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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 23 days ago

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I’LL MAKE A HOUSE INSIDE OF YOU, I’LL GO IN THROUGH THE MOUTH ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; what awaits you by the entrance to the woods is not a wolf, but a man. he thinks your grandmother can wait.

word count; 14.7k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader (’girl’ is used only in allusion to the actual fairy tale), fairy tale au, hunter/wolf!suguru x little red riding hood!reader, yan!sugu, captivity, forced caretaking, infantilization, excessive use of ’little one’, hints of stockholm syndrome, slightly suggestive in one part (suguru gets a hard-on, blink and you’ll miss it), noncon kissing but that’s the worst it gets, instances of gore (ie; descriptions of a corpse, horror-inspired imagery), depiction of cannibalism (not involving reader), violent undertones, suguru never physically harms you but it’s mentioned that he could. open ended + almost entirely from reader’s pov. meta narrative.

a/n; happy halloween <3 (i’m late)(it’s 2025) this au has been haunting me since last year so i’m happy to finally have it out …. i don’t dabble in yan!sugu v often but it’s . so so sooo easy to turn him into one just by tweaking him a little bit … if nothing else i hope he ended up awful & hot 🫡 + biggest shoutout in the world to my beloved mickey (@teddybeartoji) for all your help and encouragement w this fic :’< also my belovedest dilly for doing the same and supporting me always … i love u……

[ once upon a time, there was a dear little girl... ]

the sun is stuck in vitro.

a glance up at the sky, in tune with your rapid steps. you’re threading through a meadow, red hood over your head, a basket hanging off your arm; wine and apricots and slices of cake, covered by a crocheted blanket your mother made. the sky you see when you tilt your head is painted gray, a bottomless pit, cotton clouds sticking together like the light layer of mist laying its legs across the landscape. dewdrops stick to your bare ankles as you wade through tall grass.

everything smells wet, fresh, the heavy scent of leaves and dirt — the end of autumn. everything bursting and blooming and decaying all at once.

and you’re all alone. threading through the grass and flowers, nearing the edge of the familiar woods, on your way to see your sick grandmother. it’s a force of habit; from the basket hanging off your arm to the pep in your step, a feeling like that of a page being turned. all of it familiar. this story is your home, you live within its walls. you know your lines, you always have. you know how it begins, how it ends, what it feels like to be swallowed whole — you know your steps will lead you right into the belly of the beast.

you know this story.

(you should know this story.)

only this time, it is not a wolf that awaits you by the entrance to the woods. it’s a hunter.

it’s a man, of tall stature, a shotgun slung over his broad shoulder and secured by a thin leather strap. poignant, a threat and a reassurance all at once, barrel pointing at the sky like a maw wanting to open wide. the first thing you notice. his hair is tied up into a bun, neat and tidy, charcoal strands tousled by the morning breeze, bangs swaying almost hypnotizingly under the hunter’s hat he’s wearing; your eyes drink him in, from head to toe. a dark-furred vest, engulfed by a coat that does nothing to hide the outline of his meaty biceps. his boots are stained with mud.

it’s nothing new.

(but he isn’t supposed to be here.)

before you can look around, make sure you didn’t take a wrong turn, leave your mother’s cabin on the wrong clock-tick — the hunter turns to look at you. eyes like the bark of a tree, smudged at the corners with flecks of rusted gold, their warmth beckoning you forward. the jingle of a bell chime. and only then do you spot a splotch of red in his calloused hands, cradled closely, a poppy. young crimson petals.

he’s caressing them, and he’s smiling.

like he knew you’d be here.

molten, rainy clouds stick together in the sky, allowing no flicker of sunshine to seep through the gaps. once you step inside the woods, the mist will only thicken. a ceiling made of tree-leaves to obscure the world around you. it’s straight ahead, the main road that leads into their depths — the one you’re meant to follow. from where you’re standing, you can spot bugs on the mossy rocks, shimmering beetles, hear the buzzing of a lonely little bee busying itself with a honeyed tree trunk. shadows upon shadows. you’re right at the edge of the second act, but there is no wolf to be seen. no monster to fall into.

only a man, parting his lips.

”and where are you headed, little one?”

his voice is deep. steady, sturdy, seeps into your spine. but tailored with silk all the same; a pleasantly raspy undertone. he’s speaking softly, and your heartbeat slows down, grows quiet as a mouse.

it’s only him, after all.

(the ever reliable hunter.)

”… to my grandmother,” you answer, hands gripping onto the handle of your basket, a smile gracing your features. still confused, but polite, even sweet. he’s weak to it, you’re well aware. ”she’s sick, you see…”

he nods along, smile never changing shape — hand only briefly reaching down to his waist, slipping the poppy into his pocket. you wonder why he doesn’t just throw it away, but there’s no time to ponder on the smaller things; he speaks before you can try.

”i see,” he hums, a low buzzing in the back of his throat. ”and on such a lovely morning…”

the irony in his tone is evident, ripe like a peach. smiling along, you let out what could almost be considered a chuckle — it’s a little out of breath, your lungs constricting in wake of the mist-ridden air.

”mm… it’s alright. i don’t mind.”

that makes him pause, for a moment. ”how kind of you.” it’s praise, sweetened by a roll of his tongue — the hunter tilts his head, honeyed eyes ripe for plucking. ”i’m sure your grandmother will be thrilled.”

”… i hope so,” you hum, blinking through the dew. ”it’s the least i could do, really…”

golden eyes seep through the gaps between his lower lashes, gazing down at you. a piercing stare. you wonder if he can tell you’re lying. a moment passes, and then he’s speaking again, with a click of his tongue— that same pleasing lull to his voice.

”and where does your grandmother live, hm? not too far off, i’d hope…”

”it’s… still a bit to walk,” you chuckle, adjusting your hood, picking at a piece of lint dangling off the fabric. ”her house is just under the three large oak-trees, with the nut-trees below… you surely must know it?”

”… that i do.” for a moment, his smiles laces itself with sticky nostalgia; something warm.

then, suddenly, he’s taking a step forward. boots crunching against the ground, clicking against the gravel underneath his feet. like he’s walking on a frosted lake. aside from the low buzzing of tired bugs, and solemn whooshing of the morning breeze, it’s all you can hear. when he gets close enough for you to see the mole just below his jaw, he’s towering above you — shielding you from the wind, broad shoulders obscuring your view of anything but him. his eyes, his smile, the shotgun over his shoulder.

and he parts his pretty lips.

”would you do me a favour, little dear?”

a tug at your heartstrings. your eyes gaze up at his, wide with curiosity, rising up like bubbling foam in the sea of your iris. a request, something to do; it’s hard for you to ignore its call. always has been.

so you speak before you think.

”sure.”

a pleased hum. ”… i’m on the hunt for wolves, you see.” his eyelids flutter, but you don’t think he misses the way your smile evens out, your grip on the basket growing tighter. ”i know your grandmother needs you… but would you let me treat you to a cup of tea?”

”… tea?”

your baffled inquiry pulls a soft bout of laughter from the depths of his throat.

”tea,” he nods. ”any kind you’d like. i couldn’t sleep at night, knowing i’d left you all alone here with those beasts roaming around… and my home is close by.”

a pause. you inhale the earthy air, taste it on your tongue. a sense of delirious foreboding settles into your veins, a call from deep within your gut.

your mother told you not to let anything distract you.

(… then again, when have you ever been the type to do as you’re told?)

”i don’t know… i’m not really supposed to,” you try to convince yourself, fidgeting with the strings of your cape. you can feel the hunter’s gaze, heavy in a comforting sense; like a mother wolf gazing at her cub, making sure no harm befalls it. intimidating in the sense that you don’t know what he’s thinking.

”… how very well-behaved,” is all he says, adjusting the strap of his shotgun. he sounds like he wants to say something else, but he takes a moment too long to speak. then; ”you seem a little out of breath.”

and you are. your breathing is all out of sorts, your throat shivering under the force of your chilly inhales. it’s cold, and your legs feel sore. the fabric of your cape is too thin to shield you from the chilly autumn breeze, and your bones yearn for some respite.

your mind, however, yearns for something different. something new. a different story, another chapter.

(… you shouldn’t, but…)

”it was awfully reckless of your mother to send you off alone,” he mutters, a low click of his tongue, voice slipping down an octave— something rough gnawing at his vocal chords. ”a little thing like you…”

(… he shouldn’t be here at all.)

”i’d like to rectify that.”

there’s a stability to his words, something self-assured. he personifies a security you’ve never had, an absent smile that warms your numbed-out hands; there’s a warmth to it you couldn’t find in the woods, in the dark and gritty path carved out before you. it makes you think a cup of tea wouldn’t be so bad.

(maybe two wrongs do make a right.)

you stop to think, for a moment.

you could walk into the woods, down the main road, like you supposed to. one step after the other, right until you reach your grandmother — or a hungry wolf. you could wait by the flower meadow, and pick poppies until your hands grow weary, until you have enough to bring home to your mother. alternatively, just until the beast remembers his curtain call.

… or, you could follow the hunter. follow him, like a pliant lamb, until you reach his cabin.

(ultimately, only one of the choices entices you.)

”… alright, then,” your breath turns into white smoke. ”i’d be glad to. sorry for the trouble, though…”

his eyes gleam, suddenly; a honeyed whisper on his tongue. a sense of contentment in the sigh that slips past his lips, the sway of his bangs when he shakes his head. ”believe me — it’s no trouble at all.”

two sparrows take off from a branch ahead of you.

a breeze brushes past your cheek. he holds his arm out, ever the gentleman; waiting for your fingers to curl around his bicep, cling to it for stability. and you do, if only just to please him, because you know the hunter needs to be needed in the same way your grandmother needs pie and wine. the same way the wolf needs something soft to sink his teeth into.

his eyes crinkle, like autumn leaves on golden trees. pats your arm, once, then twice, and says;

”let’s get you warmed up, hm?”

and you follow his lead.

you know this man. that’s why you aren’t afraid. why you can’t help but match his step, as he guides you away from the road you’re meant to take, slowing down his strides just so you can keep up. the sun is still obscured, a slob of amber in the middle of the sky, engulfed by sticky clouds. the woods sway in a solemn waltz, bugs scatter away like ravens from the moss-ridden rocks, and when you pass the bushes on your far left you swear you catch a whiff of iron.

before you know it, he’s led you away from the woods — across a field of poppies, beyond the bridge of a river, down to a cabin with a freshly-painted fence.

his home is as warm as his smile.

the moment you step over the threshold, a scent of sandalwood invades your lungs — thick like you just fell into a bag of sawdust. it seeps into your nostrils and burrows itself deep inside your chest, curls up and sleeps there. rich, earthy, firewood and basil from the living room and kitchen, liquid comfort in your veins. warmth, peace; even with the butterflies pinned to the walls, gleaming behind glass. a deer mount watches you from across the hall, its antlers curled up proudly, eyes dumb and dead and animal.

all you can think is respite. rubbing your chilly, frostbitten hands together, blowing hot air on the interior of your palms. the hunter leads you inside, hangs his coat and puts away his shotgun, takes off his hat and steps out of his heavy boots — waits for you to do the same. you leave your crimson coat as is. gently, he takes hold of your basket, gives your shoulder a break. it comes to him naturally, this sense of service; a perpetual motion machine.

you think him a dog, finely trained. it puts your heart at ease.

”make yourself at home,” he smiles.

an absent nod. you’re still busy glancing around, following just behind him as he moves towards the living room. it looks cozy. knitted blankets thrown over chairs, books gathering dust on the shelves, a lit candle by the windowsill. there are carnations in vases, all smelling of spring, the same colour as the eager fire crackling by the chimney — sparks of ember against freshly cut wood, fireworks for only you to see. an axe catches their angry flicker of light with its dull edge, where it lays against a pile of logs, leather sheath curled around it; serpentesque.

already, your eyes have strayed too long. he doesn’t seem to mind. when you raise your head he’s looking at you, standing by the threshold to the kitchen and waiting, lips curled into a soft, ikebana-like smile.

a flicker of amusement passes through his low-lidded eyes. and then he’s turning on his heel.

you follow him.

”take a seat,” he hums, dragging out a wooden chair for you to sit on; and you do so without putting up a fuss, absently scanning the walls and shelves, jars of honey and jam and spices, cloves of garlic hanging in a happy row. a kettle rests idly on the stove, white little petals soaking in a bowl of sweetened water right next to it, reminds you of a bleeding bride. the kitchen table is small, just big enough for two. cozy.

”thank you, mister hunter,” you offer him a smile.

”— suguru.” he pushes the chair forward again, makes sure you’re all sorted, and then steps away. ”just suguru is fine. no need to be formal, little red…”

his voice comes out as something like a purr, interwoven with a morning residue of smoke, fatigue. you can hear it, though, the tender hint of happiness beneath it. he faces the stove, lifts his large hands to open the cupboards above him, and you spot a vast assortment of tea bags; dried yellow leaves, petals and stalks, silken bags and paper wrappings, an earthy scent that pervades the air. cuts into it, forces its way through the thin gap. you inhale, deeply, and feel it take root in your kidneys — no exhale makes the feeling go away. chamomile, rooibos, earl gray…

a cacophony of remedies pulsing in your ribs.

as he busies himself with boiled water and strainers, you gaze out through the window to your left. all you’re privy to seeing is a field, speckled with ghostly pale flowers — barely visible under the shadow of a sky yet to be broken through. in the distance is your destination, the murky woods, tall pinewood trees and willows and clusters of dried up leaves. you wonder if your grandmother will worry if you linger here for too long, if your mother will be disappointed. if they’ll even notice. the basket of goodies you brought rests on the kitchen counter, unassuming.

”here you are,” suguru hums, setting down a mug for you. pure white ceramic. he slips in a teaspoon’s worth of honey, and fills it up with water from the kettle, piping hot, orange in colour, tiny calendula buds swimming like fish in the sea. ”drink up, little one,” he croons. ”we don’t want you catching a cold.”

when you reach out to touch the rim of the cup, you’re stung by the warmth — it sparks against the tips of your fingers, spreads throughout your veins. gives way to a soft smile. ”thank you, suguru.”

his eyes gleam under the dim lights.

”have a sip,” he encourages. ”tell me how it is.”

and you do. you bring the mug to your lips, feel the warmth of the tea seep through the ceramic, steam rising from it and tickling your skin. when you drink it’s an assault on your senses, like the flowers snuck inside your throat and bloomed along your windpipe. hot enough to burn your tongue, rich and sweet.

a sigh leaves your lips. laced with contentment.

”it’s delicious,” you compliment, still feeling the sting on the tip of your tongue. putting the cup back on the table, just to hear the clink against wood.

a warm smile.

”i’m glad.” seamlessly, casually, he leans forward; curling his fingers around the handle, bringing it to his own lips. you watch, owlishly, as he blows on the tea — quick to slide it back towards you. ”… there.”

he must notice your bewilderment, at his familiarity. but he only exhales a soft breath; grazing the surface of a chuckle. resting his jaw on the heel of his palm.

”… go on. have as much as you’d like.”

he doesn’t pour himself a cup until you’ve finished your first. watching you, from across the table, eyes melted into something fond, glimmering faintly.

enamored.

(in every version of this story, the hunter is in love with you.)

that’s why you aren’t worried. that’s why you can’t help but tune out everything except the faint glow of his kitchen, the budding warmth of his home, the tea he keeps on pouring you, cup after cup. the feeling of something deliriously new. listening to the purr of his voice, allowing time to slip you by — sinking into a state of dizzying comfort, slick with safety.

before you know it, he’s shown you around the house, told you all about the lilac-coloured flowers growing in his backyard, coaxed you into warming yourself by the fireplace — he insists. it’s already well past the time you would have made it back home after your outing. your grandmother’s basket is still resting on the counter, untouched, wine and pie and peeled apricots that have probably begun to grow stale. she won’t tell the difference, but you will.

with decision, you rise from the armchair you’re seated on, closing the book he lent you. feeling the stir of a pep in your step, like the kick of a rabbit.

a shallow breath — ’duty calls,’ you muse.

(perhaps it’s for the best; you were beginning to bore of the silence, anyhow.)

suguru makes a low noise, in the back of his throat, seated on the armchair to your right. sleeves rolled up; a light patch of dark hair running from his wrist to his elbow, muscles embraced by the flame-slicked shadows of the fireplace. he gazes at you, silently.

”thank you for letting me stay,” you smile, picture perfect, easy and polite; curling your fingers together as if praying. ”but i really should get going, now.”

the wind whooshes, sharpens its claws against the windows behind you. the sky still dark, rain drizzling down, nothing a cluster of trees can’t shelter you from. the hunter stands up, to his full height.

”… i don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

a twitch of his brow. covered up by a smile. for the first time since meeting him this morning — you catch a flicker of distaste dance inside his pupils.

you aren’t sure what to say.

it doesn’t matter, either way. he parts his lips to speak. ”it’s dangerous… and it’s already getting late. surely, your grandmother can wait until tomorrow?”

”i’m… not sure i should,” you try, fingers idly slipping into the pockets of your red coat. mustering a cheery voice. ”besides, i wouldn’t want to trouble you!”

”i insist.”

…

crackle, crackle, wood splintering into ash. the silence is deafening, thick like a slab of butter on bread. it makes a lump form in your throat, hard to swallow, though you aren’t sure why.

”… tomorrow,” he continues. smile a little stale. ”wolves roam around in the evening. it’s not safe.”

something in his tone tells you he’s already made up his mind. something staggeringly aware — like he’s stating a fact, something unquestionable.

it’s not safe out there.

(he’s right, of course, but…)

(when he opens his mouth, you swear his teeth look just a little sharper than they should.)

a kick to your heart makes you cough up a response, a string of jumbled words. it comes to you almost like an instinct, an unsteady voice. ”if it’s really okay…”

he perks up, at that.

”of course,” he smiles, a little wider. ”of course it is.”

a warm voice, and a warm home, the crackling of a warm fire behind you. it should feel peaceful — yet you can’t help but gaze out the windows, nervously, watching the faraway trees sway. if you squint you could almost make out those golden, piercing eyes, the black fur of a beast in a bush; unease settles in the base of your gut and gnaws at your flesh.

just until tomorrow, you think.

his cabin is a safe zone, of sorts. you’re well aware of that. nothing can get to you, as long as you’re here, with his shotgun close by. suguru is tall, reliable, the only one you can trust — at least he should be. even if he isn’t where he should be at the moment.

it’s in his nature. he looks out for you.

he loves you.

(it’ll be fine.)

”it’s about time for dinner, isn’t it?” he breaks the shaky silence, stretching his arms out, craning his neck with a quiet crack. a clean break of bone. his gaze is kind, attentive. ”time flies… let me make something for you. what would you like?”

”… anything is fine.”

”anything…” a low chuckle. ”what would you say to some warm stew, then? is that alright?”

it is. after a nod, and a moment’s pause, you sit back down; just to feel the soft fabric sink beneath your weight. suguru hums, pleased, makes his way over to the kitchen. the axe gleams under the glow of the fire, and the deer on the wall watches your every move. the butterflies, too. wings for eyes.

(just for the night, you repeat to yourself.)

a hearty dinner, a warm bed to sleep in, and tea with honey in the morning — it doesn’t sound so bad at all. your mother probably won’t be worried, and your grandmother probably won’t die. no repercussions, the script already broke. staying one more day is fine.

… except he doesn’t let you leave, the morning after.

it starts out small. it always does.

(creeps up on you like a bug in a carcass.)

“it’s too early.”

“it’s too cold, you’ll get sick.”

“don’t you want to stay for dinner?”

a warm smile, a smooth voice, a face with sharp lines and soft skin; tailor-made to put you at ease. suguru is beautiful, familiar, eerie in a sense that only makes you feel at home. he’s always been stubborn, you recall. some part of your body remembers.

but never like this. never, ever like this.

never as suffocating.

“you’re too small to know what’s good for you.”

— there’s that bite. it sneaks up on him and grows teeth. he pats your head, with a calloused hand, and you relent. only gnaw at your bottom lip, jutted out into a frown you hope won’t rouse his anger. you’re still not sure he can even get angry, but he’s scary enough when he makes these choices for you; makes you think you have control over your own actions, all the while stealing it from underneath your feet.

(soon, he’s outright denying you.)

“i— i really need to leave,” you try, almost pleading, on the third night. your lungs are constricting, from the heavy scent of peppermint in the kitchen air, and he’s watching you like you’re nothing but a child demanding candy before bed. “please.”

a sigh, and a shake of his head.

“you aren’t listening, little one.” he turns around, clinks a teaspoon against the edge of a porcelain cup. “it’s safer here. your grandmother can wait.”

nails paint crescents on your inner palms.

“… she’s waited long enough.”

frustration sneaks into your tone. bubbles up into your words like venomous pores. you think he must notice, because his smile is especially gentle when he turns to face you again, all lips and no teeth, still as composed as ever. he steps forward, curls an arm around your waist; he’s starting to lose all pretense of caring about your personal space, of not appearing too familiar. pulling you close. steady, steady, steady.

so much stronger than you.

even when you stir, he doesn’t budge an inch. only lets out another mellow sigh, that fans against the side of your face. you think it sounds a bit amused.

“she’ll be okay,” is all he says. “she doesn’t need you.”

…

“she needs you to be safe.” he must have noticed the crestfallen look on your face. “as do i. you’re staying here, for the time being — it’s no trouble at all.”

he gives you a smile, to ease your nerves, honey-slicked and sweet; but something rotten settles in your gut. bile at the base of your throat, sour. it feels constricting, to be held so close, to be forced to inhale the scent of oakwood and musk on his skin. he’s warm. squeezing you firmly, and you’re sure it’s meant as a comforting gesture, but all you can think is burly arms, solid muscles, the crack of a bone. all you can think is that you’re well and truly powerless.

”believe me.”

when he lets you go, lets you scamper upstairs, you feel as though you can finally breathe again. leaning against the door to the guest room — gazing out through the window at the end of the hall, finding comfort in the swaying of the jade-dyed curtains.

something is very, very wrong. wrong with the hunter, the story, wrong with the home you’re in.

(you think you’re beginning to realize what.)

the hunter’s name is suguru. he appeared right by the edge of the woods, seven pages too early — or four, depending on the edition. he hasn’t let you leave his home, despite his initial offer to shelter you for no more than a day. his voice is deep and smooth, gravelly in the mornings or late at night, like an axe dragged through rugged grounds; or the bark of a tree yet to be cut in half. rough. the pieces dig a grave inside your brain, start to reek of decay.

the hunter is trustworthy.

in the story you call home, this is code of law; a black-and-white truth.

(but hunters don’t smell like wolves.)

hunters don’t watch your every move, or keep you locked against their chests, or make you sneak out in the middle of the night when everything is silent. hunters don’t will you to run away.

but on the fifth night, that’s exactly what you do.

once you’re almost certain he’s asleep in his own room, just two doors down from across the hall, you crack your eyes open and slip out from underneath the covers. shivering, shielded only by the flimsy nightgown suguru lent you to sleep in, sheltering you from the cold seeping in through the windowpane. it’s big on you. every step you take is slow and calculated, soft enough not to make any noise; you hold your breath as you crouch down to pick your coat up, lying in a pile on the floor, stretching your arms out through the gaps and pulling it over your head. then you walk to the door, the window behind you leaking in the faintest strings of moonlight.

the sky is dark, the room you’re in cocooned by its shadow. you can barely even see your own hands when you reach for the doorknob and twist.

no noise. no creak.

a soft sigh slips from your lips, just under your breath. your fingers pull it open, and you step out into the hall— not bothering to close the door behind you. paintings line the walls on the second floor, all depicting landscapes, fields of poppies, sheep in circles, a house on top of a windy hill. watercolour on canvas. you wonder if he painted them by hand.

out of the corner of your eye, you gaze at his bedroom door — you can’t help it. under the light of the moon, it gleams like an omen. sealed tightly shut.

your heart strings together a tale of worry.

(it’ll be fine, you tell yourself. he’s asleep.)

and so you venture down the stairs. placing one foot in front of the other, gripping onto the handrail with all your might, trying not to put too much weight into your steps. heart stuck in your throat. one steps, two steps. you can see the fireplace from here, though the flames have long been stifled. pieces of coal gleam under the light streaming in through the windows, blue flickers that disappear when clouds devour the moon. red carnations painted indigo.

eight steps. nine steps.

when your foot meets the rug on the living room floor, soft under your bare soles, a pang of relief squeezes your veins; a moment where you allow yourself to simply breathe. inhale, exhale, because the hardest part is over. almost there, almost free.

your next couple steps are hungry. burning with delight, moving towards the front door, still careful not to stumble over or into anything — but really, all you can think is that the crispy midnight air is just beyond your grasp. it’s all you can think when you fumble for your shoes in the dark, glance up towards the top of the staircase every other second. anxious, despite your excitement. it all bleeds together.

it’s all you think when you pull up the rug by the front door, grab the key you knew would lie beneath it. all you think as you stick it into the keyhole and twist.

freedom. that’s what the air smells like, as it floods your starving veins — as you move your feet to cross the threshold. floods your lungs, as you gaze up at the moon, smiling in the sky like nothing’s wrong. welcoming you back to the narrative. the wind feels cold on your cheeks, streaming into his house when you push the door open, wild and untethered; swaying the field of flowers just beyond his fence.

freedom. freedom. freedom.

you take a decisive step, leaving the boundary of his home —

and the door slams shut behind you.

(a betrayal of the wind.)

it rings in your ears. you stay frozen in place.

the light flickers on, behind the window right above you. casts a glow on the frosted landscape, on your figure — and you know he’s watching. you feel it.

so you run.

it’s sudden, the spike of pure adrenaline rushing through your veins, completely flooding your senses and numbing your legs — you do not feel the cold of the air, barely see the way your breaths turn into mist as you inhale and exhale. you only think to leap towards the fence, fumbling with the lock, your shaky fingers pushing and pulling until you finally decide to simply climb over — placing the sole of your shoe on the picket and tearing your nightgown on the way down, tripping over your own feet and landing on your palms, scrambling to get back up again. the bruising doesn’t ache, the drag of your skin against gravel — you don’t even hear the tear of fabric. you only hear the pounding of your own heartbeat, feel it crawling up your throat like a snake suffocating on the rabbit it just swallowed whole.

it pitters and patters, against your windpipe, and you run. sprint. everything in front of you is dark, mist thick enough to drown in, clouds devouring the moon again — you don’t really know which way you’re going, only that it’s away from here.

your lungs feel on fire, the air gasoline.

and you hear the door slam shut behind you.

(— the hunter begins his chase.)

tall grass melts around your ankles, ice-cold drops of dew and frosted flowers whipping your bare skin, but you don’t feel it, only feel the fear in your heartbeat as it threatens to make your ribcage burst. fear, fear, the primal kind. everything ahead of you is dark but it doesn’t matter, you’re only focused on running as far as your legs can take you — you’ve never felt a rush like this before. never felt so much like an animal being pursued. the wind tugs your hood away.

distant woods beckon you closer, closer still, swaying and waltzing on a moonlit night. you think yourself mad, to follow that shimmer, but you’ve never been quite right in the head, never really. frost, mist, harsh nips at your skin. the sky above is wide and vast, and everything is silent. everything except for you — a litany of frightened whines tugging at your tongue.

you don’t need to look to know he’s after you. yet you still cast a glance over your shoulder, shuddering suddenly, a gasp pushing past your lips —

he’s stares back at you.

golden eyes, sharpened in the night.

you’re knocked off your feet. thrown forward, with an almost brutal lunge, your body hitting the ground of the flowered field beneath you — it knocks the air from out your lungs, and for a moment you can’t breathe, can only feel the wet earth under your cheek and the sickening weight upon you. he’s pressing you down, with all his body weight, and he’s panting into your ear. holding your wrist so tightly you’re scared it’ll break. the fight doesn’t leave you. the rush is still there. but it has nowhere to go, with your legs stuck, it’s just wasted blood sugar.

you can do nothing but wriggle like a worm. fruitlessly. feeling his hair tickle your neck, hot breath leaving goosebumps in its wake, you want to cry, the fear is coursing through every narrow of your bones and you’re completely out of breath. you trash and trash, a sparrow with broken wings, but it’s futile.

(he caught you. he caught you. he caught you.)

”i caught you,” he finally pants, like a wounded dog, collapsed on top of you. but you hear his smile, that sickening sound of relief. ”silly, silly little thing.”

it hurts. he’s heavy. your knee is pressing into the soil, uncomfortably, you feel the moisture seeping through the fabric of your nightgown, his pulsing heartbeat against your spine. now the adrenaline is leaving you, sinking out of your body, leaving you boneless. like an animal about to be devoured.

resigned. surrender.

suguru presses a kiss against the side of your neck, teeth just barely grazing your pulsepoint— and the fear inside you spikes like the snap of a mousetrap.

”what were you thinking, hm?”

he doesn’t sound upset, only gently reprimanding. fondly exasperated. somehow, that scares you even more — the shift, the dichotomy, his voice a soothing thunderstorm as he keeps you pinned against the flowerbed. his overwhelming strength, in contrast to how relaxed he sounds. like this is nothing but the natural consequence of your actions.

”… you never change.”

the vice grip on your wrist begins to loosen, as he lifts himself up, no longer crushing you. it’s easier to breathe, but you’re still too rattled to try. still playing dead at your instinct’s demand, eyes pried open as you stare into the eyes of bugs above your nose. you can’t do anything but go limp, as he scoops you up, holds you against his chest, stands up straight. one heavy hand on your head and the other on your back.

he turns around, begins to walk back to his house, and your stomach fills with dread.

”n-no…” is all you can muster, too exhausted to make anything other than a quiet whimper, a weak weep of a protest. but he hears you, and he croons.

“shhh,” he soothes, as you whine into his neck, panting softly. rubbing your back. as if shushing a child that just had a temper tantrum. “you’re okay. i wouldn’t hurt you, little one, you know that.”

but you don’t.

(you don’t know anything anymore.)

”you’re my baby,” he continues, another sickening coo, and it sounds like a death sentence. giddy. he leans down to kiss your throat and you can only think of his teeth. ”only mine. my silly baby.”

a final glance at the sky, before he’s closing the door behind you. you see darkness, only darkness, a page being sewn shut. worms crawling out of the moon.

your skin itches from the burning cold.

suguru wastes no time in seating you by the fireplace, cocooning you with knitted blankets, murmuring something else about how you worried him sick, doing something so reckless. you barely hear him, there’s still blood on your palms and bruising static in your ears, everything stings and you’re still shaking from the rough fall.

he apologizes for that, too.

”i’m sorry i scared you,” he smiles, cupping your chilled skin, the slightest tufts of hair running down the tops of his fingers. ”but you needed the lesson.”

maybe you did.

he can hurt you. he’s capable of it.

you’re sure of that, now, no matter how much he’d insists he wouldn’t — no matter what he says. he’s fractured any dream of a cohesive narrative.

the tea he brings you smells of cinnamon, hot and sweet, but you make no move to drink it. just kind of sit there, as he tries to comfort you, rub salve into your bruised skin, assure you that he isn’t mad. you vacantly stare at the butterflies pinned to the wall, until he says something that catches your attention.

“once i’ve found the wolf, you can leave.” he promises, rubbing your shoulders, your already aching muscles. as if it’ll soothe you, as if telling the truth. “it’ll be okay… just let me handle everything.”

you raise your head to look at him, to meet the river of gold inside his eyes, weaving webs of silk. holy grails are always hoaxes, that’s how the stories go.

”… do you mean it?”

his lips curl up, just a bit, at the sound of your raspy voice, at the sight of you taking shaky sips from the cup. and he nods, silky, only slightly tousled hair swaying tenderly with the lull of his voice. ”i do.”

when he kills the wolf, you can leave.

if only it were that easy.

this is what you know; the hunter’s name is suguru. he appeared right by the edge of the woods, seven pages too early — or four, depending on the edition, give or take. he won’t let you leave his home, never runs out of tea to pour you, his voice turns raspy when it’s late and his arms are hairier than they were yesterday. this past week, you haven’t heard a howl echo from the woods at night even once.

it always starts small. small, decaying pieces, molding together and creating something bigger, more rotten. more than just a carcass.

it’s a corpse.

(and he’s inside it. playing hide-and-seek.)

he’s still smiling at you, making his hands useful, throwing wood into the fireplace when the angry flicker begins to sputter out. you recall your mother’s words, her many warnings. wolves are dangerous. wolves only want to do you harm. wolves don’t know how to love, they only ever show it with their teeth. always the same old stories, the same monsters at the end of every book. wolves, wolves, wolves.

always a wolf, never a man.

when you glance up at the hunter, his ever so softly parted lips, his keen eyes — you think to yourself that you can scarcely tell the difference. that even if you could, it wouldn’t matter. rot is rot, it still decays. you’re still at the mercy of it, of him.

(you’re beginning to think that’s all there is to it.)

you make no move to protest, when suguru pulls you into his lap. holds you close and kisses your wounds until you’re all warmed up, his honeycombed eyes never leaving your face, lit like a slowly sinking sunset. like a man who finally has what he wants.

by the end of the first week, a pit has opened up inside your gut. it smells of a freshly doused fire.

the more time passes, the worse he gets.

the more comfortable.

(he must have taken your resignation as an invitation.)

every morning, when you walk into the kitchen, he pulls you in for a kiss — always just his lips, no tongue, as if he’s afraid of what he’d do to you if he parted them. his big hands squeeze your hips and even if you struggle, try to push him away, he brings you back in, keeps your wrists locked in a steady grip if you’re really putting up a fuss. purse your lips and he’ll pry them open, as simple as peeling an orange.

he’s sweet, about it. gentle.

”let me say hi, little one.”

all you can do is turn limp. just give in, let him take what he wants — which usually isn’t a lot. a kiss, and he’s satisfied, a kiss and he beams like nothing about this is wrong even in the slightest. a kiss, and then he’ll make you tea, and then he’ll watch you drink it.

it’s been just shy of a month since he lured you into his home. you know what he expects of you, by now, you’ve settled into some semblance of routine; one that mostly consists of you being doted on, coddled. suffocated by his presence. he makes you tea every morning, every night, homemade meals of chestnuts and berries and meat. right now, he’s making lemon tea; slicing them with the blade of his knife, dipping them in honey, coating them in sticky-sweet residue. it does nothing to get rid of the sour essence, bitter on your tongue — only makes it bearable.

there’s a gentle smile on his face when he fills a tiny cup and hands it to you, watches you gaze into it. watches as you put your lips against the porcelain and sip, sip, sip. he doesn’t look away until there’s nothing left, his stare like a dagger to your throat.

it’s rare that he lets you out of his sight.

during the day, you’re free to do as you please — anything that doesn’t involve leaving his home, which isn’t a lot. you spend most of your time reading through the books on his shelves, tracing their spines, writing stories on the walls with sharp marker, painting animals and forests on the canvases he lends you. there’s joy to be found in captivity; you think of the rabbits your mother used to own when you were little. anyone can find comfort in a cage.

and it’s not like he never lets you push the bars a little. you may not be allowed to step anywhere near the woods, or outside his field of vision, but he’s taken to letting you play in his garden when he deems the moment right. just to give you some fresh air, as much sunlight as this time of year offers. of course, even then, he has his eyes on you — watching from the window, cutting wood just beyond the fence, each swing of the axe ringing in your ears like the drop of a guillotine. steady hands, toned muscles and arms, broad shoulders and those sharp eyes, sharp like his teeth when he smiles too wide on accident. you can always feel his gaze, and it keeps you from running away, even though the animal inside your chest screams at you to do it already.

but you’re sure you’d fail again.

and were he to catch you — you’re sure he’d no longer be able to resist. the temptation would be too much for him to bear. you were lucky, last time.

(lucky that he still hasn’t realized what he is.)

you’re stuck here, for now. forever. stuck with a man who seems convinced that what he feels for you is love, and not possession, something to hang up on his wall. love like hunters have for headless deer.

or a wolf for a stack of bones.

anyone can find comfort in a cage. it’s true, it’s true, you repeat it to yourself every night, try to find the silver lining in the home he’s made you. he does make it comfortable for you — a soft bed and fluffy pillows, warm food that settles nicely in your stomach, arts and craft to keep you happy. silken bags that never seem to run out. there are always more dried petals to pour into boiling water, a flavour you haven’t yet tried. he always expects you to drink it all. then, when the moon hangs itself in the air, and you’ve tired yourself out — he tucks you into bed. gentle, doting, his voice like a lullaby when he drags the covers up and sits by your bedside, or curls up beside you and reads you bedtime stories until you’re fast asleep. like you’re his grandchild. it’s never easy to relax with his hands on you, but the stories help.

that’s typically when it happens. when you’re lying in bed, when he’s unguarded, his own mind beginning to drift into slumber. he flips through the pages of a dusty fable, smooths your hair down with a steady hand, and his voice loses an octave; a noise that curls around the base of his throat, rumbles through his chest. deep, raspy, gravelly. just shy of a growl. it comes suddenly, reverberates through you, makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

suguru clears his throat, and you pretend not to have noticed it. he rewards you with another page or two.

that’s how he is, you’re well aware. what he does best. he tells you things without opening his mouth, shows you his teeth without letting you see them. he knows you know they’re there, and he rewards you for pretending otherwise. keeping him content is in your best interest — he hasn’t hurt you, doesn’t seem like he wants to, but you know that he will.

no one can fight against their nature, and he has one set of teeth too many.

for now, playing into the part he’s made for you is your safest bet. the fire inside your eyes has dwindled, he’s suffocated it, and the rabbit in your chest is pretending to be dead. every morning, you drink the tea he makes you, go pliant as he kisses you, and every night you let him lull you to sleep.

a comfortable cage is exactly right.

(but the temptation to rebel never truly leaves you.)

it’s already been a month. a whole moonspin. that thirst for freedom is lingering, festering, pushing up against the walls of your throat. makes you nauseous, makes the thin thread of your patience tear at the edges. you yearn for the woods, the flower meadows, the squirrels and bugs of the forest grounds. willows and chestnuts and silky splotches of sunshine, fumbling fawns. your grandmother’s sickly stench, your mother’s striking hand. anything but this stasis.

you miss feeling alive.

(you’d cut your skin open to feel it again.)

you know running blindly would prove futile, but that doesn’t halt the desire. you’re trapped, one foot in a bearclaw, and you want out. he’s stronger than you, faster— and he’s always, always watching. you can’t outrun him, he’s always making sure you’re near.

the only advantage you have is this:

suguru believes himself to love you.

maybe, if you just beg enough — beg again, when the moment is right… he’ll let you go. maybe he’ll take pity on the pitiful, defenseless baby he caught.

(maybe if you hide your contempt, but show your desperation— you can win.)

the pot boils over with the stench of rotten apricots.

they’re still in the basket you brought with you, under the knitted tablecloth, discarded in a storage room linked to the kitchen. you just wanted a quiet place to read, but now you feel too sick. sick with the stench of rotting fruit-flesh. you can smell it even without removing the cloth, and you know what you’ll see if you do — a bottle of wine, molded slices of cake, and sticky, sickly-sweet decay. dirt-brown in colour.

you’re reminded of the day you came. reminded of how long it’s been, who these apricots were for.

and suddenly, you can’t take it anymore.

(no one can fight against their nature. that includes you, too.)

with a start, you stand up straight, and leave the rotting basket behind you; opening the door of the storage and making your way to the living room. a wreath of bluebells is hung above the fireplace, crackling and sputtering, snowflakes falling softly from the skies beyond the windowpane. suguru is right where you knew he’d be, seated on an armchair and knitting a sweater, looping two needles through thick thread. his hair is down, and his eyes are closed in pure contentment; formed into thin crescents.

the air smells of chestnuts and incense.

you inhale it, walk up to him with a plea on your tongue — your voice a desperate push of air.

”please let me leave.”

his smile falls. before he even has a chance to open up his eyes, caramel spilling out through slits, before he can usher you into his lap and knead his hands into your body, ’warm you up’ the way he likes.

it’s rare, to see him without it. it makes him look naked.

(it makes him look unsettling.)

but he’s still gentle, when he breathes out a sigh, places the needles on the wooden table to his left.

”… this, again?” he clicks his tongue, sounding disappointed in a way you don’t like, a quiet lull. ”and i here i thought you’d finally decided to behave.”

his tone makes you shiver. something about it feels final, like you’ve pushed too far, reached some kind of dead end he’d been keeping concealed until now. there’s a barely noticeable crease between his brows, and his jaw is tense, lips formed into a tight line. not rough enough to be truly reprimanding, but it’s close. you’re suddenly aware of how small you feel, like this.

how powerless you are against him.

but you push through.

”… i just —” you try, gnawing at your bottom lip even though he’s told you not to bruise it. ”i’m just tired. i don’t want this, i — i’m not happy.”

a slip of your tongue, and a twitch of his jaw.

(his lips curl into a scowl.)

”you are,” he exhales, strained, like you just struck a narrow nerve. ”you’re happy. i take care of you.”

a shuddering breath. you inhale, shallow, trying to stay your ground, trying not to falter after snapping on the twig of his patience. you know what sleeps inside him, and you’re afraid of it. terrified. the hunter is one thing, the wolf is another. but there’s a line between the two, and you can tread it through —

tread it through and through and through.

”… you take care of me,” you concede, watching as the muscle of his jaw slacks, softens, ever so slightly. ”but i’m still not… i’m not happy. i want to leave.”

the fire crackles behind you, logs of wood splintering and snapping, budding heat easing the tension in your bones. silence settles over the scene, stretches out and lays itself to rest there like a wounded animal. suguru just watches you, with smothering eyes, like he knows something you don’t; gaze focused, expression set in stone. knitting your features into his mind with a broken needle.

and then a grating sigh.

”… how many times have we repeated this, little red?” he asks, his voice thick with anger, though you’re unsure as to who it’s aimed at. his eyes burn with something devastating, something that smells of a forest fire and wails like a bleeding dog. ”how many times will you make me go through this?”

suddenly, he’s standing up from his armchair. rising to his full height, towering over you, lifting a hand up to caress the apple of your cheek. it makes you flinch, and his lip twitches, and suddenly his fingers are trailing down to the very base of your throat. as gentle as if he were handling one of the butterflies on his wall. you’re worried he’s going to squeeze down, but he never does, just keeps a hand there like all he wants is to feel the rapid thumping of your pulse.

and his eyes burn you to cinders.

”how many times have i had to watch you be swallowed down… by someone other than myself?”

the question hangs in the air like a noose. grates your ears, heavy with an anguish you couldn’t hope to understand. a skip of your heartbeat — except it feels more like a crash. his fingers never move and your body turns to ice, accepts the hand that feeds it, if only because he looks like he could swallow you whole and still not feel satisfied.

”… far too many,” he seethes. palm finally moving from your throat to cup your cheek, and you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding. ”you’re too frail, too — naive. i can’t trust you to be good.”

a gasp pushes past your lip, when his other arm curls around your waist and tugs you closer, keeps a possessive hold on your hip. his body heat is suffocating, it only makes your heartbeat sputter.

”… you can’t keep me here forever,” you murmur, the words laced with fear. spoken carelessly.

(and this time, you can practically hear the snap.)

a dangerous flicker, through his earthen eyes. it’s there and then it’s gone, and it’s enough of a warning on its own, a spark of fury that has you biting your tongue, squirming where you’re held against his steady frame. his grip around your waist morphs into something almost painful, just a pinch away, not quite enough for you to get away with pulling back.

you hear the words before he says them. they rattle against the back of your teeth.

”i can.”

spoken in a whisper, through gritted teeth, an echo from deep within his stomach— he practically spits them out, eyes burning into yours, an overwhelming density in how he carries himself. the words are heavy like lead, and you can tell he believes them.

he can keep you here.

(forever, and ever, and ever.)

a shiver claws against your spine, drags its nails down your back, and you think he can tell, that he feels you shudder against him. like a frightened fawn in front of a headlight. it’s enough to have his pupils dilating, his fingers loosening their grip, a breath of shaky air escaping his lips— like he’s finding it hard to keep his composure. to be tender and merciful.

once the silence has stretched on for a beat too long, and your breathing still hasn’t mellowed— he speaks.

”don’t you think it hurts me?” he asks, just above a tender whisper, brushing a thumb against your cheekbone. just barely grazing your lower lashline, streaks of black hair framing his burdened eyes. ”watching you be deceived, again and again…”

suguru exhales a bated breath, chest moving in tandem, pressed flush against your own. for a moment, you think he looks rather sad.

”… i’m tired,” he admits. ”i’m tired of having to cut you out of his stomach. you did this to yourself.”

…

when you empty your thoughts, you can still feel it. the warm embrace of succulent flesh.

(you never asked to be devoured.)

”you can’t protect yourself,” he tells you, with the same tone that he always has, the tone that tells you he knows best. ”so i will do it for you.”

a twitch of his fingertips. you feel it, as his hand slides down the expanse of your face, tips your head up with a finger underneath your chin. you’ve gone pliant, again. he leans in, until you can’t tell who the breaths you’re exhaling are coming from.

”do you understand?”

every bone in your body wants to move, pull away, but you’re worried his nails will sink into your skin if you dare to try. he’s positively suffocating, like this. demanding a response. you want to flee, you want to fight, you want to grab the axe behind you and drive it into his skull. you’re terrified of him. you loved him, once. the hands that are keeping you locked away are the same that dug through blood and guts to drag you out of your grave. he’s never letting you go.

never again.

no matter how much you beg.

you can see it in his eyes, the trail of ash they leave behind when he blinks. the carnal desperation in his voice. there is no ’leaving’ him — the fire that burns in him is brighter than yours, far more damning.

so there’s no point.

his lips are inches away from your own. golden eyes peeled open, palm covering the expanse of your jaw, arm like a bear trap around your waist — snapped shut. suguru awaits your response, and you give it to him with a voice that barely sounds like your own.

”… i understand.”

(obedience and ignorance, you echo inside your mind. obedience and ignorance is all he asks.)

a moment passes, and his muscles finally go lax, eyes softening like melted snow; a sigh slipping past his lips. closing in, claiming your own. you can taste what he’s feeling, but it’s too much to bear.

”… good,” he smiles, against your lips. ”good baby.”

the praise does nothing to soothe the pit inside your stomach, but it doesn’t matter. he’s not angry, anymore, and that’s as good as anything. you let him kiss you and it doesn’t even make you want to vomit.

it doesn’t make you feel a thing.

”if you just stay here, you’ll be fine,” he continues, breathing you in and out again. ”you’ll be safer.”

safer tucked between his ribs, or lodged inside his throat. so much safer playing dead all year.

(you think of rotten apricots, and bile rises in your throat.)

a moment’s hesitance. you find the will to speak. ”just… my grandma,” you murmur, pulling away from the kiss by a hair, not that he’d let you go if you tried. you look up into his eyes with a pleading gaze, voice a little broken. ”can you at least… give her the wine?”

suguru pauses.

then sighs, a rock from out his heavy chest. pulling back and giving you space to breathe, cradling a lock of your hair with greedy fingers. ”you don’t have to worry about her, anymore,” is all he says. ”believe me.” he’s smiling, just barely, voice meant to soothe you out of making a fuss. but there’s really no need.

you’re well aware of what he means.

(and that’s the end of that.)

”… okay,” you answer, the words pulled out of your throat by an invisible string. ”i won’t, then.”

the smile you muster is strained at best, but suguru glows in its light. looks proud, eyes crinkled at the edges, burning pages of paper on an open fire.

a coo on his tongue that he wants to let out.

”sweet thing,” he purrs, sweltering. ”you were just feeling a little cranky, hm…? must be hungry.”

his hand caresses your stomach, rubbing the skin just beneath your navel, and you feel the beginnings of nausea swell up in the very back of your throat. but you stifle it, lean into it, you have no choice.

you nod, and he smiles.

”i was meaning to use that wine for something, anyway…” he lets out a hum, thinking for a moment. ”coq a vin, perhaps? would you like that, little dear?”

”… mhm.”

he seems content, with that response.

the snow outside the window mocks you with its shimmer.

time continues to pass. the cycle repeats, the same as always.

you think you’re finally starting to get used to it.

suguru grows more wolfish by the day. there’s more hair on his arms and chest, his teeth are longer, when he kisses you he sometimes starts to drool. his voice is deep, his meals taste about the same, he still never runs out of lullabies or bags of tea. wolfsbane, lupine, ipomoea alba — he tastes them on your tongue, drinks them from out your mouth. you’re beginning to forget who you were before him. every day, he tells you that he loves you. you think you could believe it if you tried. maybe, you could even love him back.

if only you didn’t know the truth.

it’s more than a suspicion, now. no longer an if, but a when, a question you don’t dare ask — but there’s no need to. when the hunter falls asleep, the wolf makes tea in the kitchen. you live with them both. they’re a duo, a pair of lovers; never one without the other.

(one of these days, you’re sure they’ll eat you.)

the book you’re reading feels weighty in your hands. you’ve already read it before; you’ve read nearly all of them, fingers far too familiar with the dusty shelves. suguru promised to go get more, though you have no idea from where. you’re not sure knowing would do you any good. he’s upstairs, in your room, scrubbing at the walls to get rid of all your scribbles. it’s bound to take a while — if you dashed out the door now, maybe he wouldn’t notice. but the key is in his pocket, and he’d hear the crack of window glass.

it’s nothing more than a temporary comfort— something to indulge in, roll around and around in your head until you realize how silly you’re being.

you’re broken down, plain and simple, and winter is gnawing itself into the world. ice-cold teeth sinking into the ground beneath your feet, and eating the baby hares buried there. suguru chops wood for the fireplace every single day, just to keep you warm, made a sweater for you that smells too much like him. you sneak a glance out the window, admiring the heavy blanket of pure-white snow draped around the woods; a red fox scurries across your vision, yipping joyeously, skeletal trees shimmering faintly in the distance. a whole world just without you.

it’s comforting. the air smells slightly toasted and your feet are warm, clad in fuzzy socks. you haven’t been outside in some time; suguru’s been reluctant since you sprained your ankle on a sheet of ice in the backyard. you wish you’d hit your head instead.

(you miss the cold sting of the wind.)

each turn of a new page drags you deeper into your own subconscious, sinking into a fragile illusion of peace. paper-thin, falling upon your thumb, your eyes scanning the inked letters tiredly. stories aren’t worth reading more than once, you think, the magic fades away eventually. you can barely taste the citrus the protagonist eats, fingers dipping between the ridges, teeth sinking into the tender flesh. rinse and repeat. boring, boring, you want something new — a thriller, a romance, even something like —

a noise, echoing from the hallway.

rap, tap, tap.

(knuckles against wood.)

it rings in your ears. rattles down your spine. two seconds, eight, ten — all thoughts disappear from your brain and leave only misty foam behind them. a blank slate. rap tap tap, curling inside your ear canal.

when you come to, your heart is pulsing.

a moment of silence. the house is quiet, so very quiet, you’re afraid suguru will hear your breathing from the second floor. everything feels frozen solid and suddenly you want to hurl, get the sickness out of your gut — watch it spill out all over the floor. but you remain planted in front of the fireplace, watching flames flicker and lick a stripe from coal to wood, waiting for something to happen.

(it already has.)

another knock.

this time, you shoot up to your feet — like your mind just realized it wasn’t an auditory hallucination, another mass of hysteria seething in your frontal lobe — your hands clammy as they try to find solace in the fabric of your clothing. gripping onto the wool.

on shaky legs, you move forward. making your way towards the hall, slow and steady, soles against soft flooring. eyes blown wide, skittishly peeking around, out the windows and towards the stairs. suguru. you picture him on his knees, tail wagging behind him, dragging wet cloth against faded tapestry, salvaging his ruined walls so you can ruin them again. you picture him hearing the knock, rushing down, pinning you against the floor until your knees ache.

you picture him none the wiser, and inhale the air like you haven’t in days — gathering courage, dragging your feet towards the source of the noise.

pitter, patter, pitter, patter.

your heart throbs inside your chest, flexes its legs until it knocks against your ribs, makes you jolt — your lungs holding onto every breath you take with shaky fingers. the deer mount on the wall gazes at you, antlers pointing towards the front door, and when your eyes land on the handle you swear you can feel it. the presence of a living, breathing thing.

just behind the door.

and you can do nothing but stare. unblinking, heart still crammed at the base of your throat, scraping at the walls like a squirming bug. you feel like a deer trapped in headlights. your mind crackles, halts, comes to life again, the pages coming undone from their bindings and spilling out over the floor — smudged with ink, a seven-letter word.

freedom. freedom. freedom?

(hope.)

a third knock, more curt. it sends a tingle down your spine, down your bones, makes your hand twitch, as if eager to twist the doorknob. finally, someone is here. someone came to get you. no one forgot.

no one forgot about you.

you move your leg, and —

”keep still.”

… a breath brushes against your neck.

(ba-dump. ba-dump.)

only stillness. only silence, strangling you. there’s someone behind you and you didn’t even notice, there’s a hand on your hip to keep you in place, another latching itself onto your mouth to keep you from making any noise. your heartbeat spikes, collapses in on itself, but he is there to catch you.

he’s always there to catch you.

suguru has you enveloped, his scent like a heavy pelt tossed over your shoulders, familiar tones of earth and musk polluting your senses. you’re wrapped up in it. you feel so small, small enough to disappear into the dip between his chest and stomach, right between his ribs. he’s keeping you so still you barely remember to breathe, can only pant shallowly against his big hand and pray he isn’t angry at you.

too frightened to do anything else, you gaze at him out of the corner of your eye.

and ah, there it is. black hair, golden eyes, a silent quiver of his jaw; like he’s trying not to snap it, trying not to bare his teeth. they’re sharp. when he kissed you this morning you felt them nip at your skin.

(you think he was trying to control himself.)

his pupils are sharpened, eyes blown open, staring straight ahead. he’s making no noise, no sound, only the most subtle of breathing patterns — like a hunter in waiting, like he’s got one finger on the trigger.

yet another knock, impatient, and his grip around your waist grows tighter. a barely audible growl rumbles in his throat, you feel it against the back of your head, let out an involuntary whimper that has something growing hard behind you but you refuse to acknowledge it, refuse to think about it, you’d rather die. he’s immobile and you’re just as paralyzed, only able to watch the door, watch your salvation slip away. again. again and again and again.

one, two, six, nine. the seconds tick on in time with your mismatched heartbeats, and nothing happens.

then, the sound of boots against gravel.

moving farther, and farther away.

(they’re leaving, they’re leaving, they’re leaving.)

”… there,” he rasps, finally, lethally deep, as if culling a calm to your nerves. it doesn’t work, only makes your heartbeat pick up in speed, another tiny whimper muffled against his hairy palm—

you swallow down a sniffle.

and he loosens his grip, sharp eyes melting into liquored honey. a coo, as he spots the beginnings of tears at your lashline, glistening like morning dew.

(you can’t take this, anymore.)

”… my poor baby,” comes a croon, a voice thick with fondness; shushing you softly, brushing a stray tear away with his thumb. ”poor little thing.”

you’re still pressed against him, chest to back, he’s warm and suffocating and you’re reliant on his thrumming heartbeat just to find your own breathing. he’s cradling you like a mother to her child, and it makes you feel anything but safe— makes you feel like a bird in the maw of a rottweiler, like your clothes are soggy and dragging you underwater. your chest is caving in, hot tears burning at your eyes, and god, you’re just so fucking tired.

you’re tired of this. tired of him, tired of the story you’re in. tired of having to hope again and again.

(no one’s coming to rescue you. no one at all.)

”must have been so scary,” he continues, rubbing his cheek against your head, leaning down to smear a kiss against the side of your neck, ”’m sorry. i’ll handle everything, you hear me? don’t be afraid.”

another sniffle, you can’t help it. you bite down on your lip to stop it but all it does is make you taste iron, hot and heavy, a burning sting. your voice feels wobbly, forcing it into shape feels like trying to turn water into ice with your bare fingers; yet you try.

it comes out pitiful.

a broken, battered whisper.

”… i wanna go home…”

more of a whimper than a sentence, it pulls a sigh from out his lips. ”you are home,” he tells you, softly.

you struggle to withhold a bubbling sob, one you know will have you stuck in his arms for the rest of the night. your limbs feel limp but you still dig your teeth into your bottom lip and wipe at your eyes with frustrated humiliation, refusing to let him see you crumble. suguru stays still, just watching, waiting for the ripe moment to pluck your tears and comfort you, but he won’t get it. you won’t give it to him.

when he noses at your pulsepoint, something like an animal whine rips from your throat, scratchy and dry. you squirm, scratch at his forearms where they’re wrapped around you — panicked, feral — and he lets go. he lets you glare at him, through eyes wet with freshly spilled tears, only gives you a look you know means he’s feeling sorry for you. something like a silent oh, look how you’re trembling, look how much you need me, poor thing. it’s demeaning, but all you care about is pushing him away, storming up to your room. for once, he lets you. must think it’s best you deal with your little tantrum on your own for now.

you’re sure he’ll come knocking when it’s time for your bedtime story, but for now you’re alone. free to close the door behind you, collapse against it.

a weak, gurgling sob.

home. this is home.

(if you accepted that — would it hurt any less?)

all you can muster is the strength to smush your snotty face against your elbows, knees against your chest, curling in on yourself. choking out hitched little breaths, all broken and bruised and wrecked into bits. a marble bashed against concrete, over and over and over again, there’s nothing there but glass-splatter. you’re glad he isn’t here to see it. glad he can’t force you to seek out his body warmth, his steadying heartbeat, that you won’t have to hear him coo out reminders that you aren’t needed out there.

(nobody out there needs you. not your mother, or your grandmother, not the story you’re in.)

(you’re a lousy protagonist. better off in the ground.)

if only you could bring yourself to believe it. if only you were capable of swallowing down hope without spitting it back out again. if only you knew better than to trust a wolf, or a hunter, or anyone at all.

if only you weren’t you —

maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

broken, broken, a crack in the middle of your heart.

suguru comes knocking at your door, eventually. there is no lock, you have to let him in, but by then you’re fast asleep. faded into a dreamless slumber.

(you won’t feel it, won’t see it, won’t have to kiss him back. he’ll tuck you into bed without waking you.)

it happens, at last. a long overdue curtain call.

but not to you.

the smell of rot sticks to the walls, bleeds out against the carpet and wails like a dog. the stench of flesh, suffocating ever narrow of your cells, the marrow of your bones. he probably thought you’d be asleep. he probably doesn’t know how thin the walls are.

you stand by the threshold to the kitchen, and peek in through the gap left by the storage room’s open door.

pale moonlight spills in through the window, casts a dim-lit blue across the floorboards and shatters on suguru’s back. illuminates him, where he lays, hunched over like a dog. eating something.

someone.

(a man with a shotgun over his shoulder.)

you can barely make it out, seeing only shadows and shapes. hell on earth, hell permeating the world and forcing it down your throat. you can’t see his face, only his ears, his tail, beautiful blood pooled underneath his knees and glistening in the light. can only hear the noises of him chewing, the sickening crack of a bone being split, gnarls and growls like he’s having trouble fitting it all into his mouth, taking too-big bites all at once. they make you nauseous, make your stomach twist with panic and disgust. desperate to quell your terror-struck breaths, you keep a hand clasped over your mouth— willing your guts to stay unspilled. you’d rather not have him clean it up; rather not owe him any favours at all.

rather not interrupt him in the middle of his meal.

the stench is excruciating. iron and molding meat, damp clothes and patches of wet fur. thick. it makes tears sting behind your eyelids, burn at your lashline, your entire body shaking, skeleton rattling under your skin— panic wailing in your shuddering veins.

it’s happening. it’s happening, but not to you.

(and isn’t that a blessing? to play the role he always has. always just watching everything go wrong.)

(maybe you’ve always hated him. maybe you just couldn’t tell.)

it takes effort to keep yourself upright, to force your knees not to buckle. you’re scared, you’re scared, whatever rabbit made a nest inside your heart is trying to gnaw its way out and it hurts. you’re cold and hot all at once. you think you might pass out, like this; clutching onto the wall with unsteady fingers.

suguru seems to be enjoying himself, feasting on god knows who, tearing through veins and muscle tissue, carving a path that reeks of rotten fruit and guts. it’s horror incarnate. you pray it’s all a dream, a nightmare. you pray you’ll wake up soon. but you’re still frozen when you squeeze your eyes shut, and he’s still hunched over in the storage room when you open them. shallow breaths scrape against your throat, and you swallow down the bile building up at its base. taking a wobbly, wobbly step back.

you thank your lucky stars he does not peek over his shoulder. tip-toeing towards the stairs, leaving the blood and the grit behind before he spots you. you are gone by the time he’s finished, gone by the time he licks the entrails from between his teeth and cranes his head to look behind him.

golden eyes violating the dark.

when you crawl back into bed, fruitlessly trying to gain control over your trembling limbs, wipe the sight from your mind — you are sure of only one thing.

this is the tipping point. this is where the cup runs over. it has to, or it’ll break into pieces, bleed open. you’re never going to forget this; the buzzing of fleas, the smell of rotten apricots. the smell of death, hot and heavy, iron seeping into the back of your tongue and tearing out your teeth. warm, hot blood. gurgling up at the base of your throat with steady thumps.

(your story wasn’t supposed to be like this, a voice echoes in your head. not like this.)

terror. terror. desperation, a silent crack in the night. something in your gut settles, right when you feel so faint you’re sure you’ll pass out — a cold calm.

suddenly, you know what you have to do. you know exactly what the story is about to demand.

(keep that fire burning. even if you burst aflame.)

you stare at the ceiling until dusk turns to day.

a tentative sip.

you hold onto the rim of the cup with steady fingers, warm skin against cold porcelain, and drink slowly; one gulp after another. it tastes good. mellow and vibrant, makes a home on the roof of your mouth, sticks to the back of your teeth. there’s a nutty aftertaste that you can’t help but savour.

he’s trying out something new, today; a bundle of golden leaves, simmering in the liquor-like water, a trail of sweet-smelling steam wafting up into the air. beautiful, if nothing else. flickering softly.

it’s a wonder you still haven’t grown tired of tea. a wonder he keeps finding new ones for you to try.

(he’s fond of flowers, you’re well aware. fond of plucking them by hand, while they’re young and pretty, robbing them from the ground, putting them in hot water and vases and paintings on the wall.)

(yesterday, he asked if he could do your portrait.)

it’s time for your bedtime story. you’re curled up in bed, on freshly washed silken sheets, buried under a fluffy blanket with suguru to your right, sitting on a wooden chair with a fable in his lap. paintings of rabbits and foxes, girls and goats. they’ve grown more childlike, over time, the books he reads to you aloud; the ones he keeps on his shelves. he doesn’t like it when you indulge in anything too graphic.

a nightlight keeps you company, shines a light on the pages in the dark of your room. a small comfort.

in tandem with his words, the curtains sway, tender as the lull of his tongue— window barricaded just behind them. he’s wearing a blouse, with puffy sleeves that barely reach down to his elbows anymore. he’s gotten bigger. there’s a rasp in his throat when he speaks but the softness is still present, the silent turning of another page, he holds them in between his fingers before letting them fall. looks at peace. it’s raining outside, a quiet drizzle, warming up the earth from the frost and snow — a gentle pitter patter against the windowpane. you can almost smell the damp earth, the moss and worms, content to imagine it as tea trickles down your throat, pumps its way into your heartbeat.

content to watch your captor playing house.

(soon, this’ll all be over.)

(soon.)

”… your arms are hairy, suguru.”

your words cut into the silence, shatters the illusion of peace and quiet, spill into the open air. the wolf by your bedside looks surprised, for a moment; a silent series of blinks, raven lashes taking flight. usually, you’d be nothing but silent during this routine.

”do you not like it?” he asks, letting the page flutter shut, fall over his thumb. ”i can shave.”

you pay no mind to his response. only push yourself up on your elbows, sluggishly, reach your fingers out to curl around his roughed up knuckles.

”and your hands are big…”

a flicker, in his ashen eyes. he lets you trace along his hands, dip your fingertips down the valleys and across the bumps, the callouses and scars.

(and oh, he knows what you’re doing now.)

so he plays along.

”… the better to hold you with,” he whispers, low and sweet — bringing your hand to his lips, smearing a kiss against the inside of your palm. you feel the curve of his smile cut into your skin.

a beat. your hand slips away from his touch, travels down to his jaw, tips it up with a thumb beneath his chin. suguru eyes you. hungrily, your instincts tell you. he’s pliant, though, a domesticated thing — doesn’t bat an eye when your fingers tug at his upper lip and expose a row of white teeth. pink gums.

a silent intake of breath.

”… and your teeth are sharp.”

silence. you can see your own reflection in the gleam of his canines, watch it waver like great tides in the sea. you look nothing like you remember.

and suguru looks conflicted.

”the better to…” he whispers, latches onto your wrist and cups your palm— keeps it in place as he nuzzles against it, closing his mouth. ”protect you with.”

something in your chest tightens and coils, at that. he smiles, almost sheepish, and you want to kill him, want to drag his own axe through his stomach, hear the clanking of metal against the bone of a rib.

a voice like no other rings in your ears.

(at least have the gall to say it out loud.)

the fwhip of a book being shut. his thumb slips out from between the pages, comes to rest against the spine, and you know it’s time for bed. you feel a tentative lick, against the skin of your palm, before he’s letting go of your wrist. it makes you shudder, and his eyes crinkle like you just did something cute.

(it’s nearly over. it’s nearly over.)

you feel as if you might throw up.

”… goodnight, sweet thing.”

his voice curls into your mind, around your neck, wriggles like a worm inside your ear. you don’t say it back. you stay silent, as he pulls away.

the nightlight flickers off.

once upon a time, you’re sure your story had an ending.

it’s a distant memory, at this point. a bundle of blurry memories, a sense of knowledge about what goes where. but you can still recall the catharsis.

at its core, little red riding hood is a tale about foolishness. a tale about girls who stay snug in the bellies of beasts, curl up close to their intestines and wait patiently to be rescued. this is no surprise to you. you’ve been devoured thousands of times, it’s in your nature, what you were born to do— there is no version of the story where you aren’t tangled up in meat thread or being swallowed whole. no version where you aren’t a victim, born to wait your turn.

you’re well beyond accepting that.

all children must exit the womb, and all little reds must escape the wolf’s stomach. neither cage was meant to keep you, even if he’d disagree.

but now you really are trapped.

(trapped in the cage he made you, a bookmark glued to paper-skin.)

you sit in his armchair, and gaze into the fireplace. waiting for a cue. suguru is in the kitchen, as always, the sound of a whistling kettle seeping through the air, chattering with steam. gusts of wind claw against the windows, wail and whine against the glass. the woods sway in the distance, mocking shades of green shimmering faintly; beckoning you closer, closer still, into their depths. winter is about to end.

the sun is stuck in vitro.

the deer mount on the wall looks at you with dead, glazed-over eyes. dead like the pinned-up butterflies, dead like every single thing in his home. dead tea leaves, dead men in storage rooms, dead little reds.

the axe glimmers by the fireplace.

an inhale, inflating your lungs. it has to end. the story hungers for it — there has to be some way to reach it.

(everything’s already broken, anyway.)

crackling, splintering, wood on fire. ash gathers at the bottom of the hearth, tears itself into pieces and crumbles into a lifeless heap. your eyes watch the flames lick into each other’s mouths, make a home there. they’re consuming each other. getting their fill. you think of his tongue, his teeth, his voice— you think of the shotgun over his shoulder and the glint in his eye, his greedy hands squeezing at your midriff. you think of the axe, just resting there, leather sheath snug around the steel. waiting, waiting, waiting.

”the tea is ready, honey.”

— and you stand up.

his voice carries across the living room, a jumbled growl of syllables — you scarcely hear them, eyes fixated on the gleaming steel in front of you. fingers hungry for contact, eager to rip the sheath right off.

it’s time to choose an ending.

you could live in his belly, if you wanted, just like this. forevermore. could tuck yourself between his teeth and grow comfortable there. that, or you could cut your way out — stain the last page red yourself, before he gets the chance to. lick the excess off your wrist and tear the binding in half. it’s all or nothing, this or that; an axe in his stomach, his teeth in your neck. your choice, yes, but it’s time to make it.

you know which one you want.

(”and little red riding hood reached for the axe.”)

— it feels right, in your hand. feels right to hold, have it weigh you down, become part of your skeletal structure. everything finally feels just right.

an inhale. your breathing turns more shallow, quiet breaths seeping from out your throat, lips parting silently. a flicker, your gaze darting in the direction of the kitchen, zeroing in on the shadow cast across the threshold. heart, liver, lungs. you can feel them all, count them all. they’re all clambering up your esophagus. worms in your throat, under rocks.

(now. now. do it now.)

hunger. hunger. hunger.

you don’t care what the consequences are, anymore.

a moment of silence. you hear not the whooshing of the wind, the whistling of the kettle, or the sound of tea being poured into cups. you hear neither his voice nor your own footsteps — only the steady beating of your own heart, a bunny about to break into sprint. one step forward. two. his back is visible, the hair at his nape, he’s pouring tea into porcelain cups. he’ll never know what hit him, what he brought into his home. ba-dump. ba-dump. the floorboards split apart, and the binding comes undone.

his guts will spill out just the same.

[ … and ▇▇ ▇ne did ▇▇▇ing t▇ harm h▇▇, ▇ver again. ]

you creep up behind him, stealthy as a fox —

and swing.

#geto x reader #geto x you #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #jjk x reader #yandere geto #cw dark content #cw yandere

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squiddy-god · 17 days ago

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kiss me till my lips fall off

Malleus x reader.

Honestly i have been slowly consumed by twst once again, and i fully believe that malleus deserves to be written like a gothic novel so hear is yet another overly describes malleus fic for your enjoyment. This is inspired by the song “kiss me til my lips fall off” by lebanon hangover

Cw : desperate malleus, he's weird (what's new), reader is the prefect, king! Malleus, set after the main story. Reader is gn

1.4k

Iron would scorn him less than such torment. The ache of your absence weighs heavy on a heart so fragile, so paper thin embers of affection set it to burn. Why? The warm ghost of your touch fills his mind slowly drop by drop until it is flooded with the memory of you. Yes, his mind, a solitary tower constructed to protect his fragile heart and blackened by the flames of his ire. Set against the pricking, twisting, gnarled thorns of bramble it stands alone against the torrent of thoughts. Thoughts of you.

You have cursed him, this fowl curse of longing that grips him. Cold chains that bind his wrist to stone, an iron ring that sears his skin like a brand against his very soul, a simple kiss shared so very long ago…so close yet inexplicably far from his perceived reach, his child of man, his friend. Stone walls cold and smooth to the touch surround him as he perches upon his throne. Tall and imposing, consisting of sharp spikes and spires, two identical seats sit side by side. One remains untouched and empty. Black silky upholstery illuminated by the green flames of the wall sconces bringing out every crevice of the throne. It mocks him, the empty seat. A pitiful reminder of the loneliness that looms over him.

Rain patters against the lancet windows, running across the patterns and peaks carved into the stone and set with glass. The woven banners of emerald and deep tekhelet violet seem to shake as lightning traces across the storm ridden skies. The sun has not yet graced the skies, not yet bathed the mountain snow in the blankets of pink and cream hues that kiss the castle at dawn. The jagged black peaks, like talons and claws, remain ever cold and glossy in the night as it cradles the briar valley. This knowledge does nothing to quell his restless mind, already driven far too frantic by your absence within the walls of his castle. His long cape drags behind him, the only sound that echoes through the high ceilings. Muscles tugging his face to a grin, his unnatural green eyes crinkle at their edges gleaming with mirth.

Surely lilia would agree with him? That this cloying ache in his heart needs to be soothed, that only your presence by his side would suffice in placating these memories of you. Yes, the man would simply chuckle at such a sight, perhaps remark on the childish nature of such night time activities with a wiggle of his brow before taking his leave. So he lurks there in the treeline before your cottage. The simple structure with its charming thatched roof reminiscent of a fairytale, the thought brings a smile to his cold lips. He is no knight returning from war to his love nor is he a prince taken by your charm. He is a shadow, an ever present entity that haunts the steps behind you…yet you welcome him where others flee, and so he is no monster. He is a king, and he thinks for a hopeful moment that you will see that is close enough to the princes of fairy tales. With a strike of lightning caressing the skies above he is by your bedside peering at your sleeping form with those gleaming eyes.

A single memory replays in his head, spinning endlessly to the same tune, a perpetual music box that mocks his beating tender heart. You stand amongst glittering lights, candles in their intricate gold stands and chandeliers, the gleaming pearls on your attire reflect beautifully in the light, and while your visage is obscured by the mask fastened to our face you are no less captivating. Every spin, every twirl, every misstep is engraved in his mind. The memory is written on every stone of the tower that is his mind.

I've spent a million days, I've had many darker days.

I’ve tried everything to block out the pain.

But it just seems to haunt me in every possible way.

The outfit for the masquerade is ill fitting, the result of it being lent by noble bell collage, the colors and patterns that make up its rich embroidery depict flowers and intricate details. Your hand rests in his outstretched palm and he leads you to dance…it feels so distant now, a sweet memory bathed in regret over what he could have said.

He remembers how warm your lips were. He remembers the inquisitive leap in his heart and how he ceased to think or breath as such an innocent gesture overtook him. He had already been hopelessly and irrevocably in love, yet to describe love as anything other than an endless pit where one is forever falling deeper into fathomless depths would be a sin upon itself. He marvels at the goosebumps that arise on your skin at his chilled touch, his slender fingers ghosting over your arms feather light like all those years ago. Without further hesitation he gathers you in his arms, the white fabric of your sleepwear pools around your form like water. The cotton is thin and ghostly against the inky black expanse of his chest and own clothing. Malleus takes care to note your exposed legs, you would be warm soon enough. And all that is left in his wake is the gentle glow of fireflies and an empty bed.

The heel of his shoes clicked against the smooth tile and stone of the long expansive halls until he was met with the imposing wooden doors that lead into the throne room. He would allow himself this one indulgence, a small prize for being so good. He was entranced, even in such simple sleep wear you looked ethereal in the low light. He walked with purpose in his stride as his legs carried him closer to the very twin thrones that mock him. With a sense of reverence he placed you down where you belonged. Your limp body settles into the cold throne and melts into its surprising plush feel…you are a vision bestowed unto him, a beauty in sleep and a proteus jewel in your waking hours.

Do you dream of him sweetly now? As you sit on the throne besides his own where you have always been meant to sit? So you dream of those sweet memories as he does? His head rests in your lap, careful to not disturb you with the curve of his horns. One hand trails devoutly against your calf as the other reaches towards your tilted head and cheek.

Perhaps this is some divine moment of weakness, perhaps the tower in its eternal and solitary expanse has come crumbling down to expose his fragile heart to you. An uncharacteristic cowardice battles the possessive intensity of his longing as he whispers to you those words he longed to let slip years ago.

“Kiss me till my lips fall off”

“Kiss me till I start to rot”

“Kiss me till kingdom come…”

“Forever…forever…”

He repeats it quietly, relentlessly, endlessly until the mantra dissolves into a desperate plea in his throat. Begging and hoping that one day you will embrace him sweetly, kiss him endlessly as he so desires. In his stupor he had not noticed how your eyes fluttered open at his touch, how you sat stunned into a breathless halt and he whispered those desperate cloying words to you in the comfort of your resumed slumber.

“Kiss me till my lips fall off”

“Kiss me till I start to rot”

“Kiss me till kingdom come”

“Forever… forever…”

But as you breathed once again your hands found their way to his hair. Stroking through the soft black tresses and caressing the slopes of his horns, he finds himself captivated by your eyes and their beautiful hue. This is truly where you belong, he thinks, next to him on this throne, next to him in the expanse of his bed and in his arms. So he rises to his imposing height and dwarfs your form in the shadowy expanse of his presence.

Your lips are so soft, so gentle against his own he can hardly pull himself from the sensation enough to return your kiss with fever akin to a burning pyre. He would rot in your arms if it meant he never had to break away from you, he would kiss you until the walls of his mind crumble into sand and the bramble blooms with white flowers if only another second spent with you.

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #malleus x reader #twisted wonderland malleus #twisted wonderland #twst malleus #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia #malleus x yuu #twst wonderland

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gerec · 6 months ago

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Master List of X-Men Fic Recs - Part 1

I had no idea that I'd made this many fic rec posts until I went to compile a master list and had to break it into 2 parts because of the character limits lol. I'll be pinning Part 1 to my blog for easy access, and you can also find Part 2 via the link at the bottom of this post.

Happy Reading!!!

CHERIK Ao3 Dirtybad Fics AFAB Charles Age Difference Alpha Omega Alternate First Meeting Amnesia/Memory Loss Angsty Fic Animal or Object AUs Arranged Marriage Avengers Crossover Bamf!Charles Bodyguard AUs Canon Fics Charles Being Experimented On Charles Embarrassing Himself over Erik Charles Falls First, Erik Falls Harder Charles Sleeps Around / Slutty Charles Charles Suppressing His Telepathy Charles and Tony Stark as Besties Coffee Shop AUs College/University AUs Part 1 College/University AUs Part 2 Crack Dark!Charles Part 1 Dark!Charles Part 2 Dark / Dead Dove Fics Detective AUs Divorce AUs DOFP Fics DOFP + Happy Ending Dom!Erik Dom/Sub Universe Dysfunctional/Toxic Relationship Part 1 Enemies to Lovers Part 1 Enemies to Lovers Part 2 Erik is Good with Kids / Students Exes to Lovers Fairy Tale AUs Fantasy AUs First Time First Time After Paralysis Fluff & Crack Fic Foster Parents / Foster Family Found Family Genosha AUs Hannibal Inspired AUs High School AU Historical & Regency AUs Holiday Fics Human Charles/Mutant Erik Part 1 Human Charles/Mutant Erik Part 2 Human Charles/Mutant Erik Part 3 (Erik being cruel to Charles) Hunger Games AUs Incest Infidelity Part 1 Infidelity Part 2

Click Here for Master List of Fic Recs - Part 2

#cherik #fic rec #gerec's fic rec #master fic rec list #part 1

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changbunnies · 6 months ago

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Evermore (18+)

♡ Pairing: Beast!Changbin x fem!Reader

♡ Genre: beauty and the beast inspired fantasy au, monster/human relationship, some angst, fluff, eventual smut, mutual pining, slow burnish?

♡ Word Count: 15.1k

♡ Summary: Desperate to flee an arranged marriage, you take your chances fleeing into the woods. The home of countless myths and legends, many in your village believe the forest to be enchanted, with all manner of dangerous creatures lurking within. You never took stock in such tales, much less in that of the most feared of them all– “The Beast.” But when you are saved from a pack of wolves by The Beast himself, you quickly realize that there is more truth to the fables you grew up on than you ever believed.

♡ Warnings: mention of an arranged marriage for reader, referenced misogyny, risk of death / near death experience, mild blood and injury, bin's appearance as the beast is based on minotaurs because i think it's sexy!, his height is never stated but i pictured him as ~10 feet tall while writing so :)

♡ Smut Warnings: monster fucking but make it Soft and Sweet, size difference, size kink, bin is touch-starved and feral for reader (but feral in a way that is somehow still soft?), handjob, oral (m + f rec), cum eating

♡ Notes: happy very late birthday to my sweet binnie <3 i wanted to get this out on his birthday but my life has been a mess tbh lmao but i'm back now and here's to loving changbin with my whole heart <3

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

There were many things in your life you were willing to sacrifice for the sake of family.

Time, if they were in need or want of company. Money, whatever little you had, if they were in need of something they couldn't afford on their own. Your health, if they were sick and needed caring, even if giving them aid brought their illness upon you.

But the one thing you could not bring yourself to do was marry that terrible man.

They wanted you to marry a local hunter with some wealth, one who could provide for you and your family with his talents. He wasn't unpleasant to look at, and admittedly his wealth had appeal to families suffering from poverty, but you just couldn't get past his dreadful personality.

He was insufferably arrogant in his pride, and truly awful in his views towards women. He didn't want a wife– he wanted a maid; one he could lie with and have bear his children. His desire for such was clear every time you spoke with him.

You knew that he'd never see you as a partner, or an equal, or even love you. In his eyes, you were nary more than a pretty object for him to do with as he pleased. You didn't want that to be your life, refused to be a glorified servant to such a horrid person.

And so, in the dead of night on the eve of your wedding, you made your escape. Tiptoeing through your house as quietly and carefully as you could, you tucked away what little belongings you had and food your family could spare into a basket, and fled into the woods surrounding your village.

You veered off the beaten path, hoping that if you fled into the dense heart of the forest no one would risk trying to find you. Your village believed the woods to be inhabited by dangerous creatures– all manner of fae and magical beasts that would not hesitate to bring harm to lost humans.

All who left the village stuck strictly to the dirt paved roads, and even hunters didn't wander too far inside the woods. You didn't fear the creatures of fable, to be honest; you didn't even believe they existed. You were an avid reader, and enjoyed your share of fairy tales; you just found it hard to believe such creatures existed beyond the page.

It was risky and dangerous to flee into the woods at night, but not because of the stories of magic beasts and trickster fae; such things were the machinations of imaginative writers, and nothing more. Those who believed in them were simply overly superstitious, fearful of what could be instead of what is.

What you were scared of were the tangible, real threats that you knew very well existed. Wild animals, strange men, violent hunters– those were the things lurking in the woods that people should really be scared of; not silly stories of fairies who lure unsuspecting villagers deeper into the forest.

Regardless of what is real and what isn't, one thing is for certain– the forest is frightening to navigate at night. To ensure you remained undetected and hard to track, you forwent bringing a lantern with you, and having only the moonlight to guide you is both challenging and unnerving.

Even the smallest of noises puts you on edge, but you refuse to stop moving onward. You want to put as much distance between you and the village as you can before your family rises in the morning and notices you missing.

While you doubt many will be willing to follow your trail once they've put together that you've fled off the road and deep into the woods, you can't deny the possibility that someone may wish to try. Especially your arranged husband considering what a skilled hunter and tracker he is.

Still, you do need some rest– you've been walking through the densest parts of the forest for over an hour now, and you're more than a little tired; especially since you only got a few hours of sleep before setting off.

Just a short pause should be acceptable; you can rest against a tree, rummage through your basket for some of the food you tucked away to replenish your energy while giving your legs and feet the break they need.

It's nearly impossible to see inside your basket, so you simply feel for the food you want with your hand. It doesn't take you long to find the loaf of bread you packed inside, and you carefully tear off a piece to eat. You take a bite, and then another, but before you can take a third you hear a noise that makes you freeze.

The snapping of a branch, much louder than any previous forest sounds you heard, followed by a slight rustling of leaves. You look in the direction you heard the noise, met with the terrifying sight of a pair of glowing eyes looking straight at you.

Their low proximity to the ground tells you enough about the creature to make your blood run cold; and as it steps closer, and its silhouette becomes clearer, you realize what you thought was correct. It’s a wolf. And by the way it’s sizing you up, you can guess it’s hungry.

To make matters worse, it soon becomes clear it isn’t the only one as more glowing eyes emerge between the dark trees. You start running before you can even truly think, your body running purely on survival instinct, your basket dropped and forgotten behind you. The small amount of food inside is enough to draw the attention of some of them, but the rest ignore it to give chase.

You flee with all your strength, doing your best not to stumble and fall over protruding tree roots or your own feet. You keep your eyes forward as you do, worrying that looking over your shoulder to see the wolves close behind will only worsen your efforts to get away.

Your lungs ache, your feet hurt, your dress torn in multiple places from snagging on branches– but still, you can’t stop running. The wolves are faster than you, they’ll catch you eventually, you know it; but the desperation and adrenaline coursing through your veins keeps you going beyond your limits.

Your legs will give out before long, you'll falter and lose speed, it's inevitable; but you will yourself to keep going for as long as you can despite it. Realistically, your only hope for survival is the wolves losing interest before you grow too tired to continue. But is that even a possibility?

Maybe you should climb a tree? Can wolves climb? No, more importantly, can you? It’s over for you if you misstep or lose your strength during the climb up– falling would assuredly be the end of you.

Still, maybe it’s worth the risk. You can’t run forever, and it’s unlikely the wolves will give up the chase– better to try and fail than to not try at all, right? If you are to face death tonight, you wish to do so knowing that you tried everything you possibly could to escape it.

You scan your surroundings the best you can whilst running, looking for a tree with a branch low enough to the ground for you to feasibly reach and start your climb. It's a difficult task, the images before you as you run a dark blur; but eventually, you spot a branch you think will be suitable enough.

As you turn your body to reach out for it, one of the wolves lunges towards you, salivating jaws snapping at you. The wolf narrowly misses, instead biting through your dress and tearing a significant chunk of the fabric off, exposing your leg up to your thigh.

You let out an involuntary shriek at the sound of the fabric ripping in the wolf’s jaws, the knowledge that it easily could’ve been your leg chilling you to the bone. You’re terrified, but you can’t let yourself freeze up– it missed, and now is your best chance to get up the tree before it can try to bite you again, or the other wolves catch up with you.

You grab the branch, placing your foot on the trunk of the tree as you ready yourself to pull up your weight, but as you do you’re met with a sound that sinks your heart to the very pit of your stomach. The branch isn’t as sturdy as you hoped; it creaks and splinters as you pull, and it quickly becomes clear that should you attempt to pull your entire weight up with it, it will snap entirely.

So this is it, you think as you turn around to meet the gaze of the snarling wolf. You take a small step back, and then another, until your back is against the tree you hoped to climb. More wolves soon approach, and you know you’re cornered now. There’s nowhere else for you to go, nothing else you can think to try; your fate is sealed.

You try to make peace with it in these last moments you have; this isn’t how you imagined your life would someday end, but you knew the risks when it came to entering the woods. While you hoped differently, this was always a possibility. You were desperate, and you made your choice; and though the outcome is unfortunate, you don’t want to regret making the decision that brought you here.

As the wolves begin to fully encircle you, there is a loud thump in the distance that draws their attention away from you. The sound rings out again, and then again, and as it draws closer, you realize the ground is shaking, a cacophony of twigs and dried leaves snapping with each thump. Certainly you’re mistaken, but it sounds reminiscent of walking..

That’s impossible, isn’t it? The creature in question would have to be massive to cause the earth to shake around you this much, and to snap so many branches with each step. That simply can’t be reality– there’s no way something that big lives in the forest; giants and the like are nothing but fairy tales!

Still, the thumps continue to grow louder as whatever is causing the sounds draw closer, and you’re certain that if you weren’t already against a tree, you would’ve fallen over from how intensely the ground shakes. Some wolves whimper and flee with their tails between their legs, while the more ferocious of the pack stand their ground against whatever it is that approaches.

Its shadowy silhouette soon becomes visible through the trees, the forest floor shaking violently as it comes more clearly into view. You can’t tell what it is, but it's big– impossibly so. It’s too dark to make out features, and its height obscures the moonlight that was previously shining on you. The only thing you can make out through the shadow is.. Horns?

Unconsciously, you suck in a breath; it’s The Beast, you realize as it takes another hulking step towards you and the ravenous wolves. Half man, half monster, violent and aggressive, with an appetite for any foolish enough to wander into its territory. With horns and hooves, it easily towers over even the tallest of human men.

He’s the creature those living in your village fear the most, the subject of many cautionary tales told to children, the conjurer of countless hunter's nightmares. You never believed it– and it is only now that you think maybe you should’ve. Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t have been so reckless in your escape from home.

You wonder which fate is worse; to be eaten by wolves, or eaten by The Beast. You wish you could run while the wolves are distracted, but your legs are frozen; whether from exhaustion or terror, you aren’t sure. Regardless, you stand there trembling and helpless, watching as it easily shoves the wolves aside.

They bite and scratch at The Beast, but it makes no discernable sound of pain. Seemingly unphased, it (or he?) reaches out for you, lifting you from the ground with ease, as if you weigh little more than a feather. You sob as it does, squeezing your eyes shut as you anticipate the pain to follow.

But the pain never comes. Slowly, you open one eye to peek at The Beast; it isn’t looking at you, but simply straight ahead as it resumes walking. He continues to shove off the wolves that attack, and as the animals realize it is futile to stop or slow him, they slowly but surely give up and retreat back to whence they came.

He must’ve made a turn before you opened your eyes, because the moon is no longer obscured by his size, and now illuminates the creature’s face clearly. His face is mostly that of a man’s, with the exception of his nose.

His nose is a rich brown bespeckled in pink, you can just barely tell, and its shape reminds you of the cattle that farmers own back in your village. You notice that his ears are bovine too, and fluffy in appearance. Brown in color, you think, or maybe black; it’s too dark to tell for certain.

The Beast looks down at you as if it can feel you observing him, and when he does, you can feel his breath envelop your body. Its smell is.. pleasant? Surprisingly so; like mixed berries, with a hint of tea leaves.

You expected something worse, given the tales; shouldn’t he smell like blood, or flesh? Even when his breath leaves you, you don’t detect anything remotely foul coming from him. In fact, his body smells unexpectedly clean.

“Safe now,” The Beast speaks, and you blink in surprise. You hadn’t expected him to be capable of speech, though you suppose it makes sense if he’s half man. It sounds like he’s trying to whisper, but his voice still comes out quite loud regardless; consequence of his size, you imagine.

But wait– does he mean you? You’re safe now? It occurs to you then that he’s holding you gently in his large arms. He isn’t squeezing you, constricting your movement, or trying to hurt you in any way; he’s simply carrying you. But to where? Though you’re apparently safe, there’s still a part of you that fears you won’t be for long.

It’s likely that as a half man he has some measure of human intelligence, and it’s very possible this apparent kindness is part of a ploy to make eating you easier. Get you to his den, build trust with you so you don’t run, all so he can relish in devouring you later.

Regardless, you’re too exhausted to do anything right now. Fatigue has settled in you now that the adrenaline has run its course through your body. You wouldn’t be able to run in this state, nor be able to fight him off– not that you think you could anyways, but especially not like this.

Your body falls limp, your eyes heavy, weary. As you close them, all you can do is hope that The Beast doesn’t toy with you in the end. If you wake before he decides to eat you, your wish is that he makes your death swift and painless. That’s all you can ask for as you lose consciousness.

When you blink awake, the first thing you register is that you’re in a bed– a large one at that. It’s comfortable, plush, and warm, if not a tad dusty. The blanket that covers you too is warm, and you realize as you continue to blink away the grogginess that you’re staring up at a darkly colored canopy– a deep purple.

Turning your head to the left, you see stained glass windows with a design of red roses filtering in small amounts of sunlight through worn, tattered drapes. On the right side lies the door to the room you’re in, wooden and carved with a motif of roses identical in design to the one on the windows.

How did you get here? You stare back up at the canopy, trying to recall what happened last night. You were walking for what felt like ages, you got tired and stopped to eat.. Wolves found you, you were running, and then.. The Beast!

You sit up quickly as the memory hits you, and take a panicked look around the room. He isn’t here, you realize after a moment, and your brows furrow in confusion. Did someone else stumble upon you and save you from The Beast? That must be it– there’s no way the dreaded beast of the forest brought you here.

The entire room is covered in a thin layer of dust, though it’s clear that someone made an effort to clean it recently. For your sake, you wonder? Removing the blanket and looking down, you can see you’re still in your torn clothes from the night before. You rise from the bed carefully, your legs still aching from the events prior to waking up here, and take another, more in depth look around the room you’re in.

It’s a rather empty room, with just a few pieces of furniture strewn about, and a fireplace sitting in the center of the wall opposite the bed you were sleeping in. In one of the corners of the room sits a large wardrobe, and next to it a chair with a dress laid atop it that you assume has been placed there for you to change into.

You walk over to the chair and take the dress into your hands, and it does seem like it’ll fit well enough when you hold it up to your body. It feels to be made of silk, and while not necessarily lavish, it is much fancier than any of the dresses you could get back home.

You consider for a moment if it’s really okay to change into, but ultimately conclude that it was laid out with a purpose, and you should accept the kindness. Besides, you don’t think remaining in your now tattered dress would do you any good.

You change quickly despite the ache remaining in your limbs, and unsure of what exactly to do with your old clothes, you opt for placing them on the same chair you grabbed the new dress from. Afterwards, you step to the rose-carved door, and slowly pull it open to peek out.

You’re not sure if leaving the room is a good idea, but there’s no one in the hall to instruct you otherwise, and you’re admittedly starving. You hope you can find a kitchen, or the person who kindly saved you so you can thank them and ask them for a meal.

The door opens to a long hallway, lined with lattice windows and rusty knight statues. Wall sconces take up the spaces between the windows, though many are missing the candles meant to reside in them.

Artwork lines the opposite wall, decorating the spaces between what you assume to be other bedroom doors. Some are askew and others perfectly straight, but all are old and worn. Landscapes, still life, portraits– regardless of type, the paint on each and every one has dulled and chipped, with a layer of dust atop them.

Continuing down the hall past the several closed doors, you come to a set of stairs leading down. Following it down leads to another long hall, though this one is quite different. Multiple chandeliers hang from the ceiling, evenly spaced apart in a line. There are vases and statues of various types; human, gargoyle, angel– some few perfectly intact, but many broken in some way, often missing entire limbs.

There are no windows, and the walls are not painted like in the previous hall, but appear to be carved of stone, with each vase and statue nestled between expertly carved columns. There are only two doors in this hall– one in the center of each wall. Both doors are locked when you try them, and so you move on down the hall, eventually finding yet another set of stairs leading down.

They bring you to what appears to be a grand entryway. Across from you is an identical set of stairs leading to what is likely a similarly structured wing of the castle you appear to be in. To the left, between both sets of stairs, is a large door that nearly touches the ceiling, and to the right a large open hall with what you think are the doors leading outside at the very end of it.

Simply leaving would be tempting if you weren’t in dire need of a meal, or entirely unsure of where exactly you are. You can tell the castle you’re in is quite old given the state of things, but you can’t think of any such old, worn down castles you’ve heard tale of. All the castles you know of are well occupied by royalty; none, as far as you’re aware, have been left to fall to dust and ruin like this.

It’s terribly confusing, and if you don’t find a kitchen soon, you at least hope you’ll find someone kind and willing to provide you answers. Forgoing the large door that you’re pretty sure leads to a ballroom, as well as the opposite staircase you’re confident will lead to a hall identical to the one you were just in, you step right, to the entry hall.

There are a few doors on each side, and to your relief, one of them is labeled “Dining Hall.” A dining hall has to lead to a kitchen! Eagerly, you pull open the door, and as you do, you gasp when you realize The Beast himself is standing next to the dining table.

He’s looking straight at you, ears flickering in response to the sound of your gasp. You can’t help but freeze, having convinced yourself that it was impossible for him to be here, for him to have been the one to bring you here. You’re too stunned to move– everything in you was expended when fleeing the wolves, and now all you can do is stand before him.

You can see him much better now than you could last night, his every feature clearly defined by the sunlight filtering in through the dining hall’s large windows. His hair is curlier than you realized, and deeply brown, as are his bovine ears. His cheeks are round, his lips pouty and entirely human in shape.

You can also now see clearly just how broad he is– and strong. His torso, while decidedly man, is still much larger than a regular man’s could ever be. His pecs and arms are muscular and well defined, while his stomach appears to be soft, and maybe a little squishy, with a dark patch of fur trailing down beneath his belly button.

He is in no way similar to a man beneath that point. The Beast has the legs reminiscent of a bull, every inch covered in thick, dark fur down to his hooves. His legs are much thicker than any you’ve ever seen, human or otherwise; you can only conclude this is because he is as strong in his legs as he is in his arms.

Lastly, is a tail swishing leisurely from side to side behind him. You can just barely see it when he’s facing you, but the glimpses you get of it further reminds you of cattle. Long and thin, with a large amount of fur at the tip of it. Part of you wonders if his fur is as soft as it looks– you didn’t feel it last night to know.

Parts of his arms are messily bandaged, bits of red tainting the otherwise white fabric– blood, you conclude, from when the wolves attacked him. He’s wearing a cape, the same shade of deep purple as the canopy that hung over the bed you woke up in, clasped around his collar bone with a golden buckle. The buckle, similar to the doors and some of the stained glass windows, is beholden with the image of a rose.

It feels wrong to think so, but he’s attractive– were he a purely human man, you’re certain many village girls would swoon for him.

“You’re awake,” he smiles for a moment, clearly human teeth showing for a split second before he stops and timidly breaks direct eye contact. “I wanted to help with torn dress but couldn’t. Hands too big,” he continues, showing his hands to you to further prove his point– not that you need him to.

“I picked a new one for you instead, glad you found it. Glad you’re wearing it,” he says, and you’re still too surprised to even speak in turn. “Looks.. Nice?” he says with an unsure tilt of the head. It seems as if he wants to compliment you, but is unsure in his word choice. He looks contemplative for a moment, as if mulling over if there’s a better word he could’ve used.

You get the impression he isn’t used to interacting with humans. You yourself aren’t used to interacting with beasts.

“I wanted to bring you food. You must be hungry! But I don’t know everything humans like to eat..” he muses as he turns his attention back to the dining table, where you now realize an abundance of food is laid out. Nice food.

Fruit platters, veggie trays, fine meats.. He has it all. If you weren’t already in awe of The Beast, this alone would floor you, because all this food would cost a fortune in your village unless you grew it and hunted for it yourself.

“This is for me..?” you finally find your voice and manage to ask. He nods and waves his hand, beckoning you to approach the table. Cautiously, you do, still in awe of it all.

Tentatively, you stand next to him before the dining room table, taking a nervous glance up towards him. You knew very well he was big and tall, but your difference in height is positively dizzying up close.

Your own stature barely even exceeds past his waist; if you were to look at him straight on, your eyes would be level with his belly button. His hands are bigger than your head, his legs thicker than your entire body. It’s as amazing as it is frightening– how can a creature this big even exist? You swallow, trying not to think about his size as you turn your attention back to the food.

“How did you get all this?” you manage to ask him; you can’t imagine someone as huge as him going out to collect fruits and vegetables– you imagine he’s much too big to be able to do so without struggling.

“I trade with friends of the forest. Little winged ones love shiny, sparkly things. They give me food in exchange,” he answers as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. Well, for him, it is normal. But you can’t imagine this big, burly man-beast trading with fairies. You’re hardly even ready to accept he’s real, much less that fairies are!

It’s all too much to wrap your head around. Maybe you should just eat– maybe everything will start to make more sense once your stomach is full. You hope.

You find a bare plate on the table, and pick it up to start loading food onto. The Beast watches you, seemingly happy that you’re choosing to eat the food he has out on the table. Once satisfied, you take a seat, giving him one last cursory glance before focusing on the meal in front of you.

“Aren’t you going to eat too? This is a lot of food,” you inquire as you start to nibble on the fruit you picked out. “Wanted to make sure you got enough,” he replies, "You had a bad night, used a lot of energy. Need to have enough food to recover."

You can’t believe how seemingly nice, considerate, and intelligent The Beast is. Not only is he real, but he seems to be genuinely kind and caring. The stories paint him as violent, ferocious, ravenously blood-thirsty.. But the creature in front of you seems so far removed from those things.

“What’s your name?” you ask him, and he seems surprised for a moment. He must not have been expecting you to ask. “Little winged ones call me Changbin,” he answers. You repeat it back to him, and he smiles just a little as he nods his head. “Your name?” he asks after, and he repeats it to himself after you offer it, just the same as you did with his.

“Do you live here?” is your next question, and he nods once more. “Alone?” you follow up, and again he nods. It’s clear that Changbin isn’t the castle's original inhabitant, and you wonder how long it lay abandoned before he claimed it as his home.

Of course, he could’ve killed the owners to take it, but the more you speak with him, you simply can’t imagine him being so cold blooded. He seems too… sweet.

A more pressing question– where are you exactly? You’re certain you’re still within the bounds of the forest, as you saw nothing but trees every time you looked out a window. But if that’s the case, how has an entire castle gone unnoticed? Castles aren’t exactly small– surely you and the other villagers would’ve seen it poking through the top of the trees.

Was it the magic that people believed the forest to hold that left it obscured? Or was it so deep in the forest, with the trees that surround it so tall and dense that even spying it from a distance was impossible? No matter the truth, the simple fact remains that there is much more to the forest than you ever thought, and it’s a lot to digest all at once.

“Why did you save me?” you decide to ask him instead of trying to unravel the mysteries and secrets of the forest. “You needed help,” he answers easily, “humans fear me, but I always try to help.”

It’s easy to imagine his words true. A human like you, perhaps a hunter accidentally straying too far into the forest. They find themselves lost, hurt, or in trouble, and Changbin finds them.

He tries to help, but in their terror, they flee further into danger, get themselves more lost, strain an already injured leg.. And the ones who make it back tell a terrifying tale of The Beast in the forest who wished to devour them when all he actually wanted to do was help them. It’s a bit sad to consider in all honesty.

“When you're feeling better, do you want to go back home?” he asks once you’ve finished your meal, and it takes you by surprise. “I’d help you. Take you as far as I could. Help you find path."

He’d really help you get home..? Just like that? You begin to feel bad that even after he rescued you, gave you a warm place to sleep, a new change of clothes and a meal, there was still a part deep inside you that feared what his intentions with you could be.

“No,” you answer after a moment, “I was in the forest trying to get away from home. My life there.. It wouldn’t be good if I went back.”

“Then.. you stay? I’ll help you. Protect you,” Changbin offers, a faint smile appearing on his lips when you nod.

“I’ll stay,” you affirm. It’ll be strange at first, you’re sure, living in a castle in the middle of the apparently enchanted woods with The Beast your village fears so much. But you’d rather live here, with a physical beast, rather than back home, with the metaphorical one you’d be forced to call “husband.”

Living with The Beast, Changbin, is surprisingly pleasant. It was easier than you expected it to be; almost natural.

On your first official night in the abandoned castle he made his home, he gave you a tour. What was intended to be a tour of strictly the important rooms you’d be expected to frequent turned into a several hour long walkthrough of the entire estate. He took you through the kitchen, the bathrooms, the study, the drawing room, the library, the watchtower– everything.

You could tell which rooms he frequented most by how dusty they were. If there was very little dust, you concluded that he was there often. If there was a large accumulation of it, he stayed out of it.

The watchtower was one of the rooms he liked to be in the most, often finding himself surveying the forest from it. That's how he saw you fleeing the wolves– and the moment he did, he descended the tower in a rush, hoping to get to you before any harm would befall you.

Additionally, you learned that his bedroom is in the opposite wing of yours. Changbin said he purposely chose the room furthest from his own to put you in because he thought you’d be more comfortable that way if you chose to stay for a while. He’s used to humans fearing him, and he wanted to give you whatever distance you’d need to feel safe during your time here.

Truthfully, you stopped being scared of him very quickly. If there was anyone the term “gentle giant” suited, it was assuredly Changbin. He always stepped through the castle carefully, doing his best not to shake the ground too hard and risk shattering glass or knocking over vulnerable statues and vases.

He knew his voice was booming, so he always tried to speak softly. It was still loud, of course, but you knew it could be much louder if he allowed himself to project it fully. When he handled porcelain or other breakables, he would move his hands so slowly and carefully that you’d think he was holding a newborn baby.

Changbin would often stare at you quietly when you were in the same room, assumedly out of curiosity. He’d never gotten the chance to share a space with a human, or to observe them up close for such great lengths of time; it made you wonder what he must think of you.

You wondered if there was anything he assumed a human would be that didn’t prove true, similar to how wrong you were about him. You always noticed his staring, and oftentimes when you decided to return his gaze, he’d quickly turn away.

Did he have the gut human instinct to look away when eye contact becomes too intense or prolonged? Was he simply shy? Both?

Sometimes he would smile before he looked away, the faintest peek of a dimple showing on his cheek before darting his eyes elsewhere. Sometimes his cheeks would dust over a soft pink, and other times, on the rare moments he let himself smile more fully, the bridge of his nose would scrunch up similarly to a humans.

Was it strange to say you found such moments cute? He was oddly endearing in the way he went about life, in his mannerisms and complexities. And admittedly, you’d stare at him the same way he stared at you when his attention was elsewhere.

At first, you justified it to yourself by saying you couldn’t help it– you discovered a magical creature that you always thought was nothing more than a story is real. How could you not stare at him? But lately, you weren’t so sure that’s all there was to it.

Changbin was many things outside of being The Beast. He was warm, soft, and sincere. Caring, considerate, and careful. He was.. Attractive. Handsome. Cute. Words you never thought you’d use to describe a creature with protruding horns and other inhuman features. And with each season passed inside the castle together, the more you grew fond of him.

You spent many afternoons together in the library. You were surprised to learn he could read; something that perhaps shouldn’t have been surprising in hindsight, given his capability of speech, but it still shocked you. The ability to read wasn’t something necessary to his everyday life, but he liked doing it to pass time, or ease the loneliness of living alone.

All the books in the castle’s library were dated, easily hundreds of years old; it was clear that every single book was one left behind by the previous inhabitants, and not a single new book had entered the library since. Their age didn’t make them any less enjoyable however, and in fact you found it exciting to have so many stories you’d never heard of before to dive into.

Watching Changbin read was a treat within itself. Even the thickest of novels looked comically small in his large hands, and turning pages was always a struggle for him. You couldn’t help but giggle watching him try to turn a single page with his finger, only to instead turn several. There were many times you took it upon yourself to help him once your giggling subsided.

Given his size, he’d often have to sit in a hunched position, or hold books up quite close to his face to read them. And the words– they must’ve looked so tiny to him; you were certain it was a strain. Then add his struggle to turn pages on top of it..

While it was cute to watch him pout after he turned way too many pages at once, you also didn’t want to just sit idly by if he was having a hard time. Especially not when you were more than capable of assisting him.

He was surprised when you first offered to help him read, curiously tilting his head as he watched you close the book you were reading to walk over to him. Changbin often sat on the floor, much too big and heavy to sit in the castle’s arm chairs or sofas. His place on the floor made it easy for you to climb up his leg, and sit on his thigh.

“I could turn the pages for you,” you explained, reaching over to the book lying in his hands to demonstrate how easy it is for you to turn the pages one at a time. “Or read them to you, should your eyes grow tired from looking at the tiny words,” you said.

You remember his smile clearly; how sweet it was, and the way his nose cutely scrunched as his smile grew the biggest you’d seen it. He seemed really thankful; he didn’t say it, but you think it meant a lot to him that you were showing him kindness.

That’s how you fell into a comfortable routine. At least a few afternoons a week, you’d sit somewhere on Changbin’s body; one of his thighs if you were reading the book to him, or his forearm if you were turning the pages for him. Sometimes his shoulder too, if a book needed to be held especially close to his face for him to be able to read the words written.

When the sun would set, and candles needed to be lit, you often sat on his shoulder as he moved about the room, helping him light them. He’d always help you up carefully, offering one of his large hands as support, or carefully wrap his fingers around you to lift you up to his shoulder. He wouldn’t move an inch or take a single step until he was certain you were steady and comfortable.

You’d always get sleepy after that. The moon through the windows, the soft candle light, the sound of turning pages as the wood in the library’s fireplace crackled, the warmth Changbin exuded.. It was just so comfortable; especially if you were sitting on his thigh.

His fur was like a blanket, his broad, soft torso like a warm pillow. And sometimes, when you relaxed all the way against him, you could hear his heart rhythmically beating. It wasn’t uncommon for you to fall asleep, and every time you did, Changbin would carry you back to your room.

He would carefully cradle you in his arms, and you’d unconsciously curl into him as he rose up from the ground to carry you to bed. The doors of the castle, while larger than any typical door, were still too small to accommodate his size.

He’d have to duck through them while also minding his horns, your body pressing to his chest as he hunched his body to step through them. If you were awake enough to feel it, you never minded it. If you were being honest, you liked it. You liked the warmth when he held you, liked feeling his chest against you, liked hearing the thumping of his heart.

Sometimes, you were tempted to ask him to stay with you, or to ask him to take you to his room. Changbin was just so comfortable and warm– having him next to you all night just sounded like it’d be so pleasant. Safe too; you always felt safe in his presence.

The following mornings, you’d stare up at your canopy and wonder if such thoughts were okay to have. Changbin was a man– an inhuman man, but a man all the same. And it was in these moments, alone in your room and fresh from sleep, contemplating where you are and the life you lead now that you realize you are more than just fond of Changbin.

You knew you would never leave the castle, but it wasn’t just because your best chance at survival and protection was here. It was because the thought of leaving him behind made your heart squeeze painfully in your chest. You didn’t like contemplating what a life without him in it would look like.

And it was almost funny how despite being a beast, Changbin was the kindest man you’d ever known. Complicated as it may be, you think you love him more than you should. You want him more than you should.

It’d hit you when you shared meals, and he’d watch you with his impossibly dark, warm eyes. His attentive stare made you warm– too warm. You’d swallow, try to focus on anything other than his full lips, or the swell of his chest, or the flex of his arms when he reached out to grab a piece of meat.

It'd hit you when you watched him split wood for the fireplaces with his bare hands. Your heart would swell when you'd step out to the gardens, and he'd carefully maneuver so as to not crush the growing flowers. From innocent, sweet love to deepest, carnal desire, and then back again, your thoughts of Changbin were like a pendulum.

It’d even hit you in the moments of comfortable silence, when ease settled over you both at day's end. When you’d tentatively steal glances at each other until your eyes accidentally meet, and you both look away, bashful and unsure.

You’d feel it creeping on you, warming your body exponentially until you felt feverish with desire to be closer to him. Even alone, in bed or in the bath, your thoughts would linger on him. Innocent thoughts and curiosities about how it'd be for him to kiss and hold you quickly give way to perversion– impure thoughts you really, really think you shouldn’t be having.

You needed to get yourself together. There’s no way an intimate relationship is feasible between you– you shouldn’t even be entertaining the thought. But God, you can’t stop your mind from going there. Even just watching him lick his lips and fingers clean after he finishes eating is enough to get your heart racing these days.

Every day, you desperately try to ignore it.

It’s easier on the days you venture outside the castle’s familiar walls. Warm, sunny days, where you explore the forest from the safety of Changbin’s broad shoulder. He showed you so many things you’d never seen before, things you never thought were real.

Fairy villages, magic healing ponds, meadows of enchanted flowers. His fairy friends were excited to meet you, and similar to Changbin himself, you realized they were much kinder than tales would lead you to believe.

They were tricksters, yes; many were fond of a good prank. But really, they just wanted to have fun, and there was no inherent harm in that. (Though Changbin did advise you to speak carefully, lest you accidentally end up in a fae pact he’d have no way to help you out of.)

You watched Changbin trade with them too. A few beads from a broken necklace or marbles from a forgotten child’s playset he found within the castle you called home was all he needed to provide to receive bushels of their freshly grown fruits and vegetables.

If you returned back to the castle with a good chunk of daylight left, you’d spend them together in the castle’s flower garden. It was overgrown, and sometimes hard to navigate, but you always enjoyed your time there. Changbin would always set you down to the ground carefully, letting you roam the garden at your leisure while he picked a sunny spot in the grass to relax in.

You got the idea to make him a flower crown once. It was something you and other village girls enjoyed doing, and it was common to give them to people you cared for. It was simple, but you thought it’d be a good way to show your appreciation to Changbin for all the ways he helped you since the day you met him.

You wondered, as you went around the garden picking flowers, if he had ever received a gift before. Apart from his dealings with the fairies, he lived a very isolated life before he met you. And while the fairies were his friends to some extent, you couldn’t imagine them giving something away without receiving something in return.

You suppose you just wanted him to have the feeling of joy that comes with a gift. The warm feeling that settles in your chest when you realize someone was thinking of you, the delight that seeps inside you when you see the effort they made to give you a visual representation of how much they care for you. You were thinking that Changbin deserves to have that feeling.

When you were done collecting what felt like dozens of flowers, you sat yourself in the sunny grass clearing next to Changbin. He was lying flat on his back, the sun highlighting his face beautifully. His eyes were closed, and the soft snores (for his size, anyways), told you he’d fallen asleep.

You observed him for a moment, smiling to yourself over how soft and cute his features looked whilst sleeping before you got to work on the flower crown. It took quite some time considering you had to make it much larger than you typically would. Changbin eventually stirred awake and sat up, watching you work curiously but ultimately saying nothing as he observed– he didn’t want to distract you.

“Finally! All done!” you exclaimed after threading the final of the flowers you picked together, and Changbin did his usual inquisitive tilt of the head. “It’s pretty. What is it for?” he asked, watching as you rise to your feet with your creation in hand. “It’s a flower crown,” you answer as you hold it out to him to accept, “for you.”

He simply blinked in response, saying nothing as he processed the information. It may not have been the first time he’d ever been given a gift by another, but it was certainly the first one he’d ever received from a human. You didn’t intend to let it be the last, either. “Crown?” he finally asked after a moment, “I wear it?”

“Mhm! Like this,” you said as you held the crown around your head to try to show him what you meant. “It’s too big for my head since I made it for you, but.. Here, let me put it on you!” You hooked the flower crown you made gently around your arm after you spoke, and grabbed at one of his hands.

Changbin understood what you wanted him to do, and so he lowered his hands to the ground so that you could step onto them. You sat on your knees whilst in his hands, finding it much easier to keep your balance that way as opposed to standing; and then, as he had many times before, he lifted you carefully up.

You instructed him to tilt his head towards you, and he did without question. It occurred to you then that maybe you underestimated how big you needed to make the flower crown.

The one you made was definitely big– too big for a human head, that was for sure. Still, Changbin is at least double the size of every man in your village, and he has horns. Realizing there was no way to make it sit around his head the way it's intended to, you opted for simply placing it on his head between his horns, and letting it rest there.

You smiled at him when he lifted his head, and told him what you truly thought– that he looked cute. “Really?” he questioned, surprised to be considered such. There have been many words by humans and his little winged friends used to describe him, and ‘cute’ wasn’t usually among them.

You watched him as he processed his thoughts, another few moments passing before he moved his hands to one of his shoulders, urging you to get on. You did, clinging to his cape tightly when he moved faster than you expected him to. Changbin was always patient and careful when you were on him, always moving slowly– you hadn’t anticipated the sudden change in the slightest.

You were a little confused, unsure of what his sudden rush to leave the gardens was, but it quickly became clear; he was looking for somewhere to see his reflection. He tried the fountain first, but when he realized he couldn’t see himself clearly enough in the water, he made his way back to the castle.

The entry doors to the castle were tall and wide enough that he didn’t have to hunch or awkwardly step through them, but he still moved carefully through it. Despite his rush to see himself, he still wasn’t walking as fast as you both knew he could.

He was trying his best not to break the glass and porcelain inside nearby cabinets with his steps, though he was still moving quick enough that the castle’s floor shook as he continued through the entry hall. His desire to be careful even whilst in a rush was endearing; it brought a smile to your face.

The ballroom was Changbin’s ultimate destination. It had a large mirror, floor to ceiling, encompassing a substantial chunk of the wall opposite the windows. It was the only room in the entire castle that had a mirror large enough for him to see his entire reflection with, from the tips of his horns all the way down to his hooved feet.

His eyes changed when he first saw his reflection– so fast that you would’ve missed it if you’d blinked. He got up close to the mirror, examining himself with the flower crown you made for him resting between his horns, and truly, he looked happy.

You chose the colors of the flowers well, each one meant to compliment the deep brown of his hair. Soft yellows, vibrant blues, and light, pretty pinks– each selection, in your eye, was perfect. You were relieved that Changbin seemed to agree.

He wasn’t just looking at the flowers atop his head in the reflection though; he was also looking at you. Sat there on his shoulder, looking at him with more kindness than he’d ever felt from anyone. Your eyes met through the reflection, and he could feel his heart starting to beat faster– he wondered if you could feel it too, with your legs dangling over his chest.

He’d never felt this way before, and didn’t know what to do with himself. He knew from his books that humans give gifts to people they care about, and for many reasons. Kindness, appreciation, love.. What was your reason? He found himself hoping it was all of them. He hoped you cared about him as much as he cares about you.

“Thank you,” Changbin said, realizing that he should’ve done so from the start. He thought maybe he should read more books on human manners and improve himself. He hoped he didn’t seem inappreciative by taking so long to thank you for doing something kind for him. His worries melted away when you smiled at him again though, sincere and sweet as always.

“You’re welcome! You’ve always done so much to help me, I wanted to thank you somehow,” you explain. Changbin didn’t think you needed to thank him for anything. No matter who it was out in the forest that night, he would’ve helped them. He’d have let them stay in his home, fed them, and made sure they were well.

But he’s glad it was you; he doesn’t think he could envision the castle without you in it anymore. There may come a day when you grow tired of Changbin being your only companion, and of your daily life in the castle. On that day, you may wish to return to human society, even if your return isn’t to the village you grew up in.

He’d let you go if you wanted to; he’d never, never force you to stay. But he hopes you stay. He hopes that you’ll always be here with him.

“But that’s not the only reason I made it,” you continued, finding a moment of bravery to be a bit vulnerable with your feelings. Changbin watched your expression change in the mirror, your brightness replaced by something more timid as you twiddled your thumbs.

Apart from your tentative first nights here when you were still getting comfortable with his presence, you always met his gaze head on while talking. This was the first time since then that you hesitated to look him in the eye whilst speaking to him, even if it was just eye contact through the ballroom mirror. He found it curious; he wondered if he should be worried.

“The girls in my village also like to make these for people we care about. I wanted you to know that too. That I care about you,” you told him. It felt incredibly nerve wracking to say it aloud, though you didn't think he'd pick up on the underlying romantic sentiment that village girls usually tied to their gifted flower crowns.

Honestly, it was okay if he didn’t recognize how much you like him. Perhaps in some ways it was better if he didn’t; because you are a small human, and Changbin is so much more than that.

Difference in anatomy aside, you don’t think humans and beasts are supposed to have deep feelings for one another. Friendship was fine, you thought, but love? You just weren’t sure that was a line you should cross.

Still, regardless of whether or not such feelings towards him were okay to have, they were already there. Before that day, you thought you loved him; but seeing him look at you, pink in the cheeks and happy, with the flower crown on his head that you made him, you knew for certain.

You love him. And watching the concern melt away and turn to joy when you told him you care about him was more than enough to tell you how deeply you adore him.

You decided to leave the moment with one last, small gesture. You leaned over, and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. It was a simple, innocent sign of affection, but his heart stuttered all the same, as did yours.

“I care about you too,” he’d said with his usual soft, timid smile when you looked at him again, the pink on his cheeks deepening, "very much.”

Laying awake as you are now, recalling your memories with Changbin, you yearn for him even more. You want him beyond friendship, foolish and impossible as it may be. You want to tell him you love him, to kiss him, to lie with him at night and feel his warmth envelope you all over.

You want to touch him, want him to touch you, want to straddle as much of his waist as you can as he lies beneath you, and– God, enough, you huff to yourself. You roll over, bury your head in your pillows and let out a frustrated yell into them.

You wish you knew what to do with these feelings. How would things go if you simply told him? What if you said nothing, and instead acted on them in one of your quietly shared moments of comfort? Would he accept your kiss? Would he return your feelings?

Tossing onto your back once more, you stare up at your canopy as you always do when your brain is plagued by thoughts of Changbin. You sigh after a moment, and close your eyes, wondering if he ever lies awake at night like you do, if he has feelings like yours that he too doesn’t know what to do with. Though you probably shouldn’t, you can’t help but hope that he does.

The arrival of winter didn't make your struggle with your feelings for Changbin any easier. The outdoors used to serve as a distraction; your growing love and attraction to him was never truly silenced, but at least you found it easier to focus your attention elsewhere whilst you were outside the castle walls.

All you can do when you're inside the castle is think of him. When you're in the same room, you find it hard not to stare at him. And sure, you stared at him a lot before, but now it felt different; because before, you were simply curious about him. Now it's purely because you're too lovesick to look anywhere else.

When you read books together, you often find that you don't actually remember what happened in the story. At some point, your thoughts always travel to Changbin, and they linger there despite all efforts to focus on the book in your hands.

The fact that his body is touching yours more often these days doesn't help. It's a particularly cold winter, perhaps the coldest it's ever been in all your years. Snow is piled up to your calves when you step outside, tree branches are completely frosted over, and icicles hang from nearly every inch of the castle's exterior.

Suffice it to say, you are often very cold. Changbin doesn't suffer from the cold nearly as much as you do, but he does his best to keep the castle warmer for your sake. The minute you step into a room he lights the fireplace for you, and you stick close to it, sitting before it with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

But even still, you found yourself shivering much more than either of you'd like. The only time you stopped was when you were in his lap, likely thanks to the inhuman amount of warmth that radiates off his body.

So now, instead of sitting or laying in his lap just being a part of helping him read, you'd spend a majority of your winter days there, clinging to his warmth. He'd sit himself as close to the fireplace as he could, with you curled snuggly on his lap.

His fur was like an extra blanket, warm and soft and comfortable. Nearly every day was spent next to the library's fireplace, as reading was about the only thing you could do whilst trying to stay warm.

Though, as previously stated, you found it hard to focus on reading lately. And even when you did manage to focus on the words in front of you, your eyes would quickly grow heavy; Changbin was just too comfortable to lay on– you just couldn't resist dozing off.

Every night was cold, but some were worse than others. On the first of one of those extra chilly nights, when the time in which you'd go your separate ways for bed came, Changbin hesitated to carry you back to your room. Even if he lit your fireplace before he left, you'd be cold without him, he knew it for a fact.

He looked down at where he held you in his arms, asleep and curled into him, cozy and warm, and he made a decision; he took you to his room. You would understand, he thought. You may be confused when you wake up in a room that isn’t your own, but you’d understand why you were there.

And you trust him now; you wouldn’t be upset with him, especially not when he has your best interest at heart. He hoped not, anyways; in his experience, humans can be unpredictable. But you're a good human– one that he likes and cares for more than he ever has for anyone else.

With such thoughts in mind, he carried you to his room. And as he hoped, you weren't upset in the slightest to wake up the next morning beside him (or more accurately, atop him.)

You were certainly confused at first, opening your eyes and blinking away sleep only to be met with slightly unfamiliar surroundings. The windows and the view through them were the same, but the room was brighter than your own, with no curtains to obscure the sunrays pouring over you. There was less furniture strewn about than in your own room, and you were higher up from the ground than you’d be if you were lying in your own bed.

It took a moment for you to become cognitive enough to register that the reason for this, along with what the blissful warmth you were feeling was, was Changbin's body underneath you. One of his hands was resting on your back too, heavy and limp with sleep, but you didn't mind it. Strangely, you found the weight of his hand on your back comforting.

Your head was on his chest, and you could hear the rhythmic beating of his heart, slow but steady. That too, was comforting. You closed your eyes again, but you didn't fall asleep like you might otherwise expect. You were simply basking in the comfort, enjoying lying with him in bed like you'd been wanting to for so long. You wondered if he'd let you stay even once winter came to an end.

When you felt him begin to stir awake, you lifted your head to look at him, watching him fondly as he stretched and hummed, and blinked away the last bits of whatever dream he was having. When your eyes met for the first time that morning, he seemed apprehensive; it was easy to deduce that he thought you may be uncomfortable with his choice to bring you here.

Ideally, he would've asked you first, or let you know that the option would be available should you want it; but when he thought about how cold you'd be shivering alone in bed, he just couldn't leave you be. When you smiled at him and whispered a soft good morning, you saw nothing but pure relief in his eyes.

You knew Changbin's heart, that he was nothing but sweet and caring. The trust you placed in him, and the way you wordlessly understood him made his heart soar. But not just that– laying with you every night, and waking up to you in general made his body react in ways entirely foreign to him.

Naturally, from that cold winter’s night onward, you always slept with him. Your body, so soft and smooth, felt good pressed against him. If you weren’t yet asleep when he’d lie down with you in his arms, you’d hug him after you both settled in; your arms obviously couldn’t wrap fully around him, but you’d still try to get as much of his body in your embrace as you could manage to.

And every morning, when you’d sit up in his lap and look down at him, his heart would always stutter, his already incredibly warm body growing hotter. Your sweet smile, your softly spoken “good morning”s, the way your lightly tousled hair beautifully framed your face– all of it affected him in ways he never imagined would happen to him.

Changbin knew of such feelings conceptually– he’s read more than his fair share of novels featuring romantic subplots within the library. But he always thought such experiences and sentiments would be out of reach for him; he was the only one of his kind in the forest, and normal humans feared him too greatly to build a bond with him.

Even you feared him at first, and while he hoped that it wouldn’t always be that way, he wouldn’t have been surprised if you never grew to like him. He was so, so happy when, in only a short time, you were no longer scared of him. He was even happier when you showed him kindness. He was happier still when he realized you considered him a friend. Having a companion after so many years of loneliness was more valuable to him than words could express.

In some ways, he supposes falling in love with you was natural. How couldn’t he fall in love with the first person to ever see him for who he was past his appearance? The first person who told him they liked his appearance. He didn’t believe you the first time you said it– how could he? All he’d ever known before from humans was fear and scorn.

He didn’t know how to accept it, always left in disbelief when you complimented him. But even if he didn’t quite believe it, he still liked hearing it. He liked it when you called him cute, or said he looked handsome, or kissed his cheek after calling him sweet.

He liked when you smiled at him, and the way you’d try to hold his hand despite how much smaller yours were than his. He liked listening to you talk, whether it was because you were reading a book to him, or because you had a lot on your mind; he could listen to you for hours, no matter the topic.

He likes hearing about your dreams, he likes the sound of your giggle, he likes the way you twirl in your dresses. He liked it when you taught him how to dance, and how you encouraged him when his steps were initially awkward. He liked how thoughtful and good you were to him. He likes that you help him believe he truly is all the kind things you describe him as.

No, he shouldn’t say he likes those things about you– it was much more accurate to say he loves them. Changbin loves everything about you. He wants to tell you as much, but he never imagined it’d be so difficult to say; he always thought that when the characters in his books struggled to find the words, it was merely exaggeration for dramatic effect.

In reality, it actually is quite hard to speak such things aloud. Changbin is normally a very candid person, able to speak whatever he thinks freely; but when it comes to you, and the feelings he has for you, his mouth runs dry, the words lodging in his throat. And realistically, should he even say them?

He knows it's true when you compliment him, he knows that you genuinely care for him and enjoy his company. But it’s hard to believe you can love him, it’s hard not to think he’s too different from you, hard to completely shut out the memories of humans fearing him. Sometimes, he’s scared that deep down there’s a part of you that still fears him.

"Changbin? Are you asleep..?" your voice calls to him softly, breaking him from his thoughts. It honestly startled him just a little; he's so used to you already being asleep before you're brought into the room, or falling asleep quickly if you aren't. He hadn't expected your voice to break the silence.

As is typical for your nightly arrangement, you're lying atop him with your head on his chest. It's only now that he realizes your fingers have been absentmindedly tracing his skin the entire time he was lost in thought.

Changbin doesn't have a bed in the traditional sense– he's much too big to fit on human mattresses. Instead, he has various pillows and blankets piled together on the floor. It's surprisingly comfortable, but you always find yourself laying on him, rather than next to him on his makeshift bed.

"I'm awake," he murmurs, trying to keep his voice as soft and low as possible, "..was thinking." You hum, and lift yourself up to look at him. The room is dark, but his lack of curtains allows you to clearly make out his features in the moonlight.

He can see you just as clearly, and it makes his heart squeeze in his chest; you're always so pretty when the moon illuminates you.

"So was I. Made it hard to fall asleep," you reply, and Changbin eyes you curiously. He can tell by your somewhat solemn expression that something seems to be weighing on you. "There's something I've been wanting to ask you for a while now, something I can't stop thinking about," you continue.

Changbin swallows, suddenly nervous. Given where his thoughts were just moments ago, he can't help but fear that the moment he's been dreading has finally come– this is where you ask him to take you home.

Maybe not home, as the village you grew up in is a place you don't wish to return, but away from here– away from him. Back to human society where you belong, to a place that he could never hope to follow, a place he could never live in with you.

"Wh-What.. What is it?" he asks, hesitant; he really hopes you can't tell how anxious he is, but he's certain his voice has betrayed it already. He wishes he wasn't so terrified of losing you.

Even in the dim lighting, you could clearly see the way his expression changed to one of immense trepidation. You wonder if he's nervous because he can see that you're nervous. It takes you a moment to even begin to speak again, timidly fidgeting with your fingers as you try to will your voice to return to you.

"Have you ever.. been in love..?" you ask him, voice so soft and timid that Changbin almost misses it, even with his exceptional hearing. You watch as his ears flick, his eyes widen slightly as he takes your question in, his cheeks growing ever so slightly pinker.

His surprise is to be expected– from his perspective, this question must seem incredibly out of the blue. But truthfully, it's been eating at you for weeks. You know you're in love with Changbin, but you don't know how possible it is for him to love you back. You don't know if he's ever loved anyone at all– and you have to know.

If not to give yourself hope, then to put your infatuation with him to rest once and for all. If he rejects you, living with him may be awkward for a time, but at least you could try to put an end to your hopeless pining.

Changbin blinks, unsure how to respond. If he were to answer on the basis of what his life was like before you were in it, then the answer was no– he'd never been in love. Never, in all his years, had met someone and fallen for them.

But if he were to answer for the present.. Is he in love now? Yes, he is– he's in love with you. Your eyes search his desperately, and it's clear there's an answer you're hoping to hear– but which answer is it? You chew your bottom lip nervously as you watch him consider his answer. "No, and yes," he finally responds.

"No, and yes..?" you mimic, uncertain and curious. Changbin nods, and he's thankful you're no longer laying on his chest, because you'd certainly hear the quick, erratic thumping of his heart.

"I was never in love. Not before. I.. am in love now," he says, letting out a nervous exhale as the last word leaves his lips. The implication is clear, and he watches apprehensively as your eyes widen, and the truth fully settles itself within you.

Changbin is always honest and forthright, in a way that humans typically never are. Free of societal norms and expectations, he's never had to lie about anything, nor does he feel the need to. So when he looks into your eyes, deep and vulnerable, and tells you that what he feels now is love, you believe him entirely.

"Me too," you utter softly, voice a timid whisper, "I was never in love, not before.. I am now."

Changbin sits up from his makeshift bed, quickly bringing one of his large hands to your back so that the sudden movement doesn't cause you to topple off him. He doesn't want to be lying down when he asks you if this means what he thinks it does– he wants to meet your gaze directly.

"Do you mean that? Can you really love me?" he questions, hopeful but unsure– it nearly breaks your heart that he even has to ask. If there's anything in your life that you're certain of, it's that Changbin is the best man you've ever known.

It doesn't matter that he's not entirely human, it doesn't matter that he eclipses you in size and stature, it doesn't matter that he has horns, hooves, and a tail. All that matters is how he treats you, and makes you feel; and you've never known anyone who makes you feel as warm, safe, and cared for as he does.

Sitting in his lap, you look up at him and smile, warm and affectionate. "I've never meant anything more than I mean this– I love you, Changbin."

In all his life, even at his loneliest and most isolated, in his most saddened and hurt, he'd never had the urge to cry. But now he feels it, welling from deep inside and choking him up. He's always wanted to be accepted, loved– even when it seemed impossible and entirely irrational, he wanted it.

What is it that humans do when they're filled with so much emotion for another? All his books have different answers, but there's one that sticks in his mind predominantly– they get married. And perhaps he can't marry you the way a human man can, but he can make the same vow; he can, and will, promise to love you for the rest of your lives.

You reach out to him, placing your hands on round cheeks, the heat of his blush incredibly warm on your palms. "Can I kiss you?" you ask him, and he sucks in a breath, nodding shyly. His ears pick up on the loud thumping of his quickly beating heart– he wonders if it's loud enough for you to hear it too.

You lean up as he leans down for you, both of you closing your eyes as you touch your lips softly to his. You linger there, feeling the blush on his cheeks flare with more heat as you kiss him. When you pull back, you can see his eyes sparkling with awe and adoration. Shyly, he breaks his gaze away from your eyes, darting them down to your lips; it’s easy to tell he wants to kiss you again.

With your hands still on his cheeks, you guide him back to you. You kiss him again and again, slow and gentle. Eventually, you let your hands move to his chest, and you can feel the rapid thumping of his heart beneath your fingertips. He brings one of his hands to your waist, and pulls you closer, until your tiny body is flush with his.

His lips are so plump and soft, and now that you know what they feel like against your own, you never want to stop kissing him. Unfortunately for you, your lungs are much smaller than Changbin’s, and you run out of breath very quickly, often having to be the one to pull away first.

He always watches you intently when you do, all the care and affection he has towards you pouring out of him in droves as he stares at you. But there's a new emotion written in his eyes too– desire, yearning. All you’ve done is kiss him, but he’s positively, undeniably enchanted by you, a deeply rooted need for more of your touch clawing its way to the surface.

When you kiss him again, you tentatively run your tongue across his bottom lip. The feeling jolts him, sending a shiver down his spine. He parts his lips, cautiously slipping his tongue out to run over yours, butterflies erupting in his stomach over the soft noise of approval you give him in response.

His tongue is longer than yours, as well thick and textured– it makes you imagine what it’d feel like if you progressed further, and allowed him to run it over every inch of your body. For now, you simply open your mouth for him, letting him lick and explore; it fills you with a strange sensation unlike anything you’ve ever felt, but you love it.

Changbin carefully scoops his hands beneath you, lifting you up so he doesn’t have to hunch down to kiss you anymore. You wrap your arms around his neck, clinging to him as closely as you can whilst your kisses continue to deepen and become more heated. He eventually grows just as breathless as you, his broad chest heaving as his thirst for you grows in intensity.

It’s almost too much for him– the feeling of you in his hands, of you trying to press as much of your body to him as you can, of your sweet scent all over him. The need he feels for you goes beyond anything he’s ever felt, a deep innate hunger and desperation beginning to gnaw at him, clawing at his sense of reason.

He wants more of you– how much more he doesn’t know, but to simply kiss you isn’t enough. All of you, he thinks; he needs all of you in every way. He wants to feel you everywhere, to taste you everywhere, needs to experience the depths of love and intimacy with you.

He’s been trying for so long to deny how bad he wants it, so scared of scaring you off with unwanted advances– but now that he knows you feel the same as him, now that you’re kissing him like this, fevered and hungry, he can’t deny his craving for you any longer.

“Please,” Changbin whines under his breath when you next pull away, his voice the most light and airy either of you have ever heard. Anything, he’ll take anything you’re willing to give him– he just wants you, so badly he can hardly think straight anymore. It sends a wave of heat through your body, butterflies thrashing in your stomach.

“Set me down, please?” you ask, and instantly he worries that he crossed a boundary, made you uncomfortable by wanting too much too soon. Still, he does as you ask, lowering his hands to the ground so you can reunite with the ground. He swallows nervously as he watches you step off his hands; thankfully, some of the tension he feels is eased when you shoot him your characteristically sweet, yet currently more bashful, smile.

The heat on his face flares when you break your gaze away from his face to look at his erection, fully unsheathed and visibly leaking large amounts of pre-cum. It’s thick, as is to be expected given his size, but to actually see it with your own eyes is astonishing. “Sorry,” he mumbles, embarrassed, starting to grab one of the many blankets littering the floor so he can cover himself.

You shake your head and reach for his hand, stopping him in his tracks. He slowly sets the blanket back down, both of you gazing at each other shyly as you swallow down your nerves to speak. “I want to.. Can I touch it..?” you ask, and oh, the way he throbs from the question alone. You can see it, heavy where it lies against his thighs, throbbing with desire and anticipation.

“Y-You- you want to?” he asks, very nearly sent reeling when you shyly nod your head. He’s wanted this for so long; and he tried not to, really. It felt inappropriate to want you that way, almost shameful every time he got hard with you in mind.

You always interacted with each other so sweetly, innocently– it felt perverse to lie in his makeshift bed at night and throb over the way your breasts looked pressed together in your dresses, or over the glimpses he got of your legs and thighs when you twirled around.

It wasn’t this way from the start; when he rescued you deep in the woods, he had nothing but pure intentions. He didn’t know you were beautiful, he didn’t know how soft and sweet you were, didn’t know how radiant you were in body and soul. He didn’t know he’d grow to love you, nor could he have predicted how badly he’d want you as his infatuation for you grew.

Little does he know that you always wanted him just as bad, your late night thoughts always consumed by him. None of the village men ever made you feel the way Changbin does, never made your heart race or stomach erupt in butterflies, never filled you with such insatiable need for touch.

“Ahh, I-” he exhales, trying to discreetly wipe away the sweat accumulating in his palms due to his nerves, “I.. yes, please, I’d like it.” Even just the thought of you touching his cock makes him feel like his heart is going to leap out of his chest– he has no idea how he’ll feel when you actually do it. Still, he wants it; and he watches you, unconsciously holding his breath as he waits for you to act.

He’s leaking so much, and it occurs to you that your dress will get very wet and messy if you leave it on while you touch him. The thought of being naked in front of Changbin makes you nervous, but also excites you somehow; and technically speaking, he’s always naked in front of you– apart from the cape he wears during the day, anyways. So there’s no reason to be so shy about it, right?

You gaze up at him, still timid despite the pep talk you’re giving yourself internally, and you reach behind your back to untie the ribbons that keep your silk gown on your body. You can hear Changbin’s breath hitch as the fabric loosens and begins to fall away, your bare torso becoming visible to his eyes for the first time.

Your breasts were so pretty, so full– and yet even then, they’d surely look small in his large hands. Still, you weren’t done revealing yourself to him just yet; reaching lower down your back, you loosen another ribbon– the one keeping it held around your waist. Your gown falls down your hips and to the floor once untied, now left only in your panties before his eyes.

Fuck, he wants to touch you– but you asked him first, and he’s not going to interrupt whatever you have planned for him. You step closer to him, and climb up his leg to sit yourself on one of his large thighs. He can’t help but gasp when you bring your hands to his cock, and just as you thought it’d be from seeing it, it’s heavy.

It’s much too thick to wrap your fingers around, your hands appearing impossibly small in comparison. You rub your hands over his sensitive tip, glancing up at Changbin’s face when he lets out a whine. Your hands quickly become slick from the steadily leaking pre-cum, gliding easily up and down the length of his cock. There’s not as much friction as there’d be if it was Changbin’s own hand, but he prefers this despite it– having you touch him is much, much better.

He moans when you lean forward to kiss and lick the tip, his pre-cum smearing over your lips and cheeks. He fists the blankets below him, his breaths growing harsher as he watches you work him up. Your hands stroke his length in a steady rhythm while you continue to lavish his tip with attention using your mouth, and he can’t help the frequency of his whines and moans.

He already feels so close– you're so soft, so wet, it drives him crazy. When you stop kissing and licking his cock, you sit up to look back up at him, and God, the sight of you– you’re glistening with his pre-cum and your own saliva. It’s dripped down your chin, falling to your breasts and the sight proves too much for him– he whimpers, stuttering out your name as his cock twitches and spurts of thick cum begin to shoot from the tip.

You make a noise of surprise, watching in awe as it coats your bodies; his stomach, your whole torso, your hands– you wouldn’t be surprised if some ended up on the blankets beneath him too. Your stomach flips when he finally comes down from his high and looks at you. Reddened cheeks, flushed body, harsh breaths– and yet he still gazes at you hungrily.

“Your turn,” he breathes as he effortlessly scoops you into his hands, paying no mind to the mess that covers you. His carnal desire for you is fraying at him, his shyness becoming increasingly eclipsed by his need. “Can I-” he starts, lifting you up towards his face, “Is it okay? Can I do the same for you? Please?”

He’s sure you can feel how much his hands are trembling for you– he hasn’t even seen between your legs yet, hasn’t yet tasted you, but his mind already feels like it’s in a frenzy. “Yes, please,” you tell him with a nod, and he brings you closer, responding with an appreciative, hungry kiss. He licks away the mess left there, then swipes his tongue over your torso, not at all minding the taste of his own cum.

You squirm in his hands, and when he’s done, he gently nudges you with his nose, urging you to lay back. Your back meets his fingers, your butt cradled in his palms while your legs dangle over his wrists. “Can you take them off like this?” he asks, and you nod, letting out a nervous exhale as you bring your hands to your sides, and hook the hem of your panties in your fingers.

You know Changbin would never drop you or let you fall, but you’re still careful not to make big movements as you slide them down your thighs, and then lift your legs to pull them off. You toss them aside, and shyly spread your legs open for him to look at your dripping pussy. You smell so sweet– he imagines that you’ll taste even sweeter.

You shiver when he starts by placing kisses between your thighs, your legs spreading further apart to accommodate him. He sticks out his tongue, and the whine you let you when he licks between your folds is intoxicating. His tongue is too big to focus only on your clit, but the sensation of him licking up and down is still utterly delicious.

He moans and hums as he devours you, and the vibration of it makes you tremble. You let out a loud whimper and your eyes roll back when he dips his tongue carefully into your hole. It reaches deeper than your fingers ever could, feels so much better than them too– you never imagined something could feel this good.

Your nails dig into his palms, but Changbin pays no mind to it, continuing to alternate between dipping his tongue into your hole and licking you up from top to bottom. He can feel your body tensing, the shaking of your legs and twitching of your thighs growing more intense as he drives you closer to release.

You cry his name over and over, the syllables broken between whimpers as your back arches and your cum gushes on to his tongue. He licks it up and swallows it eagerly, and it serves to effectively draw out your orgasm, the sounds you make easily the prettiest he’s ever heard.

You collapse back against his fingers when your high ebbs away, and you feel positively euphoric, every inch of your body buzzing from the pleasure. Changbin waits until you catch your breath again to kiss you, and you bring your hands to his face, holding him close as he shares the taste of your release with you.

He carefully adjusts his hold of you afterwards, cradling you in his arms and laying you against his chest as he rises from his floor bed. “Need to take a bath,” he mumbles to you as you instinctively curl into his embrace. He cringes when he thinks about how much effort it’ll take to clean the mess from his fur and sheath, but he wouldn’t have done anything differently; the night was perfect– you were perfect.

You’re exhausted, but you do your best to help him get clean once you’re done washing yourself, and he covers you with appreciative kisses when the task is done. You giggle from the attention, and Changbin giggles too before he scoops you back into his arms to carry you to bed.

Doing away with the soiled blankets he’ll leave to clean tomorrow, he replaces them with some from the many empty rooms littered about. You’d fallen asleep shortly exiting the bath, and it was a bit challenging for Changbin to fix the bed one handed, but he wasn’t going to set you down onto the cold floor– and you surely would’ve pouted if you woke up without him in reach.

He heaves a heavy sigh once he finally lays down, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before he rests his own against the many pillows beneath him. He whispers that he loves you before he closes his eyes, and he guesses you were just awake enough to hear it, because you sleepily whisper it back.

It makes him smile, and he squeezes you in his arms just a little. And as he drifts to sleep, he thinks about how lucky he is to have you, how wonderful it is to be loved, how happy he’ll be spending every moment in his life together with you.

network tags: @ksmutsociety @skzstarnet

#the fact that it took me so long to finish this that I'm posting it on /my/ birthday instead of bin's is so gsdgsdfh #happy birthday to me ig lmao!#ksmutsociety #skzstarnet #skz x reader #changbin x reader #skz smut #changbin smut #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz fanfic #mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune

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yoonia · 10 months ago

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Ever A Never After — story masterpost

⟶ Title | Ever a Never After (adaptation from Enchanted movie) ⟶ Summary | Growing up in the fairy tale land, your whole life seems to have been written perfectly in the books, with the picturesque life and the Prince Charming that you can see yourself having your happily ever after with. But your entire world turns upside down when you are suddenly sent into a whole new world, a different kind of universe where happily ever after doesn’t exist. Thrust into a new challenge and shown a new side of life, you find yourself standing in a crossroad. When the moment arises, would you find your way back home to your true love, or is the universe trying to show you that sometimes happy endings don’t have to be written so perfectly?

⟶ Pairings | Jungkook x female reader; Seokjin x female reader ⟶ Genre | Strangers to lovers!au, Fairy tale retelling!au, Angst, Smut ⟶ Ratings & Warnings | +18 / M for Mature; specific warnings will be added accordingly on each published chapters ⟶ Status / Current word count / Total word count | ONGOING; latest update: Ever A Never After: Act 2 - Part 2 (Oct 7th, 2024) - 51,865 words of n/a words ⟶ Main Masterlist | Mailbox | Feedback | Ko-fi | Music companion ⟶ Cross-posted in AO3 and Wattpad

⟶ Special Taglist: Ever A Never After

⟶ Story Note | Written in 2nd person POV (in case you’re new to my writing, I don’t use ‘y/n’ coding as all of my lead characters are considered as OCs). In place of the coding, you’ll find a blank space as her name. Please also note that our main character/reader insert for this story has her own nickname that will be used in the scenes. While the story is adapted from the movie, Enchanted, with some characters and places that were mentioned in the movie added into this story, I will be adding changes in the story settings, characters’ names and background stories to fit the plot. That being said, as someone who has never set foot in the land of America, forgive me if there are some inaccuracies in the details that are being added here. I hope that doesn’t change your reading experience with the story.

⟶ Chapters

⇢ Act One. Andalasia, The Maiden, and The Dream Prince [“It’s you. The boy I saw in my dreams.” “It’s me. Your Prince Charming.” | Word count: 19,688 words | posted: May 21st, 2024 | Chapter Teaser]

⇢ Act Two. The Alter World and The Saviour [“I need to find my way back to the castle.” “What castle?” “Why, of course, I’m talking about Andalasia.” “Huh, right. Why don’t I just call you an Uber?” | Word count: 32,185 words | Chapter Teaser]

— Part 1. Welcome to the Alter World [Word count: 15,410 words of 32,185 words - posted on: Sept 16th, 2024] — Part 2. The World Without Magic [Word count: 16,755 of 32,185 words - posted on: Oct 7th, 2024 ]

⇢ Act Three. Fairy Tales and Bittersweet Endings [“You forgot to say the part where you lived happily ever after.” “Happily ever after? That thing doesn’t exist, not in the real world.” | Word count: — | Chapter Teaser]

⇢ Act Four. The Ball for The Kings and Queens and Dragons [“There is a ball for the Queen and Kings at the start of spring. Shall we go together?” “As your Prince Charming, I’ll be happy to escort you.” | Word count: — | Chapter Teaser]

⇢ Act Five. Prince Charming and a Happily Never After [“Look at how the tables have turned, as now I have in my hand the Prince who is supposed to protect the princess.” “Come along now, dear. You wouldn’t want to miss the ending.” | Word count: — | Chapter Teaser]

⟶ Fic talk & references

⇢ image reference

⇢ readers feedback & discussions

⟶ Patreon specials

⇢ visual inspiration board

⇢ fic commentary (coming soon)

⟶ Author’s Note | Originally commissioned by @pinkbtsarmy | It’s finally here! I’m so sorry for taking so long with this one. Thank you so much for commissioning me and for your endless support. As mentioned in our last talk, there will be some changes from the original prompt/details that I’ve made to make the story work better, but I hope you’ll be able to enjoy it still. I have decided to release this one as a mini-series to present the timeline more appropriately and make the storyline work. Have fun reading!

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seireiteihellbutterfly · 1 year ago

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Bridal Shop ft Nanami Kento

Rating: 18+, MDNI Warnings: Sex, vaginal and clitoral fingering, oral Featuring: Nanami Kento x female reader Word Count: 2590 Summary: A final dress fitting leads to something else when the bridal shop owner takes over your appointment A/N: All images are from pinterest. Inspiration for the wedding dress was this. Also, much thanks to the talented @aliasnnmknt for making a lovely piece of art for this fic!

Nanami masterlist

You skipped merrily into the bridal shop, ready for the final fitting. The wedding was only 2 weeks away. A healthy pink glow was visible on your face. Most would say it’s because your wedding day is approaching. Your best friend would tease you that it’s because of the bridal shop owner.

The sweet old woman who had assisted you during your first fitting spots you immediately and waves you over to her. She grasps your hands with wrinkled knotted hands and smiles brightly at you. “Not too long now…You must be very excited!”

“Indeed I am!” You chirp back excitedly. “Will it be a while or…?”

“Not at all! We’re ready for you now. On straight through to the back. Fitting room 2.”

You thank the woman and waltz back into the stall. Not too shortly after the tailor comes in, exchanging warm greetings with you, asking you how wedding planning was going, as she carefully helps you fit into the dress, gently buttoning up the pearl fastenings on the back as she fusses with the skirt, whirling it out around you. Your breath catches as you look at yourself in the mirror.

The dress had been fitted perfectly, the waistline pure perfection to the last millimeter. With the tulle and illusion sleeves, it was like right out of a dream. You feel yourself tear up as you see yourself in the mirror. It was so pretty, beyond your imagination. Ever prepared, the tailor quickly offers you a tissue and a gentle smile.

“I’ll let you have a moment. Let it all soak in. Let me know when you’re ready to have it taken off.” The tailor exits quietly through the door. You spin around, admiring yourself from all angles. You’re so happy you listened to your fiance when he had insisted on going with this one.

A fairy tale dress for a princess, he had said. Your smile widens as you do one last twirl. You hear the handle of the fitting room rattle, and turn to tell the tailor you’re ready to change, then freeze when you see who’s standing in the doorway.

Sharp brown eyes look at you with such intensity that you blush. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

His mouth curves into a soft smile as he takes in the sight of you in your wedding dress. The owner of the bridal shop was quite a striking man, with his physique, styled blonde hair, and impressive height.

“I wasn’t aware that you visited brides during their fittings.” Your mouth had gone dry. He looked so immaculate in tailored pants and a waistcoat, shirt fitting beautifully to his broad shoulders, sleeves rolled up to his elbows revealing corded, well toned forearms.

He chuckles at your comment, then steps in, locking the door behind him. Your heart skips a beat and you almost miss his next words over the rush of blood in your ears.

“Never. But this dress…I have a special affinity for it.”

He stands right behind you, admiring you in the mirror. His eyes rove over the small details of the dress, the little plunge of the neckline, almost modest, between your breasts, the cups of the dress pushing them up flatteringly.

Nanami Kento was a heartthrob in this locality. Who wouldn’t notice the handsome bridal shop owner? Women were known to wander into the shop to catch a glimpse at him, pretending to be window shopping. Many a bride had blushed as he walked with them through the shop, pulling gowns and asking questions about their dress preferences, giggling as he politely asked to see their rings.

“Yes…I think this last fitting was much needed. Look at how flattering it looks on your body now.” His large hands softly rest on your waist as you feel rushes of heat run through you. You try your best to not look at the mirror, lest he see how flustered you were getting. His cologne was filling your senses, a deep musky scent that added a forbidden allure.

“I was right in thinking this lace would look flattering on you.” One of his hands moves towards your front, his long fingers gently tracing the line of fabric near your collarbone, sending skitters of electricity through you. Your heart thumps in your chest as you try to keep your composure.

“Ah…thank you.” You manage to say. “You do have a good eye for what looks best.” You can hear how your voice has taken on a breathy quality and try to focus. You had plans after this, meeting with your bridesmaids for dinner.

Nanami smiles at your praise, then says, so close to your ear, “Why aren’t you wearing any jewelry today? Apart from your ring I mean.”

His breath makes you tingle with need, making you tongue tied, words stumbling over each other. “I-ah-ahem. Should I be wearing…jewelry?”

“You should. Most brides wear a necklace after a fitting to make sure it doesn’t clash with the neckline.” His fingers creep up from your collarbone to the hollow at the base of your throat and your breath catches.

“And earrings,” he adds, his other hand abandoning your waist to gently massage your bare earlobe. You feel uncomfortable heat starting to gather between your thighs and resist the urge to lean back against his muscular frame. Your eyes close as he continues to fondle the soft piece of flesh then almost jump out of your skin as his hot breath tickles your other ear.

“Earrings help you figure out if you've chosen the right veil or not.” His lips were practically touching the shell and a strangled gasp leaves your lips.

“You really are the ideal representation of a blushing bride,” Nanami murmurs softly. His hands start to play with your hair, and you swallow, trying to gather the vestiges of your rapidly fading sensibility.

“Have you decided if you’re wearing your hair up or down?” His fingers swirl the locks of hair flowing down your shoulders, making a loose bun with them at the nape of your neck. It takes you a moment to process his question, the movements of fingers feeling deliciously seductive.

“Up.” You didn’t trust yourself to say another word.

He nods, leaning forward to look over your shoulder into the mirror. “I think that’s a good choice. Plays well with your features.” His fingers skim over your cheek which looked positively rosy now.

“Were you done with your fitting?”

You give yourself a little shake mentally. “Yes.” You wished he would stop stroking you so tenderly. You were starting to have thoughts quite opposite to the image of a demure bride.

“I actually need to call back the tailor to help me with this-”

“No need.” He cuts you off smoothly, leaving no room for objection. “I assume she’s busy. And it’s a small task. I can help you.”

With patience, Nanami starts undoing the small pearl buttons. You stand, embarrassment rising, but unable to resist. He was so charming, eyes focused on his task, while you stole glances at him in the mirror, the sharp, chiseled features of his face, the lovely hue of brown his eyes were. You shiver as air hits your bare skin, his fingers going lower and lower, finally reaching the last few buttons near your waist. He spreads apart the fabric, hands caressing your back. His eyes meet yours in the mirror.

“Look at me,” he whispers, waiting until your eyes met his before sliding the dress off your shoulders, carefully holding the skirt to avoid wrinkling it, revealing the adorable pink lace bra you had worn in hopes of surprising your fiance later. He grips the bodice carefully and moves away from you.

“Step out.” Nanami’s voice isn’t demanding; it was a request. Feeling like your legs had turned to jello, you lift one leg, then the other, stepping out of the dress before he grabs a hanger to put it away. You can feel your sex throb from need and squeeze your legs together, acutely aware that the matching pink panties must have a stain now from your dripping core.

Once he’s secured the dress, his attention falls back to you. His eyes stop at your thighs. “No garter to go with the dress?”

You glance up at him shyly. “Are garters part of the dress fitting?”

“They should be,” he murmurs before closing the gap between you, his lips covering yours. The tension that had been building inside you snaps and you respond hungrily, body pressing unashamedly against his, feeling the hard muscles under his clothes.

“You do look good in pink,” he says in a husky voice as you both break apart, only for him to start placing wet kisses on your neck, his hands expertly snapping open the catch of your bra with the same ease as he did with the buttons on your wedding dress. His large hands cup your breasts, massaging them, before his thumbs rest on the centers of your hardened nipples, moving them in circles, the friction making you feel weak at the knees. Your mouth finds his again, tongues brushing against each other, his fingers softly tweaking and pulling the hardened peaks. Your moans are muffled, lost in the greed of his kiss.

He pulls back before guiding you over to the chair that sits in the corner of the fitting room, helping you comfortably straddle him, softly suckling on one of your nipples while his hands roam down your back, squeezing your waist, holding you tight as you whimper and moan. His hands eventually slide down to your ass, gripping the fat covetously, before slipping below the scanty lace that covered your pussy.

“Why do brides always abstain from sex a few weeks before the wedding?” Nanami muses as he presses dexterous fingers between your wet folds, making you gasp.

“I-it’s not-” You choke out, unable to form coherent words.

“Look at this.” There’s a raspy quality to Nanami’s voice as he pulls out his fingers for your inspection, covered with your arousal. “Hardly did anything and you’re already making a mess. Honestly, why do you brides do this to yourselves?”

He licks his fingers clean before gripping you under your thighs, momentarily lifting you up, before standing and seating you on the chair instead. Your legs spread apart wantonly, thoughts of decency thrown out the window. Nanami hooks his index around the fabric covering your crotch, pulling it to the side, spreading apart your glistening labia with his other hand. The tangy scent of need hits his nose and he licks a line up from your entrance to your clit, before laying his tongue over the swollen bud, licking sensually.

You’re trying your best to muffle your noises and failing spectacularly, moans getting louder and needier as he tenderly alternates between sucking and licking your clit, the variations driving out all reasoning, leaving only primal thoughts in your head. Unashamedly, you grind against his mouth, desperate for a release. You sob with delight as he inserts a finger, followed by a second, stretching you out, making you feel deliciously full. You had been abstaining and didn’t realize how much you had missed it. His fingers curl up into that small patch inside you, matching his movements to the pace of his tongue on your clit. Your hands move involuntarily, pulling at his hair, back arching against the chair as he pushes you over the edge.

A loud, lewd sound leaves your lips as the orgasm takes over, feeling your pussy spasm pleasurably, clit pulsating, wave after wave racking your system. He doesn’t spare a second, quickly unzipping his trousers and adjusting you before slipping his cock into your wetness.

You were unprepared for the sudden intrusion, making you gasp in shock as you adjust to his thickness, pussy still fluttering from your climax. Your legs wrap around his waist as he moves closer, almost folding you in half and he starts to thrust into you.

“Fuck…so tight…looks like abstinence…made your pussy forget…how to take cock…” he says between breaths, his movements so sinfully slow, ensuring you feel every inch of him, taking note of every small spasm your body makes around him.

You whine at his slow thrusts, needing more. “Kento…”

“Did you need something my dear?” You want to shake him for his ability to sound so polite, like you were having tea together instead of him being buried in your cunt.

“I need more…please…” You can’t keep the urgency out of your voice. His eyes darken at your request.

“Desperate to cum on my cock are you?” he teases, pulling back until he’s almost about to pull out the tip before slamming back into you, making you moan noisily. His hips snap into you, placing his fingers into your mouth, the unspoken command clear in his eyes; wet them.

You suck his fingers, moistening them with your saliva before he removes them, using the lubrication to rub circles onto your clit. The sensation combined with the force of him fucking into you makes your eyes roll back into your head. You were so close, and judging by his grunts and movements getting sloppier, so was he.

“Such a sweet bride…you’ll be an even sweeter mother someday…” He pants as he maintains a rhythm, close to his own climax. You feel the familiar feeling of heat and tension building in your belly, coiling like a spring waiting to be set free. Soon enough, a second climax rips through you, stealing the breath from your lungs, your mouth open in a silent scream as it grips you. With a grunt, Nanami’s hips snap forward aggressively and you feel his cock spasm, little twitches inside your pussy as he empties himself into you.

Sated, both of you pant, trying to catch your breath. He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a small pack of tissues, using one to clean up and catch his cum as he slips out of you. He gently runs another one down your slit, cleaning you up as best as he can.

“Not just good for an emotional bride,” he jokes as he wads up the used tissues.

Your muscles ache in protest as he lowers your legs to the floor. He smiles at your state, exhausted, fucked out in the sweetest way possible. Nanami fusses with your hair, trying to bring it back to a state of decency before handing you your bra.

“You’d better hurry up and get dressed. Dinner with the bridesmaids at 7, yeah?”

OUTSIDE THE FITTING ROOM:

The tailor who had been assisting you was relatively new and she was now waiting in the back break room along with the elderly woman who had greeted you earlier. She clicks her tongue impatiently.

“I saw Mr. Nanami go into the fitting room she was in…should I be concerned?” she asks the older woman.

The wizened lady giggles at her. The tailor frowns. “What? Am I missing something?”

“That’s his fiancee that came in for a fitting. I say let’s give them a few more minutes. I’m sure he’s already helped her put away the gown.” She laughs heartily at the dumbstruck look on the tailor’s face.

“Wha-but-” the tailor splutters. “Isn’t it bad luck to see the bride in the wedding dress before the wedding?”

“Considering he’s the one that designed it, I think an exception can be made. Now hush and get back out front. There’s other customers that need attending to.”

wedding themed divider by: @/ fairytopea Image 1Image 2Image 3

Support banner by @/cafe kitsune

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tinartss · 9 months ago

Text

some of tin's fav haikavetham fics (fic rec list!)🍓🍓

hello all i've always wanted to make a fic rec list and i feel like i've collected enough hkvh fics to make one now LOL most definitely i am forgetting to include a lot but here are a few of my faves!

notes:

check tags before reading👍

most if not all are sfw bc that is my vibe

sorted from least recent -> most recent

was gonna add little comments to each but i'm now realizing that would take up a huge amt of space so. just know that all of these changed the trajectory of my life. thank u fic authors for all u do🫶

then who? by heartslogos (T, 27k)

“Let me,” Kaveh would say with his eyes, his head, his hands. Let him what? Let him in, let him speak, let him stay, let him touch and see and listen — All of the above. Has it not always been so, the two of them like this, Kaveh and Al-Haitham? Kaveh: not quite asking, not quite taking. Al-Haitham: not quite answering, not quite offering. - Al-Haitham has been confined to bed-rest for a month. Kaveh assists. Al-Haitham recovers, they both do.

Asked and Answered by heartslogos (T, 55k)

It begins in the House of Daena, or at least, Kaveh thinks that that’s where it should begin. If one were to trace the flow of events backwards, it would lead to this moment. If Kaveh were Al-Haitham, he would insist on going further back. Further. Further. Further. All the way back, to the literal beginning of all of time and creation, possibly. But Kaveh’s brain only has enough room for so many creations at any given moment, and the works of others — while inspiring — historically don’t get students passing grades. Or even grades at all. When thinking about one’s relationship with their soulmate, it seems natural to think to a first meeting. A first introduction. Well. This can be said for any relationship. It all begins with that first brush — a name, given; a silhouette, glanced; a voice, heard.

the truest forms of love by heartslogos (T, 29k)

“Nahida said that the moment you touch the seeds is the moment you must stop speaking,” the Traveler says to him, standing between Al-Haitham and the door of the simple, small hut that is to become his and Kaveh’s for the foreseeable future. “Is there anything else you want to say?” The beak of the swan is foreign, cool and strange. Al-Haitham struggles not to flinch away from it as it slides along the side of his jaw, his cheek — imploring and fretful. One last and ineffective plea. Al-Haitham feels the warm weight of solid muscle around his neck, his shoulders — the fidget of wings, the beat of a heart. Al-Haitham’s fingers sink into soft feathers and the bones and muscles of a bird shift against his hands as he holds Kaveh close. What is there to say? Why bother to say something to someone who cannot say anything back? “Stand aside,” Al-Haitham says, slowly lowering Kaveh to the ground. “The sooner I begin, the sooner it ends.” - A story loosely based on the fairy tale of "The Six Swans".

house of cards by luminvies (T, 21k)

There is a scrap of parchment he'd created and abandoned all the way back when the two had been attending the Akademiya together. Sometime between then and the first month he has to move in with Al-Haitham, the list gets crossed out, scribbled over, crumpled up, carefully unfolded again, and revised. The working title for his tireless troubles: Ten Reasons You Cannot, Under Any Circumstances, Fall In Love With Al-Haitham.

…And how Kaveh falls anyway.

through the grapevine by katarasvevo (G, 3.8k)

Theories are passed around in the form of whispers: Professor Alhaitham probably said something that angered Professor Kaveh. Professor Kaveh, unable to let the insult slide, decided to take revenge by interrupting his precious class time. A prediction goes around that in less than ten seconds, Professor Alhaitham will proceed to offend Professor Kaveh even more with a tactless comment, which will lead to Professor Kaveh and Professor Alhaitham murdering each other. The whole class will walk out today without needing to write the test, having been traumatized by the tragic demise of the two professors. It is not a very pleasant line of thought, but it is sadly the only logical outcome.

In which everyone is convinced Professor Alhaitham and Professor Kaveh are sworn enemies, unaware that their relationship isn’t at all what it seems.

the kübler-ross model on romance by luminvies (T, 10.8k)

Kaveh smiles up at the stranger. "Sorry, he's right! I am taken. By him. But he doesn't know it yet." What. "Wait, what did you mean by that?" Al-Haitham asks faintly. "Oh, that?" Kaveh scoffs. "You're a little dense. Obviously, I meant exactly what I said. I wouldn't want to be kept by anybody but you." "But we are—" Al-Haitham trips over his words, trailing behind Kaveh as he walks purposefully through the city. "We aren't. Together. Neither of us has confirmed anything of the sort." Kaveh gives him a derisory look. "And what, we don't act like it? Some things don't have to be put into words to be understood. Ah, I forgot. Haravatat. You probably wouldn't accept anything else any other way." "It is not logical to make assumptions without empirical evidence." "You scholarly types," Kaveh mutters. "Always so particular."

So. Al-Haitham is in love with Kaveh. This has got to be somebody's fault.

Cue the five stages of grief.

The Fall by heartslogos (M, 131k)

In the third generation of Lord Sangemah Bays when all is but a dream, Lord Kusanali, from their divine seat in the Sanctuary of Surasthana stirs and reaches their hands to the sky. They arrange their fingers to capture a square of sky, humming and singing to themselves as they put the patch of star and moon and cloud through the divine calculus before they translate it into the tongues of men to be made knowable, and perhaps even understandable — and with great fortune, actionable. “Summon the court,” Lord Kusanali says, “The Third Face of God has spoken. Hear the Word through me and make your peace. For the God Kings only ever speak thrice on any given subject.” The court of Sumeru crowds the Sanctuary of Surasthana. “That which waits in the Palace of Alcazarzaray can only be absolved through a union of souls and an exchange of hearts, a lifelong journey that ends only in death.” Lord Kusanali translates. And then, beatific, “What you need is a wedding.”

set alight by celestialfics (T, 2.3k)

Since he was young, Alhaitham has followed a self-imposed, unspoken rule not to touch other people unless strictly necessary. Over the years, there have been two exceptions. One was his grandmother, whose side he would cling to as she read him books on the living room couch. She would pet his hair, and he’d lean into the touch, not unlike a kitten blissfully being groomed by its mother. The other exception was an Akademiya upperclassman named Kaveh.

transparent night by kurigohan_to_kamehameha (G, 9.4k)

“Sir, kindly do not obstruct us,” says the matra sharply. “We are in the midst of carrying out an arrest.” “An arrest?” repeats Kaveh, incredulously. “You’re arresting him? You’re arresting him? Why, what in Teyvat has he done?” The Archon Rescue Operation is going as smoothly as it possibly can — that is, until Kaveh returns prematurely from his desert trip, and runs into Alhaitham at the absolute worst possible moment. Of course he would.

this is what happens in the absence of small-talk by pencanze (T, 17k)

Haitham and Kaveh, whose travels are leading them in opposite directions, meet as strangers in a caravanserai—a travelers’ guest house. Because even opposite directions have a point of intersection or overlap, don’t they? Some might even call that point a headfirst collision. And another thing about opposite directions: they still run in parallel, even long after they’ve crossed.

trishna by kurigohan_to_kamehameha (T, 8.2k)

Down the seventh-floor passage in Vahumana, past the statue of the sage Zolfikar, and behind the third door from the left; inside a small, abandoned seminar room in the Sumeru Akademiya is a mirror cursed to show the viewer their heart’s deepest desire. Kaveh’s father smiles at him, slowly, so Kaveh can see it happen; the corners of his mouth quirk upwards and his eyes twinkle. He’s moving, alive. Kaveh hasn’t seen his father smile – not the expression itself, preserved in an old Kamera shot he kept in his sketchbook, but the very action of smiling – in almost ten years. An Alhaitham/Kaveh X Mirror of Erised AU

if they ask my gain from this world’s harvest by patchy (T, 16k)

In the silence that follows, Alhaitham seems to interpret the end of the conversation. He takes a step back into his bedroom and starts to shut the door. “I’ll pay you tomorrow,” Kaveh forces out, his voice cracking embarrassingly. The door pauses in its trajectory. Kaveh takes a deep breath. “But this is the last time,” he continues in a lower voice. “I’ll be out of your space by the end of the month.” Alhaitham pushes open the door.

The House, The Home, You and Me by sonotfine (G, 11.9k)

Alhaitham's books-hoarding situation continued to grow out of control. Kaveh magnanimously decided to offer to build a new house for him, with enough space for his ego and the books too. This was fine by Alhaitham. And, of course, he wanted it to be a house for two. -- On moving out of the old, moving on to the new, and moving forward together.

what it means to point true by luminvies (T, 9.8k)

It is biologically impossible for a man to replicate technological functions. As much as Kaveh (and colleagues) like calling Al-Haitham an index of niche and generally insignificant information on legs, he will never quite live up to the title. Here's a novel one: people must have taken to thinking of him as a human compass because they always seem to come to him when they're looking for Kaveh.

is that what I look like? by kurigohan_to_kamehameha (T, 3,8k)

Alhaitham grows a beard. Why? Who knows.

Three or Four (Or Possibly Five) Easy Steps to Living Harmoniously With Your Roommate by Bgtea (T, 28.7k)

The truth of the matter is, Kaveh has no idea how to read Alhaitham. He prides himself on being an expert at understanding people, his empathetic heart lending him the capacity to relate deeply with those around him (oftentimes to his detriment). But with Alhaitham, there is nothing for him to read; no clues from his cool expression for him to grasp. The man appears stoic all the time even during their petty bickering. Honestly, when was the last time Kaveh has seen the man do anything except smirk or frown? Does Alhaitham feel happiness? Has he ever seen the man laugh? Kaveh's mind is drawing a blank on the latter and it...bothers him deeply. -- Kaveh devises a plan to get Alhaitham to smile by being aggressively nice to the man (and also maybe if he makes Alhaitham happy, he can score a discount on his rent or something). Alhaitham thinks Kaveh ate some mind-altering mushrooms and is, understandably, confused and mildly afraid.

in weal and in woe by kurigohan_to_kamehameha (G, 26.7k)

“Oh, right – Alhaitham.” Kaveh claps a hand to his forehead. “Cyno, if you see him at the Akademiya tomorrow, don’t mention this to him, would you? I haven’t told him yet.”

“Told him?” Cyno asks slowly, a wary glint in his eye. “What exactly haven’t you told him?” “That I’m getting married,” Kaveh grimaces. “I wanted to tell him myself – I suppose I do want him at the wedding after all, you know – but I didn’t get a chance yet. You know what it’s like, trying to have a conversation with him.” It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. Kaveh is a single man. That's about it, really. or: the one in which Kaveh gets married, but not to whom you think.

the hypothetical shore by heartslogos (T, 10k)

When Al-Haitham was still a student in the Akademiya he wore his hair long. As long as Kaveh’s is now, perhaps a little longer than that, even. But unlike Kaveh's, Al-Haitham’s hair was just as quiet as he was, just as cool — like a stream of silver water, fresh from the mountain pass. To this day Kaveh remembers the exact moment he thought he might be falling in love with Al-Haitham and that, perhaps, it might not be such a terrible thing.

de insomniis by liyuen (M, 32k)

Kaveh and Alhaitham live together. Nothing ever happens. Nothing ever hurts. But sometimes, when Kaveh watches Nahida idly finish her homework, he gets the feeling that he’s forgetting something important.

Kaveh must have fallen asleep at his desk again, the morning light hitting his eyes like a slap. He blinked at the soft green blanket over his shoulders. When he stumbled into the hall, Alhaitham was sitting in the living quarters with his back to him, soundproof earpieces alit. He had a stupid moment where he wanted to call out to Alhaitham. What would he even say? ‘I’m having some trouble.’ ‘Is the blanket yours?’ ‘You were right, I’m in over my head.’ ‘Can you hear me out?’ ‘Help me. Please, help me.’ Stupid. He yawned and went to stumble his way to the kitchen. From his periphery, he thought he saw Alhaitham turn towards him with a look like he wanted to say something. But that, too, surely was just a very nice dream.

The Importance of Interruption by theSealby (T, 8.6k)

Years. It has been years, yet it could’ve been yesterday they were sitting side by side, thigh to thigh, eye to eye, filled with a contentment that their future selves have lost. Maybe it would be enough to have that again. Maybe correctness has no place here—has never been the ultimate goal between them—and Alhaitham finds himself asking a very different question than intended. “How would you like to come home?” ✥ Alhaitham loathes interruptions. (All except one).

To Dream in Shades of Green by Intensely_Reading (T, 55k)

“There are three suitors who you can romance in this game. You must complete all your requirements with one of them." “Who are the three potential suitors?” Kaveh asks warily. “Your three suitors are Tighnari, the blunt Palace Chamberlain; Cyno, the standoffish Captain of the Royal Guard; and Al-Haitham, the acerbic Duke of Vultur Volans.” There's a new invention from the Yae Publishing House that turns a user's dreams into light novel stories. Kaveh has the (un)fortunate pleasure of being one of its first users. Too bad it dumped him in a romance game.

The Theorem of Narrow Interests by lumielle (M, 36k)

Kaveh clicks his tongue. “Well, I hope you are also aware that with all these requirements, you don’t get a set (A+B), or even (A+B+C). Yours is a set comprised of the entire Sumerian alphabet!” Kaveh has had enough of Alhaitham always loitering around the house. In an attempt to get Alhaitham to go out more often, he jokingly tells him to start dating someone. Much to Kaveh’s shock, Alhaitham agrees—and promptly assigns him as his personal matchmaker. And even though Alhaitham’s requirements for his ideal partner are annoyingly specific, Kaveh refuses to back down from a good challenge. He’s confident in his abilities—that is, until his own feelings start getting in the way…

Precipice by viiparyas (M, 37k)

Lately, his heart staggers at a precipice, just one breath from toppling over. Into what, he doesn’t know. After everything, after everything… He can’t help but melt easily into the intimacy between them, whether it’s by his design or not.

Kaveh has won fame and renown through Sumeru, witnessed the dissolution of a corrupt government, traveled from the trenches of homelessness to the pinnacles of a fairytale paradise. And yet something deep between his ribs screams, more, more, more.

or, Kaveh discovering what he truly wants and finally reaching for it. (Spoiler alert: it's Alhaitham)

nazar by pencanze (T, 13k)

It’s like they’re in a globed world of their own, trapped within a glazed bead. Shatterproof, soundproof, impregnable and unbreakable to anyone else—anyone besides themselves. (On superstitions, friendships, and other things that shatter.)

case study of the scribe by Jazer (T, 25.5k)

"The consequences of obtaining knowledge is the overwhelming feeling of loneliness. "

In which Alhaitham realizes that a peaceful existence does not have to mean a lonely one.

People keep coming to Al-Haitham when they want to know where Kaveh is. Al-Haitham would be lying if he said he didn't know why.

silviculture by sunsmasher (T, 13k)

Kaveh’s face is bright, young, flushed, freckled, happy. He’s wearing an Akademiya uniform and is as tall as the last time Alhaitham saw him (fifteen minutes ago) which means he’s an inch or two shorter than the last time Alhaitham saw him, because the uniform boots are heeled. He’s staring at Alhaitham with the aforementioned flush spreading like dye over the silk of his cheeks. “Kaveh,” Alhaitham says. “Don’t freak out. I believe I’ve been displaced in time.”

spitefully yours by luminvies (T, 6k)

Dear Al-Haitham, I propose that we meet this Friday at sundown on the southeast edge of the city bordering Avidya Forest. This is a marital engagement. Please come prepared with your sword at the ready. With spite, Kaveh Al-Haitham sets down the letter, letting out a long sigh. After all, isn’t the answer to dealing with domestic disputes not marriage? Isn’t that entirely contradictory to the issue?

Kaveh sends Al-Haitham martial summons to sort out their issues. Unfortunately, he makes a small error in the letter.

The Art of Misunderstanding by Anonymous (M, 7k)

"Kaveh didn't consider himself to be vain. Yet he was becoming increasingly, upsettingly aware that most associates would disagree. Vanity, by definition, refers to an inflated sense of self-importance and pride in oneself. A vain person may believe themselves to be the best in the room. They may find it absurd that all eyes do not fall on them the instant they make themselves known. A vain person may put themselves on a pedestal, believing themselves objectively skilled in their field. And though Kaveh had trust and confidence in himself as an artist, he was caught entirely off-guard to hear that others thought of him as vain." ------ AKA, Kaveh misunderstands when he overhears an upsetting conversation between old classmates. His assumption is that they are attacking his character and commenting on his personality. In reality, they're talking about his looks. Everyone picks up on it, save for Kaveh himself.

Illness, Drowning, and Other Minor Inconveniences by EulerIHKH (G, 11k)

Faced with a uniquely difficult client, Kaveh is reluctantly forced to look for help in the one architect he considers more capable than himself: his mother. But soon enough, the turmoil of Kaveh's personal life begins to seep into their professional correspondence, forcing him to reevaluate his career, relationships, and identity.

love haitham and kaveh....love these fics....so many talented writers...thank you authors <33 def missing a bunch bc my organization on ao3 is horrendous but i can update this or make another list at some point....also i would highly appreciate any recs tyy🙏

( + bonus not rec but self promo of a hkvh fic i tried my hand at writing last summer but never shared oops. here she is if you're intrigued

a comedy of errors (T, 6.7k) )

#haikaveh fic recs #kavetham fic recs #fic rec list #haikaveh #kavetham #genshin impact #this was so fun #if anything's incorrect like the summary or ratings please lmk!

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000marie198 · 10 months ago

Note

Are there any sonic au’s you would recommend? I am trying to find more to get into so would love to know if you have any favourites out there :D

Hello! Oh there are so many! :D I definitely have some favorites and some which aren't favs but are pretty great.

Putting these under the cut because there are so many! And there's definitely more cool AUs that I haven't seen or haven't saved.

Anyways, please enjoy my personal selection:

Seven Years Too Soon by NightFuchia. Basically what if a much younger Sonic accidentally set Shadow free from Prison Island. It has awesome characterization and happens to be one of my favorite stories. The rest of Team Sonic is also present

Brotherhood's Twist by @/drawloverlala even though I don't think it counts entirely as Au but it still sort of does. Unbreakable Bond ageswitch due to Zeti's meddling.

Passion's @sonic-tangled-au . I love it! So very much. The lore and backstories are so good.

Noonui's World Restored in Imbalanced Chaos au. Extremely engaging and good. Has a bunch of world building and fun concepts and lore.

Sonic's Super Totally Awesome Mixtape, though it seems to be discontinued, I'm not sure. It's pretty good so far! Takes place in the movie verse.

@brainworms-all-night-long is working on a Dreamtale Au which I'm hyped for. The tag in use is 'dreamtale and sonic tomfoolery'.

@/the-starlight-project comic is pretty good too. Mystery! And emotions. So many emotions ough.

And there's @the-emerald-isle-au by @0vergrowngraveyard . Very intriguing. 👀

Please do check out the Pandora Au by @/starrjoy. It's great!

The Fair Folk by Irritable_Fabulamancer, this fic is one of my favorites! Team Sonic as Fae my beloved! I love fae AUs.

On that note, if you're alright wanting to read a Fae!AU which is pretty much a sonadow fic, there is also I don't believe in fairy tales [but I believe in you and me]. Fantasy and Fae! Satbk inspired, another one that had me hooked.

My Arms Are Blue by thekyuubivixen and its unofficial, fan-continuation (My Arms Are Blue! Final Four Edition) by PlaystationPassenger. The story doesn't completely count as an AU but I'm recommending them anyway cuz they're really really good and has that watching your own show from different dimension trope. It's also hilarious and fun.

Burning Arrow, Wildfire Heart by Taranea is SatSR novelisation AU with Sonic's other friends present too, it's pretty fun. Not very accurate regarding the desert but it's a good read and I come back to reread it often. Must read in my opinion. Just don't dare use it as guide for desert travel or you'll be shriveled up in the sand somewhere

This fic. Read it, I will not elaborate this one. Just trust me :]

And don't miss out on @shadofiredragon's Legends Never Die fic. It's a future fic! And an awesome one. I won't spoil much but it is so good. She also has lots of fun AUs in the works.

Down the Foxhole series by MoonlitNightin. Sonic Prime AU series which is great! Tails' pov. The Shatterverses have their own Sonics. Engaging and great.

Feel free to check out @/Son1c's 10verse and other AUs. Those are some pretty great ones. Love the different lore and variants given to the Shatterverses in 10verse.

Spirit of the Wind by TrenchCoatGecko. Satbk inspired fantasy au. Sonamy, has focus on magic and lore and other characters as well.

If you'd like some Forces angst with Unbreakable Bond focus, please do read Illusionary are your arms around me by @nixoon-again. The feels will kill you /pos

Chaos Barren by but_why_not. I forgot to add this earlier (this is an edited addition). Takes place in the Blue Devils AU, great story!

Baby Tails shenanigans by @myymi . Tails got turned into itty bitty infant kit. (And also check @0vergrowngraveyard 'baby tails' tag for more little gremlin scenarios)

Myla is also working on @tails-and-the-ink-machine au

Feral au by Oneshot_bravo. Little short stories or drabbles taking place in Unleashed but the werehog is feral yet keeps his memories. Very lighthearted and fun and cute

Three or more foxes form a skulk by @/chiropter36 . Post Prime au fic, loved it! Go read.

Also, @donelywell 'roadtrip! sonic au' and 'Casino Nights Au'

Haven't yet started reading The Fox's Burrow by @/space-gutz but I'm planning to. Recommending it either way cuz I feel like it's gonna be good. Unbreakable Bond but ageswaped au.

@/sonicchaoscontrol comic. Another in-progress au which is also quite intriguing. Sonic jumps through a portal and exits in future where the planet is a mess. The mystery of what and how it all happened and what's going on slowly unfolds.

The Buzzsaw Dillemma by redpenship. I haven't personally read it myself but I've heard many good things about it, especially it's world building.

Incomplete and won't be updated anymore but if you haven't read them yet, DO NOT miss out on Ghosts of the Future and The Murder of Me fancomics by Evan Stanley (spiritsonic) and Gigi Deutrix (gigi-D) respectively. They're a must read. Both are available on DeviantArt.

The Heart of a Monster comic, @/the-heart-of-a-monster. It's in progress and updates regularly. Unleashed retelling, really really good with some extra lore and everyone involved.

Sometimes the Picket Fence isn’t Perfect and Sharp Edges (Sonic Prime AU) series by @/skimmingthesurfaces. I'm holding off the first one to read later, like that one book you've been saving so I'm not sure if it completely counts as an AU, still putting it in recs, and the second one is intriguing so far. I have heard a lot of good thing about the Picket Fence series.

Dark Boom by Smash50. The entirety of Team Dark in the Sonic Boom universe. Alongside it, there's also Boomtober by the same author.

It Always Snows by the 24th by Selendred had me hooked even though it's a oneshot. Great au and would love to see it explored more.

No One said I Wish by SylWritesStuff. One of my fav stories from the Sonic Platonic Fairytale Week event. It's really funny.

Sonic Phantom Forces (SPF) au comic. Sonic Forces au, blue boy gets taken away but not in the way you think, pretty cool story so far. It's in-progress and available on both Tumblr and DeviantArt. @/spfau

If Black Doom tried to be a better father by Tirainy. Don't take this one seriously. It's pure comedy and I love every second of it. Shadow is having a time for sure XD.

Silent Talkers by @brainworms-all-night-long. Takes place in the Prime Bros verse, feels intensified, all the good ones. A must read, trust me.

And speaking of the Prime Bros AU (in which all Shatterverse foxes also got adopted by Sonic and are now brothers), feel free to scroll through the 'prime bros' tag here. So many awesome posts for this particular au by everyone!

There's so many more, cool ones, epic ones. I haven't saved all and I'm probably forgetting some great ones too so I'm leaving this open for others to add. If y'all have more cool AUs, plz add to these (I wanna check em out too)

....

And now a few from the Fanfiction.net site because it doesn't have much audience compared to AO3 and there are some actual gems hidden there;

Premonition by thekiyuubivixen (not entirely an au but it feels like one due to the unique ability Sonic gains)

The Sonic Project by SconnieSA. Rated M but it's a pretty awesome AU and the rating is due to more serious themes and uncensored language in some parts. Highly recommending this one

Survivor's Resolve by DC111. Not entirely an AU but I must rec this fic it's so good and doea havs some AU vibes.

Sonic the Hedgehog: Attorney of Law by thedraconicwerewolf. Ace Attorney type AU with Sonic and Tails as main characters. Not too adventurous but very very fun and interesting and still managed to keep Sonic in character. Though it has a sequel started, I only rec the main story, not the sequal as it seems to be abandoned and isn't needed to be read like them cliffhanger stories.

beLIEve by Meow21. I have only read snippets from this, waiting for this story to continue but it seems to be discontinued. Felt like an epic story too and deserves to be recommended.

Sonic and the Golden Journey. Sonic gets thrown in another storybook, this time it's a children's classic fairytale. Short but very comedic and fun. Go read it.

Tales of a Samurai. I am begging you to read this one, please it's so good. Also by Taranea.

Wonderful and it's sequal Sanctuary by Inflamore for some Unbreakable Bond angst. (Kindly ignore the obliviousness of earlier ff.net for not knowing the meaning of certain symbols, there's nothing of the sort in story, trust me.)

Regrets by MazzyBooks. A high school au of sorts. Sonic centric with some heavy angst. I'm not kidding about the angst part, trust me. It had me hooked from the first chapter though and I believe it deserves a rec.

You need the cracks (to let the light shine through) by king.needlemouse. Istg this is the most underrated thing I've ever come across, it's one of my absolute favorite fics which I can never forget. Do read it.

Within this Nightmare by sonicfan1990. Sonic get transported to an alternate universe which has gone post apocalyptic and his counterpart in that universe has been dead. Pretty great story, lots of angst and everything.

And that's all I could remember and have saved for now. I'm leaving this open to more AU recs (yes even self plugs are welcome) so if you know any I missed, plz feel free to add. I hope you enjoy all these great AUs!

Thanks for the ask!

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fatuismooches · 1 year ago

Text

fabulam diu oblitus - first interlude.

synopsis: The tale of the raven and the sparrow has long been forgotten by most, but some will always remember.

includes: dottore w/ gn! reader

notes: This is the second part of a multi-chaptered Dottore fic, please read the prelude before reading this one. Your and Dottore's life continues to be told via a fairy tale crafted by the one and only Dendro Archon. Mostly fluff this chapter but the last two will not be so nice. Obligatory @kaixserzz mention and all my anons who inspired me to write this! (🎐 anon <3)

prelude. first interlude. second interlude. postlude. sequel.

“But one day, a miracle happened. The bird woke up from their eternal rest, utterly confused and lost.”

When you woke up, everything was hazy. Your eyes were open, but you couldn’t see anything. Rather, you could not process what you were seeing. It was a strange state. Everything felt fuzzy… but then the light from above glared suddenly right into your eyes, and you instinctively moved your hand to block the blinding light.

You were wide awake now, blinking your eyes and rubbing them. And though you had just woken up from a good nap, you quickly realized nothing made sense. Everything was eerily quiet, to the point where you could hear a pin drop. The grand and expensive room, the large plush bed. This wasn’t the hospital! And it looked absolutely nothing like the Akademiya either, not even the architecture! When you moved to stretch your arms, that’s when the biggest discovery finally hit you.

Attached to your arms was an alarming amount of wires, hooked up to machines and whatnot.

Okay… now you had gone from mildly confused to kind of scared. You weren’t dead, right? Nope, pinching yourself still hurts. And- ouch, the random sharp pains you suddenly got in parts of your body were most definitely real. And these clothes, they weren’t yours, but they looked like something you’d wear. But… why were you like this? And more importantly, where was Zandik? You remember your beloved quite clearly… you were waiting for him to visit you again… hmm. And for some reason, you felt… a lot better than what you remembered? You felt super tired in that hospital, but now, you think you got a bit better. That was weird. But anyway, you had bigger issues. It was even weirder how you were no longer in that drab, busy hospital.

There was no other option than to go find Zandik and learn where you were. However, you had to get rid of these wires first. Without putting too much thought into it, you pulled one off your arm.

Horrible idea.

Before you could even blink, a loud alarm suddenly started blaring inside the room, scaring the shit out of you. What the hell? As any frenzied person would do, you began to pull off even more wires from your arm rapidly before finally all of them were off. The alarm merely kept going off which was obviously quite disturbing to you. Were people going to burst through the door at any moment and incapacitate you again? Wait, were you kidnapped? Oh, you just wanted Zandik to be with you right now, you thought as you pulled the heavy blankets off your body. Surely he’d know what to do. And then the door to the room slammed open, immediately beckoning your attention as you snapped your neck to see who it was.

And lo and behold, it was Zandik.

Your Zandik, draped in the Akademiya’s robes. Those red eyes and blue hair that you loved. Suddenly you could forget about your current abnormal situation and block out the noise, solely focused on your heart positively soaring as you gazed upon your love.

But you quickly realized that he did not share the same expression. Not in the slightest. Rather, Zandik was looking at you with surprise, shock, astonishment, whatever you wanted to call it. It made you feel wholly uneasy. Why was your love looking at you as if you were from another universe? Like you had come back from the dead? Before you could question him, another person barreled in through the door. Another mop of blue hair. Another pair of red eyes. Another Zandik.

Your heart stopped for a moment.

Who were these people, and what have they done with your Zandik?

It only got worse when yet another Zandik look-alive entered. Only this time he was wearing bloodied clothing and gloves. You were too shocked to scream, and now all the other blue-haired people were panicking at your fearful expression and began fighting amongst themselves.

“Why would you come in looking like that?!”

“How was I supposed to know they had woken up?! It’s been centuries, I thought a wire detached by accident or something!” The one with the bloody coat and pink bow tie snapped back. The bickering continued but that was the least of your worries right now. You glanced around the room, trying to see if there was another escape route.

The windows. Yes, they would have to work. You didn’t know what floor you were on, but you’d have to take a gamble. You inched towards the end of the bed and swung your legs off the edge, hoping to bolt to it quickly. You placed one foot on the ground, putting all your force into it to sprint and-

Instead, your legs buckled and you fell pathetically to the floor, squeaking in a mixture of pain and surprise. You tried to heave yourself up with your arms, but your legs felt too weak. It was as if your legs wouldn’t, or perhaps couldn’t listen to your demands. You wiggled them around a bit, but it seemed as if they didn’t have enough strength to stand up on their own. You didn’t understand. Even though you were quite sick before, you could still walk a bit. This, however, was an unfamiliar sensation that filled you with dread. And now the Zandik clones’ attention was back on you.

“Oh fuck,” one of them mumbled, running his hands through his hair. You gulped, but they seemed reluctant to come near you judging from their nervous expressions. Well, you were going to take advantage of that, so you continued crawling toward the window. “Go get Prime. Now,” he hissed. A clone rushed out of the room but that was the least of your concerns. It was slightly humiliating to be watched as you crawled, but you persevered anyway. Thankfully, there was a table near the window, so you could use it to pull yourself up without using your legs too much. How were you going to escape with virtually no legs? Well, that was future [Name]’s problem.

The clones, on the other hand, seemed incredibly antsy about your hand on the curtain, ready to pull it away. It seemed as if they were trying to speak but didn’t know how. But without any more delay, you yanked the curtain to the side to reveal…

A completely white background. Snow that certainly was more than knee deep, that clung to the windows and weighed the trees down. You had never seen anything like it before. The mere sight of it made you dizzy and a nauseating feeling came over you as you stumbled back and landed on the floor again. Wherever you were, it was not Sumeru. And even if you could escape, you would certainly freeze to death in a few seconds. The reality of the situation made your skin crawl and overheat. You looked back at the fake Zandiks and noticed they were a bit closer than before. Your rapidly beating heart was not a good combination for the major headache that was beginning to grow.

“Don’t… don’t come near me,” your lightheadedness made the words come out more of a mumble than a command, your throat now dry and clogged. Not being able to defend yourself was a horrible feeling. Through your blurry eyes, you think the clones felt sorry for you… which really made you feel worse, to be honest, actually to the point of feeling like you were going to pass out from all of this stress and pain.

… And you did pass out. But not before a pair of hands caught you before your head hit the floor.

—

“Meanwhile, the raven could not contain his excitement. Finally, after four hundred years spent alone, his beloved was back. Despite all of the power and knowledge he basked in, he was admittedly… lonely without them. If the raven had never met them, he would have been fine. But the sparrow had relentlessly pecked a hole into his formerly impenetrable heart, one that they vowed to fill for eternity as an apology. But… they were not here to fill it for so long, creating an indescribable void in him.”

When one of his segments burst into his office without even knocking, Dottore was initially irritated. He did not like to be disturbed, especially in the middle of his own personal research. But 02 only had to say one word for his attitude to flip dramatically. Your name. He didn’t even wait for the clone to finish his sentence before he quickly made his way to your room, multiple possibilities running through his mind as to what could have happened. Surely it wasn’t possible for your condition to get even worse, right? He gritted his teeth and increased his pace until he saw the crowd at the door of your room. He didn’t bother questioning any of them as he stepped into the room, expecting to see your body still lying on the bed. But it was empty… because you were awake, wide-eyed, and a bit terrified, but awake nonetheless.

Even the wise doctor couldn’t help but be frozen in shock. Four hundred years of emptiness, of silence, of nothingness. A stagnant eternity had passed in front of his eyes. You had remained ever so still for so long, but now you finally were moving and speaking in front of him.

Would he call this a miracle? No, he would not because the scientist did not believe in miracles. He didn’t believe in anything that the Gods supposedly granted. He knew you would wake up, it was just a matter of when, and however long that was, he would wait. Contrary to what many people thought, Dottore could be a patient man. Perhaps it was because all of the people in the Fatui were witnesses to his short fuses and a low tolerance for inability, but he could be extremely patient with the proper circumstances. Now, all his waiting had finally paid off, Dottore thought as he caught you in his arms. Indeed… everything had finally paid off.

Dottore wondered how you would react when you woke up again. How much would you remember? Would you recognize him? He already had a multitude of notes and plans written for when you woke up, but it would depend all on you. You, you, you… yes, he would go to astonishingly and morally dubious lengths just for you.

—

“The butterfly had come to realize that their beloved raven had changed while they were sleeping. The raven had draped himself in fox fur, no longer the same from hundreds of years ago. The butterfly was not too bothered, as they were changed too, but they could not help but feel that they were left behind.”

When you woke up once again, the ceiling looked different and the bed you were in was much more plain and stiff than the previous one, as if no one used it. Though the out-of-place blanket and pillows looked as if someone threw them in out of consideration for you. You raised your hand to your temple and gently rubbed it. Somehow, your oncoming headache was gone, which was good. You began to observe the room. This one was a stark difference from the other one. It was mostly plain and boring, and much smaller. It literally only had this bed and a desk which was crowded with piles upon piles of paperwork, and you could faintly make out the writing. It was hard to read and bore a resemblance to… Zandik. Instantly your curiosity was piqued.

You don’t know what happened during the time you fainted, but somehow your legs seem to have gotten a bit stronger. In fact, there seemed to be a new bandage on your leg. Did someone inject you with something while you were sleeping…? You swallowed the unease before you hobbled over and quickly took a seat on the chair, eyes sweeping over the multitude of papers. You began reading the one on top.

“Experiment 23 has failed me once again with their utter uselessness. No matter how many times I modify the drug, their body keeps rejecting it leaving me only with a mess to clean up. What a pathetic waste of my time.” Alright, that was… something. You pushed that one to the side and began reading through more, but they were mainly the same gist. “Subject 14 died today. I must tell one of the segments to take care of it. Perhaps we can still get some use out of the body… A test subject attempted escape today. That was the first one in a while, but it was handled quickly.” More experimentation on different subjects, all labeled with a different number. It was no doubt horrifying but… oddly interesting to you. But one thing that stuck out to you was the name signed at the bottom.

Il Dottore. Il Dottore? What kind of name was that? You kept flipping through the papers, many falling to the floor when you noticed the desk also had some drawers. Pulling them open, there were a few notebooks inside. But that’s not what bothered you. It was the fact that each of them had one word on the cover.

Your name.

This day could not get any creepier. The theory of you getting kidnapped by some crazy person was starting to seem a lot more plausible. Though you hesitated at first, you just had to know what was inside, picking up the notebook on top. You flipped open to the first page. It had nothing but the same few words repeated over and over, divided by lines as the day changed. “No changes in [Name]’s condition.” Alright then… strange. Your eyes flicked over to the date written at the corner of the entry. Month, day, year, yes…

Wait. That year. Your eyes nearly popped out when you looked at it, for it simply could not be true. Because it was… extremely far into the future. A horrible feeling sank into you as you began rapidly turning the pages. Maybe it was just a mistake, you begged no one but yourself, but it was the same over and over again. And that’s when you got to the page that made you dizzy. “Today marks four hundred years since [Name] fell asleep.” The sheer shock of that sentence could have made you faint again.

Gulping, you grabbed the next notebook in the pile. The dates of these were before those of the first one. Yet again, one of the pages stated, “Today marks three hundred years since [Name] fell asleep.” And then the next notebook said, “Today marks two hundred years since [Name] fell asleep.” The last journal in the pile ended with, “Today marks one hundred years since [Name] fell asleep.”

In that one, the first page started with, “Today marks the first day since [Name] fell asleep.” The date on this page was very familiar to you. It was the year when you got sick. Trying to calm your unsteady breaths, you read the writing.

“I would have never thought things would have turned out like this. This possibility is one that I never thought of. That was completely foolish of me. I should have been more practical, more realistic. If I had planned for and acknowledged the possibility, perhaps I would have been able to prevent it. But it is too late now. I will write here every day to keep track of [Name]’s condition. If all goes accordingly, they will wake up in due time.”

You placed down the book and put your face in your hands, contemplating what you just read. So… if you were understanding this correctly… you’ve been stuck in a coma for over four hundred years, only now waking up. And this person, it had to be Zandik. He was the only one who would do all of this for you. But that didn’t explain why there were multiple copies of him running around… Oh… but the fact you were asleep for four hundred years… was that even possible? Was this real? A wave of fatigue at this information rolled through you again.

Not only did you miss over four hundred years of life… that meant you weren’t exactly human, were you? Or perhaps you were and you simply had your lifespan increased? So, so many questions. What happened to Zandik during this time? What happened to you? Were you even okay? How had your body survived such a thing? You felt like crying. How could this happen to you… you were about to actually start weeping when the door opened, giving you a start.

Another Zandik - or perhaps this was Il Dottore - stood at the entrance, hand frozen on the doorknob as he looked straight at you. You instinctively backed into the chair. You couldn’t help but still be uneasy after everything you just went through.

“[Name],” your name spilled out of his lips almost unconsciously, his face still expressionless, but that quickly changed as he broke out into a large, pointy smile. “[Name],” he said again, though much louder this time before locking the door behind him. “[Name]... you’re truly awake.” The way he reveled in your name seemed almost mad and obsessed. The man then noticed the disarray of his desk and grinned even further, striding up to you.

“Ah, ever the inquisitive one, are you? Seems like your curiosity has not changed. And you can still read my notes… good, good. Better than what I expected.” Zandik’s(?) voice only grew more delighted. You remained silent, to which he looked slightly disappointed, but he seemed to have expected this reaction as well. He bent down on one knee, placing one hand on his chest while the other intertwined with your own hand. He didn’t externally show how he felt when he did so, the sheer excitement he felt when your hand was no longer deathly cold, instead some warmth running through it now.

“Do not look like that, [Name]. You know who I am, do you not?” The scholar looked up at you expectantly, the pleased smile never leaving his lips. His touch, though it was through gloves, was so familiar. The voice, that was deeper than how you remembered it, made you feel a certain way. Your free hand reached out to his face, fingers tracing the mask he wore. Slowly, you began to remove it to see if he would object, but he did not even flinch. When you looked at his uncovered face, you just knew deep down it was Zandik. It was your Zandik who belonged to you. Though his face now had scars, it was him. Your beloved. You brushed your fingers against the scarred skin, and this time he nuzzled into your touch as if you were some kind of divine being.

“Zandik… Oh Zandik,” you murmured, staring right into his brilliant red eyes. “It’s you, isn’t it?” Zandik moved your hands closer to his lips, before biting down on your fingers with those sharp teeth of his.

“Indeed I am, dearest, but these days they tend to call me The Doctor.”

After that, you wouldn’t let go of Zandik, or rather, Dottore, as he came to explain. He answered your barrage of questions, one by one, which only blew your mind each time. After you fell into a coma, he was recruited by the Fatui. With their funding and support, he was able to keep you stable and also advance his own research, even reaching the high position of the Second Harbinger. Il Dottore, The Doctor to be exact. And those other people you saw, those were his segments. Segments from different periods of his life that he made… You were stunned by those accomplishments.

For hundreds of years, this went on as you remained stagnant… until now. Now, everything had changed, and Dottore was entirely fascinated with you. He ran countless tests, poked and prodded at all parts of your body, all while dumping so many things on you rapidly and excitedly. A recollection of all the things that had happened during your slumber. There were a good amount of words that you didn’t understand too… the language of Teyvat had surely changed a lot. It was quite reminiscent of the old days when he would keep you awake in the dorm with his rambling, but this felt oddly… different.

Dottore was a completely different person from the Zandik you knew. Though the old Zandik wasn’t a good person, Dottore was… different. Very different. There was no boundary he wouldn’t cross for his research, ignoring the laws of Teyvat and life itself. And he was wearing a fucking harness too… but… he did look quite attractive in it so… it was an upgrade for you. Though what really happened while you were asleep? He was different, so so different - powerful and intelligent enough to rival even the Gods, among numerous other feats. It felt like he was a completely different person.

Meanwhile, you felt as though you were stuck as that useless, weak student whose purpose was dwindling by the day. And that wasn’t really a lie to be honest, as you soon learned you still were quite ill. You had only woken up from a coma. You weren’t cured. Your body was still frail and fragile, needing medicine and lots of rest otherwise there would be consequences. And your legs, they were able to get a little bit better from the shot Dottore gave you that worked since you were no longer unconscious, but you still wobbled a lot. You still had a lot of pains in general from this mysterious illness as well. So all in all… conscious and alive, but not very well. But, you were still grateful. You had over four hundred years worth of life you missed out on… you wanted to catch up desperately.

Of course, there was also the number one desire to spend countless hours with Dottore now. And you had to get used to his new personality… No longer was he the snarky, snappy, and irritable boy you once knew. Now he was effortlessly cunning and charming, so above others as their opinions could not mean anything to one akin to a God. And while he had always been possessive, Dottore seemed to ramp it up out of nowhere. In a way, you understood, because if you had to be consciously separated from Dottore for that amount of time, you would have gone crazy a long time ago.

You were possessive too, but Dottore somehow was much more comfortable with physical and verbal affection than his old self from over four hundred years ago. You remember you’d have to beg and plead to merely sit on his lap before, but on the first day you awoke, he hoisted you there and refused to let you leave. He nipped at your ear and sensitive spots teasingly with no hint of embarrassment, all within a few hours after you woke up as if he couldn’t wait another moment. His hands were so big and they seemed to know every part of your body, he seemed to know exactly what to say to push your buttons now, all so different from when the positions were reversed a while ago… Of course, you still knew him quite well too, but still, you felt as though maybe he was partially a stranger now… Only time would tell you how much he had changed. You just hoped you were still good enough for him.

—

“Over time, the raven had divided himself into numerous others, each with a unique personality. The butterfly was initially scared by these new creatures, but eventually, they warmed up to the new ravens.”

It had been only a few weeks since you’d woken up, and although Dottore presented you with your own grand room in the lab, you hadn’t touched it much. Who could blame you? You were still jittery and nervous about all the new things in this world, and how to adapt to your new life. So he had gotten used to you crashing on his bed now every day. No, he wasn’t upset in the slightest. After all, he still had a lot to talk to you about. It would probably take a few centuries to tell you every little thing that happened during the last few centuries.

Dottore had shown you so many new wonders of Teyvat, things that could have never existed centuries ago, in all subjects and areas. It made you feel a bit scared and almost disheartened to know the world changed so much in your absence. But… there were some people in the lab to help you.

Dottore’s segments.

You had learned that the numbers went up to 24, but there weren’t actually 24 segments. They were numbered in the order of creation, and not all of Zandik’s created segments were successes so it jumped around at times. For example, there were no 11, 12, 17, and so on. Even with all of Dottore’s expertise in making clones, he didn’t guarantee success. And yes… their names were merely numbers.

Although the segments hadn’t hurt you in any way, you were still a bit… scared. Hearing that your lover now had copies of himself running about was one thing. Accepting it was another thing, and you tried to cling to your Zandik as much as possible. But the clones were always scattered throughout the laboratory, so you usually ended up bumping into them. Or perhaps they were following you on Dottore’s orders. He probably thought it wasn’t safe for you ever to be alone, especially right now. But you were trying your best to warm up to them, because, after all, they were still Zandik, no? Their love for you stemmed from Zandik’s overwhelming love for you. They were really a testament to how much you were cherished. And so, they were obviously worthy of your love and attention.

01 was the spitting image of Zandik when he was in the Akademiya. The last person you’d seen before you fell into a long sleep. Every time you looked at him, your heart hurt a little bit. He still had that snark you remembered so well, especially towards other people. And he still had that subtle softness afforded only to you, that you also remembered.

The bloody one who gave you a fright was 02. He had a pink bow tie and also donned a suit. You honestly weren’t sure what kind of phase Zandik went through during that stage of life to dress and act so drastically differently compared to his other clothes but it was… cute. You liked 02. He was a stark difference from the composed nature of the other clones, but you liked his laugh. Whenever you responded favorably to one of his long tangents, he sometimes hee-hee-ho-ho-ed loudly. 02 was also the most likely to bite you unprompted.

You had yet to meet 10, which was surprising because all the other segments were jumping at the opportunity to merely be in the same room as you. All Dottore had said was that he “needed some time” before he decided to speak to you. You weren’t sure what that meant, but you didn’t question it further. There were other segments as well, like 04. He was a serious and stern segment. The others were especially cautious around him. You were too, seeing his demeanor, but thankfully, he seemed to cool down around you. And 18 had a noticeably softer tone than the other segments and longer hair that embroidered his face nicely. He was also the one who seemed to smile a lot. This segment would always wave hi to you as well, funnily enough.

Meanwhile, 24 seemed to be the strongest of the segments and the highest-ranking one. The others didn’t seem to like him very much, but in the end, they always had to listen to him. He also seemed to be the boldest, and the most greedy. You distinctly remember your first meeting with him. It was something alright.

24 had raised your hand to his lips and kissed it, the smile on his face never leaving. “I have been waiting a long time to finally meet you, [Name].” Your words almost got stuck in your throat from the blatant display of affection. None of the other clones were ever so daring, instead settling with awkward conversation and fleeting glances of longingness at you.

“Oh… well, it’s nice to meet you…?” You waited for his name.

“Twenty-Four.”

“Ah. Nice to meet you then, Twenty-Four.”

“No, the pleasure is all mine,” he hummed before releasing your hand. “If you ever need something, by all means, feel free to tell me. I shall see it done, far more efficiently than anyone else.” You ignored the subtle remark thrown at his other fellow segments.

“Thanks, Twenty-Four,” you smiled slightly, not sure what else to say after that.

“Of course. I do look forward to our further conversations, [Name]. I imagine they will be quite enlightening,” his deep voice chuckled as he walked away. Well… that was certainly something. You swallowed your throat that had gone dry, still feeling a bit fuzzy from that kiss. His lips felt soft against your hand.

Well, regardless of how you felt about the segments, you had to warm up quickly as they were starting to be with you for almost every task. Though Dottore had solely administered your medicine at first, you learned that his Fatui work kept him far more busy than you anticipated… he really was different now, huh? No longer the student you could bother all day.

So instead, the clones had begun to share the responsibility of taking care of you, whether that be medicine, shots, check-ups, general tasks, or anything really. Nothing was off the table, considering how much you still struggled sometimes. You felt awkward at first, asking them for help, seeing as you felt embarrassed asking people who you didn’t know well, but they always seemed pleased to do it. Especially if you asked them specifically rather than another clone. So it would only be fair if you returned the energy to them.

You began with conversation. They reciprocated. You moved on to small touches. They liked that. You decided to give them each a kiss on the cheek. You probably should have thought some more about how that would affect them because there was no going back after that. Once you had shown so much interest, there was no way they weren’t going to take you up on your offer. Let’s just say it never ends with just one kiss. It ends with too much to count. So… nowadays it wasn’t unusual to find yourself on the operating table after a check-up, a segment on each side of you fighting over your attention. Perhaps one arm wrapped around your waist and another resting on your thigh… yes, very normal.

However, dealing with your health concerns wasn’t the only purpose of your beloved segments. They also had to teach you other things. 01 was on academics, as you would assume, him being the Akademiya clone and all. Well, it was less academics and more like relearning how to write properly and Teyvat’s new language. It was really hard, to be honest, to have your brain try and keep up with the sudden onslaught of new information, and for you to steady your hand from shaking so much, but surprisingly enough, 01 didn’t lose patience as quickly as you thought he would. You thought he would, considering how snappy you remember Zandik being in the Akademiya. 01 noticed your curious stare.

“What?”

“Nothing… I was just wondering why you haven’t said anything remotely snarky yet,” you hummed, leaning into the segment with squinted eyes. He rolled his eyes.

“You act as though you want me to yell.”

“Well…” you giggled at his incredulous expression before quickly retracting your statement. It was fun to tease him. And you already had a suspicion as to why he was so patient with you. That was… nice of him.

And 02… well, you weren’t exactly sure what 02 was supposed to be teaching you. He would just… talk a lot, about many different things, pace around the room as he did so, long coat fluttering after him, periodically fixing his bow tie. At the very least, he was quite knowledgeable and had experience journeying in other nations. Yes, that was what intrigued you the most out of all his rants. Especially when he spoke of his exploits in Mondstadt.

“You’re saying… you slayed a dragon? Like, killed it? It’s dead? All by yourself?”

“Indeed, I did. Though it’s a shame that-” Before 02 could finish his sentence, you could not help but jump up and clasp his hands in yours, beaming with excitement. Because really, how could you not be ecstatic at something like that? If one of Dottore’s clones could use such strength easily, it only further boggled your mind as to how strong Prime was.

“That is so, so, so amazing! I had no idea you were so strong!” Your eagerness to hear more was easily noticeable in your tone of voice. 02’s expression went blank for a few seconds, seemingly processing the sudden physical contact and how close you were to him, along with your words, before erupting into loud laughter, his very pointed teeth gleaming in the light. It suddenly occurred to the segment that this would be a perfect opportunity to unabashedly display his brilliance to you.

“Hahaha, if that story pleases you so, then you’ll be far more interested in what I have to say next. That was nothing really, hehe,” 02’s razor-sharp grin did not leave his face, nor did his hands release yours. Let’s just say 02 has a lot of tales to tell. Some were… not for the faint of heart, but you still loved them!

Though, all of the segments’ general duty was to help you regain what you’ve lost. Even the simplest things were not easy anymore. You had to come to terms that your stamina wasn’t the same. Yes, you even had to practice learning how to eat and cut up your food again. Your tongue had to adjust to the flavors of cuisine all over again. Deal with the suddenness of feeling very cold to suddenly hot. Shaking fingers and hands. You had to understand that you had stricter limits now, no longer being able to run or do certain tasks that would overexert yourself. Or sometimes you simply didn’t have the mental energy. Bathing, changing clothes, brushing your hair. Resolving yourself to get out of bed when you knew nothing you could do would amount to anything special. But… the segments helped you with everything. Every morning. Every night. And you were thankful for that.

So, all in all, your relationship with the clones was going pretty great! It's not like it couldn’t, considering how much they all adored you, to be honest. Yet, you still had not met the segment named 10. At first, it didn’t really cross your mind, but the more time you spent with the clones, the more you pondered about who the mysterious segment could be. When you asked 01, you were met with a scoff and eye roll. Hmm… guess they weren’t really a fan of him. However, your curiosities would be remedied soon enough, for there was a quiet knock on your room door a while later.

It was so quiet as if the person was unsure about whether they wanted to knock or not. Was it one of the segments, trying to slack off work again to talk to you? You quickly opened the door and were met with… nobody. You furrowed your eyebrows before a timid voice sounded from below.

You tilted your head down and there he was, a young child with blue hair and red eyes… that was startlingly similar to some people you knew… Then, everything seemed to click, and you instinctively knew who this mysterious child could be. It was 10. The one segment you hadn’t seen yet, the one Dottore told you not to worry about. Well, he was here now, but… that meant 10 was a clone of Zandik from when he was a child.

You were, quite frankly, shocked, because never did it cross your mind that Dottore would ever clone his child self. You couldn’t think of exactly what purpose that would serve, considering how the kid couldn’t do the same tasks his adult versions could. His perspective, perhaps? But you knew what happened to Dottore during his childhood. You clearly remember the night in the Akademiya when you told you. He didn’t want your pity, your sympathy, he spat. Despite his protests and attempts to push you away, his words were smothered when you held him close to your chest that night.

But nevertheless, it was time to put those feelings away for you must put your attention on the child in front of you, who was now fiddling with his clothes and fingers in silence. His eyes flicked back to you and the ground, his mouth opening to speak but closing it again before any words could escape, so you spoke first, crouching down to his height.

“Hello, little one. You must be Ten, am I right?” The boy perked up at the mention of his name.

“You know me?”

“Of course I do,” you smiled. “I’ve been eagerly waiting to meet you.” Those few words made 10’s face light up. It seemed like he enjoyed attention. But he still looked nervous. Based on what you knew, you guessed that he’d been hurt by adults and people in general far too much than he should have been, so he was wary about you for a while despite Dottore’s and the older segments’ adoration for you. Of course, you wanted to help him feel safe and reassured around you. And that would only happen by spending time with him.

“Would you like to come in? I have snacks we can share!” You gestured to the inside of your room, and the child looked intrigued, but still on the verge of indecision. “... And I can also read cool stories for you!” That was something kids liked, right? Well, it looked like you guessed right because 10’s whole expression changed as he nodded and suddenly invited himself into your room. It seemed like 10 wanted to trust you badly… and trust you he did.

10 was absolutely precious, more than words could describe. During the first few days, he was quiet, preferring to listen to you read the books he brought you. Sometimes you caught him looking at you, perhaps studying you. But once you continuously showed him kindness and love, the child transformed into a brand new person. He was glued to your side, and all the segments knew about it too. 10 always wanted to be near you. 10 liked the other segments, he really did, but you were the only one who was so nice to him. Ruffling his hair whenever he learned something new. Always indulging his silly little requests, drawing and coloring with him. Showing you his favorite hiding places around the lab. You were sad you couldn’t carry little 10 in your arms, but holding his hand as you two walked together was more than enough.

There was just something about 10 that was so endearing, that felt like he was healing your soul, even just a little bit. He was also extremely openly worried about you, scared that you would get winded over the simplest things. Which was a valid concern, but you reassured him you were stronger than it. It was quite sweet to see him run in front of you to open the doors for you like a gentleman, however. You also learned not to underestimate him, because 10 could truly give some of the most crushing hugs ever. In a loving way, of course. If only you didn’t need the ability to breathe, you’d let him hug you like that whenever. In other words, 10 was your baby.

But, in a way, it was strange to know that Dottore was once a child as simple as they come, although with his own eccentricities and curiosities. A child who did child things before he was deemed a monster. A child who just wanted to be held and reassured.

Regardless, lately, you've been thinking about something. Thinking about the segments’ names, to be exact. You really did love them, and so now you were starting to have an issue with calling them random numbers. They were clones, but they were still people to you… their identity was more than a number! Especially 10. You really did not want to refer to the sweet child as 10.

This had been resting on your mind for a few days and the segments noticed your contemplative expression. It was one of those days where you would just sit in the lab and watch them as they scurried about, doing their duties. It was interesting to watch. But you were caught in a daze more than normal when a voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Do tell me [Name], you seem to be in deep thought lately. What plagues your mind so?” It was 24, his deep voice resonating in your ears. It was then you realized all the other segments’ attention was on you too. Oops. Perhaps you were daydreaming too much.

“Oh… it’s nothing really,” you wondered if they would think your idea was stupid. After all, they didn’t seem to really care about being called a number.

“Nonsense,” 24 shook his head. “Speak your mind.” Well, here you go.

“How do you all feel about your name?” You asked, addressing the other segments as well. “About being called a number, I mean.” The segments looked at you a little strangely.

“I don’t really care,” one of them spoke.

“I care,” another huffed. “Why does Prime get to be called Prime while we’re nameless?”

“That’s a stupid question. It’s because he’s the creator, and we’re merely the segments.”

“It is annoying when someone mixes up our numbers and then something gets messed up with the operations. But nothing major.”

“Why do you ask, [Name]?”

“Well… I was thinking of not calling you guys numbers anymore. I just don’t like how it sounds, considering how much I know you all now, you know? I was just wondering if maybe I could give you all real names instead. But if everyone likes it the way it is now then that’s fine too.” When you finished speaking, the lab was uncharacteristically silent.

“Um… hello?” You chuckled awkwardly as you looked around to find the clones with blank looks on their faces before they all started speaking the same thing at once.

“I want the name.”

“I would like one as well.”

“Me too, dear [Name].”

“To think you would be the one to bestow me with a proper name. How fitting,” 24 smirked. Shit, even he was on board with this.

“Huh? Didn’t you all just say you didn’t care too much about it??” You could have laughed at the dramatic switch-up.

“I’ve changed my mind. Being called a number is actually quite a hindrance.” (That was mostly a lie, this segment didn’t want to admit he just wanted to own something that was given by you, and what bigger honor could be given by a name?)

“Indeed, having a real name would surely be beneficial for many reasons.” (The many reasons being that he could be happy that you gave him a new part of his identity.)

And now, all of a sudden, you had many pairs of eyes directed towards you, waiting expectantly, and you felt extremely unprepared now. What would you name them? For one, you really weren’t that good at names. And you didn’t want to name them something weird either. They were Dottore’s segments after all. It had to fit them… Think, [Name], think… think of something good right now or else you’ll disappoint these poor segments who look so pleased over a name. You then remembered a book you had skimmed through while practicing with 01, that held the letters of a certain alphabet. And suddenly, a brilliant idea popped into your head.

“I’ve got it!” You jumped up and exclaimed to the room. And then, with glee, you swung your hand and pointed it to 01. “From now on, you are no longer 01. You are Alpha.” Alpha blinked at your declaration.

Then, you moved onto 02. “You, my dear, are Beta. And you,” your finger moving to every clone in the room. “you’re Gamma. Delta. Epsilon. Zeta.” The more you went on, the more they predicted what their name would be. “Eta. Theta. Iota. Sigma. Phi. And lastly, Omega.” You grinned pretty widely after that. That was pretty smart of you, wasn’t it?

“I see… using the letters of that alphabet also corresponds with the numbers that we were given… hehe, how clever,” Beta grinned to himself, enjoying the first few seconds of being Beta.

“And they are short and easy to remember,” Omega hummed. “Good, very good indeed, [Name].” Omega’s hands brushed your cheek, always the possessive one, while the other segments looked on in jealously. You cleared your throat.

“A-Anyways, make sure to tell everyone your new names!” And soon enough, everyone in the lab was aware of the replacement. Even Dottore, as you had made sure to tell him right after. Initially, he thought you were joking, but nope, you were one hundred percent serious. Alright then, he’d let you have your fun. He didn’t know you were this bored, to be honest.

But it wasn’t until previously named 24 corrected him with only the word “Omega” when he referred to the segment as a number that he realized that you really did change all of their names. Well, Dottore didn’t care too much for names or numbers regarding them, it was all the same anyway, but he’s been letting you spend too much time with the clones… he’ll have to force you to sit on his lap for a while when he’s stuck doing paperwork. He’s the only one who should be the center of your attention.

There was still one last segment you had to name - your dearest 10. You were most excited to name the little boy, having wanted him to have a name to call his own the most. But, there was something that didn’t feel right. Sure, you could just give him another letter of the alphabet but 10’s one had to be… different. The child just had that much of a special place in your heart. And so you pondered and pondered until you came to a decision.

Zandy was the one who would quite literally run behind you and cling to your leg whenever another segment was near. Zandy was the one who would sit in your lap and ask you to read and explain big words to him. Zandy was the one who wouldn’t let go when he softly spoke about the nightmare he had with his hometown.

He was Zandy.

—

“Although the flightless butterfly found great company and love in Dottore and his segments, they still longed for the companionship of others. Thankfully, they managed to make a few friends - a friendly orange fox, a lovely white dove, and a sly snow leopard.”

There was no one that you loved and cared for more than Dottore. That was a fact that would never change no matter what he did or how much blood stained his hands or morals. His presence was one that brought comfort to you, which obviously would sound like a deranged lie to anyone else considering the kind of man Dottore was. But so be it. No one would ever understand your relationship.

But… it would also be a lie to say you didn’t long for the camaraderie of others. It had been a while since you woke up, and the urge to have a friend or two was much stronger than in the Akademiya. Perhaps the loneliness that came with your illness was getting to you. You knew you could tell anything to Dottore but… it would feel nice to have someone to chat with every now and then about mundane, funny things, to get your mind off other stuff, and not to bother your lover so often. It seemed luck would be on your side this time (how rare) because you got exactly what you wanted.

Childe was the first one who had found you first, and it was wholly a chance encounter.

You were simply going back to your room when suddenly a voice called out to you. (Speaking of, you began living in your own room instead of hogging Dottore’s one all the time. You liked it there, you really did… but it was too boring and bland, and your bed was way more comfy than the brick that was Dottore’s bed. And you were starting to adjust to life a lot more now.)

Regardless, the voice certainly wasn’t Dottore or the segments. Turning to look, it was the unfamiliar face of a blue-eyed ginger-haired man. Your eyes nearly popped out of your skull.

Practically no one knew of you. The few Fatui assistants there who happened to come across you merely thought of you as another experiment, perhaps one he favored more than the rest. You didn’t talk to them, and they didn’t talk to you. Dottore’s order of others to leave you alone was understood as just another one of his cruel ways of isolating you.

Of course, this wasn’t his intention. If you want to talk to others, then you should do as you please (within reason… no one else shall be hogging your attention besides him.) He respects you. But at this point, it was simply far too risky. Even with the clones, it could be dangerous for you. And of course, not only as a scholar but your lover, he must take into account all possibilities. If there was the slightest chance you’d be hurt, he wouldn’t do it. So you were resolved to be lonely for a while.

Until now. The tall man continued walking towards you, donning a gray suit with a contrasting red mask and scarf, Hydro Vision hanging off his hip. His smile seemed friendly enough and he even raised a hand to greet you, but you were stuck with your hand on your doorknob.

“Hello, comrade. How are you doing?” He was awaiting a response but you were just stuck in the same blank expression, completely unmoving as you gaped at him.

“Are you alright?” He noticed and inquired. Oh dear. This was growing far too embarrassing for your liking. No one had ever prepared for you for what to say in these situations. Should you respond? Or leave? You decided to go with the former, opting to simply nod your head in confirmation. The ginger chuckled, playing it off as you were probably being intimidated by his Harbinger ranking, unbeknownst to him the fact you had no clue who he was.

“I was wondering if you knew the way to Dottore’s office? The segments gave me directions, but every time I come here, I always get lost. This lab is never easy to navigate,” he sighed, scratching his head.

You raised an eyebrow at his comment. This hallway with your room was specifically hidden within the lab, woven deep between many twists and turns. You genuinely wondered how lost he had to be in order to find himself here. But more importantly, you were faced with the question of whether you should help this man or not. Surely it was okay, you were just giving him directions after all. You would be irrelevant in his mind soon enough. It wasn’t like you were craving some human interaction even though you were a bit scared of talking to people.

Decisively, you turned around and pointed forward. “Go down that way,” you began softly, “and then take two lefts, then a right, another left, then straight, and finally one more right.” You knew the way like the back of your hand, after all, you went there frequently when you were sad, happy, in pain, whatever. When you looked back, the man looked as if you had just spoken another language.

“...Thank you, comrade. Hopefully, I find it, then!” You smiled at him. He was pretty nice.

“Of course. It’s not as long of a walk as you think, too.” The man chuckled in response.

“Whatever distance is fine with me. I always welcome the extra training!” With that, he waved you goodbye and began walking in the direction you pointed him to. Ah, you didn’t ask him his name… but you probably wouldn’t see him again anyway. But he did have a Vision so he was probably fairly strong… oh well. When you were all comfy between your blankets you’d soon forget about it anyway.

And you were right. You did forget about it once you were tucked in with a nice book to read. Until there was a knock on your door. You thought nothing of it, thinking it was a segment at your door for whatever reason. A snack perhaps. Or one of them snuck away from their duties to visit you. Or maybe even Dottore himself! Regardless, you opened your door without hesitation ready to greet them. Unfortunately for you, it was not a segment. It was not Dottore. It was the same ginger from before, standing at the entrance to your room, with that same smile except it was more apologetic this time.

“Hi there again. You see, I did follow the directions you gave me but I was unsuccessful. So I’m back here again,” the man laughed and rubbed his neck. “I was wondering if you could take me there yourself? You seem to know this place pretty well.”

Your throat went dry as you had to hide your incredulous expression. Seriously, what kind of person did he have to be to end up here not once, but twice? Though he didn’t seem to think anything of it, which was good. But it was then he took notice of the environment behind the doorway, a brief surprise flickering across his face.

“Wow, quite the room you have there.” His stature made it easy for him to peer into your room. Since there was not much for you to do with your illness, you had a lot of fun designing your room (which came out of the “Regrator’s paycheck” according to Dottore.) Your room was decorated and tailored to your preferences, whether that was posters on the wall or hanging lights, shelves lined with your special interests and hobbies. It was easily the most “normal” room in the lab like someone actually lived there. Quite unlike the clones’ room which was literally just a bed and desk. Zandik’s wasn’t much better, but you bought stuff from your room and left it in his in hopes of making it more comfy for him. Instinctively you closed the door further in.

“Maybe you should just go back and ask one of the segments,” you murmured, trying to escape the situation and inching the door closer and closer in.

“I could, but those guys would probably ignore me and give me the same directions again. They aren’t very fond of me.” Well, even you couldn’t really deny that. They didn’t really like anyone… besides you of course. “And then I would end up back here, bothering you again. And finding another agent to assist me would take even longer. And Dottore doesn’t like to be kept waiting, you know.”

He did have a point… really, it wasn’t like you minded taking him, you were just worried about if it would have any consequences. But, when you finally got a good look at the ginger, for some reason, you didn’t feel like anything bad could possibly happen. Plus, it wasn’t like the segments had to know… maybe, just maybe, you could trust him and finally have a real human conversation with someone besides your lover and his segments. Before you could change your mind, you agreed to his proposal with newfound confidence.

“Okay, follow me then.” Then you locked your door and the man began to follow you. Thankfully the dull-eyed man had no problem starting the conversation first.

“By the way, I don’t think I’ve got your name.”

“I’m… [Name].” For a brief second, you contemplated giving him a fake name but couldn’t think of anything good. “What is your name?” He raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“You don’t know me? I’m Tartaglia, one of the Fatui Harbingers. But you can just call me Childe.” Childe. Childe. That name sounded vaguely familiar. Childe… that was one of the guys Dottore always complained about.

“Oh, I think I’ve heard of you from Dottore.”

“Plenty of bad things, I assume. But I can promise you, I’m not as bad as he says.” You giggled a bit at that.

“Well, I’ll trust you on that.”

“But I am curious. You don’t seem like one of Dottore’s experiments.”

“Yes, I’m not.”

“So are you a Fatuus?”

“Well, I guess you can say that.” Does being Dottore’s lover make you a member of the Fatui by extension?

“Most members of the Fatui know who the Harbingers are, you know.”

“Err, well, I’m one of his personal assistants,” you lied. “So I don’t know much about the organization itself, since he makes me stay here all the time. You know how he can be. Haha.” You didn’t know what kind of bullshit you were spewing but you just hoped it made some sense.

“Oh, you’re one of his assistants? I haven’t seen you around. I thought he goes through assistants like nothing.”

“Yeah, he does, but… I have special… skills that he likes.” You hoped that would be enough. Childe seemed to nod in understanding.

“Your clothing doesn’t seem to be one of an assistant, though.” He was referring to your casual and comfortable daily outfit.

“As I said, I am special. You know, I have privileges.” That wasn’t a flat-out lie, at least. Childe looked amused.

“How interesting.” And then the conversation moved elsewhere. Childe was still definitely a bit suspicious of you. You could tell by the way he looked at you. But he was a seemingly friendly and easygoing man. If he asked a question that you couldn’t answer, he steered the conversation elsewhere. He was a great conversationalist in general, allowing you to open up a bit despite having just met him. Childe spoke about many things, his training, some battles, his cooking (he even shared with you some new Sumerian recipes you never heard of!), and most interesting to you, the world beyond the lab. Time flew quickly and soon enough you two were outside of Dottore’s office. And you couldn’t help but admit, that was incredibly pleasant.

“Well, here we are, Childe. Dottore’s office.”

“Ah, you were right! That wasn’t as long as I thought. Thank you for your help, [Name]. I’ll go in now.” He sent you a final smile before turning around but you quickly interrupted.

“Oh! Um, by the way, it would be for the best if you kept the fact you met me a secret. Please.”

“Alright then, I will. No one will know.” You beamed in response.

“Thank you! Now, I guess… good luck with the meeting!” And then you two went your separate ways.

You liked Childe. He was fun to talk to. And it seemed like your wish would be granted because the next week, there was a familiar knock at your door. It was Childe. Although he knew the way better now, he still wanted you to guide him “just in case.” And of course chat with you along the way. Perhaps the latter was the true purpose of his visits, but regardless, this was the start of a secret friendship between you and the Eleventh Fatui Harbinger. Childe’s visits to Dottore were sporadic and you couldn’t predict when he would come, so it was a nice surprise whenever he did come around. And no one, not even Dottore himself knew. You didn’t like keeping secrets from your beloved, but it was too good to stop. But of course, all secrets are revealed in the end…

You had once again fallen asleep in Dottore’s office, refusing to leave his side and actually sleep in a proper bed. So he was carrying you back to your room to tuck you in so you wouldn’t whine to him about cramps and sores later. You’d probably complain to him about how you wanted to stay with him but he was used to it.

Dottore didn’t need to worry about being seen as these hallways were specifically hidden and practically couldn’t be found unless you were perhaps looking for them. And no one would look for them as no one besides he and his segments knew of their existence. So Dottore took the time to gaze down at you as he walked. There you were, sound asleep without a care in the world. A part of him still found it amusing how knocked out you were in the arms of a person like him. Weren’t you even the least bit concerned about what he could do? (Of course, the answer was no, because you knew he would never hurt you.)

He continued to your room with an uncharacteristic softness that would almost appear disturbing to others. At last, he reached it, without any-

… Problems, is what Dottore would have liked to say, for at your door was the Eleventh Fatui Harbinger, hand about to knock but now frozen, the two Harbingers standing silent as they stared at each other, almost comedically unmoving. Childe immediately took note of how Dottore held you in his arms bridal style, your head nuzzled into his chest and arms bunched together there as well. The soft rises of your chest signaled that you were peacefully asleep in the Doctor’s arms. There were absolutely no signs of discomfort or fear as any normal person would have around the mad doctor.

Unconsciously, he gripped your body tighter. As much as Dottore would have liked to know why and how the fuck Childe managed to get here, and somehow want to knock on your room of all doors, he was absolutely beyond the point of questions.

“Tartaglia.” From his tone only, Childe knew he had stumbled upon something he should not have seen. “Speak of this to anyone, and not even your title will save you.”

After that little encounter, when you woke up, Dottore confronted you about what happened, and immediately couldn’t help but spill everything that happened over the course of the past few months. When you looked up at his expressionless face, you were internally scared that he would be angry with you, the silence after your confession driving you crazy, but thankfully he wasn’t. The only thing he did was sigh at your pleading face and then thumb your cheek.

“Perhaps I’ve been too harsh on you. I do remember how you liked to talk to others back then,” he hummed, which was the complete opposite of his younger self. You buried your head in his chest and looked up at him with imploring eyes.

“So can he come over again?” Of course, Dottore’s first instinct was to reject this proposal for he didn’t want that fool to be even six feet near you, but the helpless expression you were giving him made him waver.

“I shall… think about it.” That was enough for you as you kissed him on the cheek. “At least it wasn’t the Third or the Ninth. They would be insufferable.”

“Those are the other people you always complain about,” you giggled.

“Yes, but you needn’t think about them. They won’t be coming around here anytime soon.”

Unfortunately for Dottore, it was already too late.

A few days later, there was another knock at your room door. It was almost comical at this point, you thought when you saw a young woman with numerous white accessories and a man as tall as Dottore wearing an unreadable smile at your door. Hell, you should just host a sleepover at this point.

“Well, it seems that Childe didn’t lie after all. Now I know who Dottore spends my precious Mora on behind my back,” the smiling man seemed more amused than angry if anything. Oh, so this was the guy who funded Dottore…

“You know, it was quite a challenge to get here, dear [Name]~ It’s not that easy distracting so many segments.” The girl also seemed amused and giggly. Both of them had their eyes closed with only smiles… it was an odd combination that worked.

“Um… are you Miss. Columbina and Mr. Pantalone by any chance?” You managed to piece together the names and rankings by paying more attention to the segments’ rants. The two most “nosy and annoying” people that Dottore has the displeasure of working with, apparently.

“Why, did you hear that, Lone? They know our names already! Perhaps our dear Dottore has been talking about us more than we think,” Columbina laughed, treading her fingers through her long hair, to which Pantalone chuckled along.

“Indeed, though I wonder what kind of tales he has told this one. [Name], may we come in?” The banker tilted his slightly to the side, and you had no reason to refuse. You just hoped Dottore wouldn’t be too mad. (Poor him, his dear darling being corrupted by the likes of the Damslette and Regrator. Oh well.)

Regardless, the three of you hit it off immediately. The conversation flowed naturally, a lot of it being stories of Dottore that you had no clue about. You were surprised by how naturally everything came. Of course, the two powerful people still largely had their guards up, but it was still… nice. Fun. Perhaps the Harbingers have a little more humanity in them than most people think.

Columbina found herself around you the most. You were surprised at first - she was the Third Harbinger - surely she had much more important things to be doing besides hanging out with you. But she always laughed airly, reassuring you. She had known Dottore for a long time, she said, but never knew about you. And she would like to learn more about her newfound friend. Especially to see the annoyed expression of The Doctor when she steals too much of your time. (She loved to irritate him.)

Pantalone valued your intelligence. For some reason, he began asking you for your opinion in matters, nothing confidential of course, but still, it was notable. You were no Dottore, but the difference was that you were always willing to assist, much unlike The Doctor and his segments. And, you were greatly helpful in deciphering the confusing words of the segments and Prime himself, so Pantalone ended up taking a strange liking to you. You weren’t sure if it was because you were useful to him and his endeavors, or if he just found you amusing, or if he genuinely thought of you as a friend or just probably just an acquaintance, but no matter the reason, it was… nice to be around him every now and then. So long as Dottore wasn’t there. Otherwise, the calmness would quickly become tense instead.

Childe too, was like a little brother to you. You didn’t know why you felt that way, but you just did. He was arguably the most “normal” out of all of them (as normal as a Fatui Harbinger could be) and he was just… pleasant to be around. He was knowledgeable in the more “ordinary” aspects of life, having his own family which he loved dearly. You liked that about him. It felt silly talking to Dottore about such simple things, but not with Childe.

At the end of the day, your friends made you happy. Whether it made Dottore and his segments happy, seeing these three idiots invade the lab more often than they liked, was something you already knew the answer to. But your lover wouldn’t do anything too harsh. Not when you looked so joyful from this. So perhaps this was a small price to pay, considering how miserable you looked in the beginning.

And really, you always would belong to him, after all. Nothing would ever come in between.

—

“Though not everyone liked the butterfly. In particular, there was a fierce cat that always seemed to swipe at them whenever the two met.”

The Balladeer was someone whom you were used to seeing in the lab every now and then. You didn’t really care much for him in all honesty, but he certainly had taken some kind of interest in you, at least enough to say some not-so-nice things to your face. The puppet had seen you with the clones, with the Doctor himself, and the adoring looks you sent to them… he was disgusted by the notion of love to say the least, especially between you two but… he was intrigued. Scaramouche wanted to at least have a glimpse into the person who would make the Doctor leave in the middle of his beloved experiments to check on.

What he found was nothing spectacular. You were so fragile, even frailer than the young child he met all those centuries ago. You were weak, so weak. In fact, even an insect would be harder to kill than you. Useless too, he thought, and it was as if you knew it too because he’d see you beg the clones to just give you something to do, something to occupy your hands and mind. And… he found the personality and looks of all humans to be unexceptional so that didn’t help your case either. Scaramouche was practically convinced you were nothing more than a source of amusement for the Doctor, the doting only a form of his usual cruel manipulation. Again, you didn’t care for his theories, but his voice did grate on your ears.

Though, this time, the Sixth Harbinger had caught you on a bad day. There was no particular reason why you were having a bad day. It was just one of those days, where everything seemed to bother you. Not to mention you felt your illness was acting up more than usual… going on a walk around the lab’s endless corridors always seemed to free your mind up though.

Though of course, you were accustomed to things not going your way.

“Well well, look who we have here. The Doctor’s little plaything,” Scaramouche mocked. Oh, it was just your luck. Out of all the deserted halls, he had to be in this one. You decided to try and simply ignore his words, yet in an instant, the Harbinger was in front of you.

“I really don’t see what he sees in you,” he narrowed his eyes at you. “What kind of amusement does he use you for?”

“... I would appreciate it if you left me alone.” Scaramouche scoffed in response.

“Maybe you don’t want to admit it, but the Doctor has no capacity for feelings or emotions. Anyone close to him will meet a nasty end. Do you really think you’re any different?” The Balladeer smirked.

“...” Normally you would just turn a blind eye, but you were just so annoyed with everything today.

“What’s wrong? You’re usually so lively and talkative-”

“Look,” you finally interrupted, “just because you’re pissed with the world doesn’t mean you have to bother me with your delusions,” you snapped, fed up with his bickering with you. Hell, your life was no sparkles or rainbows but you didn’t go around making everyone miserable because of it. “At least my lover didn’t abandon me for crying, unlike someone else’s mommy.” It was only after the words had come out of your mouth that you realized what you said.

For a few seconds, there was a tense silence in the corridor. The expression on the puppet’s face made you stiffen. Oh fuck.

“How dare you, you insignificant-” Before the Balladeer could hurl any more insults at you, a stern voice interrupted him.

“I suggest you speak to them in a more respectful tone, Scaramouche.” The sudden intrusion made both you and Scaramouche jump. Neither of you had sensed the Doctor’s presence, who seemingly appeared out of nowhere as he loomed over Scaramouche. “Any further language will not be tolerated.”

For a split second, Scaramouche froze but quickly regained his usual demeanor, his ever-present scowl and balled fists returning. “Whatever,” he flipped around mumbling some more curses under his breath, the back of his hat swaying with every movement. In no time, it was just you and Dottore in the hallway, and he was staring right at you.

“How long?”

“Well-” you were going to try and blow it off as nothing important but the look he was giving you made you realize that he wouldn’t take that as an answer. “A w-while now,” you admitted. Dottore was silent for a few moments before he spoke.

“He will be dealt with accordingly,” Dottore promised as he cupped your cheek.

“...Okay,” you murmured, leaning into his touch. You knew that this wasn’t exactly right. You knew that later today you’d hear the screams of the puppet echoing throughout the lab. But as the warmth of Dottore’s hand permeated your cold skin, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

—

“The butterfly’s life seemed to be going well. A partner who loved them along with multiple segments. Friends who spent time with them. But in reality, life was much harder and dim for them than they outwardly showed sometimes. In fact, the butterfly found themselves plagued by dreams. They weren’t nightmares, but when they woke up, it certainly felt like one. Or when they did have genuine nightmares, they felt the same unease and wept about their unfortunate situation.”

Ah. Nahida was at this part of the tale. Though she would always disapprove and be the enemy of you and the Doctor, the kind God couldn’t help but feel a little bit of sympathy for you. In all of her wisdom, even she had no information of your illness. Not to mention your loneliness… she too, was lonely once, when she was trapped all by herself in the Sanctuary. But at the very least, she was able to visit others through dreams.

You, on the other hand, had no such escape. Trapped forever in your own body, with not much to be done… your own dreams serving as torment instead… how tragic, Nahida admits. But nonetheless, the Dendro Archon gets herself ready to continue the fairy tale she’s crafted.

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fairyysoup · 2 months ago

Text

cowboy like me

part two: takes one to know one

pairing(s): wild west outlaw!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: The strange man who stumbled into your hiding place is an idiot and also really pretty. It turns out trouble is something you have in common.

cw: mature themes, cowboy/wild west au, slow burn, enemies to lovers-ish?, past eddie x chrissy mention, guns, implied outlaw!reader, death threats, gunshot wounds, definitely inaccurate descriptions of frontier medicine, blood, some dark comedy.

word count: 2.7k

a/n: Behold the newest installment of Rose playing with barbies: cowboy edition. This is a continuation of an initial chapter I posted nearly a year ago now. I want to thank everyone who has been patient with me, since this year has been really terrible for my inspiration and creativity. I do my best to write when I can, but shit's been real hard if I'm honest. So thank you for sticking with me, even when I haven't been all that active on the writing front.

THIS ENTIRE FIC IS EXPLICIT. ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

part one | fic playlist for your listening pleasure

Once he loses consciousness, Eddie’s wound is fairly easy to dress. You find three old bottles of whisky hidden behind a false back to a cabinet, and uncork one to use as antiseptic.

He hasn’t lost a lot of blood, to be fair. His blouse is ruined, but the blood had barely begun to saturate his coat, and the wound isn't more than a deep gash in his side. It seems that the bullet had only grazed him.

It doesn’t help your predicament that Eddie is very, very handsome when he’s not actively creating an extreme inconvenience. The shadows make his cheeks look more sunken than they actually are, but his eyelashes flutter like he’s seeing a pleasant dream behind them. They touch his cheeks and make him look like a prince from a fairytale book you had as a girl.

M’just doing whatever you tell me to, princess.

He’s a regular damsel in distress, this Eddie character. You wonder what his end goal is. You wonder what he did to be on the run from Jason Carver and his goons.

But this isn’t a fairy tale, you remember, and nor are you any kind of a princess, despite what he calls you. Nothing is more apparent when you look down at Eddie’s blood on your hands and dress, and you have to use a cut piece of your underskirt to tie against the stitches you gave him with a sewing needle you found at the bottom of a desk drawer. Sterilized with fire and a bit of liquor, of course.

By the time that Eddie finally stirs, night has fallen. You’ve already shed your bloody day dress and soaked it in some cold water from the well out back; which you harvested in the dark, mind you, because you don’t know if Jason Carver’s buddies are still hanging around to see if you actually are hiding a fugitive in here. The last thing you needed was someone seeing you come conspicuously wandering out of a cabin covered in blood, for no discernible reason.

There’ll be a stain on the dress, but that’s nothing you can’t tie an apron over and call it a day. What you really wish is that the well was a bit more of a river, so you could jump into it and let it pull you downstream, away from all this mess, and take all the blood and grime of the day with it. What you wouldn’t give for some proper soap.

Eddie groans, and for the first time in hours you find yourself genuinely scared. Scared that maybe his wound was worse than you expected. Scared that he’s gonna die of sepsis right in front of you. Worse, scared that he’s gonna ask you questions, and you don’t know what you’ll even say.

Your gaze falls on the leather satchel by the door– the one that holds everything you have to your name inside of it. Everything that put you in this predicament in the first place. You have a mind to burn it on the fire, but you hesitate. There’s still hope for you yet, if you can just get out of here.

Eddie’s eyes blink open just as soon as you’ve turned toward your soaking dress, hanging from a pin on the mantle, and you reach to turn the wetter side toward the flames. There was just enough old wood in the cabin to build a half-assed fire, which is about the only thing you can be thankful for at the minute, considering the wind rips through the canyon quicker than a mustang and the cabin gets the brunt of it.

Behind you, Eddie coughs. And then he says something– or, he tries, but it comes out about as pretty as a braying donkey with laryngitis.

“Hush,” you tell him, and hurry to pour him a cup of leftover clean well water. ‘Clean’ being a term used loosely. It’s water and it wasn’t used to clean your dirty clothes, but that’s about what you can say for it.

He takes it graciously all the same. After he’s drained the cup, his head flops back onto the pillow in another cloud of dust, and he scrunches his nose up in a way that shouldn’t be as cute as it is. “How long was I out for?”

It’s the first thing he’s said that you can make out, but it’s a question that doesn’t make you cringe to answer it. “Couple hours. Patched your wound.”

“Oh, y’did?” Eddie cracks an eye open and peers down toward his hip– which is when he realizes the gravity of his state of undress.

You see, the thing about hip injuries is that it’s really difficult to deal with them when there’s fabric blocking your access. And the thing about fabric on a hip is that it’s usually connected to a garment, which on men is usually a pair of trousers, which usually need to come off if you’re going to get anything done.

Eddie yelps suddenly and yanks a pillow across his groin as a crimson blush blasts over his face. The torn piece of your underskirt is wrapped around his torso– but to get it to stay put, you had to take an extra length and fasten it around his thigh as well. Which means you got very familiar with his anatomy in the process.

“Well, you, ah–” Eddie shivers, avoiding your eye like the plague. “You’ve been thorough.”

You snort. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s not the first time I’ve seen a naked man. At least your bandages won’t go anywhere when you move.”

“You a nurse?”

The question makes you scowl, but you’re not sure why it does. Maybe because you don’t want him asking any questions about your life, but you can answer this one. “No. So thank Christ it wasn’t worse than that.”

Eddie chuckles, creases forming in the corners of his eyes. His eyes rake over you, taking in your corset and cotton skirt, now missing a few inches off the hem. The lacey bottoms of your combinations poke out from beneath the cut-off hem of the petticoat.

“You’re real pretty, y’know that?” he murmurs sweetly, meeting your eye finally.

You scoff at that, turning away from him finally. It feels a little like admitting defeat. “You’re just sayin’ that ‘cause I’ve taken your pants.”

“Well, I got your underwear around my waist, so I think we’re even.”

He grunts as he struggles into a sitting position, still clutching the pillow against his pelvis. It doesn’t do much to cover him; when you turn, you can still see the trail of hair leading from his belly-button to his crotch, his thighs spread apart on either side of it. His legs splayed out across the old mattress, its sheets rumpled and dust covered beyond usability.

“So, you’re not a nurse but you know pretty well how to dress a wound. So… what do you do?”

You bristle at that. “You shouldn’t move too much, you’ll tear your stitches.”

“Ah– avoiding the question. Okay, I know this one.” He’s overly pleased with himself, flashing you a sardonic grin. “You think I’m a pissing sonofabitch who’ll use anything you say against you, so you’re not gonna tell me anything about yourself, even though we’re gonna be stuck together for god knows how long–”

“And whose fault is that?” You snap. He looks taken aback by your biting tone, even though you held him at gunpoint just hours ago. “I could be miles away from here if you hadn’t fuckin’ waltzed in with all your trouble. I could be moving on. I wouldn’t be stuck here playing house with you. And you’re hogging the fuckin’ bed, so thanks for that, too.”

You huff and turn back towards the fire, smacking it with a poker a few times just for good measure. Sparks fly from the burning wood, emitting a cloud of smoke that billows out a bit, but then gets sucked up the floo.

“Hey,” Eddie says gently now, like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “Look, I’m sorry, all right? I didn’t know that anyone was here. I wouldn’t have broken in if that was the case, y’know? Usually when you’re on the run, you try to avoid people. I mean, what the hell kinda good is someone else…”

Eddie trails off as he’s talking, and your heart starts beating hard enough to reverberate in your ears. You’re still prodding the fire, kicking up sparks, even though it’s about as stoked as it’ll get.

“You’re on the run.”

His voice is low. Hesitant, like he’s afraid of the answer.

You nearly roll your eyes at how long it took him to come to that conclusion. You told him you were hiding, after all. “Don’t fuckin’ worry yourself about it now.”

“Aw, hell. Shit.” The bed frame squeaks. He’s trying to get up. “Fuck. Shit shit shit–”

“What are you doing?” You hiss, getting up to plant a hand firmly on his shoulder before he entirely gets off the bed. “Are you insane? You’re gonna tear those stitches and then I’ll have to fix them right back up. Stay. Still.”

“You’re on the run,” he repeats, gazing up at you wildly.

“We both are,” you tell him. “So don’t make it harder on the both of us, all right?”

“But what are you running from?”

You don’t answer him. You’re too busy fussing over the makeshift bandage around his waist, trying to tighten it even though you tied it rather well to begin with, and it hasn’t moved much.

“What did you take from Jason Carver?” you ask him mildly instead. “He said that you took something from him.”

“Well. First of all, she wasn’t his property.”

“Oh.” You pause, eyeing him closely.

“And second, I didn’t take anything. I only did what she asked me to.” Eddie looks away from you sheepishly. “And I loved her. Which is more than he can say, anyways.”

You don’t say anything, keeping your eyes downcast at the bandage around his middle. You feel your cheeks heating up in spite of yourself.

“Not that there’s anythin’ to do about it now, y’know,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “He’s got her locked down in some pre-matrimonial agreement and she’s not gonna leave that big bad oil tycoon for some good for nothin’ piece-a-shit outlaw who can’t give her nothing no-how, so.”

“You clearly have a high opinion of yourself. I’m sure you must have given her something she wanted, or else you wouldn’t be here,” you remark, and you pretend not to notice the crimson blush cresting his cheeks.

Eddie takes a shuddering breath, his eyes roving around the room rather than looking at you. “Nah… I was just a good time for her. But– but Jason’s got it in his head that I forced her, y’know. That Chrissy didn’t… she wouldn’t have done it willingly. Which I didn’t. I would never.”

“Okay,” you tell him gently, pushing one hand on his bare shoulder to ease him back against the dusty pillows. “Don’t get worked up trying to sell your story, darling. As far as I’m concerned, if you’re not gonna throw yourself at me, that’s one less thing I have to worry about.”

“Who says I’m not gonna throw myself at you, sugar?” He fixes you with a wide grin, but it doesn’t really reach his eyes. They’re too sad for that. “I’ve been known to be real loose in my time.”

You give him a deadpan look, and then reach down to gently flick his hip with your middle finger. He jumps, yelps, and then readjusts the pillow against his crotch.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. No good times for you, slick.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” Eddie sighs in defeat, laying back like a martyr. “Well, I showed you mine. What’re you running from? Pretty thing like you… can’t imagine what kind of skeletons you’ve got hidden in that corset.”

“Closet, you mean.”

“If you insist.”

You stare down at him, breathing one long exhale through your nose. He’s infuriating, even when he’s just covering up his raw emotions.

You think for a long moment. He may not be a direct threat to you right now, but that doesn’t mean he won’t turn you in when the fancy strikes for a good enough bounty.

“Someone… close to me. Made some people angry. And now they’re after me, too. That’s all.” Your halting speech doesn’t lend much credence to your words, but it’s just succinct enough that it doesn’t really matter. Your eyes flit nervously around the room, the satchel in the corner over your shoulder nearly buzzing like it wants to get up and tell the story itself.

That your brother is dead. That he left you a gun and some papers that could make or break you. And right now, all it seems to be doing is breaking you.

Eddie doesn’t bat an eye. “Who made who angry?”

“That’s not really your business, now, is it?”

“It is if they’re comin’ after me, too, sugar.” He tilts his pretty head against the pillows, and the fire gleams in his eyes. “Why do they want you?”

“The details don’t matter,” you snap at him. “I’ve told you enough. Now you know. Everything else is personal, and frankly, I don’t trust you.”

Eddie clicks his tongue. “Shucks. That really smarts, y’know. And here I thought, what with you playing house and seeing my junk and all, maybe we were on the way to some kind of understanding.”

You suck on your teeth. He grins at you like he’s just caught you bluffing in a game of cards. You’ve spent too much time in saloons to not know a grifter when you see one. He has all the personality of a gambler without any of the subtlety.

I play dice real good. Yeah, you bet.

“Go to hell, Munson,” you grumble, turning away from him spitefully.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart. But what’s in it for me?”

You’re halfway to figuring out exactly what would be in hell for him, when a bullet bursts through the front door and past your shoulder, hitting the back wall of the cabin. It takes you half a second to register it at all, but by that time, three more shots have taken out the left window.

“Get down!”

Eddie’s hand snatches your wrist tightly, and the room tilts. You gasp and find yourself on the floor, in a heap, with Eddie’s weight pressing down on you.

A bullet hits the pillow where his head just was. You can’t help the scream that rips out of you, while feathers drift through the air and bullets fly overhead. Eddie’s hand cradles the back of your head, tucking your own against his neck. Your legs are tangled in his, which is tangled in the dusty sheets from the bed and your torn petticoat. In the madness, it barely even occurs to you that he’s shielding you with his body.

“Where’s my gun?” Eddie pants in your ear.

“What?”

“The gun!”

You swivel your head to the side and spit out a strand of his curly hair that had weaseled it’s way into your mouth in the ruckus. You’d put both his guns in your satchel, and the rifle by the door. You gesture in the general direction of it.

“Motherfuck-!” Eddie’s colorful retort is drowned out by another bullet ripping into the wall just over your heads, spraying wood chips across your face.

The gunfire stops abruptly, following several shouts from outside. Masculine voices ring out in the night beyond the now-broken window.

Suddenly, a clear voice rings out over the uproar. “Eddie?”

Eddie turns his head in the direction of the young man’s voice. There’s nothing but darkness beyond the window, but he seems to recognize whoever it is by the sound alone.

“Henderson?” There’s a murmur of laughter from several other voices besides the one that Eddie identifies.

“What’re you doing?” the one supposed to be Henderson calls.

Eddie shifts on top of you and grunts in pain. You turn your head to look at him and see the sweat on his brow. You figure his wound must be hurting him. You lay a gentle hand on his bare shoulder, and he almost flinches when he remembers that you’re underneath him. His skin burns hot against your palm.

“Uh,” Eddie calls, his eyes flicking between you and the window. “Trying not to get shot. What’re you doing?”

More laughter. There must be four or five voices coming from all around the cabin. With a loud, humorous gasp, Henderson calls back jovially, “Tryn’a shoot you, of course.”

#womp womp #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #outlaw!eddie munson #eddie munson x you #roses*#clm!fic

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