deflate, crumble into ash the second you set foot over the threshold of the classroom.

People casting you a passing glance, the close proximity to others in a packed classroom…

It shot you straight back to square one.

And each time, you’d sit beside König, shoulders slumped, hands clasped in your lap, eyes devoid of any semblance of hope.

König wasn’t an idiot; he knew what that look was.

He’d encountered it many times in his youth before he’d grown comfortable with the uncomfortable; laid to rest his desire to remove the enemy and instead just live with it – anything for an easy life.

But with you…it was different.

He could tell.

And as he watched your mind become filled with calculus and angles and the dates of histories that barely sounded factual, something, a wicked little thought, crossed his mind.

You were going to be difficult to break.

The idea cracked in his mind’s eye, a flash of lightning against the clouds.

It shocked him, made his heart stammer.

He wondered where it had come from, and he glanced over his shoulder, as if to find the person who had put it there.

When the blazing cold panic fizzled out, calmed and quelled, he gave a glance to the thought, which hovered just out of reach; a legendary sword – antagonist – with not enough room in the inventory to keep.

And so König cast it into the Memory Pit, to die and to fade, while he returned to the lesson.

But it never left him.

It clung to the sharpened cliff edge, giving way to a bottomless pit.

The wright remained the day after. And the day after that, and the day after that.

Weeks passed, and König continued as normal.

Normal to you, at least.

He had another set of eyes now, up above him, behind him, wherever he needed them.

His intuition sharpened, a cat in all but disposition, as he discerned the most miniscule of gestures in the most benign of people.

All excluding you, of course.

Knowing what he did now, König could see what you were thinking and when, especially whenever your attention turned to the boy at the front of the class with the decrepit cyclist’s jacket.

One time, you’d actually gone up and spoken to him, coincidentally on the one day König was off school ill.

Beginning a dark descent into something you couldn’t even fathom as of yet.

A ‘secret’ friendship that, when you’d tell König of it, excited and overjoyed at your progress, his face soured, his mood darkening.

And yet his demeanour remained unchanged.

König had pretended not to have seen your entry, pretended not to have actually had the book at all, but to suggest that someone may have stolen it, or that it had been thrown out when his parents were cleaning his room.

You found it difficult to believe, but what other alternative was there?

Trust your best friend or the possibility of pure, freak chance?

You chose the latter.

König neve let you out of his sight for a second.

Whereas he could trust you before, to handle yourself, to be loyal to his friendship, he could no longer.

Even when you were separated by timetable differences, he still had eyes on you.

A well-timed bathroom break, the revelation that he’d left his textbook in his locker – anything to slip out of his classroom and glide past yours, his eyes on you all the while.

Even if you’d caught him, you’d have assumed he was simply being humorous, as all friends were, or, again, pure chance.

He’d work harder than all other students, earn the teachers’ praise and trust, all to worm his way out the classroom a few minutes early to ensure he could pick you up from your class whenever you were separated.

In the corridors together, König would watch your line of sight carefully.

He’d see who you were looking at, who was looking at you.

Luckily, he never had to do much to deter others from interacting with you.

His rapidly growing height did that for him.

By his mid-teens, König towered above everyone else, giving an unsuspecting you scary dog privileges, and giving everyone else a heart attack when they caught sight of the well-dressed Austrian constantly at your side.

Given his stature, König could cast rotten looks to those who seemed even marginally interested in you, completely unbeknownst to you.

And besides, you wouldn’t believe anyone who told you as much.

König, the shy, quiet, socially anxious boy shooting daggers at another student ? Preposterous !

With this crush of yours, König already had enough to deal with. He wasn’t about to relinquish you to the throws of another person’s friendship as you seemed to already have done with your heart.

The one person König could never seem to do away with was your crush.

He truly was fearless. Or arrogant. Or braindead.

Not that you knew, but König would catch his eye in the hallways, see him stare at you for a moment before the reaper beside you caught his eye.

He looked away, and König hoped that was the end of it.

It was not.

The boy would look at you again.

A feat not yet coined by any.

Except for him.

König knew he was losing you.

Or, losing what part of you was meant to be his.

And so he brought you to where you’d frequent as children, where you scarcely came to now ever since life had become so much more complicated.

The playground was desolate and empty, void of distractions save for the equipment – rides – which seemed too small for you now.

That didn’t stop you from trying to squeeze down the straw-thin slide, though, or into the seats of the roundabout.

König only watched, knowing he wouldn’t even have a chance of fitting like you would.

His palms were sweating, the script he’d rehearsed laying in some crevice in his room, ink smudged with anxiety and sweat.

König clambered up onto a climbing frame, the one which you had occupied when you ‘kissed’ for the first time.

The memory warmed König’s cheeks. But he couldn’t lose focus now.

He called you over, his voice deeper than it had been then, all those years ago.

And you came, bounding over to him, a labrador or a kitten.

You clambered the frame and came to sit with him.

He offered you his hand. Wordless. Intentionless.

(Or so he would seem).

And, wordless, equally intentionless, you faltered, just for a moment, then took it.

He pulled you into the tunnel, the tube wide enough to support König’s staggering height.

Comfort wasn’t the goal here; not for him, at least.

You fit perfectly, a perfect, perfect, perfect specimen as ever in König’s eyes.

That word reverberated in König’s soul, the only sublime measure capable of describing you in your purest form.

Now, hand-in, hand, you and König sat in silence.

Geese called somewhere in the distance, flying through the sunset gates in the sky to a land unknown, collecting passengers on their non-stop express to salvation.

The wind blew the trees as night began its slow descent, ink hands reaching down from the top of the canvas to transform this half of the world into its playground.

Much like the one you and König inhabited.

König looked down at your conjoined hands.

He ran his thumb across the back of yours, your knuckles.

He saw – felt – you wince, flinch. The beginnings of doubt, of retreat.

He knew he had to be quick.

The crippling anxiety that had shadowed from childhood sat with you in that tube now, your Venus, your evil twin.

It was you, who spat at him, at his attempts, and fed him tales of rejection and deceit, of your loyalty to that boy instead of him.

And yet here you sat, eyes wide as ever, curious and ambient, an ocean of possibilities.

The demon on König’s shoulders growled, its claws taking König’s heart in its clutches, knives to your feather-touch, and squeezed it.

König gave a cavernous, inward sigh and returned to you.

It’s now or never.

“(Y/N),” he said, timid, lamb.

He tried looking into your eyes. Peering into them as if they were the future.

You leaned in, swearing you could hear his voice twice.

One which spoke the truth, one which spoke a darker truth.

You listened for your friend’s tone.

“Yes, Köni ?”

God, that nickname.

As old as König himself.

Stay focused.

König swallowed. His throat prickled.

An oncoming sickness. A nestled affliction.

Lovesick.

“Do you remember…when we were kids – and we…”

He faltered. His gaze dropped.

Keep going !

He cleared his throat again.

Your hand lay limp in his.

”And we…we did that…thing?”

Your head tilted and your gaze flew to the sky in remembrance.

Your nose scrunched.

“König…that doesn’t particularly narrow it down,” you laughed, returning from the Heavens to him once again

König swallowed, thickly. He gave a wavering chuckle that barely reached his chest.

“Yeah…yeah, you’re right.”

With his free hand, he rubbed the back of his neck, only to mortify himself when he found sweat collating there. Colony.

He slapped it back down on his thigh, desperately, discreetly, trying to wipe the sweat off.

He returned. Head above water, bobbing.

“I– what I’m trying to say…is…”

He shuffled closer. You mirrored him, ear-first, trying to catch his words, butterflies in a net.

“What I want to say is…”

He looked at you, dead in the eyes.

He was partially hunched, giving his tilted face a menacing, sharp look.

It almost took you aback.

His free hand, puppeteered by his demon, snaked past your body, fingers crocheting through your strands. Fusing you to him.

Your breath hitched, your guard defiled, as he placed his hand firmly there, the cold tips harsh against the warmth of your scalp.

“König–” you said, as if trying to identify the person in front of you.

König – or what he was now – didn’t listen.

He pulled your head closer, braced your hand in his.

You felt your heart pounding in your chest, your nerves beginning to spark with…something.

You didn’t know what it was, but you knew you’d never felt it with König before.

You couldn’t place it, tried as you may.

It was only when König’s forehead kissed yours, his skin scorching, his eyes puppy-like and pure, that you found the answer.

It was the same feeling you felt for the boy with the vintage biker jacket.

You felt frozen, breath stilted, thinned with revelation.

And, with your forehead to König’s, a mirror image of the past, you were flooded with an ocean and all its creatures.

Confusion, apprehension, affection, and…disgust.

You’d never viewed König like that, not once.

And even now, it made you uncomfortable to feel this way.

And so, with the vigour of one escaping a trap, your eyes squeezed shut and tore yourself away, past König’s grip, his hold, and landing a foot or two away.

The umbilical cord, his hand in yours, was cut.

Your body felt cold, a phantom gust of wind prickling the skin, your heart.

König looked at you with wide eyes, pleading eyes, and a hole in his chest.

You looked upon each other, trying to find an answer, trying to see what the other would do.

Swallowing, breathing uneven, you crawled out from the tunnel, not looking back at König as he all but whimpered in your absence, eyes stinging, throat singing. A familiar condition settled upon him.

A paroxysm of his loving sickness, seeping deeper into his veins when you’d done your part in trying to uproot them.

Neither of you spoke about the incident after that.

It took a week of wavering smiles and faltering waves, of a wince or a jump when one of you spoke to the other, for you to eventually put it behind you.

Even with your minimal experience in Romantics, you knew something about the way König held you was different from every time before.

Or, maybe, you had only just awoken to the fact that such intent lay in all his actions towards you.

You tried not to think about it.

And besides, it made no sense to.

Since your crush had asked you to the school dance !

You’d made an effort to conceal that information from König, but he was fluent in the language that was you, and all its most obscure dialects.

You knew he’d figure it out sooner or later, whether you told him or some Rogue of Fate did.

But you wanted to live in this bubble of possibility for a bit longer.

Sure, you didn’t know your crush to a degree that you could call him as close a friends as König, but you’d done something to make him want you.

Your heart soared, chest swelled, the pit of pride held within.

And you waited.

And waited.

Your face grew sourer over time, the dripping of wax work, as realisation crossed your mind.

You didn’t want it.

This ivy – creeping – dread lacing around your heart, chains.

You felt your eyes kindle the embers of tears, your shoulders lowering yet remaining rigid, deflating.

And you jumped as a hand found your shoulder.

You knew who it was.

You could feel his fingerprints against your skin. Distinct as he was.

You turned, a sliver of relief finding you, nesting between the cracks in your chest as you set your eyes upon him.

He wore a dark suit, altered in the sleeves and legs to accommodate his height.

He’d gelled his hair to appear as one would in a romance film. At least, that was what you thought.

The very incarnation of a classic heartthrob.

Just for a second did your mind dare to tell you that this situation would not have happened if König had taken you to the dance.

The thought left you as you faced him fully, your hand coming atop his.

You squeezed it.

“Here all by your lonesome?” König said, voice low, a hint of humour within it, just short of malice.

You nodded. Dropped your head.

You went to talk, to say whatever came to your mind, when your voice gave way to tears.

König didn’t even flinch, even as your grip on his hand tightened.

Instead, he offered himself to you, bringing you close to him by your waist and holding you to his shoulder.

Bystanders would give a glance and König would give them death in a stare, and they quickly turned away.

The material of König’s jacket felt lavish, a far cry from the polyester of the other boys’ outfits.

You couldn’t place it. Not as your head panged with an oncoming headache and your heart burst with a reddening ocean, fire beginning to spark at the edges, boiling it.

You couldn’t help but go over every interaction you’d ever had with your crush, analysing it, scanning it, identifying any and every discrepancy that could have caused him to leave you this night.

And each time, your heart was heir to the shocks and bolts of despair, a palpable, gaseous substance that burned each time you inhaled, each time you thought

And as he held you, felt you shudder, quiver, into his shoulder the weight of your rejection bearing down on you, a far greater weight rested on his.

His demon sat there, smiling, grinning, the ghost of god.

He already had you flush against him, two cards packed tightly into the same pack.

“What’s wrong, Engel?” he said, softly, quietly. He rubbed your back, squeezed you.

“I am certain that whatever has you so upset is not worth your tears.”

And that just made you want to cry more.

The fact that König always knew what to say and when made the doubt from before – the regret – materialise.

König wouldn’t have done this to you. He wouldn’t have even thought about it.

“Come now, (Y/N),” he moved, his hand on your shoulder trailing the length of your arm and taking your hand.

You made no attempt to move.

He sighed, though you knew it was not of frustration. It was…something else.

König went still, then, his arm from your waist disappeared.

You nuzzled closer, an unconscious practice, as cold air hit your back.

“Listen !” he said, enthusiasm uncharacteristic of this situation laced in his tone.

You risked a glance, sniffing as you looked up at König.

He had a hand cupped over his ear, a makeshift megaphone. His gaze was occupied elsewhere, over your head.

“Do you hear that ?” he said.

Your chest stuttered with the remnants of your upset, and you strained to cease, to hear.

Music drifted over the sound of both idle and excited chatter, of the hazy, dusty, dusky layer of first love that had encompassed all.

All except you, it seemed.

You nodded into König’s chest, giving a cracked hum.

He finally looked down at you, both hands coming to yours.

He held them. Squeezed them once.

“It would be a waste for this song to go unremembered,” he said.

You gave a smile, strong as you could, yet it still turned out watery. Incomplete.

Something about König was…different.

You couldn’t quite tell what it was, but you knew you’d never seen it before.

His vehement denial of attending events such as these in the past had led you to the assumption he’d have stayed well away.

Now, you were glad he hadn’t.

Still, the prospect of König even existing in a roomful of people, nevermind being watched by them, stunned you to the extent that you were sure it usually would have König.

You gave a short nod, and offering you his arm, you rested your hand upon it.

That night, König kept you close to him, sheltering you from everything.

When you were at your lowest, he brought you cake and a drink, watched over you as you tried to make sense of it all.

Then, he encouraged you, slowly, softly, to dance a few steps with him.

It started with him taking your hand and pulling you, like rope, up from your chair.

You resisted, initially, terribly invested in the comfort and protection of the corner you’d both taken up.

You felt as if everyone else knew of your predicament – like they were aware of your suffering.

Were somehow party and privy to it.

It took König’s reassurances, his placating tone as he promised he’d “Let nothing happen to you,” and “you’re safe with me, Little One,”

And, on your knees, with nothing else filling your head save for the crushing defeat of a love you hadn’t even had chance to know, König was your only salvation.

At first, dancing was the last thing you wanted to do – especially when it was what you were planning on doing with the person who had ripped your confidence out.

Other couples melted into the atmosphere, the ambience, becoming the backdrop to this milestone in your life, making the experience feel somewhat…less lonesome.

That, and the gentle grasp König had on you.

He was particularly agile as he kept you both in time with the music, setting a gliding rhythm and spinning you in his arms.

Initially, he was slow, despite the upbeat music not permitting such.

It shocked you how little König cared about the million ways he himself would have identified his actions as making him ‘stick out like a sore thumb’.

And yet, his confidence reassured you.

Created a buffer between you and the rest of the world.

Though the sting of rejection followed you from each scene of this tragedy, its bite dulled, grained and blunted by the sheets of film placed over it, filled instead with the growing phantom of König, and you.

Little did you know that, inside, König was dying.

This place, this event, was a composite of all his worst nightmares, you being stolen from him included.

But, he knew that if he were not to face his demons – at least the ones that held him back – tonight, he’d lose you forever.

A sacrifice he’d make any day.

He only hoped you wouldn’t hear the clattering of his heart, feel it amid the plush layers of his suit.

Amidst the streamers and music and sticky scent of perfume and the slice of cologne filling the air made your mind hazy.

The music slowed the deeper into the night it became.

You swayed with König, your head against his shoulder, eyes shut. A glint of the dimming, pink lights reflecting against the disco ball pierced your eyelid, making you squeeze your eyes tightly, rub your face into the confines of König’s jacket.

He resisted the urge to let out a yell of victory.

The evening was drawing to a close, and König knew that, now, he had you.

Both mentally and physically.

He knew how untrusting you’d be towards your crush if you ever saw him again – if he ever dared to exist near you again.

And he knew how likely you were to take things like this – no matter how minimal the inconvenience – to heart.

König rested his chin atop your head. And, when you didn’t move, not one muscle, he relaxed onto you.

His mind and body had been a firework of nerves all day, waiting for even a second of doubt to cross your eyes, or your crush to come staggering out of the bin König had hidden him in.

But, here he was, the person he loved most in all the world with him and him alone.

Yet, despite his victory, he knew he couldn’t have you fully.

Not yet.

While no longer children, you both still had a considerable amount of time to change your minds, your mindsets, and so acting now while your life would be at its most volatile would be a wasted opportunity. A dangerous opportunity.

No, König knew when he had to act.

For now, he would abstain, take to your hand holding and secret sharing and forehead kissing until, one day, your eyes would open as his were, see the world with him as he did with you.

Pink. Rose-tinted as the very hall you occupied.

Act 3

König’s inclination of ownership over you did not cease with the coming and going of age; not as he advanced from teenhood to adulthood, nor as he outgrew his parents’ house and moved into his own.

If anything, it grew more palpable, yet not stronger.

It was already at its most imposing height, its final form, as König thought it.

The demon on his shoulders had retired to the corners of his mind since Prom night, surveilling everyone and everything that it thought a threat to your relationship with König.

And all the while, König kept it concealed from you.

König’s inclination of ownership over you did not cease with the coming and going of age; not as he advanced from teenhood to adulthood, nor as he outgrew his parents’ house and moved into his own.

You both ended up moving within close proximity to each other, though, given his occupation (which you’d vehemently warned and even denied him of doing) kept him away for many months of the year.

Resultingly, König could think of no-one better to guard his house and all its worldly possessions than you.

“What’s mine is yours,” he told you, handing you your very own set of keys.

“So you’ll see no point in stealing my shirts again.”

“Oh my god, that was one time! I was cold and it was just there !”

“Just say you missed me and save us both the effort.”

But seriously though, König almost died the first time he saw you in one of his shirts.

He leaves them strewn about in easy-to-reach places in the hopes that, one evening, he’ll come home and see you bundled up on the sofa, wrapped in one.

He gets a little frisky when he sees you in them.

First time, he thought you were adorable, pint-sized in his clothing.

And then, once the initial shock had worn off, his mind began to wander to…places.

He himself was rather taken aback by the ferocity of these fantasies, now breaking through the surface of his dignity to plague him.

He knows you have a preference for one of his hoodies, and he’s seen you wear it enough times to know that your birthday present this year was going to be very easy to choose.

He could have wept for the joy that spread across your face when he gifted you the hoodie, watching you wriggle into it before the wrapping paper had chance to fall to the ground.

He had to excuse himself to the bathroom soon after, though.

You honestly spent as much time at König’s as you did at your own home.

Watering his plants, dusting the shelves, cleaning before he returned home; König found it all to be quite domestic.

Especially whenever he was ill and you were always there to make him feel better.

Like one time, when he was hit with a  particularly bad cold, and was bed-ridden for three days.

You came and cared for him, cooked for him, catered to his every need with neither hesitation, nor complaint.

During his delirium, he couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to have you around like this all the time – to have you as his housespouse.

The thought, to König’s heavy, weary head, was particularly appealing, nigh euphoric, and when he slept he dreamt of you, serving him as you did now.

And he’d return the favour, of course.

It was in times like these that König’s mind began to…degrade, one might say.

More so than it already was.

Whether it was delusion or a sheer desire to have you, König began to try and make these scenarios a reality.

Make no mistake, he’d had similar ideas when he was younger, but now he had both the means and the time to actually do it.

And König’s mind had no qualms with exploring the darker avenues of this possibility, of the methods of how to enact it.

In the meantime, he was perfectly content with keeping you close to him while you watched films together, your head on his chest, arms wrapped around him.

“My big bear,” you called him.

And a bear to most, he was.

Ferocious and positively massive, his mere presence was enough to frighten off potential suitors.

And friends.

That, coupled with his often silent exterior made for a terrifying experience to all that were not you or the handful of allies König had.

Often, you’d call him whenever you were frightened, or anxious.

Especially if you were out in the evening.

Not that König ever left you during those hours; regardless of the time of night or day, he’d accompany you anywhere and everywhere, your shadow.

But, on the rare occasion he was kept away, you’d call him, ask him to talk to you, keep you grounded.

One evening, you’d made the mistake of not telling König you were leaving to go out, and when he woke up at some odd hour of the night to find you gone, his first, soldier instinct was to panic.

He swept the house, found you nowhere, and began calling your phone so many times it very well could have exploded.

And when you answered, voice laced with sleep and heavy without judgement, König had to resist the urge to cry out in relief.

“(Y/N), where are you?”

“Corner shop. Had to get some snacks.”

Had he not still been coming down from the panic high, König would have considered being angry.

“All right, just stay there. Don’t leave the store until I find you.”

“How do you even know which store—”

Needless to say, König was not best pleased to find you practically putting your life on the line for a bagful of crisps, a chocolate bar and…a toy fish?

“Impulse buy,” you told him.

König sighed.

“Next time, try not to act on your impulses so quickly.”

Like me, the voice told himself.

Your hand was shackled in his for the duration of the walk home.

And the whole night as you slept together.

Though, despite your blatant lac of self-awareness or judgement, König couldn’t help hut find you endearing.

The chocolate in your bag was his favourite brand, one which you couldn’t stand.

You’d gone out to do it for him.

He pulled you into his chest, practically purring as you nuzzled into his chest, enveloped completely by him.

“I’ll always protect you, Y/N,” he said, running a hand through your hair. “I promise.”

Even during those moments where you were at your most intimate, regardless of how innocent your intent.

The first instance of this, a most shocking development, occurred when you and König had visited the beach.

It was a few months before his deployment to a far-away military base to train.

The two of you, as was to be expected, wore swimsuits.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

It was only when you’d shed your thin jacket that König was affected.

His gaze fixed on you, unable to be torn away as he took in the silhouette of your body.

He’d never had an innate desire to see you partially, or fully undressed, even when he was at his most hormonal.

His love and appreciation for you had been based purely on you, your demeanour, your personality.

So to now see you having shed your fledgling body in return for one that was more mature, more defined, König couldn’t take it.

Sure, he’d seen people scantily clad before, though that was in magazines and shopping catalogues and movies that never quite took his fancy.

Not real life.

And they had never been you.

König felt a familiar tightness forming in his swim shorts.

He swallowed thickly, the sun suddenly too hot, the sand suddenly too sharp.

And then, you had to bring him closer to ruin.

“Köni,” you called, melodic, a tune König would fall for every time.

“Would you help put this sunscreen on my back?”

This was all moving so fast.

Sure, he’d had thoughts of being intimate with you before, but they’d only been thoughts, hallucinations, even.

And he knew they weren’t real, weren’t palpable.

Unlike this.

Hesitantly, fearing his secret would become apparent to you, he sat beside you, legs clasped together as he tried desperately to keep you oblivious to the growing issue.

He’d lathered the cream between his waiting hands, and his breath shuttering, placed them upon your skin.

You were soft. Tiny in König’s giant hands.

He’d have cursed his genetics for making him so adept at this practice – for making it pass too quickly – was he not fighting every moral and ethic he had yet to break.

You purred as his hands slid from the to the bottom of your back, your unintentional mewls destroying König’s resolve.

His hands dipped, slowly, fractionally, down your sides, close to your front, your chest.

He wanted to.

God, he wanted to.

But he knew not to risk it.

Abstain. Abstain, the voice told him.

He resisted, took in your body feverishly one last time before he got up, finished, his hulking figure blocking out the sunlight.

“Be right back,” he’d told you.

And off he sped to the nearest bathroom, where, whimpering into the jacket he’d balled over his fist and put to his mouth, he apologised over and over to you, his toes curling as he brought himself to a reluctant conclusion.

He returned soon, just as he’d said.

You smiled back at him from your shallow edge of the ocean, waving him over.

He declined, instead hiding beneath the shade of the umbrella.

He was still sensitive between his legs, as was his mind.

He wouldn’t risk compromising himself again. Not when he was so close to having you.

Or so he thought.

After that first encounter with his own beasteous appetite for you to a more…carnal degree, König had begun to indulge in some personal delights.

AKA, stealing your underwear and using it to get off during his long trips away.

And, whenever he stayed over, he’d take his opportunity to rifle through your drawers, gather intel (as he was so trained), see what new clothes you’d bought (why – and who for?).

You and König took to sharing a bed again.

Perhaps it was the false assurance of maturity that stopped you from realising – from seeing – how König felt about you.

Whenever he would come and pay you a visit, the afternoons would transform from a dusk-ridden sky to a languid black wine speckled with the universe’s offspring.

And there you and König would be, in bed together, talking for what would always be hours about anything and everything.

Much like that time in the tunnel, neither of you spoke of your time at the dance, though rather for you it was a source of hurt, whereas König, proof of conquest.

Regardless, you’d both matured, left school, and had pursued your own paths.

All while remaining as close as you had since childhood.

König’s decision to join the military had been one you’d discussed at length.

Or rather, you’d tried to convince him of staying.

He won that particular argument.

Not that he’d have let you stay mad at him, anyway.

“I can handle myself extraordinarily well, mein Maus.”

Your eyebrow quirks up.

“König, I’ve never seen you hurt a fly, nevermind a person.”

His stomach dropped when he remembered that you didn’t know about his…altercation with the boy who almost stole you from him all those years ago.

And the odd few he’d instigated whenever a potential suitor walked onto the scene.

He gets called away on business a lot, so you find other ways of communicating.

He’s not permitted to use a mobile phone since it serves as both a distraction and a vehicle for tracking, and the last thing König would do is put you in harm’s way.

Instead, you send each other letters, from addresses different to your true ones, of course.

You often send him books you know he’ll like, going through and annotating all the parts you found funny, sad, or profound.

And there was always a heartfelt note trapped within the pages, pinned to the paper in ink.

He has a limited edition copy of Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell Tale Heart and a body of his other works that he keeps hidden beneath his bed.

‘Limited edition’ because you’d gone out of your way to print out each page of the book when you were just children, unable to purchase the book for both a lack of personal finances and not wanting to get König into trouble for reading such dark material.

Perhaps that had been some precursor to what your lives would become – a foreshadow over you.

The copy König had was worn, despite his best efforts to preserve it.

Dog-eared corners, blunted edges and yellowed, softened paper.

Some of the ink had scratches through the letters, faded.

And between those pages, a picture of you was held.

Each night, König would hold that photograph between his fingers, sometimes quivering with adrenaline, other times numb with the same affliction.

And, without fail, your visage brought him to sleep, to slumber, to a recreation of your domestic future that played behind his eyelids.

Your letters kept him more than excited, too.

When he’d be gone for months at a time, you’d update him on your life occurrences; birthdays, anecdotes, work complications; König lived for it all.

All, except, for one sliver of news which you’d so foolishly told König.

And, as he held your letter between his clenching, grasping, white-knuckled hands, his teeth gritted, his eyes going wide, breath billowing from his nose like steam.

You’d started to fancy someone at work.

König did something he’d never done with your letters before.

He crumpled it between his fingers, his every nerve ablaze with the need to do something, to intervene.

König knew he wasn’t thinking straight, but he didn’t care.

This was different from Prom; he couldn’t reach you here.

That day, König’s kill count far exceeded that of his peers, many bodies ravaged with enough stab wounds to think them sacrifices for some angry god.

His teammates seemed a little reluctant to cooperate with him this time round, and steered clear of him for the duration of the mission.

Days later, König was home.

His fury remained with him, that demon he’d harboured for so many years now emerging from the corners of his personality.

But he knew to conceal it from you – knew how to.

He arrived at your doorstep before he’d even gone home yet.

To him, you were his home.

And as you invited him inside, his mask no longer an instigator of fright to you but of your best friend, your soulmate in another life.

König took little time to settle in your living room, putting his overnight bag somewhere, all the while his mind still rubbed raw with the mission.

And you.

Seeing as he’d been gone for some months, he knew he’d need to be attentive to the way you spoke of this new ‘crush’ of yours.

I’ll crush him, all right, he said to himself.

He couldn’t be sure how serious you were about him.

How deep a threat he was.

You’d cooked König’s favourite in anticipation of his arrival, having developed something of a sixth sense when it came to his making an appearance.

And as you brought him his fresh, spare clothes from your wardrobe, König couldn’t help but let a comment slip.

“We’re like an old married couple,” he said, stitching a laugh between his words to give the illusion of jest. Of humour.

An easy deflection tactic.

You gave no indication of rejection.

No idea of disgust.

You only laughed.

“Yeah,” you said, placing König’s meal down in front of him.

“I suppose we do.”

And, as you went to pull away, König took your wrist, gently, in his hand.

He dwarfed you in every aspect, and this was no different.

But something that was different that you’d picked up was his stare.

It was deep, almost half-lidded in its demeanour.

König’s hand slipped from your wrist into yor hand, holding it, gently, like porcelain.

You squeezed his fingers.

“Something wrong, König ?” you asked, turning to give him your full attention.

He paused for a moment, then two, then three.

“No.” he said, final and certain. He let you go.

“Nothing at all.”

König began showing up to your work.

Since you stayed at each other’s houses as much as you did as children, König found it almost frighteningly easy to make you blunder.

He’d take your lunch out the fridge and hide it, only to deny ever having seen it when you searched for it in the morning.

Later that same day, König would come and pay you a visit, dropping off your lunch, claiming it to have “been in the back of the fridge. Must’ve missed it, Silly,” and he’d give you a smile.

The first few times, he’d treated your artificial oblivion to your surroundings as ‘cute’, ‘endearing’.

Then, when you began ‘misplacing’ your keys, your phone, everyday essentials, König would shoot you a concerned look.

“(Y/N), Sweetie–” he’d look in the cupboards with you, a look of concern laced into his features.

“Are you sure you’re feeling all right ? You’ve been losing track of your things for quite a while now.”

At first, you could only give him quick reassurances before rushing off to work.

Rushing off to see him.

And König would remain.

Searching the house not for your lost items, but for those he could hide next.

You’d never find them again.

You’d have to get copies of your keys, a new phone – replace all the contacts you lost,

And even then, König made sure you’d have to work for the ones he didn’t want you to have.

Like His.

Eventually, three months into this plan, this scheme, König made a proposition.

He sat you down at his dining table, his hand atop yours, holding it.

He appeared genuine.

True.

“(Y/N),” he said, almost exasperatedly.

“I’m…concerned about you.”

He gave you a second to consider what he was saying, wanting to give you the illusion of verbal freedom.

When you only nodded eyebrows knitted together in mirrored concern, he inhaled deeply.

“And, considering how…” he pretended to rummage around in his mind for the right word. “Forgetful you’ve been recently…” he watched you. Tried to gauge your reaction. Something flickered behind your eyes.

Annoyance.

König began to tread carefully.

“I thought that, perhaps, just for a week or so, you could try…living here.”

He waited in silence, for your confirmation.

Or denial.

You sniffed, rubbed your eye, and settled your weary head into your hand.

König pushed further.

“Unless…” he cast his gaze down, to the oak table.

“You don’t think I’d be able to care for you.”

At that, your eyes widened, and you clasped König’s hand between yours.

Desperate.

“Oh, no, Köni !” You exclaimed. “I-I can think of no-one better to look after me than you !”

König cast you a doubtful look.

“But…?”

You swallowed.

“But…” you retracted. König had to resist the need to pull you back into his arms.

“But you’re just so busy. I don’t know if… I’d just be a burden to you.”

König almost let out a snort.

“A burden ?” he said, leaning back in his chair, as if taking an arrow of offence straight to the heart.

“My dear, you would never be a burden to me.”

He leaned in, took your hands in his again.

His voice lowered. Soft. The flight of a bird across the ocean’s face.

“Ever.”

You looked up from your lap.

Your eyes were glassed. Doll-ish.

You sniffed. Sniffed again.

A tear fell onto the hoodie you wore. The one König gifted you.

“Okay.” You relented.

The shark tore the bird from its glide, dragging its corpse into the abyss.

König squoze your hands.

“You won’t regret it,” he assured you.

You were his prisoner from then on.

You just didn’t know it yet.

König left on official business not long after you moved in.

You still had you other apartment, but the way König spoke of it, using ‘was’, ‘were’ and ‘used to be’, gave the impression that it was off-limits to you now.

Lost.

You were allowed time off work after explaining your predicament to your boss.

She was supportive, told you to take as much time off as you needed.

As you bade König a farewell at the door, something about him felt…different.

You could feel it in the way he gripped you, pulled you up to him, his arms around your waist, hanging lower than usual.

His breath hot against your neck, the phantom brush of his lips against your most sensitive part.

And when you withdrew, König imparted only a sliver of advice to you.

“Don’t go into the basement.”

The look on your face implored ‘why?’, yet your lips did not.

König set your mind at ease regardless.

“There’s a bit of damp down there. Don’t want you getting sick–” He looked at you, smiling. “–er.”

And he bore himself into the night, shedding König and becoming a killer.

That night, when the TV had little to offer in the way of entertainment, and your phone offered little incentive to play games or socialise, your mind began to wander.

Through meniality, then obscurity.

You thought about your old home, and everything in it you loved.

Your heart ached for it, for everything you’d left behind there.

I’m sure König wouldn’t mind if I…just had a little time at home.

You consorted with your mental audience.

After all, he’s going to be gone for at least a few weeks.

Standing from the sofa, legs wobbling with inactivity, you hunted for your keys.

König kept his on a hook by the door.

But when you checked it, yours were nowhere to be found.

You searched your shared bedroom, the drawer.

You found something…peculiar.

You lifted a pair of underwear from within that you swore you’d lost months ago – before you’d ever moved in with König.

Perhaps I’m mistaken, you thought.

Rationalised.

I probably just packed these without thinking. Found them in the wash bin and threw them into a suitcase.

And you continued your search.

Soon, however, you were beginning to run out of rooms, and you were growing restless.

The longer you were forced to abstain from the outside world, the more ants felt like they were crawling under your skin

Eventually, despite König’s warning, you had no choice but to descend into the basement.

And you did so.

Quietly.

The feeling of having König over your shoulder didn’t leave with him.

Not this time.

And, as you clambered the newly-cleaned stairs down, you saw a dim light peeking out from beneath the door frame.

You reached for the handle, breath bated with the hope of discovery.

Your keys had to be here, right ?

Reaching for the handle, you opened the door.

And everything stopped.

For a second, you didn’t believe what you were seeing.

The source of the light had been candles.

Many, many candles, varying shades of your favourite colours, blended into a macabre rainbow over a horrifyingly familiar artifact you’d assumed had been lost to time.

The Bestie Bible.

Mounted on a makeshift pillar and aged with childlike handling, though it was noticeably pristine.

Stepping back, you hit something.

A wall that hadn’t been there before.

You gasped, turning on your heel.

A man stood before you, but it wasn’t König.

It couldn’t be.

Though identical in build, in height, and in the way he stood, this veiled man was not your König.

At least, not the König you’d grown up with.

He took a step forwards. You scrambled back.

Ending...

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[barefoot-joker]

Put a Ring on It~Yandere!Lucifer X Reader

Hey, guys! Welcome back to another Yandere!Lucifer fanfiction. I went a bit of a different route than I normally do, so bear with me. As always, I hope you enjoy and have a great day/night!

Words: 2438

Warnings: Kidnapping, Unorthodox way of getting a partner

I hummed as I walked about the antique store, dusting some of the cases. Today was a bit of a slower day so I tried to find things to occupy my time with. I had already swept, cleaned the windows and moved some items around so dusting everything was my next option. My coworker Jessica meanwhile sat behind the counter polishing some of the glassware our store had to offer. “And so then he got down on one knee and proposed to her in front of the whole restaurant! Can you believe it?”

“And you and your boyfriend were just sitting there and watching?”

“Yeah. It was so romantic, Y/n!”

“It sounds like it was. Were you dropping hints to your man at that moment?”

“Well of course! We’ve been together for six years for crying out loud!”

I chuckled and began dusting one of the jewelry cases. “So how about you, Y/n? Anybody in your life?”

“No, unfortunately. Love isn’t really up my alley right now.”

“I get it.”

Ding! The bell above our front door went off.

Jessica and I both turned our heads towards the door to see an older woman standing there. She was in a red floor length dress and had a grayish brown fur shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She looked on the wealthier side not only because of her clothes but because of all the jewelry she had on. Rings decorated each of her fingers and pearl and gold necklaces draped around her front. She looked around and then spotted us. “Excuse me. Is Sarah in?”

“No, the owner isn’t in, unfortunately. What can we do for you,” Jessica replied.

The woman walked over and set a dark red velvet bag on the glass case. Opening it, she pulled out a gorgeous gold ring that looked like a snake wrapped around a medium sized ruby. The cut of the gem made it appear like an apple. “I was looking to sell this piece of jewelry. I no longer need it in my collection.”

The woman kept glancing around the store, almost like she was paranoid someone was following her. “It’s very beautiful, ma’am. How much were you looking to get?”

“It doesn’t matter. What’s your best offer, sweetie?”

Now that surprised me. I would have thought the woman would have asked for quite the chunk of change considering her appearance, but hey, this job still surprises me sometimes. “We’ll have to look at it and check out if it’s real gold or not. Plus we’ll need to check the karat of ruby you got.”

“You know what, nevermind. Just keep it, sell it, I don’t care!”

Suddenly the woman bolted out of the store despite Jessica and my protests. The slam of the door shook us out of our shock. “What was her problem? It would have only taken us a minute or two to evaluate the ring.”

“I think she had a lot more going on then we could have helped her with, Y/n.”

I hummed. Jessica picked up the ring and twirled it in her fingers. “It is quite the beautiful piece. The old gal could have probably gotten $200 for it. Oh well. You better clean it up and put it in the case. I’ll be on my lunch break.”

“You got it.”

Jessica stood from her perch and went into the back room as I placed the duster back in its proper place. Grabbing some jewelry cleaner and a rag, I picked up the ring and began to clean it. As I rubbed it down and made it shiny the more I felt drawn to it. It was almost like a small voice in my head was telling me to try it on. Eh, it couldn’t hurt could it?

Slipping it onto my ring finger, I admired it by the sunlight coming through the front window. It was quite the stunning piece with the ruby becoming slightly transparent and the gold of the snake shining. “Okay, that’s enough.”

I went to pull off the ring but surprisingly it wouldn’t give. Confused, I pulled again, only to grit my teeth when the ring felt like it tightened. “What gives?”

I pulled at it once more but pulled back when it felt like a fire from Hell grazed my fingertips. “Ow!”

I sighed and stared at the ring, the snake seemingly winking at me. “You’re coming off whether you like it or not.”

Heading into the bathroom, I splashed my hands with hot water before grabbing some soap. Scrubbing my ring finger, I pulled and pulled at the stupid piece of jewelry but it would not come off. I kept at it until my finger was bright red from how hard I was pulling. “Y/n, are you okay?”

I turned to see Jessica behind me, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. “I’m fine. It's just this ring won’t come off!”

I showed her my hand and the brunette tutted. “It looks like it’s jammed on there real good. I see you tried soap and water but to no avail. Have you tried oil yet?”

“No.”

“Well I seem to remember there was some vegetable oil in the break room if you want to try that. What made you try it on anyway?”

“I figured since we try jewelry on all the time it wouldn’t hurt. I guess I was mistaken this time around.”

“Just go try the oil and I’ll Google if there’s anything else we can do.”

“Okay.”

I dried my hands on the towel and then made my way to the break room. I opened all of the cupboards until I found the bottle of vegetable oil. Opening the cap, I splashed some onto the ring and around the finger before I began to rub. I did this for a few minutes and then attempted to pull again. Once again the snake tightened and it felt hot to the touch. I growled in frustration and pulled a few more times. Getting nowhere, I put the container of oil back and slammed the cupboard shut. I went over to the sink and rinsed off the excess oil before returning to Jessica in the main room. “Did you find anything useful?”

“No, but listen to this. I just did a general search on the ring and found an interesting article. Apparently a ring just like yours was said to have been crafted back in the Renaissance. A rich man was trying to court a young woman but she would have nothing to do with him. Summoning the Devil, the man and Lucifer made a deal that at the next masquerade ball the man would have the young woman. The Devil then crafted a ring and said that is what the man will propose with. If the woman denied his affections then she would become Lucifer’s. At the ball the woman denied the man’s affections and right then and there, the horned demon took her. It is said that whoever puts the ring on next will belong to Satan himself.”

“And where was this article found?”

“Somebody posted it on Reddit.”

I rolled my eyes. “Stop trying to scare me with fairy tales. I’m already anxious that the stupid thing won’t come off.”

“Yeah, but can you imagine Y/n? You might now be the Devil’s next wife!”

We looked at each other deeply before we both burst into a fit of giggles. “OMG as if that article is true, am I right?”

I laughed. There was no way it could be true…right?

Jessica came up to me and spun me around in a twirl. “We’d better look for your wedding gown while we’re here. We wouldn’t want Lucifer to be disappointed would we?”

“No, we wouldn’t.”

We giggled as we ran around the store finding all the pieces to make me the perfect bride. When we finished, we stood by the full length mirror. I held the white gown up to my chest and Jessica draped a veil over the top of my head. “Look at you! I’d say Lucifer is one lucky man!”

“You think so?”

“Oh I know so! So you couldn’t catch a human’s romantic affections but hey you got the Big Boss of Hell on your side!”

I set the dress down and the two of us began to dance. Jessica hummed a tune as we waltzed through the store, laughing the whole time. “Okay, okay. We’d better get back to work.”

I pulled the veil off and picked the dress back up. Returning them to their spots, Jessica and I continued our work day. 

Later that night, Jessica and I were finishing locking up. The brunette clicked the door shut and turned the key. Pulling out the key, she turned to me. “I hope you have a good night, Y/n. And if the Devil does end up marrying you, don’t forget to send me an invite.”

“Will do. Have a good night, Jessica.”

The two of us waved at each other before heading off in opposite directions. The night was slightly busy as several cars drove on the road and people were out and about. As I was walking down a quieter street, I heard a slight humming. Curious, I looked around and couldn’t find anything that created the noise. I ignored and kept walking. Out of the corner of my eyes I could see bright golden specks fly up around me. Probably just fireflies.

Suddenly I couldn’t feel the ground below me and I was free falling. I screamed and quickly closed my eyes, my limbs sort of flying about. Just as sudden as I started falling, I stopped. The air in my lungs flew out as I sat on the hard ground and slowly but surely I opened my eyes. I gasped as my surroundings were completely different. I appeared to be in a hallway, red and light red striped wallpaper with white filigree decorated the walls, golden lights hung from the walls, and a red carpet lay atop the dark reddish floorboards. “There you are!”

My head snapped in front of me and my eyes widened. A small demon with a pointed tail and suit stood in front of me, his yellow eyes staring me down. “We’ve been wondering when you’d arrive, Miss. Please, come with me.”

I stood and backed away from the creature. “W-where am I? How’d I get here? Who are you?”

“All questions will be answered in due time, my lady. However, we need to get you ready. His Majesty will be here very soon and he’s expecting to see you.”

The demon grabbed onto my hand and led me down the corridor to a room on the right. We appeared to be in a walk-in closet of sorts as there were clothes hanging everywhere and a variety of dressers. The butler let go of my hand and had me sit at a vanity. The lights around the mirror were very bright so I found myself squinting. I watched as the little demon went to a couple of the different dressers, pulling out various things. He came to me a few moments later and stood behind me. Taking my hair in his claws, he petted it a few times before putting in a golden snake barrette. He repeated this action on the other side of my head. He then went to my neck and clicked a pearl necklace into place. Smoothing out the shirt I had on, the demon glanced over me before deciding I was fit enough. Grabbing my hand once more, the two of us walked down the hall and to a grand staircase. Going down to the first floor, he led me to a large room with two black thrones. The red eyes on the chairs stared me down as suddenly a poof of red smoke made a man sit on the left seat. He was on the shorter side and wore all white with a splash of red here and there. Our eyes locked onto each other and a big grin made its way to his lips. “Ah, darling! I’ve been waiting for you!”

The demon butler pushed me forwards and bowed. “Your Majesty. Will there be anything else you need?”

“No, but thank you, Dorian. Let us be.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

The little guy walked out of the room and with a click of the door, my heart began to pound loudly. I turned back to the blonde man and he motioned me forward. I gulped and went up the three steps to be near him. “I’ve been so excited to see you, my dear! Looking at you through a magic ball doesn’t do you justice.”

I could feel skin heat up at his comment. “Um, w-who are you?”

“How rude of me! Lucifer Morningstar, King of Hell and your soon to be husband.”

I choked on my spit as he wiggled his eyebrows. “W-what?!”

“Oh did you not listen to your friend’s little story? We are to be wed, my dear.”

“I thought it was just some-”

“Fairy tale? Not at all! You slipped on my ring and are therefore mine. Oh, Dorian made you look so cute!”

I couldn’t believe it. Jessica’s story she read was real and I was going to be the Devil’s wife. Lucifer patted the throne next to him and I sat, still in shock. “Oh we’ve got so much to plan, sweetie! After all if we’re to be married next month-”

“Next month?! Are you crazy? I don’t even know you nor do I want to be in this situation!”

“It won’t be that bad, Y/n. We can get to know each other even after the wedding. Many couples get married and find love with each other after.”

“Look, I don’t want this. So you can just take your ring back and let me go home.”

I stood up and made my way down the stairs when suddenly I was flown back into Lucifer. He held me on his lap and nuzzled into me. “Ah, ah, ah! I can’t take the ring off even if I wanted to. It’s bound us together, you and I. Besides, you’re too cute to pass up.”

He booped my nose and I wanted to die right then and there. “I promise we’ll be happy together. I’m a very attentive lover and I can give you whatever you want. I am the Devil after all.”

He gave my cheek a kiss and all I could think of was Lord get me out of here.

[paddockletters]

one last chance | jude bellingham

second part of echoes of him pairing: jude bellingham x reader summary: After a twist of fate reunites y/n with Jude, she finds herself torn between old feelings and new challenges as they attempt to rebuild their once fragile bond.

I found myself drawn back to the park—the place Jude and I had always gone when life felt too overwhelming. The place where we’d laughed, fought, made up, and broken down. Every corner held a memory, every bench a moment we couldn’t forget. Today, it felt like a place I came to confront myself. I needed clarity, but all I had was a heavy heart and a million questions.

The days after that night at Toby’s had been a blur. I went through the motions, met Jake for lunch, and responded to his texts, but my mind was elsewhere. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Jude—his face, his words, the tension crackling between us. No matter how hard I tried to shake it, it lingered, like an unfinished song stuck on repeat.

Jake, in his usual caring way, hadn’t noticed my distraction. Or if he had, he wasn’t saying anything. It made the guilt even worse. He didn’t deserve to be kept in the dark, but how could I tell him the truth when I wasn’t even sure what it was?

I sat there, staring blankly at the ground when I heard footsteps approaching. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was. There was something about Jude’s presence—he always seemed to fill the space around him, making it impossible to ignore him even when I wanted to.

“You keep running here when things get tough, huh?” His voice was low, teasing, but there was a seriousness behind his words that I couldn’t miss.

I swallowed, my throat tight. “Maybe I just like the quiet.”

Jude sat beside me on the bench, his usual confidence replaced by something more hesitant.

“Is that why you’re here, y/n? For the quiet? Or are you here because of me?”

I closed my eyes, the weight of his question pressing down on me. I didn’t want to admit the truth, didn’t want to say aloud what I’d been avoiding since the night at Toby’s. But Jude wasn’t going to let me off the hook that easily.

“Look at me,” he said softly, his hand reaching for mine. His touch was warm, familiar, and it made my heart ache in ways I hadn’t expected. “You know we’ve never been good at hiding from each other.”

“Why are you doing this, Jude? Why now?” I sighed, my voice barely a whisper.

“Because I can’t stand seeing you with him,” Jude admitted, his voice raw. “I can’t stand knowing that I let you slip away when I never stopped loving you.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I pulled my hand away, standing up abruptly.

“This isn’t fair! You don’t get to just come back into my life and say things like that!”

Jude stood too, his eyes never leaving mine.

“I know it’s not fair, but when has anything between us ever been fair? We’re a mess, y/n, but we’re our mess. And I can’t keep pretending like I’m okay with you being with someone else when I’m not.”

I turned away, wiping the tears that had started to fall.

“What am I supposed to do, Jude? You left. You were the one who walked away.”

“I know,” he said, his voice breaking. “And I hate myself for it. But I’m here now. I’m trying to fix it.”

“Fix it?” I laughed bitterly. “You can’t just show up and expect everything to go back to the way it was.”

“I don’t expect that,” Jude replied quickly. “But I also know that what we had was real. It still is. And I think you know that too.”

“You can’t just come back into my life, drop that on me, and expect me to just—what? Choose you? After everything?” I turned to face him, anger and hurt swirling inside me.

“Why not?” he asked, stepping closer, his eyes dark with emotion. “Why not choose me?”

“Because it’s not that simple!” I shouted, my voice cracking. “I’m with Jake now. He’s good for me. He’s—” I stopped, my words faltering. He’s safe. He’s steady. He’s not you.

“Jake’s not the problem, y/n. He’s a good guy, I’m sure. But you’re with him because it’s easy. Because it’s not complicated. But does he make you feel alive?” Jude’s jaw tightened.

I hated him for asking that. I hated him because he was right. Jake was safe, but Jude—Jude made my heart race, made me feel things I wasn’t ready to confront. It wasn’t fair, not to Jake, not to anyone, but the truth was there, undeniable.

“What do you want from me, Jude?” Tears blurred my vision as I whispered.

He reached out, gently cupping my face in his hands, his touch soft but full of urgency.

“I want you to stop lying to yourself. I want you to admit that you’re still in love with me.”

“Jude…” I shook my head, my tears spilling over.

Before I could finish, he kissed me—soft at first, then deeper, more intense, as if he was pouring everything he couldn’t say into that one kiss. And damn it, I kissed him back. For a moment, everything else fell away. The confusion, the guilt, the fear—it all disappeared, leaving only the two of us and the undeniable connection that had always been there.

When we finally pulled apart, I was breathless, my heart racing. I stared at him, my mind a whirlwind of emotions.

“I can’t do this,” I whispered, stepping back, my head spinning. “This isn’t fair to Jake.”

“I know,” Jude said softly, his voice full of regret. “But it’s not fair to either of us if we keep pretending.”

I turned away, my chest heaving with sobs I was trying to hold back.

“What do you want me to do, Jude? Just break his heart? Leave him?”

“If you’re not in love with him, then yes,” Jude said, his voice steady but full of pain. “Because staying with him when your heart isn’t his—that’s not fair to him either.”

I knew he was right. Deep down, I knew. But it didn’t make it any easier.

That night, I made the hardest decision of my life. Breaking things off with Jake was brutal. He didn’t understand, and how could he? I barely understood it myself. The look of hurt in his eyes when I told him I wasn’t in love with him was something I’d never forget.

“I thought we were good together,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought you were happy.”

“I was,” I admitted, tears streaming down my face. “But it’s not enough, Jake. You deserve someone who loves you the way you deserve to be loved.”

He didn’t say anything, just nodded, his face a mixture of sadness and confusion. It was the right thing to do, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

After the call, I felt hollow. I’d hurt someone I cared about deeply, and the weight of that guilt was crushing. But beneath it all, there was also a strange sense of relief. Like a burden I didn’t even know I was carrying had finally been lifted.

When I turned to find Jude waiting outside my apartment, his expression was a mixture of hope and apprehension. He opened his mouth to speak, but I held up my hand, silencing him.

“Just… hold me,” I whispered.

And without another word, he pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly as the weight of everything settled around us. It wasn’t going to be easy—nothing about us ever was—but for the first time in a long time, I felt like I wasn’t running anymore.

We stood there, in the quiet of the night, and I knew. I’d chosen Jude—chaos and all—because no matter how much it hurt, no matter how messy things got, he was the one person who made me feel alive.

And that was something I couldn’t escape, even if I tried.

[thinkingaboutbetterdays]

meeting house. ( james wilson x reader )

gif belongs to me

The friendship between James and Greg had lasted far longer than any of his marriages. When you met the cynical diagnostician after he followed James during his lunch break to a café you were meeting at, you knew how important he was to your boyfriend and how exasperated James could be with him sometimes. House crashed your lunch date and started grilling you about your past and your relationship with James who tried to get him to leave.

You sent him a smile to reassure him that it was okay and allowed House to ask questions he designed to test your responses.

"How do you find his sexual prowess? Satisfactory?"

"House!"

You giggled as you ate a fry. "Very."

James raised an eyebrow at your reply, looking at House when he continued, "And you aren't worried about his failed marriages and his serial cheating?"

"Okay, that's enough."

"No." You pushed your plate closer when House ate your fries, leaning your arms on the table, mirroring him. "My sexual prowess is very satisfactory."

A slight smirk formed on House's lips and he looked at James who sat in stunned silence. "Is it?"

"Is what?"

House rolled his eyes, "Is sex with her very satisfactory?"

"I am not discussing this with you." James enunciated every word, sighing as he attempted to convince House to leave.

"Ooh, that's gotta hurt."

"What does?" James looked between you both, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

You raised an eyebrow at your boyfriend, masking your amusement. "You don't think sex with me is great?"

"What? No - well, yes! Of course, it is! But do we need to discuss our sex life in a crowded diner?" James pouted, panicking at the thought of you being upset with him.

"Aw, he's blushing!"

You smiled when House teased him, and James smacked his hand away before he could pinch his cheek.

House stood up, leaning on his cane. "This isn't over." He took a handful of fries from your plate. "Thanks for the fries." He walked away and you looked at James who was trying to process the last twenty minutes.

"So are you satisfied with sex with me or not?"

Your casual tone broke his thoughts and he shook his head as he leaned closer. "Our sex is incredible. Right?"

You smiled, pecking his lips. "Good answer."

James observed for a moment as you continued eating lunch. "You know, you handled that much better than, well, anyone who comes into contact with House."

You shrugged, "I like him. It was entertaining."

"No, no, that's how he gets you. He tricks you into thinking it's fun but really we're all lab rats in a big cage. Trust me, I've known him a long time and I can't get rid of him."

You giggled as he began to eat his lunch. You knew that despite the banter between them, they cared a lot about each other.

Over the years you got used to having House in your life and to James's relief and dismay you both got along much better than any of his past wives. Although House still asked inappropriate questions or made remarks, but you left him speechless more than once with your responses.

You were willing to indulge his madness at times and James regretted not dragging House out of the diner as the two of you had gotten along so well ever since. You were the first woman House had ever approved of and James couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not.

On days like today, he was more inclined to believe the latter.

He entered exam room two in the clinic and sighed when he saw House drawing blood from your arm. You both lifted your heads as he closed the door.

"Hi, honey." You greeted him with a smile.

"Hi, honey." House echoed with a smirk.

"What are you doing?"

"We're taking it to the lab to test it." You explained.

James huffed, turning to glare at House who removed the needle and pressed a cotton ball where he had drawn blood. "What did I tell you about doing experiments with my wife?" 

"It'll be cool and I was bored."

"It'll be cool and she was bored. I was bored, and now you're all caught up."

James glanced at the ceiling, summoning the remaining crumbs of his patience as he put his hands in the pockets of his white coat. "She is not a pin cushion whenever you want to get out of clinic hours."

"I know, but she looks so hot doing it."

"This is the last time you run tests on my wife. I mean it."

House slowly nodded, seeing the anger concealed in his eyes. If you weren't in the room, he was sure James would've punched him by now.

"Can we still test this one?" You looked at your husband hopefully.

James waved a hand, "Sure."

You grinned, hopped off the chair, and looped your arm with his as you kissed his cheek. "Love you."

"I love you too. Seriously, no more tests. And no more House."

"Finally, I can catch up on my sleep. Does she always talk that much?" House led the way out of the exam room and you glared at his back as you followed him out of the clinic to the elevator.

"Hey! You asked how my day was going."

"The only acceptable response to that question is one-word answers. I don't need a full account of everything you did, and the people you spoke to."

You looked at your husband, "Can I kick him over?"

"Children, behave." He chuckled when you swatted his chest as you got into the elevator.

"If you don't want to know how my day is going, don't ask. But if you call to whine about a patient I will hang up."

"Fine."

"Fine."

"Fine."

"Finer."

"That's not a word." House scoffed, hitting the button with his cane.

You turned to James, tugging on the lapels of his coat, "You have never looked finer." His lips curved upward in amusement when you smugly smirked at House. "It's a word. My husband defines the word."

James placed a hand on your back, shaking his head as you and House continued bickering back and forth, sarcastic remarks bouncing off the elevator walls.

"You know, I really regret the day you two met."

"Me too," House replied.

You turned, hitting his arm.

"Ow!"

James looked at the ceiling, shaking his head with a sigh, although there was a small smile on his lips. Despite the bickering between you and his best friend, he knew you cared about each other. When House invited you to the hospital, he knew it was the cynical doctor's way of bonding with you and ever since you were introduced he had run multiple tests and sometimes fudged the results to make it seem like you had an illness. One day, James had been worried sick, and when House revealed the truth, he had punched him in the hallway. 

House leaned forward to whisper in his ear as you exited the elevator. "Say the word and I will infect her with a disease that will -"

"Don't finish that sentence."

[obsessedwithspiderman2099]

Can you please do a Miguel O’Hara scenario where F!Reader is his Deadpool and even though he finds her irritating sometimes he has a soft spot for her?

A Spider-Man and A Mercenary

Pairings: Miguel O’Hara x fem Deadpool Reader

Word count: 776

Synopsis: A familiar Deadpool variant manages to break into the spider society again…

A/N: Thank you so much for requesting!!! This was such a fun dynamic to write between Miguel and us as Deadpool 😋

It was just like any normal day in the spider society. Anomalies were being dealt with, and no spiders were bothering Miguel as he got to stand in his office looking over everything.

Suddenly on one of the security monitors, He spotted a certain Deadpool breaking into the building. Miguel groaned, not you again. If any regular Deadpool broke in, normally he would just ship them back home. Easy. But no, of course the most obnoxious one was located on earth 2099.

“Ay, Dios mio…” Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose, already hearing your loud voice echoing through the already busy hallways of the spider society. He sighed, turning off the intruder alert and resting his hands on his hips as he waiting for you to stomp into his office to torture him further.

You had done this continuously, annoying him with your constant yapping and endless flirting.

Miguel finally heard the door open, signaling your entrance.

“What do you want.” He grumbled, refusing to look at you and instead focusing his gaze on the numerous yellow screens surrounding his office.

“Heyyyy, how’s my favorite Spider-Man doing?” You say, waltzing into his office, or what you call his spider-cave ( he never got the reference).

“You know you’re not supposed to be in this building.”

Miguel crossed his arms, finally looking at the familiar red leather suit you’re sporting.

“How many times do I have to kick you out before you get it?”

“Guess you’ll just have to do it again.” You say, giving him a wink before strolling further in. He scoffed, glancing at his screens for a split second.

Meanwhile, you immediately begin to look around the large dark space, pushing random buttons and causing havoc.

“Hey-HEY!” Miguel pushed himself away from his desk and quickly grabbed your wrist and pulled you back from the buttons that were connected to important multiverse things. “Why do you insist on being such a pain in my ass?” He glared at you with his usual scowling red eyes, the lack of sleep present underneath them. “Has anyone ever told you how sexy you look mad?” You smirk, looking up at him.

The height difference between the two of you was comical.

“You. All the time. It’s infuriating.” Miguel said bluntly, narrowing his eyes down at you.

He lets out a tired sigh, obviously frustrated by but also oddly used to your antics. “Can you just stop moving and causing chaos for five minutes and just act like a normal Human??” “We both know I’m not.” “I’m fully aware of that…” He scoffed, pulling you a bit closer to him.

His fingers curled around your wrist, keeping you from trying to wander off again.

“Oooooo, feeling handsy today are we?”

He rolled his eyes at the comment. “Don’t flatter yourself, I’m just trying to keep you from touching something you're not supposed to.”

Despite what he was saying, he kept you close. His fingers gently caressing the red leather surrounding your wrist. Your annoying energy and presence alone was exhausting to deal with, but a part of Miguel couldn’t help but be drawn to you. Something about you.. just made Miguel’s heart beat a little faster. (And sometimes made his face red)

You start tapping on his arm, bringing him back to the present. “Yeah riiiiiight.” You tease, and he finally comes up with the bright ideas to try getting you out of his office.

“Are you hungry?” Miguel asks, noticing the way your face immediately shoots up to meet his. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“If I take you out to lunch will you stop bothering me and breaking into my office??”

“Awww, you're finally taking me out on a date? Took you long enough!”

You bat your eyes at him, again trying to poke his buttons.

“It’s not a date. Don’t get any ideas.” Miguel responded quickly, activating his mask to hide the slight redness that covered his cheeks.

“Can we listen to wham on the way?” You say, already skipping to the exit at the thought.

“You just can’t make this easy for me, can you?” He said, rolling his eyes at your request.

“Fine, whatever. We're listening to wham, just promise you won’t try to start anything else.”

“Can’t make any promises spidey.”

The familiar cheeky smile on your face beaming. He sighed, a mix of annoyance and amusement on his face. “Of course you can’t..” He followed after, opening the door for you. “After you.”

“What a gentleman.” You happily walked out, taking his hand in yours. He saw this, and couldn’t help but give the tiniest smile.

Maybe this ‘date’ wouldn’t be as long and grudgingly annoying as he thought.

[josephquinnswhore]

Salvaging old wounds - dave york x female reader

summary: you and Dave are thriving post-birth. but someone threatens to ruin your perfect life.

word count: 5.3k

content warning: age gap, stockholm syndrome, no prenatal care, home birth, bitter ex wife Carol keeps the kids from Dave, breaking and entering, conversation about reader being a missing person, murder, set up death ‘suicide’, abuse of power, sheriff Dave, mentions of mental illness. Use of pet name; honey.

tagging some peeps that commented on part one. @sunshineispunk @summer-wine111 @romanarose @axshadows @queeneamidala @cockykookiee

It’s sometime in the early hours of the spring morning, cold enough to tug on your knitted sweater, already awake in the kitchen, soothing your son with some quiet shushing sounds as you pack Dave’s lunch for work today as he showers in your ensuite down the hall.

Your finger flicks the coffee pot on, and searches through the cupboard for his favourite mug. A tacky hand drawn Father’s Day gift from Molly when she was younger.

A small smile creeps across your tired lips, seeing the inside of the cul stained from years of use. You’d washed it countless times over the past few months you’d been re-allocated to live in the house, but he insists that it makes the coffee taste better.

The light on the microwave reads 06:58. Like clockwork, as the pot comes to a boil.. entering the room right on cue, greeting you with a sleepy smile.

“Morning, honey,” he greets, voice still rough from sleep, his hair still wet from the shower.

He approaches you from behind and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. He presses a soft kiss on your neck before nuzzling his head into your shoulder.

Although he could tell you were tired he admires that you’re still here in the kitchen, preparing his lunch and subduing your son from his quieting cries. “Good morning to you too. I’m just packing your lunch for work.”

Noting the weariness in your expression, concern etches in his eyes, and the grip on your waist.

“You’re exhausted.” Dave steps back, his hands still on your waist, and gently turns you around to face him. “Are you not sleeping well?”

“I had a few hours, we woke up to feed and change every two hours or so, but it’s expected with a newborn, right? And I’m coping. I’ll find some time today to rest.”

Dave nods, his expression softening. “Yeah, I know. But you don’t have to handle everything on your own, especially at your own expense. I can take him tonight so you can get some rest, okay?”

You lean your head into his shoulder, kissing the blue business shirt you’d ironed last night. “Thank you.”

He smiles faintly, his hand running gently through your hair. “Of course. I want you to rest and be happy, you know that.” He pulls back slightly, his gaze filled with love and gratitude. “Besides, I’ve been practicing my burping techniques.”

A tired laugh escapes you. “Yeah? It’s been a while for you hasn’t it?”

Even though Dave had two kids of his own from his marriage with carol—it had been nearly a decade since the girls needed burping, or feeding.

Dave chuckles, looking both sheepish and proud. “It has been a while. But I’m confident in my abilities.” Massaging your luscious hips with his thumbs. “How’s our little munchkin doing?”

“He’s good. Kind of in and out with sleeping. I searched it up and found it’s called active sleep.” Finally, you set an ice pack into his insulated lunch box with a fork and set it aside.

Dave tilts his head, a mix of curiosity and concern on his face. “Active sleep?” He raises an eyebrow. “As in, he’s moving around and making noise but still asleep?”

“Yeah. It’s normal apparently, I did some reading about it last night, because it was freaking me out.” You watch as he pours himself a coffee.

Dave takes a sip, then sets the ceramic mug against the counter, fingers still holding onto the small handle.

“Well, that’s good to know. As long as he’s not crying himself hoarse or anything, I suppose.” He glances at you, a playful grin on his face. “Are you doing more baby Google searches?”

“Not right this second no. But I’m certain something will come up,” you tell him in advance.

Dave laughs softly, placing a comforting hand on your cheek. "That's completely normal, honey. Being a parent is this mix of wonder and fear. But you're doing a great job. Our little guy is lucky to have you as his mom."

“He’s lucky to have you too. So are the girls you know..” A moment of silence. “I’m sorry she took them away from you.”

Dave's expression changes, his smile fading. A heavy sigh is all he can manage for a moment, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, it was tough when it happened... still is, honestly.”

He pauses, looking at you with a mix of gratitude and sadness. “But having you here... you and our son, it makes it all feel a little less lonely, you know?"

Pushing yourself off of the countertop you’re leaning on and approaching him, kissing his cheek, the smell of his potent aftershave now clings to your skin. “They’re your girls, they love you.”

Dave leans his cheek into your kiss, appreciating your comforting gesture. "I hope so. I miss them every day." The heavy rise and fall of his chest is an attempt at gathering himself. He glances down at you, a hint of vulnerability in his dark eyes.

"But having you and this family we're nurturing... it helps. More than you know." He was glad you had adapted to this life, and seemed to revel in it.

Living up in the house with him rather than the basement. It was perfect, the way you leaned into domesticity and motherhood with arms wide open.

Dave glances down at his watch, reluctantly breaking the peaceful moment between you. "I should head to the precinct. Are you going to be okay on your own today?" Studying your face is a means to make sure you’re going to be alright.

“Of course. Joey and I will do a heap of fun things. And laundry.” You laugh humorlessly. Although you don’t mind the chores at all.

Dave can’t help but feel pleased to hear your response. “Alright.. don’t overwork yourself, the chores can always wait.”

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer so he can hold you tightly. He rests his chin on the top of your head, closing his eyes.

"I trust you." Dave whispers, a soft firmness to his voice. “You take care of our son, and I’ll be back real soon. We can spend the evening together as a family, whatever you want to do."

“I’ll have dinner prepared.” Leaning upward, you make the effort to instigate affection, fingers grazing the back of his damp hair.

Dave parts from your own lips hesitantly, wearing a content smile.

Reluctantly, he pulls away from you and your warm embrace, his hands lingering on your waist for a moment longer before dropping them to his sides.

He glances down his son, a soft smile playing on his lips. Leaning downward, a delicate finger reaches down to caress his chubby cheeks. “Be good for your momma," he utters in softly to his son.

Dave leans in to press his lips against your sons forehead, the small tuft of dark brown hair on his head were the same as his father. “I’ll see you tonight. I love you both.”

You return the sentiment and wave after him. “We love you, have a good day.”

The morning passes swiftly, with you engrossing yourself in domestic tasks. Piles of laundry need washing thanks to the sudden influx of baby clothes dumped into their own washing basket. Dirty dishes need washing and packing away.

All the while, the Joey still sleeps in his cot that you’d wheeled onto the wooden floors so you could watch him as you tidy up.

The house is quiet, the only sound coming from the soft whirring of the laundry machine as it spins to remove water, and the occasional rustle of Joey in his sleep.

When your son awakens, you tentatively pick him up and hold him to your chest with two cautious hands before sitting him down on the soft mat in the living room, a child-safe foam mat that is three inches thick to prevent him from injury.

Joey's eyes slowly open, adjusting to the bright light, searching for you. He looks around at his surroundings with innocent curiosity, his eyes still wide with that baby wonder.

Fixing his socks, you prepare him for tummy time, making sure he's comfortable. Joey wiggles, his limbs still uncoordinated and jerky, as he attempts to lift his head off the mat.

“You’re getting so good at this,” you coo in wonder.

Joey responds to the sound of your voice, turning his head in your direction with a look of recognition and delight.

His little arms push against the mat as he tries to raise himself up, but his movements are still clumsy and unbalanced. He let out a few soft, baby grunts, seemingly frustrated yet determined.

“Don’t grow up too fast, Joey. Your dad and I are still taking this all in.”

Before long Joey is whining and fussing over tummy time, and you decide to set up one of his musical playmats, with a half circular cover, soft animals dangling from the play equipment. Quiet nursery songs play a simple instrumental with flashing rainbow lights.

Joey's attention is drawn to the musical mat, his little brown eyes wide with fascination as he gazes at the movement and sounds. The music and the dangling animals capture his attention, and his grunts of frustration are replaced by noises of discovery.

He stretches out his tiny arms, trying to grab at the dangling toys, though his aim is still off target, tiny hands are swatting the animals and they swing back and forth.

The house phone rings, and you ignore it at Dave’s request.

But a woman’s voice comes through the speaker of the voicemail machine in real time.

“Dave. I have been calling non stop. Seriously, you’re refusing to contact me about money which I know you have. I need you to call me back or I’ll have to use the spare key to retrieve my personal documents from your house which will only make things worse for you in court.”

Dave had informed you about his ex-wife, how she was trying to make contact with him over child support for the girls. You had been instructed not to answer the phone or door at anytime, for any reason while he was gone.

So it wasn’t exactly a surprise to hear this, more like a bit of an annoying interruption to the sweet moment between you and your son.

The thought of her showing up to the house with your son, armed with a spare key and able to break into your home while Dave wasn’t hear made you feel sick. You look down at Joey, his attention still focused on the musical mat, unaware of how anxious you’re feeling.

“You have one new voicemail.”

As the voicemail machine plays the automated message as she ends the call, anxiously, you resort to chewing on your bottom lip.

You hesitate for a moment, looking down at Joey before deciding to do what you thought; was acceptable in regards to safety. Then, summoning your courage, you walk to the phone and dial Dave’s personal phone number.

And you’re pacing a little up and down the hallway as the shrill shrieking of the call trying to connect reverberates through your ear. He’d only been gone four hours or so, you hope he wouldn’t be upset.

Dave is busy with some administrative work at the precinct, thankfully sitting in his own office with the door shut, when his work phone rings. He glances at the number on his screen, recognising his very own landline.

A flicker of concern crosses his face, a little surprised that you're calling so soon, but doesn’t hesitate longer to answer the call. "Honey, what's wrong?" Dave asks, his voice laced with concern.

“Dave.. Carol just left a voicemail. She mentioned having a spare key to the house, said something about her showing up to let herself in.” The padding of your relentless pacing is noted on his end of the call.

He curses under his breath, the tension evident in his voice, even though the rustle of the phone he can hear your panic.

"Damn it." He mutters, a mixture of frustration and anger in his tone. Rubbing a hand over his face, trying to process the situation, but quickly comes to a solution.

"Okay, listen. I'll be home as soon as I can. Just don't answer the door for anyone, alright? And keep Joey safe."

“Okay, got it. I love you.” With a shaky exhale, you clutch onto the phone, watching your son play on his mat.

"Love you too, honey." A concerned sigh exits his lips. Dave ends the call and lets out a sigh, running a hand through his disheveled hair. His mind is racing, hoping that Carol wouldn’t show while he was gone.

He just knew he had to get home to you first. Before all his hard work and family are taken.

Setting the phone back down onto the hook, you take a hurried step toward the front door to lock it. But it’s too late, there’s a rattle of a key being put into the front door and unlocked.

Carol walks into the house as if it were here own, and stares at you for a moment, freezing when she recognises you, it takes a moment.. but you’re the girl on the news.. the missing girl.

Carol stands before you, her eyes narrowing as recognition gradually dawns on her. She takes in your appearance, the image of you from the media coverage suddenly clicking into place.

A mix of shock and confusion washes over her face.

"Y-you..." She utters in disbelief, her voice trembling. "You're... you're that missing girl..."

The realization hits her like a ton of bricks. She looks at you with uncertainty, her lips trembling as she struggles to process the situation.

"Oh my god... oh my god!" She repeats, her voice filled with fear and outrage. "You're here in Dave's house."

Carol takes a step towards you, her eyes wide and frantic. That could only mean one thing. "Come on sweetheart, let’s get you out of here!"

“I’m not going with you, stop it. This is my home, you cannot waltz into here and start making demands!” You shrug off her attempts to grab at you.

Carol doesn't anticipate your swift reaction, and her hand is abruptly shrugged away. She looks at you with surprise, her eyes wide and panicked. Taking a step backward, looking you over again with newfound fear.

"Sweetheart, listen to me-" She starts, the desperation evident in her voice.

“You’re vile.. coming into our home and trying to take me away from him after you left him with nothing! Your feeble attempt to take his son away won’t work! I love him, and I’m not going to ruin our family!”

Carol's eyes widen even further as she listens to your fierce defense of Dave. She hadn't expected this kind of loyalty, certainly not after what she knew.

She stands there for a moment, her chest rising and falling with rapid, shallow breaths as she tries to process. But her fear begins to turn into a different emotion, anger.

"You- you're brainwashed! Do you understand that? He kidnapped you!"

“Do not insult me. I need you to leave, now!” The loud shriek of your newborn son filled the air between you. “You’re upsetting my son.”

Carol's shoulders shake with frustration, despair seeping into her voice. "I’m upsetting your - what?! You don't even realize how twisted this all is."

She glances towards the crying in the background, the sound of your son's unrelenting wails adding fuel to the fire. "You think I'm going to walk away and leave you here like this? You're brainwashed, do you not see that?!"

“He told me you’d do this. You’re a pathetic excuse for a woman, you took the girls from him! What the hell is your issue with me and my son?”

Carol's cheeks flush with anger, her hands trembling at her sides. "You can't seriously believe what he's told you, do you?"

Her voice disbelieving. "He's manipulated you, honey! Can't you see it?"

The woman approaches you, hands outward as if you’re some savage animal. “If you want what’s best for your son.. you’ll run and not look back.”

You felt so much anger inside of you.. “Don’t you dare. Dave is a great father to our boy.”

Carol rolls her eyes exasperated, not believing a word you say. "He's a monster!" Her voice rises in anger. "How can you not see that? He took you from your family, held you prisoner and forced you to bear a child."

Carol glances towards the sound of the infant's cries in the background with disgust, a glance that doesn’t go unmissed by you.

“He did not force this child upon me!”

She stares at you, pleading. "You may think you love him, but he's manipulated you. It's called stockholm syndrome. You're not thinking clearly!"

With another moment, she pulls out her mobile phone, “if you won’t protect your son.. I will. This is for your own good.” Turning her back to you, she’s already dialling 911 on the keypad of her mobile phone.

It felt like things slowed to a standstill, hearing those three loud beeps on her screen of her dialling the number sent something instinctive off within you, to protect everything you had.

There’s no real decision made, just reaching for the nearest thing in your reach, the landline chord, as you tear it out of the wall, the phone clatters to the ground. In that fleeting moment, Carol's world abruptly crumbles.

She barely gets time to process what's happening before the chord from the landline is wrapped around her neck, the realization of your actions dawning on her are too late for her to save herself.

Carol gasps and struggles, her phone clattering to the ground as her hands fly to her neck, clawing desperately at the white chord, but you’re in a state of rage, protecting your son, and yourself.

Everything you’d built with Dave. That’s what was on the line.

Carol fights against you with every ounce of strength she has left as her breaths become short inhales, unable to deliver the oxygen her burning lungs are aching for, her body writhing and her legs twitching out in panic, her nails clawing at the chord around her neck.

But the power of your grip and the determination, she didn’t stand a chance, Carol fought with every fibre of her being, kicking and trying to grab at you. But it was too little too late. Before long the last panicked gasp escaped her lips, the life leaving her eyes.

Time seems to stand still. The air fills with the silence of a struggle, the tension leaving the space around you seems to thicken. Your chest heaves with victory, heart racing as you drop the chord from your hands.

Slowly, you rise to your feet, the weight of what you've done settling in. But your son's cries pull you back to the present, a reminder of that innocent life you've vowed to protect.

With shaking hands, you pick up your infant son, comforting him, hushing his cries as you hold him close.

With a softness that contradicts the violence you’re capable of, you cradle the infant close to your chest, settling him.

Dave comes barreling through the unlocked front door, his usual composure thrown to the wind at the thought of you being gone.. He takes in the sight before him, the reality of what he's seeing sinking in, and he decided it’s a better outcome than what he had worried about.

He closed the door behind him, locking it, approaching slowly, his eyes fixated on the body on the floor, the woman he once married. His face contorts in anger and relief all at once.

“What the hell…” Dave whispers under his breath, his voice betraying his stunned, curious surprise. “Honey?”

You come into view, cradling your son close to your chest. “Dave..”

Dave's eyes meet yours, drinking in the sight of you holding your son, and he knew that this was inevitable.

Slowly, his gaze moves down to Carol's body, then back to you, a mixture of concern and suspicion etched across his face. "Honey..." Dave repeats, his voice laced with a hint of confusion. "What happened?"

“She.. “ Your bottom lip trembles. “She said she knew me. And that you were a monster and if I knew what was good for me I’d take our son and flee.”

Dave's expression hardens, his jaw clenching in frustrated anger. “God damnit...she’s wrong, so goddamn wrong. I’m glad you have some sense in that head of yours. Our son belongs with us,” he mutters, shaking his head in disbelief.

He doesn't move to investigate her cause of death yet, but can assume it probably has something to do with the phone chord on the floor right beside the body, dedicating his focus completely to you. "Did she touch you?”

“No, but said that if I wouldn’t protect our son from you, she would. I.. I caught her trying to call the police, but I.. I. I had to stop her before she could make the call.”

Dave swears under his breath, anger and frustration written all over his face. But he nods, “this is good, you did good, honey.”

His gaze falls on Carol's body, then back to you, a myriad of emotions playing out on his features. "Damn it... she just... she couldn't leave things well enough alone.”

He steps toward you, his voice soft, "It’s okay. I know. She forced your hand... it wasn’t your fault."

“She was trying to take our son away from us. Attempting to force my hand to abandon you. Our family.” Your son coos softly against your chest, tiny hands seeking comfort of your skin.

Dave's dark eyes search your own, his expression softening further as he tries to soothe your anxiety. He takes another step closer, his voice low and steady.

"Honey, that was never going to happen. No one's taking our son away from us. No one. You did what you had to do."

Dave reaches out tentatively, placing a gentle hand on your arm, as if testing the waters, a gripe of fear settles inside of him that this may have set you back to where you started twelve months ago when he brought you here. "You defended our family. That's all it was."

“I love you.. but what are we going to do about this?” Your hand gestures to the dead body in your hallway.

Dave looks down at Carol, his expression hardening once more. "We're gonna deal with it." His eyes flicker back to you, his hand still on your arm. Dave's voice is firm, but gentle.

"Trust me. I'll handle everything. For now, just take care of our boy, alright? Leave this all to me.” His large hand takes up the entire length of your baby’s back. “I need you to do me a favour, okay?”

You nod compliantly, listening. “Anything you want.”

Dave meets your gaze, his expression serious and focused.

"I need you to trust me. She recognised you, honey. You need to change your appearance, cut your hair.. colour it. I’ll buy some contacts for you. So that way we don’t have to be a secret anymore. No one would recognise the old you.”

“I’ll do it.” Dave's lips twitch into a faint smile. He appreciates your willingness to comply, no argument, just trust and commitment.

“Good.” Dave says, his voice quieter now. He takes your hand, his grip devoted to comforting you.

“It’s going to be okay. I won’t let anything happen to us, to our son. Trust me.”

Later that evening you hack carefully at your hair, and colour it. You hardly recognise the face of the girl that had gone missing. Because she was gone. “How did Joey go down?”

Dave watches you affectionately from the doorway in the bathroom as you hack away at your hair. “Effortlessly.” He murmurs.

“How do I look?” The transformation of your physical appearance is gradual yet significant. When you step away from the mirror and approach him, revealing the new you, he can’t help but smile.

“I can hardly recognise you,” he says, his voice soft. “You look... different.

Dave steps closer, his gaze roaming over your new look as he takes it in. He reaches up, running a hand through your hair, fingers caressing the strands. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” a slight warmth rushes up your neck and ears at his complimentary praise.

Dave moves closer, standing a few inches from you. His hand tangled in your hair, he pulls you against him. Strong arms wrap around you, his hand resting in the small of your back, holding you flush against his chest.

Dave leans forward, tilting your chin up so that your eyes meet. There’s a deep tenderness in his gaze as he speaks, “I never want to lose you, you know that?”

“You won’t,” you promise. “Never. Neither Joey or me.”

Dave sighs, his relief evident. He leans his forehead against yours, drinking in the moment of comfort. The weight of the situation lifts from his shoulders for a brief moment.

“Good. I don’t know what I’d do if I ever lost you...”

Pulling backward to look down at you, his thumb gently caresses your cheek. He searches your eyes, before suddenly he places a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead.

His hand rests on the small of your back as he guides you to your bed with a gentleness that belies his strength. “You won’t ever need to know.” The promise sends a thrill of affection up his spine at your devout promise.

Once there, Dave lays down, pulling you onto the bed with him, manoeuvring the duvet so that he could tuck you in.

He wraps his arm around you, his body cradling yours, holding you tight against him. “I know...” He whispers, his voice a low, comforting rumble against your ear.

Dave warned you that in the coming days there would be someone coming to knock on their door about carols death, to leave it to him.

Three days after her death, they arrive.

Two of his officers greet him as he swings the door open. “Dave. We dropped by to have a chat, hoping that now is a good time.”

He eyes his men, nodding, fooling them with a deep gaze of concern. “Of course, what’s going on?”

“It’s Carol.. we got a call for a welfare check and she.. I’m sorry, sir. But she’s dead.”

Dave stutters, and his men express their sympathy. “How did she..”

“Suicide. Left a note and found her hanging from the ceiling fan.” One of his men turned to the police car they’d arrived in. “We don’t think the girls saw anything, but we recommend sending them to see someone anyway.”

Dave knew how it worked, they had to offer grief counselling as apart of the process.

“She struggled with her mental health for years but I never thought it would come to this,” Dave utters in disbelief.

They see you holding your son and wave to you. “Good morning ma’am.”

You smile and wave. “Good morning officers.”

They don’t recognise you.

“We didn’t know you had a son,” an officer commented.

Dave smiles proudly at his son. “I’ve been trying to keep my life as private as possible since the divorce.”

“Well, congratulations, sir.”

“What about my girls?” Dave asked, voice remains steady and composed as he plays his part, playing the role of the grieving ex-husband. He truly was concerned about his girls, though. They were so young, but with the family Dave had orchestrated, he knew they’d be down.

“We’ve got your girls in the back of the car, I’ll go get them.”

The sight of his daughters after twelve months since the initial divorce makes his resolve truly crumble, how much they had grown.

“Alice! Molly!” Dave's heart aches as he holds his two daughters in his arms, their presence filling him with intense emotion and relief. He had grown used to the pain of their absence in his life, the separation a constant weight on his shoulders.

But with them in his arms, the pain he had so valiantly endured crumbles. His eyes brimming with tears as he weeps gently into their shoulders, fingers clutching into their backs softly.

“We’ll.. give you some time to process all of this. I’m sorry again for your loss, Dave.”

Dave's grip tightens around his daughters, as if afraid to let them go again. He holds them close, a mix of grief and relief coursing through him.

“Thank you. Thank you for bringing them back to me.” He mutters to the men, not for delivering the news, but for returning his daughters home.

Dave watches as the officers leave, their departure marking the end of having to play the role of the devastated ex husband. Once they're gone, he turns back to his daughters.

“I've missed you both so much…” He says, voice choked up with emotion.

“We missed you too!” His girls cherp into his shoulder. Molly, the older daughter of the two looks past her dad and sees you, holding a small baby in blue clothing. “Who is that?”

Dave looks over at you, a hint of pride and affection in his expression. He then follows Molly’s gaze, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

"That... that's Joey," Dave inquires softly, his voice filled with tenderness as he glances between his daughters and his infant son. He stands up, his hand still resting on his shoulders, gesturing for them to follow him.

"He’s your little brother.”

You slowly approach the girls holding your son in hand. “Hi girls, my name is rose. I’m Joey's mummy.”

“Like the flower?” Alice says.

The alias rolls off your tongue as you introduce yourself, the name Rose sounding unfamiliar and foreign to your ears, but it was necessary to move on with your new life.

Alice's comment, however, brings a slight smile to your face. "Yes, like the flower." You confirm, your voice soft and gentle. “Do you want to meet your baby brother?”

The girls' eyes light up with excitement as you offer for them to meet their new baby brother. They look up at Dave for confirmation, before turning back to you with eager nods. "Yes, please!" Molly says, her voice brimming with anticipation.

“His name is Joseph David York. But your dad and I call him little Joey.” Dave grins at the mention of his son's name, pride evident in his gaze. He steps closer as you speak.

“He looks like you, dad!” Molly comments. Your son did have Dave’s dark brown eyes—and the subtle curve of his nose. The infant was practically a carbon copy, your genetics failing on this conception.

"That's right. Joey does, doesn’t he?" Dave nods, his voice filled with affection.

Dave watches as his daughters take to the little baby, their hearts instantly won over by the sight of their young brother. The sounds of their admiration fill the air, soft and innocent.

His gaze falls on you, meeting your eyes with gratitude and relief. In that moment, everything seems to fall into place, a sense of peace and happiness washing over him.

Dave takes in the sight of his two daughters playing and cooing at Joey, their faces lit up with joy and affection. Beside them stands you, the woman he loves more than anything.

He feels a surge of contentment and gratitude, his heart swelling with the weight of it all. Dave's eyes meet yours, his expression filled with love and thankfulness.

Dave has achieved all he ever dreamed of and so much more, and he knew he couldn’t stop himself from wanting more. He wonders what your daughter would look like.

One day, he’d find out.

[twistedbloodstain]

vincent de gramont x historian!reader: spring breaks loose, but so does fear | sweetness and bitterness within

plot: the one where the both of you are within your walls.

warnings: marquis is different here to canon, expect oc behavior but like all fics he’s gonna be cruel museum worker! reader, entitled af french boi, unreliable sibling relationships/dynamics

masterlist

the rain pattered against the glass windows, ringing through the empty halls of the museum. you sat there deep in thought in front of your desk while the storm raged outside. the moon that had look delicately beautiful earlier had disappeared when flashes of lightning and rumbles of thunder replaced the serene scenery, you don’t know how long you’ve been sitting here but surely it hasn’t been that long.

where was he? he should be here by now, you pondered.

a knock snaps you out of your thoughts.

“ma’am?” your assistant calls out as he peeks his head through the door.

you look back at him but your lips stay still, not making a word but silently urging him to continue with the rise of an eyebrow.

“he’s here again, requesting a private viewing,” he informs.

oh. you almost forgot about that.

the constant visitor of the museum for the past few weeks was none other than the eccentric and affluent, marquis de gramont. recently, he frequented the museum for a private viewing for some of the rarest and beautiful pieces of art in french history. not that you’re complaining since he paid good money for his private viewings but his persistent requests to have a historian around him, explaining what the intricate histories and symbols drawn beneath the surface were an inconvenience sometimes.

truthfully, there’s no bad conversation with him. you’re quite eager to answer any additional questions or arguments he imposes upon you but judging by the exhibition of his wealth and power, don’t they teach these things to nobility at a young age?

you pull your feet up and drag them towards the door, your assistant gives you a weary smile knowing how long your discussions with the marquis would usually go, for hours on end. 

the walk to the private room was filled with footsteps, your previous thoughts emerging once again. your brother.

 he was supposed to be here to join you for lunch but he hadn’t shown up. lunches shared with the both of you were also your bonding and catch up time but as of late he missed at least four lunches in six weeks. you could understand that maybe it was just his busy schedule but the fewer times you saw him, he seemed anxious and jumpy with sweat beading on his forehead. as if he was always in a hurry, you consistently persisted in the lunches in an effort to get him to open up his problems with you, after all what are siblings for?

you approach the door cautiously, taking a deep breath to polish your mind before stepping into the role of gracious historian, a person that’s ready to deal with the marquis.

entering the room with an eager smile on your face, you greet the marquis who was sitting on a plush white leather couch, donning another dark blue suit with a jacket and tie to finish the look. he doesn’t offer any greeting in reply and comments on your lateness right away.

“you took a while to get here, mademoiselle.” he mutters, checking his watch.

“i apologize for my tardiness sir, i had matters to attend to.” you force a smile. he stares at you carefully, an amused smirk tugs at the corner of his lips before waving it off.

“let’s get started then.”

the marquis is a difficult person to impress, especially in keeping him engaged in a conversation. more often than not you find yourself exerting a lot of information out of your brain just to keep up with him. you don’t know why you always push yourself to be somewhat superior to him in terms of knowledge but perhaps that’s just what his aura demands of you.

“and that is the final painting for your private viewing today, sir.” you recite familiar lines you’ve been saying for the past six weeks, “are there any questions you have in mind?”

he eyes the painting cryptically before glancing at you and shaking his head, looking somewhat satisfied with the answers you’ve given him. you smile at him once again before speaking.

“if you require any refreshments or desire to make an appointment in the future, enzo will take care of it. thank you for coming to the louvre, sir.” you bow your head before leaving, knowing that the marquis liked to be alone.

once you make it back to the office, you see your phone light up and vibrate. you immediately make a beeline for it and before the ringing ends, unfortunately the call ends before you could answer it but a wave of messages floods your inbox, all from your brother telling you he was at the entrance of the museum.

you hurriedly run out of your office straight to the entrance when you see a faint silhouette by the large doors. you call his name out and he turns to face you, a faint smile on his lips.

”where were you? i’ve been waiting for you the entire day, are you alright?” you immediately assume the worst and begin to fret over your dearest younger brother, gripping his shoulders and checking his face for any possible injuries.

your brother is a good person. you know that. you watched him grow, you watched him become the man he is now but still a small whisper remains in the back of your mind that you are losing him to something , and you can’t do anything to help it.

you can feel it. it  started with the distance and excuses, how every single word that leaves his mouth feels less and less genuine and more like a set of lies meant to calm you down. you want to help him but he won’t let you.

”i’m fine, i just got caught up at work.” he verbally reassures you but pulls away from your touch. you bite your tongue from asking more, afraid of scaring him away. a fight is not what you need right now.

”oh…um” you mumble, taking a small step away from him, feeling your insides crush to the lack of familial warmth from a brother. he stands there unfazed by your movements, the small smile gone in front of you. instead, an uneasiness replaces his eyes and stares at the ground, seemingly too busy to deal with your emotions right now.

“do you want to have dinner together? i know this nice sushi place downtown.” you eagerly offer, his mouth opens to reply but a brief hesitation takes place.

”i can’t.” he replies.

“why?” you ask, annoyance in your tone.

”work, as usual.” he states with a humorless chuckle, worry still present in his face, “i’m here for a favor.”

“what is it? did you get in trouble? you know you can tell me anything right?” you gasp.

“no! no! i just need to borrow some money for this month’s rent. my new job doesn’t pay until the end of the month, my landlord said i’m way overdue for the past three months and he’s gonna kick me out if i don’t pay within this week.”

a silence takes over the conversation as your process the information you are given right now. the excuse feels flimsy and careless.

money isn’t really an issue for you right now. you’re not insanely rich but you are financially stable, yet you feel uncertain about giving your brother money. your brother’s landlord, a strict but yet a sweet old man often texts you whether or not your brother has paid his rent in each month and so far you’ve received no messages from him lately. 

”oh..yeah sure. it’s no problem, i can send it to you later.” you smile for his comfort, making yourself feel approachable to your own blood.

monitoring your sibling’s rent status is definitely odd but with what you’re dealing with right now, to be completely honest you’re just making sure your brother’s alright, there’s nothing wrong with that.

”come on in, it’s raining outside.” you grab his arm and pull him in.

”no, seriously, it's alright. you might have some people inside-“

”it’s closing time, at least sit inside and wait for me, please?” you plead.

”okay, i’ll wait for you.” he smiles.

”good, because if i have to deal with another stubborn asshole under this roof, i’m going to lose my mind.” your brother chuckles and takes a seat by the door.

”dinner’s on me.” he adds, wiping the raindrops gathered on his forehead.

“on you? you can’t even pay your rent!” you jest.

”it was a one time thing!”

the amusement slowly dies down when you hear a large number of footsteps echoing through the halls, the door opens and it reveals the marquis. you immediately straighten up and face his direction, slipping in the professional manner that he is accustomed to.

”good evening, sir.” you greet.

the marquis doesn’t reply but instead whispers an instruction to his guards which they nod to and walk ahead of him. the marquis approaches you carefully, briefly eyeing you before glancing at the person behind you.

”it is quite late, don’t you think?” he starts.

”ah, yes it is. the night staff and i are closing the museum for the night, we were simply waiting for your departure. perhaps, you enjoyed your private viewings much longer than usual, sir.”

”you cannot fault me for that, miss. what hangs on the walls of this establishment is history, glory and beauty wrapped in one.”

”that we agree on.” you reply, “will you be here tomorrow? at the same time?” he looks at you again.

”for what reason are you asking?” he raises an eyebrow.

“so enzo and i can immediately arrange for your appointment and room, sir.” 

he pauses and a silence takes place, his eyes wander all over your face trying to see something through you. you keep your gaze on him, composed and calm. as it should be. you get a feeling he relishes on weakness especially people who have a lower pay grade than him or maybe that’s just how he is with everyone.

narcissism was a major takeaway you observed from the marquis the first time you met him, quite self-centered might you add and somewhat snobbish but then again his attention is not something to be exhilarated about.

”yes, miss. i will be here tomorrow.” a small smirk curves his lips.

”you are quite fond of the art around here.” you start.

”yes, what of it?”

”how come you never bought any of it? i’ve heard from a few auction houses that you have quite the art collection. i’m sure it is much more convenient for you, having the art within the comfort of your home.” you reason to him.

more reason to see him less in your life. you think.

“you are not wrong in that. it would be much more convenient.” he agrees.

so buy it then.

”if that’s the case, i must inform you that there are plans to auction that rembrandt you are so eagerly fond of, perhaps you might be interested in joining?”

”i will have to turn that down, miss. as much as i enjoy the comfort of my home, i appreciate the aura of the louvre, it brings a sense of fulfillment and eagerness to me. i would be a fool to rob myself of that. also, the people around here are not so bad.” his eyes rake over your frame carefully, you wonder if he’s looking at your brother. 

you look back and surprisingly no ones there. you shake it off when you hear a car engine nearby.

”oh, well it doesn’t hurt to try.” you begin to walk towards the door and he follows, outside his car sits with a bodyguard on standby waiting for him.

”i appreciate your service, miss. my private viewings have never been a dull moment during your enlightenments.” you lower you’re head slightly at him with a polite smile.

“i, as well must thank you for your service and approach. i tend to enjoy the art much more than when i am with myself.” the marquis remarks, extending his hand towards you.

”my pleasure, sir.” you respond as you shake his hand.

and it’s warm.

”will you be requiring a ride home? i am more than happy to offer it to you.” he offers when you pull your hand away from him.

”thank you for the offer sir but i will be here for later hours.” you retort.

“i do not mind staying here for a little longer.” he insists, you notice his line of sight eye your hand that shook his hand earlier. the cold rainy breeze must have taken control of the warmth of your palms and the marquis could have noticed the coldness of your hand. the marquis fidgets with his right hand as if it was itching to do something.

”it is not needed sir, i am more than capable of bringing myself home.” you state firmly.

”nonsense. i’ll send a car for you. it would be unfortunate if my favorite art historian was harmed in any possible way, how will i survive my viewings?” he urges with amusement in his tone but once again not wanting to back down.

”i would hate to waste your time and effort sir-“ you politely refuse again.

”it is late and unsafe for a woman of your caliber to be alone in the streets of the city. you will not have a choice in this, mademoiselle.” he states firmly this time as his voice hardens and makes it clear it’s not an offer.

it’s a command.

the marquis’ attention is not to be relished on. in this private viewings, the both of you have always maintained a polite and professional demeanor between client and host although there was some casual conversation here and there but you’ve never outright refused him, desiring to keep his temper from exploding and having his unpredictability in your space.

the marquis always gets his way. having private viewings at any time he desires with whatever piece of art he decides to have his eye on and more importantly taking up your time whenever he comes by at the louvre.

in the recent months you’ve spent with him, compliance is all he knows from you so it’s not unlikely that it’s easy for him to shut you down at the first hint of refusal. not to mention, he does not hesitate at confrontation. any small slight against him is somewhat remembered the next time you meet him.

complaints about making him wait slightly longer than usual for his viewings, comments about the apparently poor maintenance of the paintings  and your tardiness to attend to him are the most prominent experiences you remember from him.

the marquis feels entitled to everything within the walls of the louvre.

and that includes you.

another entitled rich snob that thinks he understands art more than you do is not a first time experience, but his insistence of having you brought home because of him somehow brings a chill to your spine.

entitled rich snobs can come to your work any time and however they like but the moment they try to step into your life, well it’s time to push them back. you have no interest in them unless it’s something to do with your job.

unfortunately, you don’t have the strength to do that right now.

“next time.” you think to yourself, “but never again.”

you back down and thank the marquis for this offer as his body guard opens the door to his vehicle, he flashes a small but pleased smile for your gratitude and bids you a safe trip home.

you return a smile at him and watch him leave until his car disappears from where you stand. exhaustion settles back into your nerves when you realized how late it is again.

oh and your brother.

christ. give me strength to deal with this tomorrow.

you sigh and walk back inside to close up.

later, when you get dropped off by the driver assigned to you, doubt starts to creep into your senses whether or not you told the driver where you live. after thanking him and shutting the door, you tilt your head idly at the car and think deep and hard.

”did you or did you not?” you ponder.

groaning heavily you shake it off as exhaustion for your lack of remembrance.

still weird though.

author’s note: kickstarting another series when i’m still not done with four reqs and one series…anyways enjoy and please feel free to like and reblog!

[rekino2114]

Cute things the drdt girls do for you

A/n:episode 15 was pretty great, I might post my full thoughts on it and chapter 2 as a whole next week when it ends maybe

Teruko tawaki

Follows the sidewalk rule

The sidewalk rule says that when two people are walking on the sidewalk the one who is stronger and/or can take a hit better is the one who walks near the traffic, and teruko follows it...only with you

She has actually been hit by cars before because of her luck (you were very concerned when she randomly dropped that in the middle of a conversation) so protecting you from that is her main priority

She kinda does it subconsciously, gently gripping your wrist and guiding you on the right side, when you ask her why she did that she just blushes and blurts out "I don't want you to get hit by a car"

She actually did get hit when she was with you once but you were unharmed while teruko had to go to the hospital

"I'm so so sorry teru, I should have been more careful"

"Don't worry, at least you're ok, plus this isn't the worst accident that ever happened to me"

"........You're literally covered in bandages and casts"

"Yeah and?"

You start to think her luck actually works because of how she can survive stuff like that

Min jeung

Writes love letters

Min spends a lot of her time writing, be it papers, notes or her schedule. Writing is a big part of her day-to-day life, but what she loves writing the most is definitely love letters for you

Her grammar and handwriting are impeccable, even her punctuation is on point. The only way you can tell that it's a love letter and not an English essay is because of the heart drawn at the bottom

There doesn't have to be a specific reason for her to write you a letter sometimes she just feels like doing it, and you love receiving them,they're a written testament of her love for you

Sometimes they're in really cute envelopes with stamps and everything. she loves seeing your reaction to reading them

"Hello y/n, I have written this to inform you that unfortunately, I won't be able to hang out with you today as I have an important test, feel free to come to my dorm at around 7 pm though, I should have finished by then, I know I could have texted you this but a letter is more romantic don't you think?

Love you

Min jeung" ♡

P.s.:If you see Charles, do you mind telling him thanks for helping me in chemistry? He was a great help

P.p.s.:Yes, don't worry, I'll remember to take breaks, I know how you get if I don't

Arei nageishi

beats up people for you

Ok, it's more than that. It's more how she treats you compared to other people. She's way nicer to you compared to everyone else. Sure, she still teases, throws light insults at you, but you know she doesn't actually mean it...unlike with everyone else (except eden)

She's more than ok with people insulting her. She's used to it by now, and she can easily verbally abuse the person until they cry, but when someone insults you then they truly fucked up

She'll be smiling and giggling with you while the unconscious and bloody body of the person who was unfortunate or stupid enough to say anything negative about you is near her .....you didn't even know she was that strong but now you're kinda scared of her even if you know she'd never hurt you

She also kinda does it to receive compliments and praise for you, she expects you to be flattered and in awe at what she did for you, which you are, but you're also too worried about her to really compliment her

"Not everyone likes you, you're not y/n"

"Not everyone likes y/n"

"......names"

"......What?"

"Give me names bitch, I'll shut their mouth for good when I find them"

Hu jing

Makes you packed lunches

Listen, we all know how much of a mom this girl is. She practically adopted nico. and as her partner, you're definitely on the receiving end of her motherly tendencies

She scolds you when you don't clean your dorm,constantly sends you texts to make sure you're ok, and always checks during the day to make sure you've eaten enough and the best way to assure that is making you lunch herself

Everything always tastes great and incredibly fresh (definitely way better than what the school gives you), but you still feel kinda embarrassed. Even when you try to reject it, she'll try to feed you to make sure you eat. She also definitely wipes your mouth when you're finished

She also writes you a cute note saying things like "hope you have a great day, remember to stay hydrated and study hard" which......doesn't make that much sense since you always eat together in the cafeteria and she's literally standing near you as you read the note but it's so adorable you don't carea

"Come on Darling, you need to eat, don't you like what I made for you?"

"N-no it's not that hu, it's......embarrassing"

"Y/n l/n if you don't eat that, I'll make you....even if it's embarrassing, you still need to eat enough"

"......o-ok"

".....you too huh?"

"Hi nico.......yeah"

J rosales

Gives you her hoodie

Most of her classmates have seen j without her hoodie only on rare occasions, unlike you who have seen her like that multiple times

It's often when it's cold outside, j notices and takes off her hoodie to give it to you, you're very surprised and ask her if it's OK since she'll be cold too then but she just dismisses it and says that you're more important

If you compliment her on how pretty and cool she looks without it on, especially how beautiful her hair looks (I genuinely really love her hair, it looks so cool), she'll blush a lot and maybe ask for her hoodie back so she can hide her face in it (like she does in her sprite)

She'll actually start to wear her hood down more after you compliment her hair enough, because she secretly wants you to do it more but is too embarrassed to ask

"You sure about this j? Won't you get cold?"

"Nah, it's fine, if it really gets cold, I'll just put another one on"

"Cool, thanks so much babe"

"You're welcome"

".....did i mention your hair is pretty?"

"*blushes* y-yeah this is like the fifth time you said it"

"Sorry I can't help it if it's true"

Veronika grebenshchikova

Gifts you plushies

......kinda, it's more accurate to say she gifts you what once were plushies. Some have their heads ripped off, others are covered in blood with one of their eyes missing, it's creepy but sweet...in a Veronika way

Sometimes, she doesn't even give you the plushies directly. They just..... appear on your bed, the only way you can tell Veronika was the one to leave them is because only she would and could do something like this.....you still have no idea how she gets in your dorm but are too afraid to ask

She also gives you plushie and merchandise of every horror movie you can think of. One time she gave you a very haunted looking doll, like the one from Annabelle, and you could have sworn you saw it move at night

When you have movie night at your dorm (which happens very often), Veronika likes to snuggle with both you and all the plushies in your bed as you do the same, it's actually really comfortable

"*sigh* I hate group projects"

"Come on, teruko, I'm sure we'll get it done fast"

"Whatev-.......WHAT THE FUCK?"

"Oh those are the plushies Veronika gives me, aren't they cute?"

"1;NO THEY AREN'T 2: that's not what i meant.....WHY THE HELL IS VERONIKA IN YOUR ROOM?"

"Oh hi vero"

"HI darling, I just wanted to put this new plushie I got you in here"

".......the door was locked, y/n just opened it, how did you get here?"

"Oh yeah she does that, I don't know either"

"*giggle*"

"......You two are deranged"

Rose lacroix

Remembers everything about you

Ok, she remembers everything, period, but that's especially true for you. Any date that is important to you, like a birthday or a special event (like your first kiss) instantly becomes important to her too the moment you mention it, and she'll most likely give you gifts for them

Any food you like and dislike as well as any possible allergies you have are always on her mind when you're eating together, she could even order for you at restaurants if you want, she knows your tastes perfectly after all

Any gifts she gives you always is something you like, no matter if you just mentioned it once to her she remembered and got it for you, there doesn't even need to be a special date for it, sometimes she just feels like it and gifts you something

Unlike basically everything else, your information, likes, and dislikes are actually things she wants to remember and willingly keeps them in her mind. She loves you, so all of this is extremely important information to her

"Hey y/n, do you like this? I just finished painting it, take it"

"Oh it looks great, but why do you want to give it to me? It's not my birthday or anything"

"Oh no, I know, but it is your mom's birthday isn't it? I wanted to give it to her so she'd think I'm a good girlfriend"

"Oh OK....yeah it is. How did you know?"

"You told me, I think it was about.....three months ago, we were talking our families and you brought that up"

"You remembered that, that's so cool"

"Eh, I guess perfect memory comes with some pros....sometimes"

[polo-drone-070]

The cursed chain - part 1

Hey bruhz. Hea iz, lyk, me first propa long story n all. Sum shit dat happend 2 me on, lyk, Halloween. Twas, lyk, real erd getting all dem werd rite n propa. But yer, I hope u lyk it, init.

1. On the morning of Hallowen 

It all began on the morning of Halloween. I woke up feeling good and really stoked. It has been a bit more than a month since I’ve received the Gold brocess and joined the Gold Army, becoming Henry Gold, #70, Right Fullback. I was still in awe of the way the Gold Jersey had transformed my body, loving my new hot muscles and my cleanly shaved head. I love all my new brothers and the feeling of brotherhood that holds us together. Gold is really the best feeling. 

Today was Halloween and I had two things to be excited for. Herc bro had decided to form a wrestling team more properly and was doing some try outs before lunch. Even though I did not have much experience in that sport, I was really excited to join the new team and do some wrestling with my bros. Then, in the evening, the Team had planned a big party for Halloween and it was going to be epic. I already had some basis for my costume, planning to go as a gladiator, but I missed some embellishments.

Going to the attic to search if I could find some elements in all the old stuff stored there, I felt, like, drawn to a dusty box in a corner. Inside, there was a really shiny gold chain collar that seemed to draw me in. It looked so cool. Much better than the thin chain I often wore. Transfixed, I took that chain, which seems to have some kind of inner glow, and could resist putting it around my neck. I felt some kind of shiver, as if some spectral hands were brushing my head, but it was just a fleeting impression that quickly receded. 

Looking at myself in the mirror, I felt right. This chain was propa lit. Then I realised it was already 10. I had not seen the time pass. It was time to go for the wrestling tryouts. I quickly made my way through the busy streets brimming with Halloween decorations and reached the Gym where Herc was holding the tryouts.

2. The Wrestling try-outs

As I arrived, Herc was giving a gold wrestling singlet to each of the bros that wanted to join. He had shaved his hair with Jack recently and I was so glad that we were rocking it as a bald bro trio. Looking at these shiny singlets, I was so stoked to get mine. It did not have a number and name yet, of course, since it was just tryouts for now, but I was determined to get in and represent da Team in competitions and all.

I changed quickly, eager to get that gold on my skin. I was of course supposed to get the collar off for wrestling, but somehow, I could not get myself to remove it.

Herc paired us for some matches, and I ended up against Leander. It was going to be a hard match, cause Leander was really fit and quick on the field. We got on the mat and got ready to wrestle each other. 

Damn, bro was both quick and powerful. I tried to hold me own, but we got on the ground and he was, like, completely dominating me. I felt powerless and frustrated as he was pinning me down hard. There was no way I fail on the first match. Herc might not want me in the team if I did not reverse that situation. But Leander was good, and his grip unyielding.

Sure I was going to be rejected from the Team, I was getting more and more frustrated, starting to draw in my every strength to get out of that grip. And as some rage was starting to build up, I felt some strange warmth in the collar, as some presence was responding to my call, offering me the power to break out if I only let him in. Not even thinking anymore at that point, I was ready to do anything to win. 

And then I felt it. The cold. Shivers. And like a ghost was entering my body. And then the cold was gone and replaced by an intense heat taking over all my body… As if my blood was boiling. Pure rage invaded my every being as my muscles distorted and grew in absurd proportion. I was becoming a muscle beast, seething with pure rage and not controlling anything anymore, ready to destroy anything that would come in my way. 

I brutally ejected Leander from his grip. He had no chance against my rage. I was going to destroy him and tear all his limbs out for humiliating me in front of my bros. He felt badly on the ground, hurting his shoulder, but I didn't care. I was going to stomp him.

And then I felt a huge presence towering over me. Herc has transformed into Dagda, his celtic golden form. His aura just overpowered me completely, shutting me down as he intervenes to stop the fight. His authority was just too much even for my blind rage and and just fell on the ground… my muscles still twitching. I returned to my form completely exhausted, barely aware of what had happened and heard Herc telling me : « Henry, Wat da fuck ? datz no wey to act on a ring. Get ut n cool down bruh. cant av u hurtin ur bro lyk dat ! » Leander was still on the ground, clutching his shoulder. I felt shame and sadness. I had no energy left to argue. I got out of the gym, completely demoralized. I had blown it ! I did not even get what got into me. And as I was ruminating what just happened, hurt in my hopes, feeling Herc was being unjust and all… I felt that rage returning… FUCK

Special thanks to @brodygold dat elp me write da story n correct me poor english, and to my bros Herc (@polo-drone-009) and Leander (@leander-gold-88), who agreed 4 da collab n elp me wiz dem pix.

[atinylittlepain]

Little Pinch

nurse!marcus pike x f!reader

she needs to get bloodwork done. one small problem, getting bloodwork done never goes well for her, especially not when she's distracted by the very kind, very handsome nurse doing it.

wordcount | 3.3K

content info | 18+ discussions of getting bloodwork that includes needles, fainting, nausea, mostly fluff, nurse marcus to the rescue, this is just a fun time, also an un-beta'd time so like, be nice pls

a/n | shoutout to the girls (gn) that pass out every time they get blood work done (me). I have to get new labs tomorrow morning, and writing this is how I coped with that prospect :') this one is for the fainters, the thin veiners, the "just do it in my hand"-ers - i see you, i am you, gawd bless

..........................................................................

Here’s the thing, this never goes well. It wasn’t always like this though. She has a vague memory of being a kid and taking it like a perfect champ, testing for mono after a rash of cases at school. But then, well, something changed. 

It runs in her family. Thin veins that are hard for even the best nurses to find, lots of oh, I just lost it, and well, let’s try your other arm, and always, ultimately, hands? Should we try the hands? No, the nurses never listen when she tells them to just start with the hands, and without fail, somewhere around the third or fourth time they try to get the needle in, a cold sweat breaks, and the room starts to filter through a fuzzy pinhole of vision. It’s embarrassing, she thinks, because, really, she has no problem with needles. Can watch it go in, no issues with piercings, et cetera, et cetera, but getting blood drawn? Yeah, forget about it. She usually comes to with paperwork around her feet that she had been holding, and a well-meaning nurse pressing a damp paper towel to her forehead and breathing the remnants of her lunch over her face and alright, hon? Usually a box of apple juice and an escort out to her car to make sure she doesn’t go offline again. 

The other thing is, unfortunately, she’s pretty sure her little fainting, fading thing has gotten worse over the years. A conditioned response, she thinks, that cold sweat starts the second she walks into the waiting room, already anticipating what comes next. And today, well, even worse than some of the others. Twelve hours fasted, and no, that certainly won’t help her case, no matter how much water she downed before she came here, no matter how tight she squeezes her fist in the hopes of pumping even one vein up enough to be tenable. She looks at the woman sitting across from her in the waiting room, reading a back-ordered issue of Cosmo, flipping and flippant and really, why can’t she be like that? Why can’t she be normal like that? Instead, her heel is doing a frantic tap, whole leg jerking with it, and everytime she checks her watch she feels her heart creep a little further up into her throat. 

If she’s being honest, she thought about canceling her labs. No, doc, all good, doc, don’t need to know, doc. And then a friend pointed out, frustratingly, that avoidance is only going to make it worse. Right, so, right, so right, so, here she is. And here’s the nurse opening the door and right, calling her name, and it’s a man nurse, male nurse, though she’s pretty sure she’s not being PC by making that specification in her mind because really, twenty-first century, and really, anyone can be a nurse. But not anyone, right? Lots of schooling, right? Right. She realizes a bit too late that she hadn’t responded to the nurse calling her name, jerking up out of her chair and trying for a smile that she thinks probably looks more like constipation. And that’s just great because now man nurse, sorry, just nurse, probably thinks she’s constipated and she’d rather not have the, actually, very handsome, just nurse, thinking that on top of whatever she’s got going on that necessitates lab work she also can’t take a shit. Right. 

“We’re going to be in this room right here.” Handsome just nurse has a nice voice too, deep but kind, and a strong jawline, and a patchy beard but she likes that it’s patchy, and he’s tan and he’s got one of those big watches that tells you how hard your heart was beating on your run and he probably runs in the afternoon after clocking out of the needle-in-arms gig and that’s probably why he’s so tan, probably has a golden retriever who runs with him too, because he looks like a golden retriever guy, dark flop of wavy hair and that smile and oh, oh, he just asked her a question and now she’s supposed to answer it. 

“I’m sorry, could you say that again?” He smiles, nods, being nice, at least, about her whole scared prey animal situation. She presses her palm down hard on her knee to keep it from bouncing any more. 

“It says on this order that these labs need to be taken fasted. Can you confirm to me that you haven’t had anything to eat or drink besides water in the last twelve hours?” Oh yes, yep, she can confirm that for you, Marcus, his name is Marcus, says so on his little lanyard badge. Thanks for the easy one, Marcus, pitch right down the middle, Marcus, with your nice smile and your clipboard and your, well, needles and tubes. But before he can get started with his, well, needles and tubes, she makes a strangled, sort of despondent sound because in situations like these, she comes with a warning label. 

“I should let you know I have, um, bad veins? Honestly, you can just start with my hands, I don’t mind it. And also, I’m a fainter, yeah, so, it happens every time, just so you know.” And usually, usually, her spiel is given very little notice, mmmokay, hon. Sure, they’ll lay her back, how merciful, so she doesn’t crack her skull open on the way out of conscious orbit. That’s about it, though. But this time, she thinks, might just be different.

“Okay, thank you for giving me the heads up. If you’re sure you’re alright with starting with the hands then it’s fine by me to get it done that way.” So, so fine, Marcus, and maybe, just maybe, she thinks she might not pass out this time. He sets the exam table at a reclined angle and she wills her rigid spine to settle against it, trying to find the balance between breathing so deeply she starts to get light headed, and not breathing at all. In case you were wondering, yes, she is on medication for anxiety, it just doesn’t seem to presently be working. 

“Just gonna feel around a bit here for a good one.” She only feels a little insane for the kick and clench in her heart when he takes her one hand in both of his, because he’s just palpating the back of her hand to find, as he said, a good one. Yes, the word for it is palpating, and there is certainly nothing romantic nor, hello, sexual about anything that’s called palpating. But, hey, taking wins where she can get them, and even through the latex gloves, his hands are warm and big and very know what they’re doing about the whole thing. And she’s no expert, obviously, but he’s got a very nice, very visible vein in his forearm, and she bets phlebotomists love him, bets that when he gets blood drawn, he’s in and out no problem, bets that even she could draw blood from him. Nope, nothing sexual about that, nothing weird about that, right? Right. Nothing sexual either, when he ties off the tight band around her arm and she watches his one bicep flex a little with the effort. 

“I can count you down, or you can look away and I’ll just get it done, whichever you prefer.”

“Uh, no preference, I’ll just look away and you can do whatever you want to me.” Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ. She realizes exactly what she just said a bit too late, him, Marcus, nice nurse Marcus, letting out a laugh that fizzles out into a cough. Great, now she’s made her fucking phlebotomist uncomfortable, possibly one of the last people you want to make uncomfortable. But if that, whatever that was, lingers, he doesn’t show it, already swiping an antiseptic wipe over the back of her hand and pulling his little cart of tubes closer to himself. And she knows this part, she’s good at this part, letting her eyes sweep up and to the right, because he’s on her left, and willing whatever vein he decided is a good one to stay a good one. Little pinch, little prayer, she lets out a held breath when he says a quiet alright and keeps the needle exactly where it is. Hallelujah.

“This might take a little longer, just because we’re drawing from your hand.”

“I’ll bleed as fast as I can then.” At the very least, he laughs, even though she wishes she had kept that one to herself. 

“Do you live around here?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Sorry, I’m trying to distract you.” 

“Didn’t they teach you how to do that in like, phlebotomy school?” She still has her eyes turned up and away, only a little wince when he switches out one tube for another. He hums at her question.

“Not really, I could ask you about the weather, is that better?” 

“It’s cloudy. Not much of a conversation starter.” 

“Well, why don’t you ask me something, since you’re such an expert on starting conversations.”

“Do you have a golden retriever?”

“What?”

“Sorry, you just, you look like the kind of guy who’d have a golden retriever.” Another tube clicks into place, but she’s not paying any attention to that now. 

“Uh, no, no golden retriever. I do however have a very old, very deaf pit mix named Lucille.” Goddamnit, somehow that’s hotter than the golden retriever. 

“Great name.”

“Yeah, I thought so too. She came with it when I adopted her.” God. Fucking. Damn it. What next, is he a volunteer firefighter on the weekends?

“Alright, that’s the last one.”

“Wait, really?” She chances a skittish glance but, sure enough, the needle is out.

“Yep, just let me get a band-aid for you and you’re all set.” Is he? Is she? Really? Going to make it out of here with no blackout? She considers, very briefly, as Marcus is smoothing a band-aid over the back of her hand, whether it’s possible to put a phlebotomist on retainer. 

“If you want to sit for a minute and make sure you’re feeling alright before getting up that’s totally fine. I can also get you water or juice if you’re getting lightheaded.” 

“Oh, no, I’m fine actually. Which, hey, thanks for not making me faint and stuff– that’s a first for me in a very long–” Oh, oh, stops herself mid-compliment because oh, oh, maybe stood up too fast, because the room is going a little dark, a little sideways, cold prickle and nauseous and–

“Easy, easy, I’m gonna help you sit up, okay?” His voice is a little fuzzy around the edges. To be honest, he’s a little fuzzy around the edges, though she knows right away what happened. No, not her first rodeo, like she blinked and then came to in a strange sprawl on the end of the exam table. Marcus presents a dixie cup to her, holds it right in her line of sight because clearly, she’s still a little slumped, still a little vacant, and a little warm, actually, which is new, and a little pleasant, and, oh, it’s because his arm is curled around her shoulders, firm palm held there to help her sit up. Oh. He smells like clorox and something woodsy, and it shouldn’t, but it kind of works. 

“You feeling okay?”

“Mmmhmm.” She’s afraid of what might come out of her mouth if she doesn’t keep her lips pressed in a thin line, mmhmms again when he asks if she can sit up on her own, only a little despondent when he takes his arm away. 

“So, you really weren’t kidding about that happening every time, huh?” 

“Nope, wish I was. It’s– I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“That you had to deal with that.”

“You don’t have to be sorry about that, it’s part of the job. And actually, you fainted about as perfectly as I could’ve asked you to.”

“I didn’t know you could faint like, well.” 

“Right before you went down you said I’m gonna faint. That’s a lot better than getting no heads up and turning around to find my patient unresponsive on the ground.” 

“Oh gee, I bet you say that to all your patients.” Lord, if there was ever a time to put her out of her misery it’d be now. She probably still looks green from her little trip to outer space but sure, flirt with Marcus, handsome nurse Marcus who just watched you absolutely eat it. Kick your feet and bat your eyelashes while you’re at it. 

“I take it you’re feeling better then? Are you okay to walk out to the front desk?” And the rest is, mercifully, easy. He walks her to the front desk, squeezes her shoulder and gives her a good job today that she likes a little too much. She makes a mental note to herself to never come back to this clinic for any future bloodwork, lest she make a fool of herself all over again in front of a man who, with any luck, she will never see again. 

…

“Yes, this is she speaking.” This is she speaking in the middle of the cereal aisle with a half-filled grocery basket at her feet. She sets her gaze on a hyper-realized image of a granola cluster (now with real strawberries!) while the woman on the other end of the phone tells her that her lab results came in and were sent over to her doctor. 

“Oh, great, thank you for letting me know. Do you know– did things look okay?” 

“We don’t interpret the results, ma’am. Your doctor will go over that with you.” She doesn’t quite catch that, doesn’t catch the woman’s ma’am? either, a little preoccupied with staring down the aisle, because is that? Is he? He looks good out of the scrubs. 

“Ma’am?”

“Sorry, no, um, of course. Thanks again.” If the woman had anything else to tell her, it’s a little too late for it, already hung up, and she’s trying to decide if she wants him to see her, or if fleeing immediately is the best course of action. He probably wouldn’t even recognize her, she thinks. It’s been a couple of weeks since the whole ordeal. And actually, she’d prefer if he didn’t recognize her. Oh yeah, the one who, well, ate it. But it seems the choice has already been made for her, because he saw her, walking down the aisle toward her, with his chin tilted down and part of a smile like he isn’t sure, but he’s pretty sure. He says her name like a question. Guilty as charged.

“Marcus, right?” Like she forgot his name, ha. His smile stretches, a little brighter, palm to the nape of his neck, and while she got the golden retriever part wrong, she totally clocked the rest, watch on his wrist and nice-looking athletic shorts and just-right-tight t-shirt with the little swoosh on the chest. She thinks his hair might even be a little sweat-damp, curled ends nearly getting in his eyes. In other words, she’s a goner. 

“How have you been since we– you, well–”

“Since I passed out on you?” Yeah, that, he laughs out and yeah, she likes him, sue her. 

“Just for the record, I believe it was you who said I passed out perfectly, so.” Shrug, so, he takes a step closer, leans in a little like he’s going to tell her a secret. In the cereal aisle, of all places. 

“Just for the record, I really don’t say that to all my patients.”

“No?”

“Nope, just the nervous, pretty ones.”

“I was not nervous.”

“You weren’t?”

“Nope.”

“Are you just gonna blow past the other thing?”

“What thing?”

“The pretty thing.”

“Yep.” Something a little giddy, like being back in high school, shared, shit-eating and smug grins. He shakes his head and she rolls her lips back in her mouth to stop her smile from getting any cheesier. 

“So, you do live around here then?” 

“Mm, yeah, I do. And so do you?”

“I do.”

“Nice, nice.”

“Lovely weather we’re having.”

“Wow.” 

“What? I’m making conversation.”

“You’re still not very good at it.”

“I’ll keep working on it for you.”

“Sure, okay. What kind of cereal do you get?”

“What kind do you think I get?”

“You look like a Kashi guy, if I’m honest.”

“Somehow I feel insulted.”

“Well.”

“You’re not even right either.” 

“No? What do you get then?” He just smiles, steps away and reaches up to the top of the shelf and she is very grateful to General Mills for being located on the top shelf because his shirt rides up just enough to see a bare hip. In cheerios we trust. 

“Apple cinnamon, seriously?”

“What? It’s a classic.”

“Actually, you know what, that tracks.” 

“What do you get?” She waggles her basket in front of him in response, goods already procured. 

“Peanut butter chex, respectable choice.”

“Thank you, thank you.” 

“You know, I’d say we’re pretty good at this conversation thing.”

“Yeah, we’re not bad.”

“Do you want to do this again sometime? Not in the cereal aisle?”

“What, you mean like in the produce section?” He smiles at that, rolls his eyes, his basket lightly bonking against hers. 

“I was thinking more like dinner, or drinks if that’s your thing?” 

“I might be free on Saturday.”

“I might also be free on Saturday.” 

“Well, sounds like we’re both free on Saturday.”

“Can I get your number?” His lockscreen is a picture of a dog. Lucille, he tells her, before she was very old and very deaf. She can’t help how big her smile gets at that. 

“Text me, and we’ll do this whole conversation thing again.” I will, he says, phone tucked back into his pocket, though he seems to think twice before asking her can I see something really quick. Not entirely sure what he means when she nods, but then his hand sort of hovers over her forearm, may I? He really does have nice hands, she doesn’t think twice about nodding again. 

“Oh yeah, we didn’t have to use your hand. I could have totally gotten it from here.” His hand curled around her elbow and his thumb lightly pressing into what she can only assume is a vein, and he says it so earnestly that she can’t help the incredulous laugh that rises up in her chest. 

“Really? You’re still stuck on that, huh?” He smiles something sheepish, pad of his thumb rubbing an apology into her skin before pulling away. She didn’t really want him to pull away.

“Sorry, occupational hazard, I guess.” 

“Kinda weird, you know.”

“Did I just ruin this whole thing?”

“Mmm, no, I kinda like it.”

“So, Saturday?”

“Looking forward to it, Marcus.” 

[sandwhitches]

Hiiii!! Thank you for opening requests for us!! Can I have cherry popsicle about Kenma and fem reader having date at sunflower fields?? (since it's about summer 😋) tysm!! May your days filled with happiness!!🌻

a/n: ahh ur too kind!! sure thing! enjoy :)

-> genre: fluff!!

-> content warning: n/a

-> wc: 505

this is a part of my summer writing event!!! please feel free to send some requests my way :3

It’s high noon and there’s no place in the world that you’d rather be than here. Life’s tasks will eventually catch up to you when you’re as busy as you two are, but you and Kenma can always manage to take a break from the bustle.

Today’s date had been a spur of the moment decision upon noticing that the clouds that have been looming for weeks were finally beginning to clear as a gradual commencement of the incoming summer months.

Admittedly, neither you nor Kenma are ever really ones to choose an outdoorsy route when given the option for dates, but how can you not enjoy the weather when it seems like today was practically made for the two of you to enjoy?

Warm summer wind ripples through tall sunflowers, breezing past your cheek like an old friend, it ruffles through Kenma’s hair as it disappears once more into the distance. You can hear the sound of lazy clacking against buttons and the declaration of Hi-Score! every couple of minutes from the console he held in his hands.

The both of you were lolling around aimlessly on a picnic blanket after a rather sizable lunch in the sunflower fields, letting beams of the season’s brand new sunlight warm up your skin and send you into a drowsy spell.

With a hushed breath of relief, you stretch out your back, then lay back down, head nestled against Kenma’s collarbone. 

He lets out a soft, nearly undetectable hum of satisfaction at the touch, ever so slightly tilting his own head down to lean against yours, eyes remaining trained on the screen he held above him. 

“Why don’t we do this more often?” You murmur into his shirt, glancing up to watch the screen of his console with intrigue. Kenma shrugs, “Busy, I guess?” 

You mumble something incoherent in agreement, letting your eyes flutter shut. The sun paints a vivid orange on the back of your eyelids, lulling you into an afternoon haze as you toe the line between awake and asleep.

Somewhere along the line, you hear one final click to the console, followed by the shift of Kenma putting it down and nestling closer up into you. With a drawn out sigh, you feel the slowing rise and fall pattern of Kenma drifting off into a sleep as light as the clouds overhead, nimble hand drawn up to your arm. 

It’s true, you both never get the chance to laze around in each other’s arms like this anymore, and that’s what makes this afternoon even more priceless for the two of you. Kenma likes a lot of things about his life: his occupation, the people he works with, and begrudgingly, he doesn’t exactly mind his studies.

But in this moment, he knows his favorite thing out of all of his busy life, will always be getting to exist so closely to you. He grazes his lips against the crown of your head, finally whispering in concurrence with your first question, “Let’s do this more often.”

[russellsppttemplates]

Do you know the little fishes? (Charles Leclerc)

Charles' attention is drawn to the way you're invested in your home country's football qualifying game

Note: english is not my first language. I love me some football and I sort of channelled my energy from the last game we lost too! On the side, if you haven't already, you can read this one here where it goes well for the reader's team!

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

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Charles didn't mind watching the football despite Monaco not having their own national team. He often supported the country the people watching the game with him were supporting or the best nations throughout history in which he recognised the biggest legends of the sport.

However, when he met you, the perspective shifted, especially for your national team. No matter where you were in the world, you would get up at an ungodly hour to watch the football, kissing Charles' forehead and tucking the sheets back in as you moved to another part of the room, sometimes the living room part of the room was that big, your tablet in hand as you watched the game, trying your best to keep quiet as you knew your boyfriend needed his sleep.

"Amour, at what time is the game today?", Charles asked as he poured himself some water from the glass bottle. Because it was a night race, he didn't have to go to the paddock until after lunch, and since you were on the other side of the world, the football game was on at breakfast time.

"It's in thirty minutes", you smiled, "do you mind it if we have breaking the room instead of downstairs? Or you can go downstairs while I watch the football, I have some snacks from the plane", you quickly reassured.

Charles smiled, grabbing his phone and tapping in the hotel app, "like I'd let you watch the game on your own", he shook his head, "I know how important it is to you", he kissed your forehead, sitting next to you as you watched the players warm up on the TV, kissing the top of your head, "are you thinking eggs or something sweeter?".

"He's not playing?", Charles questioned as they recorded the players on the bench, "no, he picked up an injury in training, I'm not sure how we're going to do today", you mumbled, "but the guy that's going in his place is very good, he's a bit young but everyone says he's a prodigy", you attempted to lift your own spirits.

The breakfast arrived a little after the first kick, Charles getting it from the door and making sure to display it on the table in front of you without blocking your view, having been once hit with a pillow when he walked in front of the screen just as your team did the last penalty shoot out for the final round of qualifiers.

"Here's your latte, gorgeous", he said when the game was a little quieter, earning him a kiss on his cheek from you, "thank you, they're playing really well", you groaned as the other team kept approaching the goal.

It only took the opposing team a few minutes to score the first goal, the fans recorded on the stands erupting in cheer as you crossed your arms over your chest, straightening up your back and looking at the replay of the goal, seeing no issue and slumping your shoulders, "it's a good goal", you mumbled.

"Like you always say, there's still a lot of game to play, amour", Charles added as your eyes followed the ball, feeling his hand back on your thigh and squeezing it.

"C'mon, you can do better than that, I know you can!", you groaned as another ball hit the bar.

Rubbing your forehead in circles, you sighed as your team scored just before half-time, "this isn't going anywhere! Our defense is like a large fishing net, everyone can get through and skip throughout them! They need to be those fishing nets that they use to get the little fishes! Do you know the little fishes, Charles?", you showed him your fingers almost pinched together, "the holes in the fishing net are so so so tiny that no fish can escape!", you spoke passionately, getting up to use the bathroom quickly.

"They're all playing really well", you said as you noticed the players going back in the pitch, doing all sorts of exercises, "they're just trying to go from the wings and it's so much clearer on the middle section", you reasoned as Charles nodded, "maybe the coach told them in the dressing room, they all look like they've had their behind handed to them on a platter", Charles chuckled, "they deserve it", you smiled, resting your back against his chest.

"Now the referee? I mean, c'mon!", you grunted, seeing the man in the pink t-shirt run to the screen and analyse the footage, "Oh, it looks like it's a penalty", you admitted despite not loving the fact, "maybe he won't see it", you shrugged innocently.

"I'm sure they'll notice it, chérie", Charles offered, not reading into your sarcasm before you looked up at him, "a girl can dream, handsome, a girl can dream".

The second part kept growing in tension, the other team scoring twice in the space of five minutes after scoring the penalty, "I can't watch this anymore", you sighed, eyes focused on the screen as they were waiting to validate a goal, the offside lines not clear enough on the moment and requiring further analysis.

"It's impressive how much they can get to know with technologies these days", Charles chirped in, hoping to distract you enough to relax against his embrace, "they also waste a lot of time though. I timed the game a couple of months ago and they only had the ball rolling for a little over an hour in total. Imagine if you had to do fifteen laps under a safety car", you tried the comparison.

Luckily, the goal was indeed offside, but your team still couldn't manage to out the ball in the opponent's net.

"Is it bad if I say that we're being robbed even though the other team is playing better?", you squinted, seeing the referee had given an extra time of three minutes, the players just making sure the ball never left the middle of the pitch, trying to leave the score unaltered.

"It was a well disputed match still, they didn't have luck on their side", Charles said, rubbing your arm gently and kissing the side of your head as you waited to the final whistle.

When you got to the track, Carlos was the first one to come and talk to you, "so, Y/N, that face can only mean you've watched the football", he teased.

The frown was a little evident as soon as you didn't feel the public eye on you, knowing they would be quick to judge, "they did their best, and their best was a little bit shit today", you shrugged your shoulders, "sometimes it's like this", you quoted your boyfriend, taking comfort in his words you usually hated when they left his mouth.

"She was a great supporter though, she got up early, she had the stripes of paint on her cheeks, her scarf and her t-shirt", Charles noted, "she was the most dedicated, cheerful and the best supporter, it's a shame they didn't feel it!".

"Now I'm going to support Ferrari, and you boys better not disappoint me", you snickered, kissing Charles' lips one last time before they headed off to their meeting.