#there's a melancholic filter over these

[maximura]

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ white mustang ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢

╰┈➤ cho sang-woo x single!mother!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header!

˚ ༘♡ you were a single mother raising a four-year-old daughter in the bustling, unforgiving city of seoul. life had not unfolded as you once fantasized it might, instead, it had cornered you into a relentless cycle of poverty and struggle. you had married young, filled with hope and naivety, but those dreams were shattered when your husband abandoned you shortly after you announced your pregnancy. unable to bear the duties of fatherhood, he not only left but also cast you out of the home you once shared, leaving you to fend for yourself and your unborn child.

˚ ༘♡ your own family, steeped in tradition and pride, turned their backs on you as well. they viewed your divorce as a mark of shame, a stain on their honor. the fact that you would raise a child without a father was, in their eyes, an unforgivable disgrace. they refused to take you in, forcing you to seek refuge in whatever options you could find. eventually, you found work as a sales assistant at a small boutique, where the pay was barely enough to scrape by. minimum wage stretched thin over endless expense, formula, rent, utilities, and it quickly became apparent that even the bare necessities were a luxury. in a moment of sheer desperation, you began taking out loans amounting in tens of thousands of won, well aware you could never repay them. the interest piled up as fast as the bills, but the loans kept your daughter fed and clothed, albeit barely. you hated yourself for it, but there were no other choices that didn’t feel impossible.

˚ ༘♡ your home, if it could be called that, was on the less fortunate side of a narrow street lined with aging apartments and cracked sidewalks. the peeling paint and broken railings were a daily reminder of your circumstances. yet, even amidst your despair, you couldn’t help but notice the contrast a few blocks over, a wealthier stretch of the same neighborhood, where sleek cars parked outside magnificent homes and prosperity seemed to flourish. it was during one of your daily walks to the bus stop, your daughter’s tiny hand clutching yours, that you first noticed him.

˚ ༘♡ cho sang-woo. a man who seemed completely out of place in your reality but belonged so effortlessly to the better half of the neighborhood. his polished suits, sharp gaze, and air of quiet confidence spoke of success and power. you didn’t know much about him, only the whispered details you overheard at the local convenience store. he was a former student of seoul university, where he graduated at the top of his class, and he now worked at joy investments, one of the most prestigious firms in the city. he lived in the nicer part of the street, a place that might as well have been a world apart from yours.

˚ ༘♡ for weeks, your paths crossed without words. you would see him on the way to work, his brisk stride purposeful and somehow detached. you’d clutch your daughter’s hand tightly as she skipped beside you, her laughter a rare mirthful mark in your otherwise gray days. sometimes, you wondered if he noticed you at all, or if to him, you were just another melancholic face in the crowd. but there was something in the way his eyes briefly wandered to yours, a swift, barely noticeable moment of acknowledgment, almost imperceptible but not absent.

˚ ༘♡ a month passed without much change. you worked long hours at the boutique, came home to your daughter’s laughter echoing in the small apartment, and fell asleep each night with exhaustion pressing against your chest. spring had arrived, softening the chill in the air and filling the streets with blossoms and a sense of renewal you couldn’t quite feel for yourself. still, you tried to give your daughter a taste of joy, taking her for walks when time allowed, letting her skip along the sidewalks as if the world weren’t so cynical.

˚ ༘♡ one bright afternoon, the kind that made the city’s grime seem almost picturesque, you saw him again. cho sang-woo stood ahead, unmistakable in his dark business suit. the clean lines of his attire and the polished leather of his shoes seemed to set him apart from the bustling, chaotic world around him. his square-rimmed glasses caught the sunlight, and his expression, though composed, held a trace of warmth when he noticed you approaching. he lifted a hand in a brief wave and nodded. “good morning,” he greeted, his tone polite but personable.

˚ ༘♡ you returned his nod with a soft smile, your daughter tugging lightly at your hand. “good morning to you as well, sir,” you replied, your voice calm, though you felt a twinge of surprise that he’d acknowledged you.

˚ ༘♡ your daughter, far less reserved, beamed up at him, her youthful cheer impossible to contain. “hello, sir!” she exclaimed with a giggle, her small voice cutting through the hum of the city.

˚ ༘♡ he stopped in his tracks, the corners of his mouth lifting in a genuine grin. “how old is she?” he asked, his gaze shifting to your daughter, who looked up at him with wide, curious eyes.

˚ ༘♡ “four years old as of last month,” you replied, brushing a hand over her dark hair with a hint of pride you didn’t bother hiding.

˚ ༘♡ he adjusted his glasses, the gesture quick and practiced, before replying, “she’s a clever child. you’re blessed to have her.”

˚ ༘♡ his words, spoken so simply yet with unmistakable sincerity, stirred something in you. “i tell myself that every day,” you said quietly, your fingers tightening gently around your daughter’s small hand.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t seem rushed to leave, lingering as though the conversation mattered more than wherever he was headed. his questions were unintrusive, small talk about the weather, the flowers blooming along the street, and whether you’d been in the neighborhood long. you answered politely, aware of the contrast between his world and yours yet struck by how easily he spoke to you.

˚ ༘♡ after a few minutes, he glanced at his watch, a subtle flare of responsibility returning to his expression. “i’d better get going,” he said, though there was no impatience in his tone. “it was nice talking to you.”

˚ ༘♡ “and to you,” you replied, dipping your head slightly.

˚ ༘♡ he offered your daughter one last smile before walking away, his pace measured, his presence lingering even as he disappeared down the street. you watched him for a moment, then turned back to your daughter, who was already pulling you toward the park.

˚ ༘♡ from that day on, whenever your paths crossed, he made a point to stop and speak with you. at first, the exchanges were brief, a polite inquiry about your day or a comment on how quickly your daughter was growing. but as the weeks passed, the conversations stretched longer, even when his crisp attire and leather briefcase suggested a packed schedule. he would pause, leaning slightly toward you as he spoke, his words carrying a kind of attentiveness you hadn’t encountered in a long time. those encounters, swift as they were, began to carve a small space of solace into the otherwise monotonous routine of your days.

˚ ༘♡ one quiet afternoon, as you were tidying up after a long day, the phone rang. you glanced at the screen and saw sang-woo’s name flashing. you hesitated for a moment, unsure why he was calling, but you picked up. his voice on the other end was casual yet warm. “would you like to grab dinner tonight? nothing fancy, something simple,” he said, his tone friendly enough to put you at ease.

˚ ༘♡ you smiled softly, though he couldn’t see it. “i’d like to, but i can’t leave my daughter home alone,” you replied, your words tinged with regret. her well-being was always your priority, and you weren’t in a position to make exceptions.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t hesitate to reply. “then bring her along,” he insisted without hesitation. “it’ll be fun for all of us, and i couldn’t think of leaving her out.”

˚ ༘♡ his sincerity made it hard to say no. after a brief pause, you agreed, telling him you’d meet him shortly. your daughter, wide-eyed and excited, picked the dinner, a feast of fried chicken and tteokbokki. it wasn’t what you considered a balanced meal, but sang-woo laughed softly when you voiced your concerns. “an occasional indulgence won’t hurt,” he reassured you, his tone effortlessly convincing. “besides, it’s my treat tonight.”

˚ ༘♡ when you arrived at the small, bustling eatery, your daughter clung to your hand while her gaze darted around, taking in the brightly colored menus and the sizzling platters on nearby tables. sang-woo was already seated, waving you over with a welcoming smile that made you feel momentarily lighter. he pulled out a chair for you before settling back into his own seat, engaging your daughter with playful questions about her favorite foods and games. her laughter filled the air as he entertained her, his natural charm putting her completely at ease.

˚ ༘♡ as the meal went on, you found yourself relaxing, enjoying the rare treat of good food and pleasant company. when your daughter noticed the arcade machines near the back of the restaurant, her face lit up with excitement. before you could say a word, sang-woo reached into his pocket and handed her a coin, encouraging her to go play while the two of you stayed behind. it was then, as you sat alone with him, that the evening took a turn you hadn’t anticipated.

˚ ༘♡ leaning in slightly, his expression grew more thoughtful. “can i ask you something personal?” he began, his voice measured and quiet. you nodded, unsure where he was going with this. “are you seeing anyone right now?”

˚ ༘♡ the question caught you off guard. you hesitated, but there was no point in pretending. with a quiet sigh, you opened up about your past, your brief, ill-fated marriage, your ex-husband’s abandonment, and the struggles that had followed. sang-woo listened intently, his gaze steady, never betraying judgment or discomfort. when you finished, he offered a small, empathetic smile and reached across the table, his hand brushing yours lightly. “you’ve been through so much, but you’re doing a wonderful job as a mother,” he said, his words sincere. before you could respond, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, quick and discreet, ensuring your daughter didn’t see.

˚ ༘♡ the gesture left you momentarily speechless, your heart racing in a way it hadn’t in years. cho sang-woo was everything society valued, handsome, intelligent, and successful. yet, you couldn’t ignore the gap between your worlds. a single mother scraping by on meager wages didn’t belong in the same orbit as a man like him, no matter how kind he was. you told yourself he was simply a good friend, someone who offered comfort in a lonely existence. but the truth was harder to dismiss, and the growing fondness you felt for him remained long after that night.

˚ ༘♡ weeks later, the strain of your financial troubles bore down on you more heavily than ever. the debt had spiraled out of control, and every day felt like a losing battle to stay afloat. you were walking home one evening when a sharply dressed man approached you, his presence almost unsettling in its precision. he introduced himself with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and held out two small folded squares of paper. “care for a game of ddakji?” he asked, his tone cheerful but with an undercurrent of something you couldn’t quite place. “if you win, you’ll get one hundred thousand won. if you lose, i get to slap you.”

˚ ༘♡ desperation clouded your judgment, and against your better instincts, you agreed. the first few rounds ended in failure, each slap stinging more than the last. but you persisted, driven by the thought of what that money could mean for your daughter. finally, with trembling hands and a burst of determination, you flipped the paper correctly. the man handed you the cash with an unsettling smile and then extended a business card. “call this number if you want to win more,” he said, his words lingering in your mind as you walked away clutching the money.

˚ ༘♡ that night, after tucking your daughter into bed, you stared at the card for what felt like hours. the temptation was overwhelming, and in the end, it won. you called the number, your voice shaking as you gave your name and address. within minutes, a sleek black limousine pulled up in front of your building, its windows tinted so dark you couldn’t see inside. stepping in, you barely had time to settle before a strange chemical filled the air, and the world went dark.

˚ ༘♡ when you awoke, the surroundings were unfamiliar and unnerving. rows of bunk beds stretched endlessly across a vast room, the walls painted a distasteful shade of green. you looked down and saw the plain jumpsuit you now wore, the number 017 stitched onto the fabric. confusion and fear gripped you, but one thought rose above the chaos, your daughter was at home, and you had to survive this for her, to give the life she deserved.

˚ ༘♡ the goal of winning was your aspiration when the first game began. at first glance, it seemed absurd, red light, green light, a relic from childhood memories long buried beneath the weight of adulthood. the vibrant, oversized doll at the far end of the field seemed almost laughable in its stillness, its painted smile eerie but harmless. but that illusion shattered when the first player was eliminated. the sound of the gunshot echoed through the air, followed by the horrifying sight of their lifeless body collapsing onto the dirt. the cheerful voice announcing the rules continued without pause, as though nothing had happened.

˚ ༘♡ panic erupted among the players. shouts of disbelief and terror filled the air as dozens bolted toward the exits, frantic and desperate to escape. one by one, they were struck down, their bodies littering the field as if caught in an invisible storm. the realization hit you like a physical blow, this was no game. this was life and death, and you were standing in its grasp. your knees trembled under the weight of fear, and your breaths came shallow and quick. every instinct screamed at you to run, to flee the nightmare unfolding around you.

˚ ༘♡ “the doll’s eyes are motion sensors. don’t move.”

˚ ༘♡ the voice came from behind, quiet but firm, cutting through the chaos. you turned your head slightly, careful to avoid triggering the sensors. it was cho sang-woo, his expression as composed as ever, though his voice carried an edge you had never heard before. his presence shocked you, why was he here? he had a prestigious job, a beautiful home, a life far removed from the misery that had led you to this place. what could have driven him to join this horrifying spectacle? but there was no time for answers. survival demanded your complete attention.

˚ ༘♡ you fixed your gaze on the doll, its head swiveling unnervingly to scan the players. the melody began again, and with it, the rules of survival. move forward, stop immediately, stay frozen. you forced yourself to take small, deliberate steps, resisting the overwhelming urge to sprint. each time the doll’s head turned, you froze, your body taut with fear, your heart pounding so loudly it seemed deafening. every second stretched into eternity, every step forward a test of willpower.

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo crossed the finish line seconds before you, his figure stoic as he turned his back to the field. you pushed onward, your focus unyielding, until you finally crossed the line with seconds to spare. the tension in your body snapped, leaving your legs weak beneath you, but you remained upright, clinging to the knowledge that you had survived, for now. you glanced toward sang-woo, hoping for some acknowledgment, but he avoided your gaze entirely, turning away as if you were a stranger.

˚ ༘♡ once the last player stumbled through, the harsh blare of a horn signaled the end of the game, and the survivors were ushered back into the dormitory. the atmosphere was suffocating, the air thick with tension and fear as the reality of what they had just endured began to sink in. the sight of so many bodies lying lifeless on the field haunted you, but there was no time to grieve, no space to process. the masked guards stood silent and menacing, a constant reminder that you were trapped under their watchful gaze.

˚ ༘♡ as the players murmured among themselves, questions and disbelief rippling through the crowd, one of the masked guards stepped forward. his voice was distorted through the microphone, chilling in its detachment. “to remind you why you are here, we will reveal the amount of debt each of you owes.”

˚ ༘♡ the room fell silent, a collective tension building as a screen lit up on one of the walls. one by one, the players’ faces appeared, alongside staggering amounts of debt. gasps and whispers spread as the numbers grew larger and larger, each amount more crippling than the last. when your face appeared, the sum displayed made your stomach churn, a figure so vast it felt insurmountable, nearly half a billion won, a reflection of every foolish decision you had made to keep your daughter fed and housed.

˚ ༘♡ but the room truly stilled when cho sang-woo’s face appeared on the screen. his debt was six billion won. the air seemed to grow heavier as the number glowed on the screen, an incomprehensible weight tied to the man who had always seemed so polished, so composed, so untouchable. a few players exchanged shocked glances, but sang-woo’s expression didn’t waver. his face remained unreadable, a mask of calm that betrayed none of the turmoil he might have felt.

˚ ༘♡ you couldn’t stop staring at him. six billion won? how could someone with his education, his prestigious career, have ended up in such a dire position? questions swirled in your mind, but the icy tone of the guard’s voice broke through your thoughts. “this is what brought you here. this is what you must fight to overcome.”

˚ ༘♡ as the screen darkened, the room buzzed with subdued murmurs. the revelation had shifted the atmosphere, exposing the cracks in the carefully guarded facades of those around you. it was a stark reminder that no one here was truly secure, no matter how confident or composed they appeared.

˚ ༘♡ murmurs of confusion and disbelief filled the air. then, to your astonishment, sang-woo stepped forward and initiated a vote to end the game. the announcement caused a ripple of hope, and soon the vote began. by the narrowest margin, the majority chose to leave. the thought of returning to your daughter filled you with relief, even as unease lingered in your mind.

˚ ༘♡ back in the outside world, you clung to the brief sense of normalcy that returning home provided. your daughter’s laughter was a salve to your frayed nerves, but the relief was fleeting. the reality of your situation hit like a tidal wave when you opened the door to find loan sharks waiting, their demands sharper and more insistent than before. a stack of bills sat ominously on your table, a chilling reminder that leaving the game hadn’t erased your debts. it had only delayed the inevitable.

˚ ༘♡ when the sleek black limousine returned, you didn’t hesitate. you kissed your daughter’s forehead, returned her to the care of your elderly neighbor, and climbed into the car, your resolve hardening. the gas filled the air once again, and the world faded into unconsciousness. when you awoke, you were back in the same vast dormitory, the green jumpsuit hanging from your frame like a prison uniform.

˚ ༘♡ to your surprise, and perhaps dismay, sang-woo had returned as well. he stood apart from the crowd, his expression carefully neutral, as though he had already resigned himself to whatever horrors lay ahead. you couldn’t help but feel a pang of curiosity and frustration. what could have brought him back to this nightmare? but his presence, as unsettling as it was, also brought a sliver of comfort. at least one person here wasn’t a complete stranger. whether he acknowledged you or not, the fact that he was there, breathing the same air, enduring the same fate, made the unbearable feel slightly less isolating.

˚ ༘♡ as you climbed through the maze of brightly colored block structures on your way to the second game, the oppressive silence among the players was broken only by the occasional scrape of shoes against the smooth surfaces. the atmosphere was suffocating, each person wrapped in their own thoughts of survival. as you reached the next passageway, you caught sight of sang-woo walking a few steps ahead, his broad shoulders unmistakable even in the dull green jumpsuit. you quickened your pace, weaving around other players until you came up beside him.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo?” you called out hesitantly, unsure if he even wanted to be acknowledged. “it’s good to see you.”

˚ ༘♡ he turned to face you, his expression weary, his sharp features softened by exhaustion. his glasses were gone, leaving his face bare in a way that felt unfamiliar. the hollowness in his eyes made your heart ache, a stark contrast to the composed man you once knew. “it’s good to see you as well,” he said quietly, though his tone carried an undercurrent of shame. his gaze drifted downward, as though he couldn’t bear to meet your eyes for long.

˚ ༘♡ you hesitated, unsure whether to press him further, but the words poured out before you could stop them. “sang-woo, i had no idea you were in so much debt. i thought…” you faltered, the unfinished sentence hanging heavily in the air. you couldn’t bring yourself to say it aloud, the claims you’d heard about client embezzlement and loans swirling in your mind. surely, he wouldn’t have stolen money from his workplace? the man you thought you knew wouldn’t sink to such levels, or so you hoped.

˚ ༘♡ his lips pressed into a thin line, his expression tightening. “we can talk later, alright?” his voice was calm, but the subtle edge warned you not to push further. he looked away, focusing on the corridor ahead, his discomfort palpable.

˚ ༘♡ before you could respond, the masked guards appeared, their presence commanding immediate attention. one of them stepped forward, his voice cold and distorted as he barked instructions. “players, form a line in front of the four doors, triangle, circle, star, and umbrella.” the straightforward simplicity of the directive only heightened your unease. no explanation was given, and the purpose of the shapes remained a mystery.

˚ ༘♡ you watched as sang-woo leaned toward the group of players he had been speaking with, his voice low but audible. “we should split up,” he suggested. “i’ll take the triangle.” his tone was measured, but there was something deliberate in the way he spoke, as though he knew more than he was letting on.

˚ ༘♡ you stepped closer, offering him a faint smile. “i’ll take the star,” you said, trying to inject a bit of optimism into the tension-filled space.

˚ ༘♡ his jaw tightened visibly, and he shook his head, the motion slow and deliberate. “no,” he said, his voice firm. his friends had already dispersed, blending into the lines forming at the other doors, but he didn’t move. his gaze locked onto yours, unflinching.

˚ ༘♡ “why not?” you asked, confused by his sudden insistence.

˚ ༘♡ he hesitated, the pause stretching long enough to feel significant. “i think you should stick with me,” he said finally. “for a woman, the next game could be dangerous, and you might need protection. choose triangle with me.”

˚ ༘♡ there was something in his tone, persuasive as it could be, that made it impossible to refuse. though his reasoning unsettled you, you nodded, falling into line behind him as the players shuffled forward. your eyes scanned the room anxiously, searching for any clue as to what lay ahead.

˚ ༘♡ when the game was finally revealed, your stomach sank. the guards handed each player a thin tin containing a piece of dalgona candy. the shape on the door you had chosen corresponded to the delicate imprint in the sugar, triangle for you and sang-woo. the instructions were chillingly simple, extract the shape from the brittle candy without breaking it. failure meant elimination.

˚ ༘♡ as you stared down at the candy in your hands, your breath hitched. the triangle, though angular and sharp, was mercifully the easiest of the shapes. your fingers trembled as you picked up the needle provided, its point glinting under the harsh overhead lights. you glanced at sang-woo, who was already at work on his candy, his face an unreadable mask. you offered him a small, grateful smile, relieved that his advice had spared you a more complicated shape. he acknowledged it with a weak nod but didn’t look up from his task.

˚ ༘♡ the room was filled with the sound of quiet scraping, interspersed with the occasional crack of breaking candy and the deafening gunshots that followed. each failure sent a ripple of fear through the players, the stakes of the game becoming all too real. your hands shook uncontrollably as you traced the edges of the triangle, the needle’s tip scraping against the delicate surface. beads of sweat formed on your forehead, and you had to remind yourself to breathe.

˚ ༘♡ finally, with painstaking caution, you lifted the triangle free from the candy, the edges intact. relief flooded through you, though your hands continued to tremble as you approached one of the masked guards. holding up the completed shape, you waited for his acknowledgment. “player 218, player 017, pass,” the voice from the speaker announced, devoid of emotion.

˚ ༘♡ as you and sang-woo stepped into the expansive player quarters, the dim lighting and echo of murmured conversations created an atmosphere that felt dreadful yet oddly subdued. the space was filled with rows of bunks stacked high, each one occupied by players whose expressions ranged from numb exhaustion to quiet fear. you glanced around briefly before turning your attention to him, your gratitude bubbling to the surface.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo, you saved my life,” you said, your voice soft but sincere. the words carried a weight you couldn’t ignore. “i wouldn’t have had the precision or patience to cut out the star. thank you for convincing me to choose triangle.”

˚ ༘♡ he paused mid-step, his shoulders tensing ever so slightly as he turned to look at you. his expression was calm, but there was something unreadable in his gaze, a flicker of thought he didn’t voice. you tilted your head, your curiosity piqued as a question formed in your mind. “did you know it was going to be dalgona?” your voice held both curiosity and suspicion. he was intelligent, brilliant, in fact. it wouldn’t have surprised you if he had pieced together clues that no one else had noticed. but then again, if he had known, wouldn’t he have told his friends?

˚ ༘♡ his lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, he looked almost reluctant to answer. “i didn’t,” he said finally, his tone measured and deliberate. “it was a lucky guess, i suppose.” but there was something about the way he said it that left you unconvinced. his words felt too crafted, too careful, as if he were guarding a truth he wasn’t ready to share.

˚ ༘♡ before you could probe further, he shifted the conversation, his gaze tender as he looked at you. “come on,” he said, his voice quieter now. “you look like you’re about to collapse, and i can hardly stay upright myself after how draining that game was. let’s try and relax our nerves.”

˚ ༘♡ you nodded, the tension in your body loosening slightly as his words pulled you away from your thoughts. together, you made your way to an unoccupied bunk in one of the quieter corners of the dormitory. as you sat down, the fatigue of the day hit you like a wave, the adrenaline that had kept you going during the game now fully drained from your system.

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo leaned against the metal frame of the bunk, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. his face was pale under the fluorescent lights, and the dark circles under his eyes betrayed how much the game had taken out of him. for a moment, the silence between you felt almost comfortable, a reprieve from the chaos that had defined the day.

˚ ༘♡ “you know,” you said after a while, your voice barely above a whisper, “i don’t know how you stayed so calm out there. i felt like i was going to fall apart the entire time.”

˚ ༘♡ he let out a low breath, not quite a sigh, as his eyes shifted to the floor. “i wasn’t calm,” he admitted. “i was terrified, but fear doesn’t help you survive. you have to focus, no matter what.” his words were matter-of-fact, but there was an edge to them, a glimpse of the pressure he carried that he rarely allowed others to see.

˚ ༘♡ you studied him for a moment, your gratitude mingling with a growing sense of unease. there was so much about him that remained a mystery, layers of calculation and restraint that made it impossible to fully understand what he was thinking. but for now, you were too tired to dwell on it.

˚ ༘♡ “thank you, sang-woo,” you said again, your voice softer this time. you meant it, not simply for his advice during the game, but for the quiet sense of stability he brought in a world that felt increasingly unmoored.

˚ ༘♡ he gave a faint nod, his lips curving into the barest hint of a smile. “get some rest,” he said, his tone gentle but steadfast. “tomorrow will probably be worse.”

a/n: can you all tell my favorite character is cho sang-woo? don’t worry, part two of the hwang in-ho x wife series will be out soon! let me know your thoughts! 🤍

[cursedyuri]

a soft n smutty piece for fall coziness… <3 the changing seasons always make me feel melancholic and i feel like ellie would take care of r if she was the same :)

tw: depression, nsfw, 18+ only

the sun filters into your bedroom through the half-drawn curtains, a warm glow that paints everything golden. you stretch out under the covers, hand reaching for sunlight, palm open against the blankets as warmth envelops your fingers. numb with cold, you defrost.

even as your hand soaks in the warmth of the sun, guilt twists inside you, ice cold. the phone in the kitchen has rung out three separate calls today, shrill and blaring in the silence of your apartment; you've melted too deep into the mattress to answer. the kitchen may as well be miles away.

she’s probably worried, you fret. what if she thinks i’m dead? i need to call her back.

but as much as you want to force yourself to leave the comfort of your duvet, the you-shaped crater in the bed, you can’t do it. you just can’t.

you’re not surprised when you hear the sounds of your girlfriend’s arrival, ellie’s key scraping the lock before she swings the door open. you’d given her your spare key months ago. she’d only used it on days like this.

you hear the rustle of plastic, the harried zips and thumps of ellie removing her boots at the front door. and then she’s appearing in your doorway, her face twisted with worry; brows drawn together, lips turned downward. she looks heartbroken.

“baby,” she says, voice tinged with a cocktail of equal parts relief and concern, “god, i thought you were—”

“dead?” you interject. your voice softens when you add, “i’m okay, el. i’m sorry i didn’t pick up the phone.”

“no, it’s okay, don’t worry.” she pads over the worn carpet, plastic bag crinkling at her side as she approaches you on the bed. “i brought breakfast.”

she holds up the bag for emphasis; you can see three to-go boxes inside. the smell of hash browns and scrambled eggs and pancakes wafts out towards you, and you hate the way it makes your mouth water. she knows breakfast is your favorite. you can hardly resist it, even this late in the day, as the sun sets outside your window.

“thank you.” you smile up at her. it’s forced—it doesn’t meet your eyes. she notices, because she always does.

“you don’t have to eat right now,” she clarifies. hazel eyes swoop over the bed, appraising the blankets splayed out over you in disarray, and she hesitates. you hold out your hand for her in encouragement. “come here, ellie.”

so she does. she sets the bag of breakfast food on the nightstand, then climbs over you with a clumsiness that seeps through her caution. you smile. genuinely. and then she’s kissing you, soft lips pressed to yours as her auburn locks tickle your cheeks. the kiss is gentle and languid, slow and soft and encouraging. she tastes like home, and you realize you’ve been aching for this feeling all day, body numb in the confines of your bedroom. you lose yourself in her kiss, sighing deep through your nose. her tongue is warm and wet against your lower lip; she works your mouth open and licks into you, sending heat rushing to your belly where it pools like molten gold.

you’ve found yourself in a haze lately: a fog so thick that it blurs out all feeling, leaving you spent in the silence of your apartment even after days of doing nothing. days of just thinking.

but ellie breaks through the fog as her hands cup your face, thumbs brushing soothingly over the apples of your cheeks. her tongue slides deliciously over yours and you moan without thinking. she freezes for just a moment. she draws back and you nearly whine, eyes barely opening to peer up into his.

“we don’t have to do anything,” she assures you as she leans forward to kiss the bridge of your nose. “not if you’re feeling down.”

your heart swells with affection for her: her disheveled hair, her soft gaze, her flushed lips swollen from kissing. her consideration for you. her love.

“but i want to,” you breathe. “i want it, ellie.”

so she disappears into the crook of your neck, the warmth of her mouth sending a shiver rocking through you as she presses kisses to your sensitive skin. each kiss gets more heated, her lips parting to suckle on the flesh right over your pulse. you moan and she pauses before murmuring against your throat, “are you sure?”

you nod almost frantically. “i’m sure, i’m sure.”

it doesn’t take long for her to undress you, which you’re grateful for. she works your shirt off and rolls your panties down your thighs, her hands smoothing back up over the supple skin.

on days like this, when you’re hardly afloat in the tidal wave of your melancholy, she tends to hold you with gentle wariness, as if you’d shatter if she moved too quickly. and you love it. the obvious adoration in her gentleness, in the need to take things slow.

but you decide you don’t want that today.

when her face is within reach again, you pull her in for a heated kiss. it quickly evolves into all tongue and spit and teeth, your lips smacking audibly as you trail your hands down her sides. you grip the soft cotton of her shirt and slowly pull it upwards, exposing inch by inch of pale, freckled skin, and when your fingers brush over her ribs, you feel the slow shudder that afflicts her. her body responding so instantly to your touch makes you dizzy with arousal; that pool of heat in your stomach grows ever-larger. it doesn’t help that she’s touching you too, the calloused pads of her fingers delicious against your skin. she grips and squeezes you in all the right places, drawing sharp breaths and high moans from your throat as her hands explore every inch of you.

suddenly, it’s hard to remember what came before this. the haze that had lingered over you for days. all you can think about is the feeling of ellie’s body against yours, her jeans scratchy as she rocks her hips down to yours. you hook your legs around her waist, bare cunt desperate for friction, even through a layer of denim.

you pull back from rushed, sloppy kisses to gasp at the sensation—you shamelessly rub yourself against her through her jeans, unable to find it in you to worry about the mess you’re making. ellie watches you in awe, your eyes half-lidded as your hips roll upward, your pretty lips parted in a delicate “o” shape.

“fuck it,” she rasps, and she’s lurching back to sit up on her heels, ripping her clothes off in a blur of fabric. her shirt falls off first, and then she works her way out of her jeans, so eager she stumbles a few times. you beam at her, eyes clouded with lust, and when she finds her way back between your legs, the feeling of her bare skin against yours has you gushing impossibly wetter. you find yourself in the same position as before, only now without the barrier of ellie’s clothes between you. you grind yourself up against her, twitching and gasping each time her pelvis glides over your clit; you can feel how wet you are, how messy you’re leaving her. and she can feel it, too, evident each time she moves her hips against yours and moans with her head tucked against your shoulder.

your impatience is a balloon that’s been filled and filled and filled, and it finally pops. you reach between your writhing bodies to ellie’s cunt; her teeth close around your shoulder when you give her clit a few slow strokes, fingertips pressing hard into the bundle of nerves. she soothes her bite with her tongue and then laughs under her breath, uttering lowly, “i’m sorry, fuck, just feels good.”

you hum in response, pausing to reach into the nightstand drawer, where you keep a harness and strap for situations like this. she draws in a shaky breath, turning her head to kiss your neck again, tongue circling your skin before she pulls back to slip into the harness. then she’s back on you, pulling you in for another heated kiss as she drags the tip of the strap through your folds and up to the bud of your clit. you’re soaked everywhere, and her cock feels so smooth as it glides effortlessly over you; you’re barely breathing.

ellie’s voice is in your ear, quiet but thick with lust. “let me eat you out first.”

and it sounds amazing, it really does. any other time, you’d relent, let her mouth at your cunt for hours until you’re so fucked-out you can’t think straight. but that’s not what you need right now.

“i need you inside me,” you tell her, voice low and sultry, almost unrecognizable from its usual timbre. ellie hears it, too, the husk in your tone making her grit her teeth with a low, gravelly moan. “shit, baby—can’t say no to that.”

she slides into you so easily, your cunt opening smoothly around her as she pushes in to the hilt. you both sigh in pleasure, you at the feeling of being so deliciously full, her at the satisfaction of watching your expression dissolve into pure bliss.

“so fuckin’ wet, goddamn,” ellie murmurs. she draws back only to fuck into you again, and you whine when she brushes up against the end of you. the spot that only she can find. that only spurs her on—she starts fucking you in earnest without much buildup, too pent up to be patient and slow and intentional. she knows what you want, you realize, flooded with arousal as her hips slam into yours. her strap drags perfectly through you, so deep you see stars behind fluttering eyelids.

“ellie,” you moan, brows pinched together, mouth hanging open.

she doesn’t slow down, skin smacking against skin as she fucks herself into you. “what do you need, baby? i’ll give it to you. i’ll give you anything.”

another moan tears out of your throat at her words, your arms moving up to snake around her neck and reel her in for another sloppy kiss. “more,” you gasp, your foreheads pressed together, slick with sweat. “more, please, more.”

ellie gives you one last, searing kiss, then pulls back to readjust. she stills inside you while she grabs hold of your legs, palms squeezing the doughy flesh of your thighs before she pushes them toward your chest. your knees are up by your shoulders like this, and you reach your hands around to support yourself, though your own touch can’t rival her. “good girl,” she praises when she notices what you’re doing, allowing your hands to replace her. she instead brings her attention to your hips, holding them still while she pulls almost all the way out and fucks back into you. and it’s rougher, now, more intentional. ellie moves faster, harder; you cry out a blissful oh my god, tears burning in your eyes from the sheer pleasure of it.

this is it—this is what you needed. and ellie gives it to you exactly how you want it, her body smacking against your ass and the backs of your thighs, her cock hitting that sweet spot within you so rhythmically that you find your brain is entirely empty. the ceaseless noise in your head has quieted, in its place is sheer pleasure.

your release sneaks up on you; you’re not thinking straight, overwhelmed with lust and the warmth it floods through your veins. you come suddenly but with so much force it nearly knocks the wind out of you. squirming and shaking under ellie’s towering form, your cunt spasms around the silicon cock and she groans out in delight.

spent, ellie lowers her weight on you, still careful not to crush you beneath her. you’re both catching your breath, but she can’t drive away the urge to kiss you. slower, this time. more loving.

“hey,” she says, “i love you.”

you smile against her lips, giving her another few pecks before you tell her, “i love you too.”

her arms are warm, lithe, and strong around you, holding you as close as she can. but when you start to wiggle underneath her, she groans in disapproval.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i just—i really wanna eat some pancakes.”

[descendant-of-truth]

Anyone else find it fascinating that whenever we're shown Roxas's feelings through Sora, it's just kind of melancholic and wistful, but the reverse scenario always feels like you just walked into a psychological horror?

Seriously, the way it's presented, it's like we're meant to see Roxas as an old friend that we miss talking to, but Sora - our original "old friend" that we would have reasons to miss - is hardly even shown as a person. The contents of his memories feel less important than the effect they're having on Roxas, which is usually Extreme Distress and/or physical pain.

And it's insane to me because KH1 was so whimsical! The memories that Roxas and Xion are experiencing are literal Disney magic! But the way they're shown, with the fuzzy filters and the glitch effects, sort of removes the emotions you associate with them and makes them come across as eerie and unsettling.

Not to mention, Sora's memories rarely prompt any feelings of happiness, the way Roxas's might make Sora extra fond of the Twilight Town crew... which might say more about how KH1 affected Sora's mental health than anything.

(I personally stand by the idea that the story revisits it so much as an analogy for how repeating events in your head over and over can alter your perception of them)

But like. how wild is it that this series found a way to take its cheerful protagonist, and without changing anything about him, turned him into this constant, unnerving presence that haunts the lives of two other characters?

And I think another reason Roxas doesn't feel like he haunts Sora in the same way is because no one really... treats Sora like a person while he's asleep. He's either a tool or an object of affection, and regardless of which you pick, his feelings are seen as secondary to the goal of waking him up. As a result, the narrative focuses entirely on Roxas and Xion's personhood, and unlike Sora, they never stop being treated like people once they're made inaccessible due to the plot.

It's probably a bit late in the story to bring it up by now, but I still wonder if we'll ever see Sora be upset with Riku for sacrificing people in his name. Sure, it worked out in the end, and I'm not sure if Sora's even aware of what happened (how likely is it that he's properly sifted through all of Roxas's memories at this point?) but there's a list of things he could still conceivably be mad at Riku about that he hasn't processed, and I want this to be one of them

[comfortless]

The way you write König makes me cry and dry heave cuz you balance his loser unhingeness and his heartbreaking tenderness is✨ ART✨

Now I feel like you would be able to EAT this prompt up but imagine König as Frankenstein’s creature that is this big ass hulking mass of body that immediately makes the town grab their pitchforks but he can DESTROY them in seconds. But inside he is just a little guy who just wants somebody to hold and love (and other activities if ya know what I mean

Keep doing what you do❤️

A Place For Us

Frankenstein’s creature! König x fem! horologist reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. discrepancies!, reader is implied to have anxiety, angst & fluff, non-malicious stalking?, loner/loner dynamic my beloved.., brief mentions of previous murders and religious imagery, codependency, smut; masturbation, unprotected piv.

notes: receiving this ask was so funny to me because @melancholic-thing and i have been bouncing this idea around forever (i simply could not have brought this any justice without ghost’s input— if you see this please know that ily dearly). thank you, anon for your kind words and finally giving me the push that i needed to write it! 💘

wc: 10.6k

You’re good at fixing broken things; tinkering with them with a set of well-polished tools until they begin to tick, or chime, or cuckoo.

Some take longer than an afternoon sat before the wooden desk, weeks or months— a year, once. Oiled parts and small cogs, the three arms that jerk and glide over a face riddled with numbers that all lull you into feeling that your work is not just some monotonous service only the rich buzzards could afford, but as if you were a healer of sorts; a little cleric stationed to bring life into whichever jagged, broken thing has been dropped or kicked at her doorstep.

This one, however… you’re convinced it’s as good as dead.

No matter how many times you take apart the little, gray pocket watch, the arms refuse to move. Its ticking sounds less like that of the beating of the heart and more like the grinding of dry teeth, a corpse begging, pleading to let this attempted resurrection come to an end.

Your tweezers wrench the face free, and all at once it proves too much— bending and warping beneath the metal grip until it cracks, a split right through it, down to its very center.

“How…” Your voice fills the void of ticking, pseudo-silence surrounding you. A word slipped out in frustration and unknowing before you finally toss the wretched little thing onto the desk with a clatter and step aside.

The house is as dark and brooding as always, too large for a woman on her own and a workshop that hardly counts as a proper business. Shelves of broken clocks serve as decor where potted plants and well-loved photographs should sit in their stead. Books of study for modern devices such as these in place of the poetry and worn love letters other women seemed to have in abundance.

This place was starved out of light, even with the flickering glow of candles and the electric humming of the unnatural yellow one above.

The sun is no stranger, either, your curtains neatly pulled aside to allow for it to filter through like an invited guest. Only it doesn’t, not on such a melancholic gray day.

You need a walk, a distraction, or this hungry home would be certain to rip away your work from the shelves and swallow you whole instead.

Isn’t it such a tragedy that, someone who pours her creativity and all of her love into time, all she seems to do is waste it?, the gaudy wallpaper seems to taunt, all the colors of filthy maroon and darkened blue flowers seeming to make it feel more imposing and less of a comfort.

Your hand curls around the handle of your umbrella, a sturdy thing, but just as drab as the rest of the home. Then, the package you’ve been putting off delivering to the elderly woman in town. Best to get it done with now, maybe upon your return the hands that fix could do so once again.

Shame about the clock face though. You would certainly have to patch together another and pray the pocket watch’s owner wouldn’t notice.

The wind is not what you had anticipated.

Outside is different. The howling of it past the windows and shuddering through the attic felt perfectly at home in your shoddy little house, but as the door swings shut behind you, it feels entirely alive. Cold and bitter and angry— the things you keep repressed that nature lacks the tact to.

The trees bend and sway from its invisible yet incessant pushing. The hand containing the package falls down to the lap of your skirt to keep it from flying up just as your other clutches the umbrella ever tighter to keep it from billowing out into the air to be left discarded miles away.

It isn’t a short walk to town, but with the wind and the drizzling rain, it almost seems as though you’re in more tender company than the lumber and the ticking clocks.

The path through the forest is overgrown as always, branches are pushed aside and your skirt is lifted to avoid burrs and thorns.

You should have had the sense to bring along a coat, because when the thunder does strike up and the rain finally begins to fall in heavy, hurried drops, you find yourself shivering terribly with the package guarded against your chest.

Lamplight would have done well, too.

You would have almost happily allowed yourself to toss aside the umbrella and be battered by the rain if you could only see. The forest is dark on days like this, with the canopy of thick branches and their dense leaves blocking out any sliver of light cast down from overhead.

It’s only by sheer luck that you don’t manage to trip, toss your delivery into the shadow of a tree and lose it entirely before you do make it out. When the trees finally part to the barren hill overlooking town you breathe a sigh of relief, a quiet thanks for the grayed light above.

Your steps are hurried as you make your way through the quiet town. The shop windows are all lit aglow with the silhouettes of people inside, strangely dancing like shadows through a fog. A place you can not be, can not touch.

The stares the townsfolk give you make your skin crawl, as though they are so close to being what you are but not, only tied down to your world when they think themselves lofty. Their eyes always seem to question, scrape under your skin with sharpened arms, ticking and flaying, always asking: Why?

You face forward as your skin begins to prickle, not from the wet or the chill but a subdued sort of fear that nestles burning into your chest, sets your heart rushing like a rabbit.

The streets are silent enough, a small blessing; any passing strangers are hurriedly skittering through the rain and muck to hide away in their homes, children ushered with a hand to their back by flustered looking mothers, complaining in hushed voices about the rain. You only smile at them and step aside when your paths cross.

They never smile for you.

It’s why the broken clocks are delivered to your doorstep rather than brought inside, addresses and names from muffled voices calling out beyond your thick wooden door, coins and bills pushed through the mail slot to lie cold on the welcome mat. The bell above the door never chimes, and you only make your deliveries on days like this, when the rain or the dark blanket you up to keep you safe and eternally somber.

You leave the package on the doorstep, covered from the rain by a small, vermillion awning. One sharp knock is given and you’re back on your way, back to the old house, to the simplicity of the ticking, the comfort of the old cobweb on the vaulted ceiling and the drab gray of the bleakness.

There are puddles now, glistening with any light they can suck into their depths, threatening and taunting as the dull stares and that rickety old desk you really should fix. You think for a moment, that perhaps no one would even notice if one of those dark pits of rain water pulled you in entirely, only to splash through it with ease, dirtying the ends of your skirt.

The rain lessens when you crest the hill, the forest less a tangle of clattering limbs and now only a gentle sway reaches the tops of the trees, light filtering through them, as if to guide you on your way. It doesn’t lessen the bushels of thorns, the tree limbs downed and scattered over the path. In some small blessing, you’re able to scramble over them without having to plan a visit to a tailor to repair a ripped gown; scrubbing the mud from it would surely be tedious enough.

The droplets splatter against the dirt and fallen leaves in hushed bursts, the forest alive as always with the cooing of nesting birds in spite of the rain. The only thing that seems out of place is a sudden, soft thud, the snap of a branch underfoot. Just one footfall, and things return to a placid state amidst the sky’s tears.

You raise your head to glimpse in the direction, gaze sweeping over the figure of a man some paces off to your left. Beneath the shadow of a broad, twisting pine layered in thick branches, his details are mostly obscured, a thin trail of silver light only casting aglow the glimpse of a blue eye.

He’s only large enough to notice, shoulders slumped and chest rapidly rising to fall like a frightened animal; as his silhouette shifts just so you even consider that he’s shivering.

There’s something in that stare of somber blue that splinters at the wall of discomfort; it is not accusing, not bitter, worn and cold. Curious. Something akin to your own.

Damn your sweetness, your inability to simply let things be even as that ache twists around in your chest, clawing at a cage of bone and hissing that you keep silent. Be on your way. Don’t look back.

Instead, you extend your umbrella outward, toward him.

“Awful rain, hm?,” you chime.

The figure visibly tenses, seems to shrink into himself for a moment before straightening and giving one solemn nod.

“You can take my umbrella. I’m almost home, anyway.”

That seems to spark something, not much, but the stranger does take a step forward. Your eyes catch on the wet, matted hair clinging to his head, cascading down to shroud a face you still can’t quite make out.

The poor thing stirs something in you, a deep sympathy that clouds even the judgment of that flighty, skittish thing resting deep inside.

Even from such a distance it’s clear that he’s been neglected, likely cast off by the town even less favorably than you have. His scent carries on the breeze, like dirt and wood and misery.

You extend the umbrella again before realizing he won’t come any closer with you being there. So, you lower it to the ground, avoiding the mud as best you could and leave it. If he took it, fine. If not, you travel this path so often it would be collected in time.

The figure mutters something as you rise, a low string of foreign words that you can only interpret as being spoken out of surprise, perhaps even gratitude.

You smile toward him as you wipe fat, slithering raindrops from your brow.

“You don’t want to catch a fever.”

With that, you’re back on your way, thoughts of the rugged stranger weigh heavy on your mind as the roof of your home comes into view, stilted and in the same drab navy as the flowers on the wallpaper.

You could have done more. It had been instilled into you to not to open the door for someone you did not quite know, yet a part of you longed to take care of something not simply fed by oil, something only capable of telling you how much time you’ve sat alone as thanks.

Surely it was best not to let it distract you.

This was good enough.

The key is produced, the door opened, and just like the many times before that you have forced yourself from this place, the house seems less unsettling upon your return.

As what little daylight remains fades away into night, you find yourself seated, toying with the old pocket watch once more. It’s the only one that doesn’t make a lick of sense, a puzzle that can not be solved. For all the polished parts and meticulous tinkering, it still won’t work properly.

It grates and growls as though rusted, the cogs shifting inside with each movement of the arms are well-polished yet seem to do little but hiss and spit.

This is the fourth time you have taken it apart only to put it back together with no improvement.

There was little to be known about the man who owned it, some pompous, arrogant creature that you had only seen in passing. He had turned his nose up to you, you were sure of that, only to deliver this dying thing to your door the following day.

Your work had always been compared to your father’s. Though you possessed a similarity in skill, you were not what the townsfolk had deemed to be respectable. An unwed lady out on her own, biding her time repairing what they had broken rather than feeding hungry mouths delivered from her very womb, how terribly scandalous.

The pocket watch is set aside as you busy yourself tailoring a small sheet of metal for it. The graduations are carved in with a sharp razor, impeccably angled. Then, the Roman numerals, just before it’s slotted back into place.

The likeness to the former face is nearly uncanny, it’s only sturdier and less susceptible to ripping from the mere touch of tweezers. The rust s gone from the casing, and at long last— it ticks; no grinding growl as the second hand begins its revolution. The fickle thing just needed a touch up, you supposed as you flick off the desk lamp and rise to your feet.

The curtains are drawn as they always were when you step into the bedroom. The muddy dress is finally peeled away as you change and slink into the covers, and just for a moment, you almost think that you feel the animal between your breasts begin to settle too.

———

There’s a letter stuffed into the mail slot: crumpled with no postage stamp, scrawled across some scrap of paper that surely was plucked from a garbage bin.

You marvel at the lack of care for a moment before your fingers do find themselves pawing at it, unfurling the worn edges to find the words: Thank you.

Written in thick black ink, there’s a clumsiness to it, the dance of a quivering hand holding pen. You think back to the elderly woman you had made that delivery to only yesterday; had she trudged through the mud and muck just to bring you this?

Her thanks was only needed in the blessing of payment, and she had already generously done just that when she left her little humming wall clock at the door.

You flip the note over, inspecting it carefully. There’s a line there, too, hastily scratched out in the same black ink, the lines crossing and digging leaving little pinprick holes in the paper.

Holding it to the light, you can just barely make out the words: I have been alone.

Your mouth dries at the sentiment, tongue flicking out to try and force a wetness to your lips. The animal begins its keening howl, a chain rattling as claws sink into your innards; the very same agitated fear that starved you out of comfort day in and out.

The man in the forest, perhaps. You were sure that you would have remembered seeing someone so disheveled and tall about town, and if not for a certainty that he had not followed you home, you would have assumed it was him. Gratitude finally said, and well on his way to someplace else.

There’s nothing here for him or anyone else, surely he could see that. Even you could.

The walls around you seem to bulge, the room shrinking once again as every little thing held within begins to taunt and yowl. Safety was only a temporary luxury, it always has been.

The letter is discarded onto a table, as you opt to hazard a peek out of your curtains instead. The gray from yesterday remains as thick clouds crowd above, threatening another storm. The treetops and tall grass dance in the breeze, freeing leaves and breaking flower stems. There’s no one standing there to greet you, to explain themselves for the strange message that they had left.

The town had probably already driven you to madness, picturing things that were not there while old fools jab you with ominous letters and jeering stares to see just how long it would take to watch you fall apart.

Another delivery day it would be, then; best to get it out of the way before the rain begins to fall.

Maybe you could even retrieve the umbrella along the path, discarded, battered from the rain and likely unused.

You don’t bother packaging the pocket watch, choosing to hastily stuff it into the pocket of your coat instead. Courtesies be damned. Tea and a warm bath would do well when the house was sated by your absence, when you were finally given time to breathe.

In your haste, you nearly kick over what’s been left on the uppermost stair leading to your door.

You find a table clock covered in a thick black fabric, a little note attached to it giving the owner’s name and address, and a small bag containing payment.

It’s all securely placed inside, next to the ugly letter on the table.

Your umbrella doesn’t wait on the path, but you’ve hardly the mind to care. Your hand tightens around the pocket watch as you cord your way down the path and back into town, rushing amidst the foliage until the sounds of your footfalls are dulled by the street.

Reaching the house, a towering narrow building that smells like tobacco even from outside, your hand curls to knock at the door in the same breath taken as the chain is plucked to place it on the knob, intent on scurrying away immediately to avoid the disgusted gaze of the man that waits inside.

You don’t quite make it far enough before the door swings open and you’re greeted by a round face, nose upturned and lip curled into a sneer.

That isn’t imagination.

There’s a genuine hate in this man, seeping down into his bones that makes him almost seem to reek like sulfur through the cloud of cigarette smoke that wafts around him. It’s the face of someone who would love nothing more than to see your own damnation, watch the earth suck you in until your wails fall silent and a fire roars upward in your wake.

“This isn’t my watch, dear.”

“Parts needed to be replaced,” you explain, voice tight and keening like a wolf in a trap, “I assure you that I—“

“It’s shoddy work. Any clocksmith up north would have done better for half the price..”

It goes on like this for what feels like at minimum thirty revolutions, but it must have only been five or so. His droning voice makes it hard to keep track, buzzing as he examines your work, hours wasted upon aiding such an awful creature.

He only seems to grow bored of his chiding when you fall to silence. He wants a reaction, not a wide-eyed fretful stare and pursed lips caging in any sound that may bubble up from your throat.

In one final act of detestation, the watch is tossed to the ground, stomped in repetition until the hands snap, the ticking quiets, and you see months of your work brought to ruin in a mere seven seconds.

He storms back inside and slams the door shut as you stoop to collect the little, broken thing, cradling it in your palms. Maybe it wouldn’t be fixed again, but you’ve hardly the mind to let anything be left abandoned like this.

Though the anger builds, white bitter smoke billowing through your veins, it remains tucked away inside eventually communing with the animal, all but entirely snuffed out when your steps lead you to the front door of the house.

The window to the right is open, not broken. The curtains were pushed aside as though to allow a breeze to enter. A muddy footprint, vast and long scales the siding, but there’s no exiting one to join it.

You stare and listen, taking one quiet step towards the open window to strain your hearing. Nothing. Inside, it’s quiet, only the sound of the breeze rattling that note left on the table, the ticking and the familiar creaks and groans of the house settling.

So, you enter.

With the poker from the hearth in tow, the rooms are investigated one by one. Each and every one of them clear of any intruder. Even the attic, for all of it’s imagined ghosts sits empty, stale and silent. There’s no one here, nothing out of place or broken that hadn’t already been cast out from the world and delivered into your hands.

Strangely enough, it’s more peaceful like this; the leaves could be heard rustling outside, birds calling, even the chirps and strumming of crickets too late to flee the onset of chill seeping through this purgatory, filling the mundane void with sounds of life and peace.

You leave the window open.

The pocket watch is left on the desk, the kettle filled with water and placed upon the stove to heat, all before your eyes trail over to that little table beside the front door.

The only thing amiss is there, your intuition roars at you: “Look, look. Just look.”

The table clock from this morning sits there, the wood casing dusty and the hands perpetually stuck to sit at six o’clock, easy to enough to break, and easier still to fix. An overworked battery and a little oil would be its saving grace; if only things could be so simple for yourself, for the thousand or so others that surely must feel the same�� clawed, fretful little rabbits.

Your eyes narrow momentarily, vaguely recalling that the damned thing had been covered when it was dragged inside. Something sable and thick, a scrap of a heavy dress shirt perhaps, verily stained. Odd that someone would have broken in merely to steal something so useless, but stranger tales have been told. For all you cared, the perpetrator could keep it.

You entertain the idea of the wild man in the trees, thick and sturdy as one. Perhaps he left the note, stole warmth from your home and found comfort in that useless old shirt after leaving that roughly scrawled note. Though the idea would horrify others, it only sets your ceaselessly racing pulse at ease.

Toying with the idea that someone so very much like you lurks the hills, found a home in your eyes and paid a visit, kind enough to wait until you were in town as to not scare you… and the kettle begins to whistle.

———

You had forgotten to close the window last night. Or maybe it was left as an invitation, a silent offer of your companionship for the unknown thing that occupies your already haunted mind these days. Something in your subconscious dared you to simply forget, see what happens, and you’re not entirely disappointed to find out that yes, something has happened.

There are three flowers laid out there in a row, smushed by the weight of a heavy palm: a daffodil left golden and proud despite the way her petals fray and wither, and two others wild and unnamed with blue and white colors leading to vibrant green stems. And roots. He hadn’t the time to pluck them proper, nor had a sense of gentleness to his touch in doing so.

It’s the first time you’ve laughed in months, a giggling that makes your chest ache from a sudden mirth through all of this wretchedness. Who knew it would only take three flowers and the appearance of someone so disconnected? You take them and place them in a vase in the same spot, careful to add just the right amount of water to keep them living for a time.

Someone brought you flowers— actually brought you a gift, not a job. You remember those eyes, too. His hands may not have been gentle, but that look was.

Though darkness still creeps internally, you’re resolute in what you must do when you prepare for the day. You’ve never really worn this dress— a soft, white thing with billowing sleeves and tight cuffs that brings a swell to your breasts and cinches your waist. One of the women about town had given it to you in lieu of payment for repairing her husband's watch, left a note prattling onward for three pages about how a woman should dress to find a man. Three!

You’ll find him, thank him for the flowers, bat your eyelashes just a little and retrieve your umbrella. That’s all. The rain would be back, more deliveries would have to be made, and if you could manage a friend from all of this well… surely things could work out for you, just this once.

Your steps are less hurried and more tentative this time around. You don’t barrel through the woods like a galloping mare, mindful of your dress as you lift the fabric at the hips to avoid thick, slickened mire. There isn’t much to do about the thorns nipping at your ankles, leaving little scratches like cat’s claws in their wake.

The thought that maybe this was a ridiculous idea only settles in your mind after an hour of searching. You don’t even have a name to call him by, not an idea on just where he may be or what his intentions truly were, all further punctuated by the fact that you’ve found yourself in the midst of a wild orchard, the yellowing grass nearly reaching your knees as you reluctantly allow your dress to flow free. Thick clusters of apples hang above your head, each nearly ripe, some even fallen to leave a fragrant sweet smell in the wake of their rot.

Thunder roars above, distant but loud, cruelly threatening the wake of a downpour that would so easily sully the delicate thing you wear. Your chest aches from exertion, from whichever horrid fear it's settled on today, and you’re nearly fully convinced of your own madness when something does finally catch your eye.

There’s a cabin, nestled between the trees, old and lacking glass panes for the windows. The roof is covered in moss, walls creeping with the old green of vines and nearly hidden away entirely by the tall grass that rises above its face.

You could wait out the storm in the dark there, rethink your steps until you find a way back home and the prospect of actually entering a building that wasn’t the very picture of your own agony stirs something within you.

You don’t bother to knock, only waltz right in and let the door shut softly behind you. It creaks as it goes, whining from the rust laden over its hinges. As expected, the cabin is mostly barren; a set of dust laden chairs sits on opposite ends of a table missing a leg, a large bookshelf housing only a torn copy of Paradise Lost and a journal, a few dirtied dishes are left on the floor, and in the corner…

There are a lot of things that make you feel small.

You couldn’t live up to your father’s name in town. The thought that you were not an equal to the other ladies with their fine jewelry and dresses, rings wrapped around their fingers, that was a sore spot despite the way you refused to admit to it. Even the hounds lurking about the butcher’s shop on lonely night deliveries, baying and growling when your feet carried you too close.

None of those things could even compare to how you felt now.

The rug he lies beneath is large on its own, but your flower-giving, grateful titan seems even more so. It’s as though walking into a bear’s den and expecting a mere squirrel. Even curled into himself in sleep, he seems impossibly huge.

You couldn’t see much of him that first night, but now… where the rags that make up his clothes reveal a series of long scars along his legs, the hairy arms that seem far too thick: all of him, all of him is massive.

Your rabbit heart does not claw or fight you now, it only flutters, placated by the sight of something so… was there really a word for it? The idea that someone so imposing could strike the match of attraction within you. Feelings were strange, each comes sharp and new like the deliberate twist of a knife through a body, soft like warm bread.

You smile as you wander to his side, recognizing the cloth he wears over his head immediately as the one stolen from your house. Your dress is smoothed at your rear as you lower yourself to sit on your knees at his side, quiet and slow.

“Hello,” you whisper, placing a hand on a shoulder that dwarfs it entirely, feeling the bulge of muscle beneath the ripped shirt, the ridge of keloid scars from deep cuts laid into his skin.

The titan’s eyelids flutter for a moment as he begins to stir, staring up at the ceiling, teetering on the edge between waking and dreaming. Then, those cold blue eyes lock onto you. A flash of disbelief crosses them, just for a moment before something flips and from the holes ripped into that makeshift hood you see an expression that seems almost agonized.

“Hello,” he rasps after a long moment, shifting onto his side to prop himself up and raise his head to level with your own.

His breathing is shallow, almost panicked and you finally think to bring your hands to your lap instead, avoid touching him and potentially startling the poor man further.

“I wanted to thank you… for the flowers. They’re beautiful.” You pause as you study what little of his expression you can make out through the mask, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners only giving a glimpse of a smile. All teeth, probably, an excited one that even the imagination of warms your heart. “I put them in a vase. I didn’t want them to die.”

“I should not have…” His voice is softer than you ever imagined that it could be, well-spoken as the words are pulled from his throat. You find yourself transfixed, almost, praying that he continues if only to hear the delicate strumming of his tone, the soft sigh of breath that leaves him afterward.

“Es tut mir leid.”

The apology is followed by a low sweep of his gaze, slowly crawling from the peek of your cleavage to your hips to rest where your hands lay clasped in your lap.

He hardly seems to know what to do with himself, what to say, and all at once the realization dawns on you that no, he isn’t merely paying his thanks and seeking conversation. Perhaps that was part of it then, but now… he seems almost entranced.

You recognize those looks, from men in passing when they leered, but from him… from this weary, haunted stranger. It only seems a silent sort of reverence; as though longing for something he’s been deprived of.

“No, it’s fine, it made me happy.”

“Happy?”

“Yes, it was sweet.”

He falls silent at that, conflicted if the pinch of his brow were anything to go by. Then, sudden, he takes your wrist and jerks your hand toward his face, thumb brushing over the small calluses over each pad of your fingers. There’s dirt beneath his fingernails, even more scaring along those massive hands and you shiver. It’s not fear it’s… something akin to it, opposite by the way it dances and writhes in warmth rather than the cold.

“You have the hands of a maker.”

Strange, sweet Goliath.

His words are spoken somberly, as if there is more to say that he holds back. A part of you warns that you’re not prepared for it anyhow, so you let him continue that motion, brushing over your palm with a featherlight touch until it begins to tickle.

Your giggle prompts him to raise his head, watery eyes threatening tears when he hears that sweet sound bubble up from within you. His hand curls over your own, trapping you in his grasp as though little else matters to him more than the need to touch you in some way.

“You have kind eyes.”

“I am not kind.”

You shake your head at that, flicking your thumb across the top of his burly hand, marveling at the smooth skin of his scars and the rough texture of the hair that dots his knuckles.

“You’re sweet to me, and that’s all that matters.”

It could have been a mistake, how easily you’ve taken to this bizarre titan. Any lady with proper regard for her standing and womanhood assuredly wouldn’t have said something like that to a beast that has the stature and the scent of something wild.

Still, the words leave your lips far too quickly to draw back; he responds with an urgency.

You find yourself pulled ever closer by the iron grip on your hand, tugged into the rug-turned-mattress by this man as he cages you in to meld against his chest. He’s everywhere, warm and burning against the chill of your skin with flesh touched by hellfire.

You only sigh pitifully when his arm wraps around your waist. When was the last time you had even felt an embrace? You couldn’t recall, and even if you had, it would have paled in comparison to one such as this. You breathe him in like a summer’s breeze, tasting a hint of the apple orchard beyond on your tongue when you open your mouth to speak once again.

“See..?”

The tension in his muscles seems to melt away; if your heart is like a hare then surely his must be more akin to a bull. It takes some time before he softens entirely against you, despite his initiation. His breath is almost a pant when his hand trails upward along your back, feeling every ridge and dip and curve, breath catching in wonder as you allow it.

“You are soft like…”

His head dips to press into your shoulder, breathing you in, humming his approval at the mingling scent of clock oil and tea leaves that lingers on your skin. Even from beneath the hood, you can feel the way his lips brush over you, his mouth parted in a voiceless plea.

“… like one of the flowers.”

It’s almost torture really, how someone could be so comforting, so endearing.

His hand trails further, drifting over the backside of your dress to curl against your thigh threatening something if you don’t conjure the sense to stop him. It stokes the fire within you, glowing ember in place of a brain, it seemed. You feel weak, lost in a foreign touch and sweet, clumsily spoken words.

If the townsfolk could see you now, herded up in this stranger’s arms, surely they wouldn’t dare to cast any disapproval your way. Not one of those meek little devils would have a word to say… not now or ever again.

“You’re like… a tree then,” you whisper as you finally will yourself to twist away from the grip, already mourning the loss of warmth as a cold wind filters through the openings in the cabin.

He doesn’t sulk as you pull away, only seems content to have been blessed with that much. That mist remains in his eyes before they shut again, willing himself to rise to sit up just as you do.

“Will you stay?”

You glance over the cabin again, with all of its dust and cobwebs. Your umbrella sits in the corner, propped upright with its handle leant against the wall, out of place amidst the dilapidation prevalent here.

This wasn’t a home at all, just a quiet, cold purgatory. Though the halls of your own may mock your solitude, this place seems to echo his very being: alone, broken, rotting and so, so very cold.

Your heart bleeds as you weigh your options, expression growing sullen and torn. He notices, tentatively takes your hand again in an almost practiced way of providing comfort. Had he ever even…

Your thoughts begin to drift again, and you force yourself to settle on a choice. It’s not your heart that should be damned, but that horrid seed of doubt constantly burdening, stealing from, and clawing at you.

“I should get home, before the rain.”

“Verstanden.”

“You can come too.”

There’s an audible hiss of breath through his teeth, that peculiar look of agony crosses his face again… and finally, he weeps.

———

König, you think to call him.

He teaches you German from time to time, in turn for you allowing him to watch as you work away at the clocks. It feels fitting in a way. Not because he harbors the self-importance of a noble figure, nor his stature; he’s simply become something impossibly important in the week long span you’ve spent together now.

You’ve decorated the guest room properly for him, and in turn he’s brought you firewood, foraged and hunted so that neither of you have had to bother with the town. The fire raged in the hearth as the cold continues to set in, and your walks to town have been enjoyable now. He accompanies you to the hill on some nights, draws you a bath when you come home, even cooks.

So… maybe a king was not entirely appropriate, but calling him a servant certainly wasn’t either. Even with the way he seems to melt and become docile at the slightest brush of your hand, the way you know with a certainty he would die for you if you spoke the word.

And still, you call him König: the king of your heart.

There are flowers at your windowsill each morning, still clinging to their roots. You bake the bread while he cooks stew with herbs gathered from the little garden just beyond the walls of the home, one he’s graciously told you he’s wanted to expand for you. Books you’ve overlooked for years have been read end to end by him, and he especially seems to like those with art of flowers drawn into their pages, always seeking you out to show you, explain their meanings, expressing the beauty that he sees in them and within you.

You don’t know where he’s come from, what his life was like before this, and with the same respect that he gives to you… you don’t ask.

“We’re starting a new story,” you had said the first morning over a breakfast of hastily made apple dumplings. To which he had agreed, with a somber hum, nodding his hooded head.

Though you do wonder about his secrets, his face. Seeing him now is all it really takes to make you smile.

He comes through the door, hauling in the massive grandfather clock that a carriage had left only this morning. The bob and the lyre both appeared broken at a glance, but your heart sinks when you read the name on the note left attached to it.

The same petulant little man that had stomped that poor watch to pieces right in front of you, no doubt he had broken this one too in some sort of tantrum. What was it now? Had the poor clock chimes a bit too loudly during the night? Was that deserving of a foot lodged right into its heart?

“König, do you mind just leaving it there?” You gesture toward the middle of the room, watching as the muscles beneath his shirt don’t even seem to ripple from exertion.

“Natürlich.”

As you set to work, pulling away parts, straightening out bends and replacing what’s broken, he kneels at your side watching with rapt attention. There’s no fixing the pendulum bob entirely, it’s far too bent and scraped, but you wouldn’t be replacing that with work of your own either. The bastard gets what he gets and that will do.

In truth, your work since having König here has only improved, and perhaps you’re showing off a bit, but the way he watches you tinker with the dusty old things as if mesmerized fills you with pride. You could fix anything, yes, with him at your side you wanted to.

The house doesn’t echo wasted time anymore, only that crowding feeling of something buzzing and chirping, budding up in the spaces where shadows should crawl: love. You wouldn’t trade it for the loneliness to return, not ever. A new sort of fear that stings just as much as it does caress.

So you work in silence, only breaking it to answer the sparse questions that he throws out.

When the clock is shoddily finished, you wipe the oil from your hands on a rag, and take König’s own large arm as it’s offered out to you to stand.

“I will carry it for you tonight,” he suggests, delicately brushing a bit of dust from your sleeve. His touch does linger, always lingers, trailing up to massage at your shoulder and cup at your neck. The swell of heat that arrives at your face then, the press of your thighs beneath your skirt… it’s always the same.

“I thought that you didn’t want to go into town?”

Your shoulder meets his chest as you press against him, doing very little to calm your body’s frustrations. The blood within you stirs like a violent wave feeling him this near— cleaned up and dressed in some patchwork conglomerate of your father’s old clothes. He smells like a union between the earth and sea, salt and alder leaf, a hint of thyme and lavender.

His eyes glitter when his gaze roves from your face to chest, hand skittering down to curl at the small of your back. To anyone else, you would look the picture of husband and wife perhaps.

“I would go anywhere with you.”

A fresh normal, like the rise of spring, those words and touches that suggest more: threatening while you plead in silence for him to just give you a push, unlace your dress and finally feel and see him properly.

“Then… yes, let’s get the cursed thing out of here tonight.”

His grip tightens around you just for a moment, fingers curling and flexing into the soft linen covering you, bunching it up just so at your back before he relents, draws away.

“You dislike this one?” König sounds almost hurt, perhaps he favored it, being tall and similar to him in some way. Another odd thing, hard to place, but he’s never seemed to like you talking down about your own work, a habit that needed breaking.

“No,” you begin to explain, curling your arms around his middle as you both stare at the thing, ticking quietly before you, “its owner is just a pain.”

“I can tell. You seem nervous, meine geliebte.”

“You haven’t taught me that one yet,” you point out, not playing coy, despite the look he gives you that suggests you know.

There’s always that ache when his eyes narrow and that playful glint reaches them. How someone could look as though they’ve suffered dozens of lifetimes of pain and still have that look, you did not know, but it excites you. A furious, needy excitement.

“Beloved,” is all that he says.

The stare relents as he heads back out into the garden, leaving you to sort yourself out.

———

“You’re sure that you can carry it the entire way?”

It’s not that you could help, really. The thing must have weighed as much as yourself, strung up over König’s back with a rope he had found lying someplace in the garden.

“Ja, it’s fine.” He’s not out of breath in the slightest either. You realize then that if you put on all your charms bending, arching and delicately maneuvering your hands to fix the clocks, the assuredly this was his way of doing the same. You try to reign yourself in from staring at the damp spot on his shirt, clinging to his broad expanse of chest, the way that his thighs seem to tense with each step forward.

You can’t— you merely trail behind him until you take the lead to bring him right to the other man’s doorstep. Your hands find the ropes that keep the clock saddled to König’s back, carefully untying them as he stoops down to let its wooden legs rest against the ground below. It scrapes, the consequence of being so heavy and forced to stand on those four tiny legs, and only then does it decide to make a cacophony of noise signaling the new hour, a trilling sort of bong that makes even your ears ring as it breaks up the silence of the night.

You don’t even need to knock, because the door flies open immediately. The man stands proud, unperturbed by your giant companion as he shoves past you to inspect his clock. There are no greetings, no pleasantries, and if you were just a bit more careless with your reputation, smacking him would have only brought you satisfaction.

“Not good, but it will do,” the little man huffs, knocking at the glass casing over the clock’s face with his knuckle. “Be a dear and have your friend bring it in for me.”

You’ve no doubt that König senses your annoyance as he cocks his head at you, but when you give a curt nod in response, he does what’s requested. The clock is set in a large den. It’s not as opulent and gilded as you had expected, just a simple home housing a very infuriating man. You watch from the doorway, swaying on your feet as König rights the clock and pushes it where he’s directed. Just a few more seconds and the two of you would be well on your way, and perhaps he would even teach you a new curse for a man like that.

He comes uncomfortably close to König’s side, a smug look plastered over his face that only seems to exaggerate just how greasy and mousy that you know him to be. Something is whispered that you can’t quite make out, a dare, a mocking taunt, something that pisses you off even without the knowledge.

The hood is pulled off by thin fingers, cast aside to the floor beyond the pair.

The man’s face goes pale before you even get a glimpse of König at all. He backs away, mouth gaping as König calmly moves to retrieve the cloth. You think you hear the word “monster” mumbled amidst a slew of incoherent babbling, but when your companion turns to face you, you feel no fear.

König’s face is like patchwork, scars connecting all together. They run like small streams up from his jaw and over his chin, splitting his lip at the corner of his mouth and dancing up to his eye. The nose is broken in places, several times over likely, crooked with a bump that only seems strangely cute. The unkempt hair lining his jaw should be trimmed, but… there’s no monster here. Only a man who has seen and felt pains that you could not bring yourself to imagine.

His head dips when he notices your wide-eyes stare, a sort of shame hidden away behind strands of long, black hair. He shuffles out of the house and shuts the door behind him, standing rigid as he expects the worst, for you to wail and sob and gather a group of townsfolk to herd him far away with fire and stones.

You only take his hand.

“Let’s go home.”

He doesn’t bother to hide himself away again during the walk back, his hand remains in your hold, trembling every now and then and gripping you tighter as he struggles with the thoughts no doubt raging in his skull like a storm. You offer your comfort as you lean toward him, head pressed against his arm even as you turn the knob and step inside.

You warm a bath for him then, a task that is no easy feat. König does not offer his help, resigned to some belief that this is only a temporary pity.

He allows you to peel away his clothes, graze your fingers over his body, over the scars all with a barely contained creature scraping out from inside: the untamed bull that you can not see. You press a kiss there, over his heart, feel it’s beating against your lips, pulling away only when his thumb strokes your cheek.

Each new sight of him is just as wonderful as they have always been. It’s not that you take pleasure in seeing the way he must have suffered; the now healed bullet wound over his abdomen speaks volumes of just what people are capable of when met with the sight of something that they do not understand.

The questions burn at the back of your skull, bitten back as your jaw tightens.

You help him wash with soap and a soft cloth, carefully removing any patches of dirt and dust that have lingered despite his near-daily bathing since living beneath your roof. The rough beard is trimmed in full, until all that’s left is a trail of dark stubble lingering along his jaw, broken up by scars like thin spider silk that make up the entirety of his body.

His hair is a mess, too, matted and clinging to his skull in wild clumps. You’re gentle with the brush as you free the tangles, clipping at what can not be saved with sharpened scissors, and massaging at his scalp as he murmurs his approval. It’s such a subdued, gentle cooing from his chest, a purr almost that shatters your heart and forces it back into place instantly.

Whatever he was or was not, you were certain this stray had never felt a touch like your own, if he had ever been touched by human hands at all.

König seems to settle greatly once you’ve tended to him and it does seem to finally dawn on him that you’re not repulsed, you’ve touched most of his damaged body, and have only brought him the gentleness that should have been commonplace by now. This isn’t some elaborate torture method— it’s only tender.

“Your turn, hm?”

That, however, brings you pause. Your hands rest on his shoulder, carefully trying to loosen a stubborn knot when you abruptly still. As if that were all he needed for encouragement, his hands cinch your waist, pulling you up and over the rim of the tub as you whine your protests in hushed little hisses. All for naught, as you find yourself submerged below the waist.

“I’m still dressed,” you sulk as the water dampens your dress, now seated between his parted thighs.

König only gives a laugh in response as his arms encase you in another embrace, his head resting against the dip between your shoulder and neck as his chest is brought to press against your back.

“And you’re still mine.”

His fingers trail further down to the wet fabric billowing amidst the soft, lapping waves of the water, pulling it up until it rests just above your hips. There’s no tact, only a clumsy sort of desperation rarely seen upon men, especially not of his stature.

You allow him to loosen the strands of lace at your back, bring your clothing up and over your head to leave it resting and dripping over the rim, pooling below onto the boards of the wooden floor. Your undergarments follow to join the flooding pile of soaked linen and lace.

You’re flustered certainly, grateful for the water surrounding that conceals the warmth that echoes your fondness for this titan between your legs.

You even considered that he would be more shy, not… as eager to begin to wash you, and not with the cloth but with his own hands, nimbly moving over every dip and curve coating you in the slick residue of soap, leaving suds in its wake. He starts at your shoulders, breath growing heavy the more you soften and relax against his chest.

It’s only a matter of time before his hands find and cup your breasts, and you swear that you can feel the grin that splits his face as you melt further against him. König gropes at and massages you there, eager fingers deliberately stroking at your hardened nipples until you quiver and sigh.

You find purchase moving your arms to your sides to grasp at his biceps, muscles flexing as he works his way down your trembling abdomen to your mound, kissing at your shoulder as you purr your encouragement.

The praises that leave your lips come tight and barely restrained as a finger trails against your slit, moving up to circle your clit before diving back down to prod at you.

Your head is gently tilted back by his free hand, your face peppered in clumsy, messy kisses as a digit sinks into you. It’s lazy work, trying to find a rhythm with your squirming. He only seems satisfied when it presses further, curling against the spot that makes you mewl sweetest, and finally, he kisses you full on.

It’s delivered as sloppily as his fingering, any trailing thought left in your skull dims, fuzzy with sheer bliss as his thumb begins to pet at your clit in tandem with each push and drag of his index. It doesn’t help that you feel his own growing need, hard and hot against your lower back, throbbing with each sound pulled from your mouth, his hips jerking on occasion to drag his shaft against your backside.

“König, we should get out,” you murmur through a flood of heat that curls and urges and presses at your lower half to seek some satisfaction, have him bed you proper. “We can go to—“

His mouth meets yours again, hungrier and more determined than before, the water rolling with each flick of his thumb. In a mere moment you feel that heat stoke to an inferno, blazing from your stomach to cause your feet to kick out, water sloshing over the side of the tub as you ride out each passing wave of paradise crying openly into his mouth.

When your trembling does subside, he kisses your cheek and pulls you up from the water, wrapping you up in his arms. His stare remains ever burning, pupils blown to a coal black, dreamy in the way he slinks back just to drink you in further. You can’t keep track of all of the places his eyes seem to dart, which touch to settle on and relish as he paws at you from chest to rear, as if mesmerized that you are no mere illusion.

You’re giving him everything; no longer the king of simply a beating organ tucked beneath your breast, but your body, bed, wherever he chooses to conquer next, of all the things that he’s been deprived of.

“We will go to bed, beloved,” he rasps, sounding more present than ever. The nightmares lurking behind his eyes have long past now: all focus is turned to you. You’re the only thing that’s ever loved him in return. “We will… become one.”

“Have you ever…” Your own voice fails you now, the evident want between you two incapable of making this any less… tedious. It was tedious, a flighty feathered thing that seems keen on slipping out of your grasp at any moment. If it were to be his first, surely it should be special, somehow, someway. If it were not… you dreaded that thought, a bitter envy sours on your tongue until it’s shaken off.

“No,” he states simply, shrugging.

Though a sense of relief seems to flood you at that, you dare not show it. You will take him to your bed, climb atop him and show him how these things work, a slow sort of love and the rest could wait.

It was foolish to believe that König would settle for such a thing, wild and only temporarily tamed by your sweetness: he is entirely different the moment you’re herded into the bedroom. The desperation of his touches has faded out entirely, replaced with what feels almost like a rage.

He wouldn’t take out humanities sins on you, no, but he would years of brutal neglect have left him starved and it just so happens that you’re an outlet for it, something to feed from by way of spilling his soul and his seed all into you, taken back with the kisses and praises that would surely come after this union.

You’re unceremoniously pushed onto the bed, lying at your side as he climbs in behind you. He whispers his requests into your hair, even as his hand wraps to pull your thigh up before you can bless him with a nod in response. He struggles for a moment, parting your labia with the obscene, ridiculous thing that hangs between his legs. It drags over you in repetition, oiled like the clock cogs before the head of his cock finally finds the opening his finger explored only minutes earlier.

You almost expect him to break you right then, force you to take what your body— no body- had surely been made for, but he only thrusts the tip inside and gives you some time to adjust, roll your hips down centimeter by agonizing centimeter.

“You are… Does it hurt you..?” His voice is a breathless pant, trying to hold himself together despite the daze he’s found himself in, buried not even three inches into your cunt.

“No… you can move,” you breathe out, eyelids fluttering as you tilt you head to look at him over your shoulder.

König clings to you as he sinks further, grasping at your waist to pull your further down, sharp breaths hissed between gritting teeth as he delights in the way your womanhood grips at his shaft.

Just as before, there’s no rhythm to him, he takes the sounds that leave you as a direction, huffing into your ear words that your mind could not hope to translate. There’s an indulgence to it, shared between you both as his hand curls tighter against your thigh, spread open and accepting of the brutal pace he takes to have just a taste of what it feels to be a normal man.

His words falter at a point, when you feel your body tightening around him, sucking him in, closer, nearer as your head lolls back. The inferno from before pales in comparison to the blaze that overtakes you now, his voice strained with bliss as you begin to moan for him. With each drag and soar of his cock spearing you open, you’re only brought further to a glimpse of Eden. If this were the fall of man, you find you couldn’t question Eve for relishing in it.

“… you gave me a name,” he rasps, “A home…”

All at once that glimmer of heaven crashes down around you, bathes you in the glow of something lofty and holy as he pulls you close and drives himself to the hilt within you. The throbbing and pulsing of his length pulls you over just as his seed spills within, drips thick and flooding as your own sex drools in tandem, sharing a perfect rapture both clandestine and sacred. He gives you another generous thrust, ensuring that he’s carved a space inside no other man could ever hope to fill.

You fret when you find him weeping, quiet tears rolling down his pale cheeks to spill over your shoulder, but the gentle smile on his face is pacifying as you twist around to face him. “And now you have my love.”

“I’ll cherish it,” he murmurs, voice broken and pitiful as you’re maneuvered upward to rest against the feather-stuffed pillows against the headboard.

You curl against him, head resting on his chest, an arm draped over his waist. He takes your hand into his own, appraising it like the first time you properly met. Hands of a maker. Your mind wanders to significance in that statement, the things that needn’t be told are finding ways to curtain you anyhow when he speaks again.

“Could you fix me?” He asks, tracing over the calluses on your fingertips, still bathing in the afterglow.

The question, though you felt it coming, still hurts to hear him speak it: breathing life into a thought that should have never existed to begin with.

“There’s nothing to fix.” Though you speak true, though you know he feels your sincerity, his eyes are heavy when he looks to you again. “Why would you ask me that?”

The story that he tells you then is one of horror. From his maker down to the things he’s done, seen, felt: hated from the moment he woke into this strange world, the horrible loneliness that pushed and bedded down inside of him like acceptance never would. The people that he’s throttled in some desire to finally have someone like him; men, women, it made no difference. All of it is bared with only one message eternally prevalent: he has only ever wanted to be loved.

In truth, he was a monster. Not because he was given the instinctual urge to be, but because it was all he knew. Gnashing teeth from demons hurling that word out with every stone they threw, every shot and stab at his heart.

You listen, despite the way it hurts, pull him a little closer when he ends his tale with your meeting, how he knew you were the only blessing he would ever receive in his lifetime— however long that may be.

You were good at fixing broken things, but König never needed to be fixed. Only found.

———

“Now you’re supposed to say it,” you hum, as his hands reach to the hem of the hood— his- covering your face. They rove beneath the fabric, curling against the skin of your cheeks, tracing small patterns there, some rotations like the clocks, others the childish hearts scribbled into books.

“I vow to take you as my wife.”

“You’re bad at this.” You giggle when he does finally push the cloth up past your nose, above your eyes and further until it’s pulled back like a veil.

“I will love you endlessly,” he continues, returning your noise of elation with a huffed laugh of his own. “I already do.”

“I love you, too.”

No one in town would ever properly marry you two, not if one look could make a weak man fall to his knees in horror, but here, beneath the roof of a home once echoing the same voice that haunts him… it was good enough. The moon seems to echo your vows with dancing rays, stars twinkling in approval as the calls of night birds carry through the open window.

There are no rings, no written formalities to be stored away with dust-ridden papers, preyed upon by mites. It’s far more sacred, genuine than the flippant affairs and arrangements that go on with those that would so readily cast the both of you aside. In truth— the thought of them rarely comes; doesn’t even rile up that intense fear inside of you any longer.

Everything only seems easier with the blooming garden outdoors, and the man who gazes upon you like he sees divinity itself behind your eyes, in the softness of your flesh.

When you kiss, it’s something from a fairytale, flowers strewn at your feet and the veil removed from your hair by a gentle hand.

Eden doesn’t seem so much like a memory lost to time, after all.

[okasuka]

jason todd x thingy stuff

The rain pattered softly against the windows of your cozy apartment, creating a rhythmic backdrop to the warmth of the room. The place was modest but filled with little touches of you and Jason—a battered leather jacket tossed over the arm of the couch, your favorite mug sitting on the coffee table, and a small collection of mismatched vinyls displayed near the turntable.

You sat cross-legged on the rug near the window, your headphones snug over your ears, completely lost in your own world. The dim glow of your MP3 player screen illuminated your face as Feelz by Lil Peep played softly into your ears, a melancholic anthem that perfectly matched the rainy atmosphere.

Jason leaned against the doorway to the kitchen, his arms crossed as he watched you. He was dressed down—gray sweatpants and a loose hoodie, his messy black hair falling into his piercing blue eyes. There was something about you in these quiet moments that tugged at something deep inside him. Maybe it was how peaceful you looked, or maybe it was the way your little movements—like the soft tap of your fingers against your knee—seemed to mimic the rhythm of whatever you were listening to.

You hadn’t noticed him yet, too caught up in the music. Jason smirked to himself and moved closer, his footsteps silent as he crouched down beside you. He gently reached out, tugging one side of your headphones away from your ear.

“You ignoring me, sweetheart?” His voice was soft, teasing, but there was an edge of vulnerability to it, like he needed your attention more than he wanted to admit.

You blinked, startled, and turned to him, a sheepish smile spreading across your lips. “Didn’t hear you come in,” you admitted, pausing your MP3 player and pulling the headphones off entirely.

Jason sat down beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours. “What’s got you so zoned out?”

“Music,” you replied simply, handing him one of the headphones. “Here, listen.”

He raised an eyebrow but took the offered headphone, placing it in his ear. The melancholic tones of the song filtered through, and Jason tilted his head, listening.

“Lil Peep?” he guessed after a moment, and you nodded.

“Yeah. It’s Feelz. I don’t know, something about it just… hits different, you know?” You looked down at the MP3 player in your hands, tracing the buttons absentmindedly. “Makes me think of us sometimes.”

Jason’s expression softened. He leaned back on his hands, his gaze flickering between you and the rain-streaked window. “How so?”

You hesitated, your voice quieter now. “It’s like… it’s sad, but it’s beautiful at the same time. Like all the stuff we’ve been through—both of us—but we’re still here, still together. It just feels… real.”

Jason didn’t say anything for a moment, letting the song fill the silence between you. Then, he reached out and laced his fingers with yours, his grip firm but gentle.

“You’re right,” he said finally, his voice low and steady. “It is real. And I don’t care how messy or hard it gets. You’re the best thing I’ve got.”

You looked up at him, your heart twisting at the raw sincerity in his words. “Jason…”

He smirked, though it didn’t quite hide the emotion in his eyes. “Don’t get all sappy on me now.”

You laughed softly, leaning your head against his shoulder. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The two of you sat there, the song playing on repeat as the rain continued to fall. In that moment, the world outside didn’t matter. All that mattered was the quiet comfort of being with each other, the music weaving its way into the fabric of your shared memories, turning even the rainy days into something beautiful.

Jason’s smirk deepened, and he shifted slightly to face you. Still holding one side of your headphones, he quietly sang along to the song, his voice low and teasing:

“Would you fuck me right on the floor? I’m feeling naughty…”

Your eyes widened, and a sudden flush crept up your neck to your cheeks. “Jason!” you hissed, your voice somewhere between scandalized and mortified. You tried to pull your hand away from his, but he held onto it firmly, clearly reveling in your reaction.

“What?” he asked innocently, though the mischievous glint in his eyes betrayed him. “It’s part of the song, babe. You were the one who said it reminds you of us.”

Your face grew hotter, and you buried it in your hands, groaning. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it!”

Jason laughed, a low and warm sound that sent a shiver through you. He reached out and gently tugged your hands away from your face, leaning in so close that you could feel his breath against your skin.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your cheek. “You’re too cute when you’re flustered. I can’t help myself.”

He pressed a soft kiss to your other cheek, his stubble scratching lightly against your skin, and your heart did a somersault. You tried to glare at him, but your attempt was ruined by the way your lips twitched into an unwilling smile.

“You’re impossible,” you mumbled, your voice lacking any real bite.

“And you love it,” he shot back confidently, dropping another kiss onto your temple.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t bother denying it. Instead, you let yourself relax against him, your earlier embarrassment fading into the background as his warmth surrounded you. Jason slipped the headphones off your head entirely, setting them aside, and pulled you closer until you were tucked against his chest.

The rain continued to fall outside, but inside, with Jason’s arms wrapped securely around you and the faint hum of the song still lingering in the air, everything felt perfect.

After a few minutes of sitting in Jason’s arms, the faint growl of his stomach broke the comfortable silence. You tilted your head up to look at him, smirking.

“Hungry?”

Jason shrugged, though you could see the faintest hint of sheepishness in his expression. “Maybe a little. But I didn’t wanna move, you were too cozy.”

You rolled your eyes playfully and gently nudged his chest as you pulled away. “I’ll make you something.”

Jason reached out as if to stop you, but you were already on your feet. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you interrupted, flashing him a smile as you walked toward the kitchen.

It wasn’t until you opened the fridge that you noticed how quiet Jason had gotten. Normally, he’d make some comment or try to offer help even when he had no idea what he was doing. You glanced over your shoulder, and that’s when you caught him.

Jason was leaning back on his hands, his eyes very obviously trailing down your legs to the hem of your shorts. Or rather, the lack of hem—your sleep shorts were on the shorter side, just barely brushing mid-thigh.

“Jason Todd,” you said sharply, though there was more amusement than annoyance in your tone. “Are you checking me out?”

Jason’s head snapped up, his eyes meeting yours with a flicker of guilt before he quickly recovered. “What? No! I was just—uh—making sure you didn’t trip or something.”

You arched an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Really? From the couch? While staring at my legs?”

Jason rubbed the back of his neck, a faint flush creeping up his cheeks. He looked away, muttering, “You’re imagining things, babe. Don’t flatter yourself.”

You let out a laugh, turning back to the fridge. “Right. Sure. Whatever you say, Mr. Observant.”

“I wasn’t—!” Jason started to protest but cut himself off with a groan, leaning back into the couch in defeat. “Fine, maybe I was. But can you blame me?”

You turned around with a carton of eggs in one hand and a mischievous grin on your face. “Not at all,” you teased. “But you could at least try to be subtle about it.”

Jason threw a pillow in your direction, which you dodged easily, laughing as you set the eggs on the counter. You could still feel his eyes on you, though this time it was more playful than heated.

“Keep staring and I’m making this food extra spicy,” you teased, grabbing a frying pan.

Jason smirked, resting his chin on his hand as he watched you work. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he said, the warmth in his voice making your heart flutter.

“And don’t you forget it,” you shot back, your grin widening.

For all his teasing, Jason didn’t look away, and honestly, you didn’t mind one bit.

As you cracked an egg into the sizzling pan, you felt strong arms snake around your waist from behind, pulling you back into a firm, familiar chest.

“Jason,” you laughed softly, glancing over your shoulder. “I’m trying to cook.”

“Don’t care,” he murmured, his voice low and slightly muffled as he buried his face in your hair. His grip on your waist tightened slightly, possessive but gentle, as if he couldn’t stand being away from you even for a few minutes.

You chuckled, stirring the pan with one hand while your other rested over his. “You’re so clingy today. What’s gotten into you?”

Jason didn’t answer right away, just inhaled deeply, his nose brushing against the strands of your hair. “I already miss having you close,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Jason Todd, the Red Hood, big bad vigilante, can’t go five minutes without a hug,” you teased lightly, tilting your head to look at him.

“Say what you want,” he replied, his voice more steady now, though he didn’t lift his head. “I just like being near you.” His lips pressed against the top of your head, lingering there as he tightened his hold on you.

You couldn’t stop the warmth spreading through your chest. “You’re really laying it on thick today,” you teased, though your tone was soft, affectionate.

Jason finally lifted his head slightly, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke. “It’s because you’re beautiful,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. His voice was low and earnest, and the words sent a shiver down your spine.

You turned off the stove, setting the spatula down as you turned in his arms to face him. His blue eyes were filled with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“Where’s all this coming from?” you asked, your hands resting lightly on his chest.

Jason shrugged, his smirk making a brief appearance before fading into something softer. “I guess I just want to make sure you know how much I love you.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you couldn’t help but smile. “You’re such a sap,” you murmured, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

“Only for you,” he replied, tilting his head to capture your lips in a slow, tender kiss.

The smell of the cooking food filled the air, but neither of you cared. For that moment, there was nothing else in the world but the two of you, wrapped up in each other’s arms.

You finished plating the eggs and toast, smiling to yourself as you carried the dish over to Jason. He had finally let go of you but followed you to the table like a puppy, pulling out a chair to sit while you set the plate in front of him.

“There,” you said, crossing your arms and giving him a satisfied smile. “Now eat. You’re always complaining about skipping meals.”

Jason glanced at the plate, then up at you with an almost comically guilty look. “I’m… not really that hungry.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, hands on your hips. “You literally just told me you were starving five minutes ago.”

“Yeah, well, I changed my mind,” he said with a shrug, leaning back in his chair like a stubborn child.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Jason Peter Todd,” you said firmly, “you’re eating this. I didn’t just cook for you to not touch it.”

Jason smirked, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hand. “What if I said I’d rather just watch you?”

Your cheeks flushed, but you weren’t letting him win this time. Picking up a fork, you stabbed a piece of toast and held it up to his mouth. “Open up,” you commanded.

Jason raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. “Are you serious right now?”

“Dead serious,” you said, inching the fork closer. “If you don’t eat, I’ll keep this up until you do.”

Jason sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes. “Fine,” he muttered, opening his mouth just enough for you to feed him the bite.

He chewed slowly, his expression deliberately exaggerated as he grimaced. “Ugh, this is awful,” he said, though his lips quirked up as if he were holding back a smile. “How do you even eat this stuff?”

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You’re such a liar. I know you love it.”

“Maybe it’s missing something,” he teased, leaning back with a smirk. “Like more salt. Or, I don’t know, pizza.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing another bite with the fork and holding it out again. “You’re going to eat every bite, Jason, whether you like it or not. And don’t even think about running off.”

Jason chuckled, the sound warm and deep, but he leaned forward obediently to take another bite. This time, he couldn’t hide the way his lips curled into a small, satisfied smile as he chewed.

“That’s what I thought,” you said smugly, watching him. “You can’t fool me. I know you love my cooking.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, swallowing the bite. “But I love you more.”

His playful grin softened into something tender, and you felt your heart skip a beat.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” you teased, feeding him another bite.

“Worth a shot,” he said, smirking between bites.

By the time the plate was empty, Jason was leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin, and you couldn’t help but feel triumphant. “See? Wasn’t that hard, was it?”

He shrugged, pulling you onto his lap. “Maybe. But I wouldn’t mind being fed like that all the time.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes but leaning into him anyway. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Jason leaned back in the chair, stretching lazily as he let out a dramatic sigh. “I’m bored,” he announced, his voice dragging in a way that was both exasperated and teasing.

You tilted your head, still sitting in his lap, your arms draped casually around his neck. “You’re always bored,” you quipped, smirking. “What do you wanna do now? Watch a movie? Play cards?”

Jason’s lips curved into a devilish grin. “I wanna get drunk.”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course you do.”

“I mean it,” he insisted, running his hands down your sides. “C’mon, babe. Let’s have some fun.”

You thought for a moment before shrugging. “Fine, but I think I finished the last can of beer last night.”

Jason froze for a moment, then looked at you with mock offense. “You drank my beer?”

“Relax,” you said, poking his chest. “It was one can, and you weren’t gonna drink it anyway.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed playfully. “That’s it. Get dressed. We’re going out.”

You blinked, surprised by his sudden determination. “Going out where?”

“To a bar, obviously.” Jason stood up, setting you on your feet as he grabbed your hand and started pulling you toward the bedroom.

“Jason, I’m not exactly dressed for that,” you said, gesturing to your oversized T-shirt and shorts.

“Then we’ll fix that,” he said, already rifling through your side of the closet. He pulled out a short black dress you hadn’t worn in a while and tossed it onto the bed. “This. And…” He grabbed one of his old leather jackets, holding it up triumphantly. “This too. Gotta match me.”

You gave him a look, but his eager expression made it impossible to say no. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah, now hurry up,” he said, grinning as he gestured for you to get changed.

With a dramatic sigh, you slipped into the dress and shrugged on the jacket. It was a little oversized, but Jason had a point—it did pair well with his own leather jacket and casual jeans. When you walked out of the bedroom, his gaze lingered on you for a second longer than necessary, his eyes raking over your figure in the dress.

“You look hot,” he said, his grin widening.

“Shut up,” you muttered, tugging the jacket closer around you to hide your blush.

“C’mon,” Jason said, grabbing your hand and practically dragging you out the door.

The bar was lively but not overwhelmingly crowded, and the dim lighting paired with the soft hum of music created the perfect atmosphere. Jason ordered the first round of drinks, sliding you a glass of something fruity while he opted for his usual whiskey.

“To a night of bad decisions,” he said, clinking his glass against yours.

“To your bad influence,” you replied.

The night had been going smoothly, the two of you sharing drinks and laughing together at a table in the corner of the bar. Jason was in his element, his sharp wit and cocky grin keeping you entertained as the whiskey warmed him up.

You were halfway through a second fruity cocktail when Jason excused himself to use the restroom. “Don’t get into trouble while I’m gone,” he teased, ruffling your hair before heading toward the back of the bar.

Rolling your eyes with a fond smile, you sipped your drink and waited, absentmindedly drumming your fingers against the table to the beat of the music. That’s when a stranger slid into Jason’s vacant seat.

“Hey there,” the guy said, his voice smooth but laced with overconfidence. He was tall, with slicked-back hair and a charming smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I couldn’t help but notice you from across the room. You here alone?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, no. I’m actually—”

“Because someone as gorgeous as you shouldn’t be sitting here all by yourself,” he interrupted, leaning a little closer.

Your eyebrows shot up, and you leaned back slightly, a polite but firm smile on your face. “I’m not alone. My boyfriend’s—”

“Oh, come on,” the guy cut in again, grinning. “I don’t see anyone around. How about I buy you a drink?”

Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut through the noise.

“She’s already got one, thanks.”

The guy turned, only to find Jason standing there, his posture loose but his eyes sharp with thinly veiled irritation. He crossed his arms over his chest, his leather jacket creaking slightly as he glared down at the stranger.

“Oh, uh…” The guy hesitated, glancing between you and Jason. “Didn’t realize she was taken.”

“Yeah, well, now you do,” Jason said, his tone calm but unmistakably possessive. He stepped closer, towering over the guy. “So maybe you should move along.”

The guy raised his hands in mock surrender, muttering something under his breath before slipping away.

Once he was gone, Jason slid back into his seat, his jaw still tight as he picked up his drink. “What an idiot,” he muttered, taking a swig.

You couldn’t help but smirk, leaning forward on the table. “What’s wrong, Jason? You jealous?”

His blue eyes flicked up to meet yours, his expression softening slightly as he shrugged. “Maybe,” he admitted, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “Not that I need to be. You handled yourself just fine.”

“You’re right, you don’t need to be jealous,” you teased, reaching across the table to tap his hand. “But I gotta say, you being all possessive? Kinda hot.”

Jason’s lips twitched into a grin, his earlier irritation melting away. “Yeah?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as his gaze locked with yours. “Well, maybe I like reminding people that you’re mine.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you rolled your eyes to hide it. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” he shot back, his grin widening as he reached across the table to grab your hand.

You laughed, squeezing his hand. “Yeah, I do.”

The night stretched on, and it didn’t take long for Jason to surpass his drinking limit. His laughter was louder, his grin looser, and his movements more uncoordinated. You knew the telltale signs: Jason Todd was drunk drunk.

“Okay, big guy, time to go home,” you said, catching his arm as he swayed slightly.

Jason pouted at you, his glass halfway to his mouth. “But I’m fine! C’mon, babe, one more drink—”

“Nope,” you cut him off, taking the glass from his hand and setting it on the bar. “You’re done for the night.”

He let out a dramatic groan as you helped him to his feet. He was heavy, his tall frame slumping against you as you looped his arm around your shoulders. “Y’know,” he started, his words slurring slightly, “you’re really strong for someone so… small. And sexy. God, you’re sexy.”

You rolled your eyes, dragging him toward the door. “Thanks, Jason. Now keep walking.”

But Jason wasn’t done. As you hauled him through the streets, his rambling only got worse. “Have I told you how pretty you are? Like, stupidly pretty? Like, if I wasn’t already in love with you, I’d fall for you all over again.”

“Uh-huh,” you muttered, your focus on keeping him upright.

“And your legs in that dress—damn. You could knock a guy out with those legs. Lucky it’s me you’re with, ‘cause no one else deserves you.”

You tried to suppress a laugh, shaking your head. “You’re lucky I love you, Jason Todd.”

By the time you got him home, Jason was practically dead weight, leaning heavily on you as you stumbled into the apartment. “Almost there,” you huffed, dragging him toward the couch.

But before you could get him seated, Jason groaned, clutching his stomach.

“Jason, don’t you dare—”

Too late. He doubled over, and, to your dismay, promptly vomited all over himself.

“Goddammit, Jason!” you yelped, stepping back to avoid the mess.

He groaned again, slumping forward. “I don’t feel so good,” he mumbled, his voice small and pathetic.

“No kidding,” you muttered, sighing heavily. “Alright, let’s get you to the bathroom.”

You managed to maneuver him into the tub, his head leaning against the cool porcelain as you stripped off his soiled clothes, muttering under your breath about stubborn boyfriends and their bad decisions. He was barely coherent, his eyes fluttering shut as you cleaned up the mess around him.

About an hour later, you’d scrubbed the apartment clean and returned to check on him. To your surprise , Jason was sitting up in the tub, looking far more alert than he had any right to after the mess he’d made. His eyes were clearer, the usual sharpness returning to his features, though his hair was still sticking out in every direction.

“Hey,” he said, his voice sheepish and low. “Feeling better now.”

You crossed your arms, leaning against the bathroom doorframe. “Great. Took you long enough.”

Jason winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh… sorry about that. I didn’t mean to… you know, ruin the night.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t keep the corners of your lips from twitching. “You owe me, Todd. Big time.”

“I know,” he said, his voice a little softer. He glanced down at himself, then back at you with a small, cheeky grin. “So… now that I’m sober, think you could help me out?”

“With what?” you asked, already suspicious.

Jason gestured to himself, completely bare except for the towel you’d thrown over him earlier. “Washing me. I still feel gross, and I could use a little help.”

You raised an eyebrow, biting back a laugh. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” he said, his grin turning playful. “C’mon, babe. You’ve already seen me at my worst tonight. A little soap and water won’t kill you.”

You sighed dramatically but grabbed the soap and a washcloth from the counter. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, kneeling beside the tub.

“And you love it,” Jason quipped, leaning back in the tub with a smug expression.

As you ran the washcloth over his shoulders, he let out a contented sigh, closing his eyes. “You’re too good to me, you know that?”

“Yeah, I do,” you said, smiling despite yourself.

For all his teasing, Jason was unusually quiet as you continued to clean him up, his expression soft and grateful. When you finished, he caught your wrist, pulling you closer.

“Thanks for taking care of me,” he murmured, his tone sincere.

“Always,” you replied, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead.

Jason smirked again, the playful glint returning to his eyes. “You know, next time we go drinking, I’ll return the favor.”

“Don’t push your luck,�� you warned, but you were both laughing now, the night’s chaos already a distant memory.

After Jason was cleaned up and dressed in a fresh pair of boxers, you decided to forgo the rest of the chaos from the night and focus on winding down together. You had slipped into one of his oversized t-shirts and a pair of his boxers, the fabric soft and comfortable.

Jason had thrown himself onto the couch, sprawled out lazily as you grabbed a blanket and a random movie to play in the background. “C’mon, babe,” he said, patting the spot next to him. “Let’s just relax now.”

You settled beside him, curling up with your legs draped over his lap. He instinctively wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. The movie flickered on the screen, but neither of you were paying much attention.

Instead, your fingers found their way to Jason’s face, gently tracing the faint scars on his cheek and jawline. He tensed slightly at first, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

“Admiring how beautiful you are,” you replied honestly, pressing a kiss to one of the scars on his cheek.

Jason blinked, his blush deepening as he looked away. “Beautiful, huh? Don’t think anyone’s ever called me that before.”

“Well, they should,” you said, your voice soft but firm. You cupped his face, brushing your thumb along his jawline. “Because you are, Jason. Every part of you—your scars, your smile, your stupid smirk—everything.”

He swallowed hard, his hand tightening slightly on your hip. “You’re really trying to kill me here, aren’t you?”

You laughed softly, leaning in to press another kiss to his nose, then one to his jaw, working your way to his lips. “I’m just telling the truth,” you murmured against his mouth.

Jason kissed you back, slow and tender, as if he wanted to savor every second. When you pulled back, his blue eyes were soft, the usual edge to them replaced by something vulnerable and unguarded.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, you know that?” he said, his voice low and sincere.

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “And you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

The two of you spent the rest of the night tangled together on the couch, exchanging kisses and quiet words as the movie played on in the background. Jason’s blush lingered every time you told him how beautiful he was, but he didn’t pull away, holding you close like you were his entire world.

The soft hum of your music filled the room, a peaceful contrast to the chaotic world outside. You had found your spot on the couch, Jason’s head resting in your lap as he drifted into a peaceful sleep. His breathing was slow, steady, and you couldn’t help but smile down at him as you picked up your MP3 player, pressing the headphones to your ears.

The gentle strumming of Mac DeMarco’s Salad Days began to play, and you hummed along to the familiar tune, the words flowing from your lips in a lazy, easy rhythm. You smiled softly, enjoying the quiet moment—until you felt Jason shift in your lap, his body tensing under your touch.

You stopped singing, looking down at him. His face was contorted in an expression of distress, a slight tremor running through him. The soft, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest quickened, and you immediately knew what was happening.

“Jason?” you murmured, gently brushing his hair back, but he didn’t stir.

His breathing hitched, and in an instant, he shot upright, gasping for air, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His wide eyes were filled with panic, and his hands gripped at the sides of the couch as if he were trying to anchor himself in the present.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” you said gently, leaning in to touch his shoulder. You knew it was a nightmare, one of those familiar ones that haunted him. He didn’t even need to speak for you to understand. You’d learned the signs over the months of being together.

Jason’s eyes were still wild as he turned toward you, his body shaking. His chest heaved as he fought to breathe, but the trauma from the nightmare had him in a state of shock.

“I—I don’t… It’s just…” His voice cracked, and the words caught in his throat. His hands trembled as they reached for you, and he buried his face in your shoulder, his body racked with silent sobs.

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. “It’s okay. You’re safe, Jason,” you whispered, your voice calm and soothing. You stroked his back gently, letting him cling to you as he slowly began to calm.

“I… I saw it again,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice muffled against your skin. “It’s always the same…”

You nodded, your fingers weaving into his hair as you kissed the top of his head. “I know, baby. I know.”

His hands were still gripping you, and you could feel the tension in his body slowly begin to ease as you comforted him. “Just breathe, Jason. You’re here. I’m here.”

His breath came in shaky gasps as he nodded, but the tears didn’t stop, falling silently as you continued to rock him gently. “I’m here,” you whispered again, the words becoming a mantra.

After a few minutes, you reached for the MP3 player, pressing it to your ears once more. You knew how music calmed him down, so you began to softly play White Ferrari by Frank Ocean. The soft, haunting melody filled the room, and you started to hum along quietly at first. You didn’t sing loudly—just a quiet, gentle melody that flowed like a lullaby.

Jason’s breathing began to slow in time with the music, his grip on you loosening as his body relaxed once again. You smiled softly, brushing your lips against his temple as you continued to sing along, the song soothing both of you in the silence of the room.

“White Ferrari, had you been there?

I swear I’ve seen you before…”

As you sang, you could feel his breathing becoming deeper, more even. His head shifted back onto your lap, and his body finally went slack as he fell back into a peaceful sleep, the nightmare momentarily forgotten.

You continued to hum the song, the soft melody lulling him into a deeper rest as you held him, protecting him from the world that had so often hurt him.

And as Jason slept peacefully in your arms, you softly whispered, “I love you, Jason. Always.”

Your music was the only sound left in the room, and it was enough to keep both of you safe for the moment, lost in each other’s presence.

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a gentle glow across the room. You were already awake, quietly enjoying the peaceful atmosphere that had settled between you and Jason. He was still lying in your lap, his body stretched out on the couch, his breathing calm and steady, finally free of the nightmare’s grip.

You smiled down at him, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. Slowly, you ran your fingers through his dark hair, gently untangling it. His skin was warm against your touch, and you could feel the steady beat of his heart under your fingertips.

“Jason,” you whispered softly, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Wake up, babe.”

He groaned slightly, blinking a few times as his eyes slowly fluttered open, adjusting to the light. His gaze met yours, and for a moment, he looked completely dazed.

“Morning,” you said with a soft smile, running your fingers through his hair again.

“Mmm…” Jason stretched, the muscles in his shoulders tightening as he yawned. “What time is it?”

“Late enough for you to relax for the day,” you replied, brushing a hand over his chest in a calming motion. “You’ve had a rough night. No patrols today.”

Jason groaned, his brows furrowing slightly. “But I’ve got things to do…” His voice trailed off as he sat up a little, clearly not fully awake.

You gave him a gentle push back down, resting your hand on his chest to keep him there. “No. You’re staying in today. Relax. I already took care of everything.”

Jason looked at you with a raised eyebrow, slightly suspicious. “What do you mean, you ‘took care of everything’?”

“I cleaned your armor and loaded your guns,” you said matter-of-factly. “And I checked the safety. It’s actually on this time,” you added with a teasing smile, remembering the last time he forgot.

Jason huffed, a small, self-conscious smile tugging at his lips. “Okay, okay. I get it. I’ll take a break.”

You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Good. Just relax for today.”

He melted into the kiss, his hands reaching up to pull you closer as he deepened it for a brief moment before pulling back. He smiled at you with that same easy grin. “You know, you’re kinda perfect for me, right?”

You rolled your eyes with a fond chuckle, lightly tapping his chest. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Jason let out a small laugh as he propped himself up, leaning against the back of the couch. You stood up and went to the bathroom to grab his hairbrush, returning to sit beside him once more. You took his hand gently, guiding it to rest on his lap as you began to brush his hair with care, working out the tangles from the night.

The feel of your fingers running through his hair made Jason sigh contentedly, his eyes closing as he leaned back, fully allowing himself to relax. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he muttered softly.

“You’re lucky,” you teased, giving him a playful smile as you continued brushing. “But you’re stuck with me now, so deal with it.”

Jason’s lips quirked into a smile, his gaze softening as he watched you. “I’ll gladly deal with it.”

The two of you spent the morning like that—peaceful, quiet, and content in each other’s presence. You made sure he stayed relaxed, and he let himself enjoy the calm, appreciating every moment you shared. As the hours passed, Jason could feel his tension slipping away, and for once, he didn’t have to think about the past, the mission, or the next fight. He had you, and for today, that was all that mattered.

The smell of sizzling eggs and fresh coffee filled the apartment, as you stood at the stove, focused on making breakfast. The warmth of the kitchen was a stark contrast to the cool air outside, and the soft hum of the radio added a touch of comfort to the morning. You had decided to go all out for Jason, making his breakfast in the shape of a heart just to tease him a little.

Jason sat at the kitchen table, his eyes occasionally flicking over to you, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he watched you move around the kitchen. He was clearly enjoying the view, and you could feel his gaze lingering on you.

You couldn’t help but smirk to yourself, pretending not to notice as you carefully flipped the eggs. You knew exactly what he was doing.

After a few more moments of silent admiring, you plated the heart-shaped eggs and slid the plate in front of him. His eyes widened in a mixture of surprise and amusement as he stared at the breakfast in front of him.

“You’re kidding,” he said, his voice low and slightly teasing. “Heart-shaped eggs? You really went all out, huh?”

You leaned on the counter with a grin. “I thought it’d be cute. What do you think?”

Jason chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “I think I’m dating a literal angel.” He picked up his fork, still staring at the heart-shaped eggs with a slight laugh, and took a bite. “You know, this is the best breakfast I’ve had in a while,” he admitted, his voice softened by the affection in his eyes.

You beamed at him, walking over to join him at the table. You leaned across the surface, planting a soft kiss on his cheek.

“You’re so cheesy,” you said with a playful roll of your eyes.

Jason laughed, his usual smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “What can I say? You bring out the teenage boy in me. I bet you’d look even nicer right now if I was behind you.”

You froze, realizing the playful, mischievous glint in his eye. Your cheeks immediately flushed, and you leaned back slightly, trying to hide your embarrassment. “Jason…”

He leaned back in his chair, his smile growing wider as he saw the faint blush on your face. “What? I’m just saying, you’ve got that look today.”

“Yeah, I bet,” you muttered, knowing he was being his usual naughty self. But before you could move away, Jason reached over and gently grabbed your chin, turning your face toward him.

You let out a soft, startled laugh as Jason, still grinning, pressed a kiss to your cheek. His lips lingered there for a moment before he pulled away, looking completely smug. “See? I told you.”

In response, you playfully leaned forward and bit his cheek, causing him to yelp with surprise. “Stop being so cheeky,” you teased, your smile wide and mischievous.

Jason grinned, his hand brushing through your hair as he leaned in to kiss your forehead. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, but the fondness in his voice was clear. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You laughed softly, wrapping your arms around him. “Good thing, because you’re stuck with me.”

The two of you spent the rest of the morning teasing each other, laughing, and sharing small moments of affection. It was the kind of simple, quiet morning you both needed—no danger, no missions, just the comfort of each other’s company.

[reveryfics]

Hii again ;) ! Hope you're doing alright

I have a request, for Loki (again). Where reader is ftm (again) and this time Loki doesn't know it, and he doesn't even know reader in fact. In whatever circumstances they met and when Loki realize reader's situation he's a bit..clumsy. He knows a lot of creatures from Asgard but never see a transgender person. But he's not mean ! And in fact, he's very intrigued by this person, maybe a sort of ftm worshipping ? In a lower step ofc, not awkwardly

Thank you !! 🎀 The last one was perfect !

Moonlight And Mischief

Pairings: Loki x FtM reader

Summary: A late evening walk introduces Loki to someone new, someone he quickly becomes fond of.

A/n: I absolutely love when I get requests from you, Loki is a huge comfort character so I enjoy getting to write for him!

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The air hung heavy with the scent of night-blooming jasmine as Loki strolled through the forgotten garden. A low hum escaped his lips, a melancholic tune that mirrored the turmoil swirling within him. His gaze swept over the overgrown paths, the moonlight filtering through the dense foliage casting long, dancing shadows. He sought solace in this forgotten corner of the world, a refuge from the intrigues and burdens of Asgard.

As he wandered deeper, his hum deepened, a haunting melody that echoed through the stillness. Suddenly, it was answered, a softer counterpoint weaving through the air. Curiosity piqued, Loki followed the sound, his senses alert. He navigated through a maze of overgrown hedges, the air growing thick with the scent of lilies. Finally, he emerged before a small, moonlit pond, its surface shimmering with reflections of the stars.

A figure sat on the edge of the pond, their silhouette barely discernible in the deepening shadows. With a graceful gesture, they waved a hand, and a constellation of lanterns sprang to life, illuminating the scene with a warm, ethereal glow.

Loki found himself gazing upon a sight that could have been plucked from a Midgardian myth. The figure, bathed in the soft light, was mesmerizing. They sat with a book open on their lap, their long fingers tracing the worn pages as they dipped their feet into the cool water.

"You aren't invisible, you know," a voice, soft as the rustling leaves, broke the spell.

Loki, startled, cleared his throat. "My apologies. I didn't realize anyone else frequented this secluded corner."

A gentle chuckle rippled through the air. "This place has a way of drawing those who seek solitude."

An unspoken understanding passed between them, a silent acknowledgment of the sanctuary they had both found within these forgotten walls. The only sound was the gentle lapping of the water against the shore and the shared melody that still lingered in the air.

"I've never seen you here before," Loki remarked, his gaze drawn to the figure's face.

"Oh, but I've seen you," they replied, a hint of amusement in their voice. "Prince Loki, the God of Mischief, always stirring up trouble."

Loki felt a jolt of surprise. "You know who I am?"

"Of course," they smiled, revealing a captivating play of light and shadow. "Everyone knows the God of Mischief."

Intrigued, Loki sat beside them, the silence between them comfortable and expectant. He found himself captivated by their presence, their aura radiating an inner peace that he craved.

Their conversations became a nightly ritual. They would share stories, both mundane and fantastical, their laughter echoing through the moonlit garden. Loki found himself drawn to their gentle spirit, their quiet strength. He learned to appreciate their insightful observations, their unique perspective on the world.

One evening, as they sat gazing at the stars, the male turned to Loki, his voice tinged with a hint of nervousness. "Loki, there's something I need to tell you."

Loki, sensing their apprehension, leaned closer, his attention undivided. "Anything, my friend."

"I... I am transgender," he confessed, his gaze fixed on the shimmering water.

Loki, taken aback, processed the information slowly. He had encountered many strange and wondrous beings in his travels, but this… this was new. "You… you mean you were born a woman?"

The figure chuckled softly. "Yes, but… I am a man."

He explained, carefully and patiently, the complexities of his identity, the dissonance between his inner self and the body he was born into. Loki listened intently, his mind grappling with this new concept.

"I see," he murmured, his voice thoughtful. "It changes nothing, does it? You are still you."

Relief washed over his face. "Thank you, Loki. I… I was afraid you wouldn't understand."

In the following weeks, their friendship deepened. Loki, ever the curious one, delved deeper into the nuances of gender identity, his initial confusion giving way to understanding and acceptance. He began to notice subtle changes in the others demeanor, a newfound confidence blooming within them.

One night, as they sat by the pond, Loki found himself inexplicably drawn to them. He gazed at the others face, illuminated by the soft glow of the lanterns, and an unexpected wave of emotion washed over him. "You are… you are truly beautiful," he whispered, his voice husky.

He looked up, startled, their eyes widening. "Loki?"

He leaned closer, his breath mingling with theirs. "Your eyes… they shimmer like the stars themselves."

A blush crept up his neck, his gaze fixed on the ground. Loki gently cupped his face, Loki's thumbs tracing the contours of his jawline. "I would… I would do anything for you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Anything at all."

Overwhelmed, he could only whisper, "Loki…"

He leaned in, his lips brushing against theirs in a soft, tentative kiss. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the sensation of their touch, the warmth of their skin, the intoxicating scent of their breath.

The kiss, tentative at first, deepened, Loki's hands finding their way around his waist, pulling him closer. A low moan escaped his lips as he surrendered to the moment, his senses reeling. He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching his face, a mixture of disbelief and wonder in their depths.

"I… I have dreamt of this," he confessed, his voice trembling. "Of your touch, of your lips… of you."

Loki smiled, a genuine, heart-warming smile that reached his eyes. "I… I have dreamt of you too," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper.

He leaned in again, this time capturing Loki's lips in a passionate kiss, a kiss that spoke volumes of unspoken desires, of a love that had been blossoming in the shadows for far too long. Loki sighed into the kiss, his body trembling with a newfound intensity. He had found his equal, his soul mate, in this unexpected corner of the world.

He pulled back, his eyes shining with an ethereal light. "You are… you are perfect," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "More perfect than any god, any myth, any dream I could ever have imagined."

He cupped Loki's face, his thumb gently tracing the curve of his cheek. "You are everything to me, Loki."

Loki leaned into his touch, his heart overflowing with a love he had never known existed. "And you… you are my everything," he whispered, his voice filled with a profound sense of peace and joy.

As they sat there, bathed in the soft glow of the lanterns, their hands intertwined, they knew this was only the beginning of their story, a love story that defied expectations, that transcended the boundaries of gender, and that promised a future filled with endless possibilities.

[n0cturn4]

Series In every universe - 10 . Damian Wayne

Character: Damian Wayne x Reader Summary: "What do you want me to do for you?" Word Count: 654 Land of Ancient Times.

In a distant kingdom, where rivers whispered ancient secrets and trees danced to the whim of the wind. She inhabited the crystalline waters of a river that wound through enchanted woods, her laughter reflected in the currents and her dances adorned with flowers that gently floated around her ethereal body alongside her river sisters.

One morning, as the rays of the sun filtered through the leaves, a young knight with an intense gaze and unparalleled skill approached the riverbank. It was Damian, heir to a kingdom struggling against shadows, a prince marked by pain and responsibility. His steps were silent, but the weight of his title resonated in his heart.

You watched him, fascinated, as he crouched by the water's edge, touching the surface with the tips of his fingers, as if wishing to understand the essence of life that pulsed there. You felt an instant connection, a flame that illuminated the darkness surrounding the prince. However, beneath the water's surface, a subtle sadness lingered, like the mist that rises at dawn.

"What is your desire, noble knight?" you asked, your voice a soft echo of aquatic melodies.

Damian lifted his gaze, deep as the river's abyss. "What do you want me to do for you?" he inquired, his tone laden with longing and curiosity.

You smiled, a serene glow in your eyes, but something melancholic sparkled in your gaze. "I want you to stay exactly as you are. You are already everything." The declaration flowed like water, filled with authenticity and emotion. You saw in Damian not just a prince, but a being who carried the weight of the world, and his essence was so magnificent that you wished to preserve it in all its imperfection.

Surprised by the simplicity of your desire, Damian felt his heart warm. "You are the reason I fight," he murmured, the words heavy with meaning, but a shadow crossed his face. "And you? What makes you happy in such a dark world?"

The gentle breeze that passed seemed to whisper the laments of the waters. "I dance among the currents and play with the rays of the sun. Yet, there is a sadness that accompanies me, like an invisible shadow. The waters surrounding me are also the current that binds me. I am trapped in this river, while the world beyond continues to change." You looked into the depths, where fish swam freely, and a solitary tear rolled down your cheek. "I cannot accompany you to the battlefields, nor to the kingdoms that need courage."

Damian stepped forward, the desire to comfort you burning in his heart. "I do not fear the battles, but I would fear losing you. You are the light that illuminates my path in the depths of the river," he said, his eyes shining with determination. "Whatever the storm, I will always be here, waiting for you."

The connection between you solidified, like intertwined roots beneath the river's waters, but melancholy hung over you like a dark cloud. Damian knew that his role as prince called him away, and the thought of leaving You filled him with profound sadness.

"One day, the current may carry me far away," you murmured, your voice tinged with hope and pain. "And I will be but a legend told on moonlit nights."

"But I promise," Damian replied, his voice as firm as steel, "that until my last breath, I will fight to bring you into the light, wherever the currents may lead you. Your love gives me strength, and I will not let your melancholy become an echo lost in the shadows."

And so, with the sun setting on the horizon and the last rays of light tinting the sky golden, the waters continued to flow, eternal and pure, guarding the secrets of a love stronger than time and deeper than the seas. Yet in your hearts, longing already nestled, a gentle melody of hope and pain, intertwined in the waves of fate.

[harry-on-broadway]

One More

It never failed to surprise you just how well you fit in his arms.

His chest was sticky from sweat and beer and God knows what else, but when he found you backstage and pulled you into his embrace, you didn’t resist. You knew he needed the hug more than you did.

Emotions had been running high over the past few weeks and you were more than happy to be the grounding force he needed as the tour that had occupied nearly two years came to an end. You allowed yourself to be rocked back and forth as he squeezed you tighter, his nose buried in the top of your head as his breathing slowed and the adrenaline left his body. He was clearly starting to calm down.

“Um, Harry? Could you…?” You moved to loosen his arms from around you and take a deep breath.

“Oh, sorry,” he said. His eyes were focused on you but you could tell his mind was miles away. “Give me a few to clean up and then we can head back?” He looked at you for confirmation.

“Sounds good, baby. Take your time.”

He left you with one last kiss and shuffled into his bathroom, towel and robe in hand. As he showered you used the time to clean up your own belongings that were scattered around the room – the glass of wine you’d had before the show, the jacket you’d foolishly brought with you thinking the fiery temps would go down with the sun, and your phone charger, which you’d already forgotten twice in the week you’d been on the road with Harry (something he hadn’t let you forget). When you’d finished your sweep of the room, you planted yourself on the couch. As you’d guessed, a few minutes to Harry meant closer to 90, and you passed the time chatting with the various members of his team that filtered through.

Jeff, Brad, Pauli, Sarah, Mitch, everyone had the same melancholic smile on their face, as if they couldn’t bring themselves to admit that the end was nearing.

“Doesn’t feel real does it?” Pauli asked. “It kind of felt like it was going to last forever.”

You’d never admit it to Harry, but the small selfish part of yourself that you tried to hide was extremely happy that the tour was ending. You’d long been aware that dating Harry meant sharing him with millions of others, a fact he’d warned you of over ice cream on your second date, but his career had never felt this present.

You didn’t know what had made it so hard this time around. Maybe it was the crush of tour dates you’d planned your lives around, maybe it was the attention that came with winning multiple Grammys, or maybe just the fact that you’d both had to return to real life after finding comfort in the pandemic bubble. Regardless, you were thrilled with the fact that, starting on Sunday, he’d be in your shared bed for more than a few days each month.

“Ready to go, love,?” Harry poked his head round the corner. In the heat of the night, he’d swapped his usual post-show hoodie for a worn t-shirt, and had pulled his wet curls back with a clip that you were pretty sure you’d worn on the flight here.

“Took you long enough,” you said with a smirk.

“OK, sassy,” Harry said with a light laugh. “I can just leave you here.”

“You’d never do that,” you scoffed.

“Awfully confident for someone who’s about to spend the night in a dressing room.”

“You’d miss your nightly back scratches,” you said confidently. “Somehow I don’t think those fall under Jeff’s purview.”

“You’re right. That’s Tom’s job.” You both burst into giggles as Harry pulled you into a standing position. His eyes lingered on yours, taking a moment before kissing you gently.

“We should probably head out,” you murmured. “It’s going to be a big couple of days.”

“Yeah…”

You bumped his hip with yours, and he deftly grabbed both his bag and yours in his right hand, taking your hand in his left. The car ride was quiet, even more so than usual, as Harry stared out the window at the passing lights. Even though he was once again in his own world, his hand worked overtime spinning the ring you wore on your finger, a motion you knew was soothing to him.

Back at your hotel, fatigue quickly caught up to the both of you as you moved slowly through your evening routines, drowsily dodging each other around the bathroom sink as you brushed your teeth and washed your face. Pajamas on, you climbed into bed, Harry following close behind as he turned off the light.

You flipped to your right side, facing Harry as your eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room. Like clockwork, his hand found your hip where he began rubbing small circles on the bit of skin that was exposed, while your hand made its way to his bare back, scratching dully at his soft skin.

“Just one more show,” you sighed.

“Yep.”

“Why so sad?” you prodded. “Not ready to come back to my snoring and blanket thievery?” You heard a soft noise come from him. Whether it was a sigh or a laugh you couldn’t tell.

“I’m really nervous.” It was as if the blanket of darkness made it easier for him to be vulnerable. “I’m really nervous about what Saturday is going to be like and everything that’s going to happen…after.” You could hear him swallow thickly. “It’s like I’m riding to the edge of a cliff and have no idea what’s on the other side.”

“That’s a perfectly normal thing to feel, H. It’s a big change.”

“And I just feel guilty too…” The floodgates had opened and there was no going back now. “I’m so excited to just be me. Be us. But like it feels selfish to not want to do anything. Like why do I have that luxury when others don’t.” He took a shuddering breath. “But then there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to end things and stay on that stage forever which is so unfair to you…”

“Hey,” you said sternly. “Don’t you dare worry about me. I’m never going to be mad about getting to spend more time with you, but I also know how much performing means to you. And I’d never ask you to give that up.” You flattened your hand against his back, letting him feel the cool metal band of the ring he’d given you on one knee earlier this year. “You’re stuck with me, Styles. I’m not going anywhere.”

He snorted a laugh. “Still don’t know how I hoodwinked you into this deal but I’ll take it.” He nuzzled in closer to you. “Everything just feels so…big right now. It’s like almost too much to think about.”

“So, don’t,” you said plainly, perfectly aware that your advice was easier said than done. “Saturday is just another show. And then you’re going to take a break and then you’ll just do another show. We don’t know where or when, but I promise you there will be another show.”

You could feel his even and measured inhales and exhales as he mulled over your words. You wriggled even closer to him. “You have one more show, babe,” you whispered against his lips.

“One more,” he repeated.

“So make it the best one yet.”

***

A/N: Just a quick little blurb ahead of the final show 😭 Would love to hear what you think!

[heaventohell3]

𝐀 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦-𝟎.𝟐-The Fox's wedding!

ꜰᴏʀ ᴊɪᴀᴏQɪᴜ, ᴛʜᴇ ʏᴀᴏQɪɴɢ'ꜱ ᴍɪʟɪᴛᴀʀʏ ʜᴇᴀʟᴇʀ, ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴀɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ꜰᴇɪxɪᴀᴏ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇʀʟɪɴ'ꜱ ᴄʟᴀᴡ. ᴀʟꜱᴏ ʜᴇʀ ᴀᴅᴠɪꜱᴏʀ. ᴀʟʟ ʜᴇ ᴡᴀɴᴛꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ɪꜱ ᴄᴜʀᴇ ꜰᴇɪxɪᴀᴏ'ꜱ ɪʟʟɴᴇꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʙᴏᴅᴀɴᴇᴅ ɢᴏᴅ ᴏꜰ ʙᴇᴛʀᴀʏᴀʟ ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ʜɪꜱ ʟᴀꜱᴛ ɪɴɢʀᴇᴅɪᴇɴᴛ. ᴛʜᴏ, ʜᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴀ ʜᴜꜱʙᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ…ᴅᴜᴇ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴜʀꜱᴇ.

Words:2457

Jiaoqiu's eyes fluttered open, his heart racing as the vivid images of the nightmare lingered in his mind. The eerie ceremony, the ghostly statues, the chilling kiss-all of it felt too real. But as he blinked, he realized he wasn't in that cursed place anymore. He was back in the abandoned ship on the Luofu, lying on the cold, hard floor.

For a moment, Jiaoqiu thought perhaps it had all been just a dream-a horrifying vision conjured by his exhausted mind. But as he sat up, his body ached, a dull pain in his head confirming that something very real had happened. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light filtering through the cracks in the ship, and he felt a strange presence beside him.

Turning his head, Jiaoqiu's breath caught in his throat. You were there, hovering just above the ground, your ethereal form adorned in the same wine-colored kimono you had worn in his dream. The black sashes and grey obi were as intricate and beautiful as they were ominous. Your golden fox mask hung by your side, revealing a face that, to his surprise, wasn't twisted in malice or cold indifference but instead bore a soft, caring expression.

"You're awake," you said gently, your voice devoid of the eerie echo it had held before. You leaned closer, your hand reaching out to touch his forehead as if checking for a fever. "How are you feeling? You fainted, and I was worried."

Jiaoqiu's mind raced. The contrast between the you in his nightmare and the you before him now was jarring. He couldn't find the words to respond, confusion and a lingering fear keeping him silent. All he could do was stare at you, trying to reconcile the terrifying spirit from the dream with the figure now hovering over him with genuine concern.

Your hand, cool and smooth, brushed against his cheek as you inspected him further, still floating gracefully above the ground. "You fell hard," you murmured, a hint of worry in your tone. "You should rest more, Jiaoqiu. I don't want you getting hurt because of me."

He pulled away slightly, his gaze shifting to Moze, who lay a short distance away, still unconscious but breathing steadily. The memory of you saving Moze flickered through his mind. It hadn't been just a dream; you had truly intervened, using your powers to protect his friend.

"Moze..." Jiaoqiu whispered, his voice finally finding strength. He moved toward his friend, needing to see for himself that Moze was indeed safe. As he knelt beside Moze, his hands trembling slightly, he checked for any injuries. Moze's chest rose and fell rhythmically, and though he bore some scrapes and bruises, he appeared to be out of immediate danger.

You floated closer, watching Jiaoqiu's every move with a mixture of curiosity and care. "He'll be fine," you assured him softly. "I made sure of that."

Jiaoqiu nodded slowly, his fingers brushing against Moze's arm to reassure himself that his friend was truly there, truly alive. The fear that had gripped his heart began to ease, replaced by a heavy sense of reality. He had made a deal with a spirit, a goddess of betrayal, and now she was his...wife?

The thought made his stomach turn, but when he looked up at you, expecting to see that same malicious glint in your eyes, he was met with something else entirely-sincerity, perhaps even affection. You weren't haunting him, at least not in the way he had feared. Instead, you seemed genuinely concerned for his well-being.

"Why?" Jiaoqiu finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your smile was soft, almost melancholic. "I'm your wife now, Jiaoqiu. It's only natural for me to care about you," you replied.

Jiaoqiu's heart skipped a beat at your words, the confusion deepening. This wasn't the terrifying entity he had feared; this was someone...something else. But before he could process it further, you floated closer again, your presence overwhelming in its intensity.

"Please," you said, your voice gentle but firm. "Let me help. You don't have to do everything alone anymore."

Jiaoqiu looked into your eyes, searching for any trace of deceit. But all he found was a strange, unsettling sincerity. He swallowed hard, unsure of how to feel, but with Moze still unconscious and the reality of their situation pressing down on him, he realized he had little choice.

Without another word, Jiaoqiu nodded. He rose unsteadily to his feet, his mind still reeling from everything that had happened. But as he moved to tend to Moze, you stayed close, your presence a constant reminder of the strange new bond that had formed between you.

You hovered close to Moze as he began to stir, your eyes soft with concern as you waved your hand gently over his body, a faint glow emanating from your fingertips. Moze groaned, slowly opening his eyes, and as he focused on you, he tensed, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Don't worry," you said softly, your voice soothing. "I'm just helping."

Moze glanced over at Jiaoqiu, who was standing nearby, still shaken but managing to keep his composure. "Why is she...?" Moze started to ask, but Jiaoqiu shook his head, a silent plea for Moze to not question it too much.

"She saved us," Jiaoqiu said quietly, his voice filled with mixed emotions. "We wouldn't have made it out if not for her."

Moze fell silent, his gaze shifting between you and Jiaoqiu, clearly conflicted. After a moment, he sighed and slowly sat up with your help, though he didn't make any attempt to thank you.

"We didn't get the herb," Moze muttered after a brief pause, his voice tinged with disappointment. "Everything we went through...and we came out empty-handed."

You tilted your head, puzzled by the sudden shift in their mood. "Herb?" you asked, your tone curious. "What herb?"

Jiaoqiu, noticing your confusion, quickly explained. "We came here looking for a rare herb to heal General Feixiao. It's supposed to grow in this area, but we haven't found it."

Your eyes lit up with understanding, and a wide smile spread across your face. "Oh! You should have said so earlier!" you exclaimed, your excitement bubbling over. Without hesitation, you started to float away, moving with an eager energy as you led them deeper into the ship.

Jiaoqiu and Moze exchanged glances, surprised by your sudden enthusiasm, but they followed you nonetheless. It wasn't long before you led them to a secluded, hidden corner of the ship. There, nestled in the shadows, was the herb they had been searching for-but it was wilted, shriveled, and barely recognizable.

Jiaoqiu's heart sank at the sight, and Moze's expression turned grim. "It's...it's rotten," Moze muttered, disappointment heavy in his voice.

Jiaoqiu could only stare at the withered plant, a sense of hopelessness washing over him. All that effort, all that risk-and they were still going to fail. He clenched his fists, frustration building inside him, but before he could speak, you stepped forward, your gaze fixed on the herb.

"No, it's not over yet," you said confidently. Your hand hovered above the herb, and with a deep breath, you focused your energy. A soft, shimmering light emanated from your palm, surrounding the herb in a gentle glow.

The withered leaves slowly began to uncurl, color returning to them as if life itself was being breathed back into the plant. Before their eyes, the herb was restored to its full, vibrant state, as if it had never been touched by decay.

Jiaoqiu and Moze watched in awe as you worked your magic, the despair they had felt moments ago replaced by a cautious hope. When you finished, the herb stood tall and healthy, ready to be harvested.

You turned to Jiaoqiu, your eyes shining with expectation. You had done what they couldn't-you had given them the herb they needed. Surely, now he would say something, acknowledge your help, perhaps even thank you.

But Jiaoqiu, still caught between gratitude and the unsettling reality of what you were, could only manage a small, uncertain smile. He carefully picked the herb, avoiding your gaze as he secured it in a pouch. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely audible.

You hovered a little closer, your smile faltering slightly as you sensed his hesitation. "Is something wrong?" you asked, your voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "Didn't I do well?"

Jiaoqiu hesitated, his eyes meeting yours for just a moment before he looked away again. "You did... You did well," he finally said, but the words felt heavy on his tongue, laden with the unspoken tension between you.

Moze, sensing the awkwardness, cleared his throat and stood up, dusting himself off. "We should get going," he said gruffly, trying to steer the conversation away from the uncomfortable silence. "The longer we stay here, the more dangerous it gets."

You nodded, though the disappointment was clear in your expression. You had hoped for something more from Jiaoqiu, some sign that he was starting to accept you, but all you got was a reluctant acknowledgment. Still, you tried to keep your spirits up, reminding yourself that you had done your part.

The three of you prepared to leave, you stayed close to Jiaoqiu. You couldn't help but glance at him every so often, hoping for another smile, a word of kindness-anything to show that he was beginning to see you as more than just the spirit he was forced to marry.

But Jiaoqiu remained distant, focused on the task ahead, and you could only follow...

The three of you made your way toward the Luofu, a thick tension lingered in the air, with Jiaoqiu walking ahead of you and Moze trailing behind. Your natural state-floating-drew curious looks, though most people were too focused on their own lives to stop and stare for long. Still, Jiaoqiu's unease grew with every step.

"Can't you walk?" Jiaoqiu asked, turning back to you. His voice was strained, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of people noticing you. "People will think you're... different."

You smiled, the ghost of amusement flickering across your face as you floated beside him effortlessly. "I'm a spirit, remember?" you said teasingly, as if it were obvious. "Walking isn't exactly my thing."

Moze, who had been silent for most of the journey, suddenly interjected, his voice cold and matter-of-fact. "Then carry her."

The bluntness of his suggestion hit both you and Jiaoqiu like a shockwave. Your cheeks flushed slightly at the thought, the idea of being held by Jiaoqiu making you feel something unfamiliar, something soft. Meanwhile, Jiaoqiu's eyes widened in pure terror, as if the idea of touching you was somehow more frightening than facing an army of enemies.

"Carry her?" Jiaoqiu stammered, glancing between you and Moze as if hoping for a way out. "I... I can't-"

Moze sighed, rolling his eyes at Jiaoqiu's hesitation. "You're already married to her," he said, his tone sharp. "It's not like you have much of a choice now. If you want her to blend in, do it."

Jiaoqiu's face paled as Moze's words sank in, but after a moment, he nodded reluctantly. His hands trembled slightly as he reached out toward you, clearly unsure of how to hold you. For a moment, his fingers hovered just above your waist, hesitant.

You watched him with a soft smile, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks as the reality of the situation dawned on you. Jiaoqiu looked terrified, but his effort to carry you-however awkward-was strangely endearing. As his hands finally settled on your waist, a faint shiver ran down your spine, and for a moment, you let yourself imagine that this was how a real marriage might feel.

With surprising care, Jiaoqiu lifted you off the ground, cradling you in his arms. It was a bit awkward, his grip not quite right, but he managed to support you nonetheless. You couldn't help but notice how close his face was to yours, and for a moment, your heart raced as you stared up at him.

Moze, meanwhile, looked on with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "You should get her some proper clothes," he said flatly. "She's drawing too much attention. Take her to the tailoring shop."

Jiaoqiu nodded, still too flustered to argue. "Y-yeah, good idea."

You perked up at the suggestion, your eyes sparkling with excitement. "A new kimono? How delightful!" you exclaimed. You gently tapped Jiaoqiu's chest, urging him to move forward. "Let's go Husband?!!!"

Jiaoqiu gulped, the word "husband" causing him to stiffen slightly. He nodded again, walking carefully as he carried you through the bustling streets. People glanced at the two of you, but with you in his arms, you looked more like an eccentric couple than a spirit and her reluctant groom.

When you finally arrived at the tailoring shop, the tailor greeted you both with a polite smile, his eyes quickly taking in your current attire. "Ah, it seems we have a special customer today," the tailor said, noting your floating posture even in Jiaoqiu's arms.

Jiaoqiu set you down carefully, his hands lingering for just a moment before he pulled away quickly, his face flushed with embarrassment. "She needs a kimono," he said, trying to regain his composure. "Something... traditional."

The tailor nodded, studying you carefully. "It seems you have a fondness for the old styles," he remarked, noticing your red wine-colored kimono. "I'll prepare something similar but with a modern twist."

"Eh?! You know kimonos?!"

"Yes, I have travelled different places, I know all the designs and not and culture included."

You smiled graciously, pleased by his attentiveness. "That would be perfect," you said. "I do love kimonos."

The tailor busied himself with preparing the fabric, you glanced over at Jiaoqiu, who was standing awkwardly by the entrance, avoiding eye contact. A small, playful smile crept onto your lips as you floated over to him.

"You know," you said softly, your voice teasing, "you make quite the husband. Carrying me like that... you were surprisingly gentle."

Jiaoqiu swallowed hard, still not used to your playful nature. "I-I was just doing what Moze said," he mumbled, clearly flustered by your comment.

You chuckled softly, enjoying how easy it was to make him squirm. "Well, I appreciate it," you said, your tone softening slightly. "Even if it was just to avoid attention, you still made me feel... cared for."

Jiaoqiu glanced at you, his expression softening for a brief moment before he quickly looked away. "I... I'm just trying to do what's right," he muttered, though his voice held a hint of uncertainty.

[cyberslvts]

PAS DE DEUX || w.maximoff

Summary you grapple with the intensity with your feelings for Wanda and through a powerful dance your love and longing for one another are vividly unveiled

Warnings: angst, brief arguing, happy endings, kissing, forbidden love, allusions to homophobia, secret romance, my fav sappic balerinas, they r so cute im gonna sob!!

Pairing: ballerinaWanda! x ballerina!reader

WC: 3.5k

Note: this was sm fun to write i am obsessed

———

In the heart of the cold city, hidden behind a façade of faded grandeur, stood the enigmatic Thornfield School of Ballet. Within its dimly lit corridors and ornate ballrooms, the ethereal art of ballet was practiced with an intensity that mirrored the shadows that danced upon the walls. It was here that you found solace, your delicate movements and haunting grace resonating with the melancholic melodies that echoed through the grand hallways.

The Thornfield Opera House stood silent and grand, its vast expanse illuminated only by the silvery glow of the moon filtering through the tall, arched windows. The night felt like it swallowed you. The silence and loneliness of the dark gave you a heightened sense of focus. Dressed in a simple leotard and ballet skirt, you moved gracefully to the center of the stage. The empty red velvet seats, normally bustling with anticipation, now looked like slumbering sentinels in the darkness.

You were a brilliant and elegant dancer, the prima ballerina of the Thornfield Ballet School. Your every step seemed to weave magic, casting a spell over the audience with each performance. The years of training and dedication cultivated you so that you weren't just a dancer but a conduit for the very essence of the art form.

A sigh escaped your lips as you raised your arms, the opening strains of a haunting melody filled your ears. The music existed within the depths of your memory, each note etched into your soul. It was a melody only you could hear, a secret dance between you and the music of your heart.

With a deep breath, you began to move. Each step was deliberate, each extension of your limbs an expression of the emotions that swirled within you. The moonlight cast delicate shadows that danced along with you, a spectral audience that whispered its approval in the rustling of fabric

Your body twisted and turned across the stage and the opera house felt as if it came alive around you. The soft echos of your footfalls echoed throughout the grand hall, filling the space with a magical resonance.

The empty velvet red chairs surrounded you, blurring into a hue of gold and scarlet as you spun and twirled across the stage. The spotlight illuminated your form, casting long, enchanting shadows that stretched toward the edges of the grand hall. Your body seemed to merge with the haunting music, each note a whispered secret between you and the piano keys

You imagined thousands of eyes on you, each one locked in a mesmerizing trance that only you could break. You lost yourself in the dance, completely surrendering yourself to the music's embrace.

The final strains of the music echoed through the hall, and you froze in a final, breathtaking pose. The world felt like it held its breath for a moment before a figure emerged from the shadows of the audience.

“You know I don't like it when you come and watch me unannounced”

You spoke into the dark crowd. You didn't even need to see her to know who she was. A vibrant flash of red hair was illuminated by the spotlight as she stepped onto the stage.

“You’re glowing my love, How could I not stay and watch” she voiced, coming across the stage, wanting to be closer to you.

Wanda Maximoff, the embodiment of enigmatic allure, graced the Thornfield Opera House with a presence that demanded attention. With each step she took, the air seemed to shift around her, charged with an energy that was at once magnetic and captivating. A vibrant mane of crimson hair framed her face like a fiery halo, accentuating her aura of intensity.

As one of Thornfield's top dancers, Wanda's brilliance on stage was undeniable. Her movements bore the hallmark of a maestro, each gesture calculated and precise, cutting through the air like a sharpened blade. her performances left an indelible mark on the hearts of those who witnessed them.

The contrast between your styles was like a beautifully orchestrated duet: While you danced with the gentle grace of a waltz, guided by the melodies that flowed through your soul, Wanda's dance was a tempestuous tango, a dance with the shadows and the edge of passion. Her movements were sharper, her steps darker, and her presence engulfed the stage like a storm, leaving no corner untouched by her intensity.

Where your dance was a soothing balm, Wanda's was a consuming fire. Your elegance and grace resonated like a sonnet, whereas Wanda's movements told a story of calculated power. In your delicate pirouettes and fluid arabesques, there was a serenity that brought solace to the heart, like a gentle lullaby. But in Wanda's commanding leaps and controlled spins, there was a darkness that beckoned, a realm where passion and pain coexisted.

Wanda Maximoff, with her entrancing presence and mesmerizing dance, had woven her way into your heart in ways you never imagined. From the first time you saw her onstage, you were already hers. The secret romance that blossomed between you two was a delicate tapestry of stolen glances, secret rendezvous, and the softest of touches. Your attachment to her felt like poisonous vines, both intoxicating and dangerous. Squeezing around your heart until there was no escaping its grip.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, the intensity of your feelings for Wanda began to stir a twinge of fear deep within you. The opera house, was a haven for your love, a place where you and Wanda could share stolen moments in the shadows. Yet, the world outside those walls was a different story altogether.

The truth was, relationships like yours and Wanda's were not welcomed with open arms within the confines of Thornfield. The Society's rigid expectations and conservative norms casted a long shadow over any love that dared to deviate from the conventional path. If your feelings were exposed, you both knew that you would face the harsh reality of ostracization. Given your elevated position within the ballet company, the fallout could be even more devastating. You yearned to dance freely with Wanda, to hold her close without the weight of hidden affections, but the thought of the world discovering your love kept you trapped in a ruthless cycle of avoidance.

As she began to approach you, you instinctively turned away, a motion that caused a flicker of hurt to cross Wanda's expression. Her smile faltered, and you silently crossed the stage, heading toward the speaker in order to switch to a different song.

“I need to practice, Wanda,” you spoke without facing her, hoping she would take the hint to leave you.

"You've been avoiding me," she suddenly declared, her voice ringing out in the open space. She came to a halt at the center stage, her gaze fixed firmly on your form. The intensity of her eyes holding you in place.

The intimacy you shared with her had grown to such profound heights that the mere thought of it sent shivers down your spine. Each stolen kiss and every whispered promise felt like a thread connecting you to a love that was becoming too powerful to be contained. And so, you found yourself avoiding her, retreating into the shadows like a fragile creature seeking solace from the storm.

In your heart, you knew that Wanda sensed your distance, your absence from her side even in a crowded room. The weight of your unspoken emotions was presence, that casted a shadow over your every interaction. She, with her intuitive nature, surely understood that something was wrong, even if the words went unspoken.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Wanda," you deflected, your voice tinged with a hint of unease.

“Yes, you do.” Her strides toward you were purposeful, carrying an air of frustration and longing

“You've stopped meeting me in the garden. you leave your door locked at night. You won't even look at me during rehearsal.” The light in her eyes dimmed, mirroring the distance that had inadvertently arisen. She, no doubt, grappled with the same intensity of your connection, the love that had burgeoned between you.

The guilt gnawed at you, knowing that Wanda deserved more than your silence, more than your hesitation. She deserved the world, and yet here you were, your heart caught in a tug-of-war between your love for her and the fear that had taken root within you.

"I've just been busy," you offered, your voice lacking the conviction it needed. The truth was, you couldn't bring yourself to lie, especially not to Wanda. Without meeting her gaze, you brushed past her, your eyes fixed on the sea of empty chairs as you prepared for the next song.

"Just as I said, I need to practice. I don't have time for this," you continued, your words slightly rushed, a veil of anxiety underscoring them. The show was fast approaching, and the pressure weighed heavily on you. "The performance is on Friday, and I barely have my part of the pas de deux down, and—"

"Fine then, I'll stay and help you," she interrupted, her voice carrying an unwavering determination. Wanda understood you better than anyone else. She knew that ballet was your lifeblood, your very essence. If that was the avenue she had to take to reach you, then so be it.

As the music began to fade in, she moved closer, bridging the gap between you. You stared at her, a mixture of surprise and uncertainty in your eyes. Was she serious?

Although Wanda wasn't your official partner in the pas de deux, her innate talent and brilliance made it easy for her to memorize the choreography. She had watched the routine countless times, During rehearsals, you'd often catch her gaze fixed on you, burning ache evident in her eyes. You wished it was her presence by your side, her soft, delicate hands on you, instead of the rough masculine ones whisking you through the air.

She took your hand in hers, her touch a warm reassurance that sent a shiver down your spine. You glanced at her one last time before the dance commenced, your movements seeming almost too deliberate, lacking the usual fluidity that came so naturally to you. Every step felt calculated as if you were trying to maintain a distance that your heart was struggling to obey. Wanda's gaze, however, remained fixed on you, unwavering and intense.

With each movement, her eyes searched yours, probing for answers to the questions you hadn't voiced. The emotions that played across her face were a silent plea, a desperate attempt to understand the reason behind your avoidance. Yet, even as you tried to keep your focus on the dance, the intensity of her gaze was a distraction you couldn't escape.

“Relax,” Wanda's voice cut through the tension, her hands on your waist guiding your movements. Your arms extended gracefully on each side, and your toes pointed delicately against the smooth wooden stage

In that instant, Wanda's movements shifted, becoming more edged and intense. She led you through a series of intricate steps, each one a silent declaration of her love and devotion to you. As the music swelled, your bodies came alive, moving in perfect synchrony. You began with a series of intertwining pirouettes, your movements mirroring Wandas with an effortless harmony. With every rotation, your eyes met briefly, a fleeting connection that spoke volumes beyond words.

You battled with your own emotions, your heart warring with your mind. You were determined to maintain the distance you believed was necessary to protect yourself and Wanda from the intensity of your shared feelings. The love you felt for her was a tempestuous sea, and you feared being swept away by its currents.

Yet, As you moved as one there was an undeniable chemistry, an untamed force driving you towards her. Her eyes followed your every move, filled with a love that yearned to be free from constraints.

Wanda's touch was gentle yet firm, her hands on your waist guiding your movements with a confidence that only came from a deep understanding. As you twirled and spun, the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in a realm where the intensity of your love was matched only by the beauty of your dance.

When the music built to its crescendo, Wanda's grip on you tightened her touch a grounding force in the midst of your internal storm. And in that final, breathtaking pose, as the music lingered in the air, your eyes locked onto each other's, a world of unspoken words passing between you.

As your heavy breathing slowed, the moment was broken when you turned away, walking out of her embrace,

“Why won't you just let me love you,” her voice echoed in the space, a plea that hung in the air like an unanswered question.

"Because I can't, Wanda," You whispered, your voice tinged with a hint of sadness. The reality of the situation weighed heavily, the knowledge that your love existed in a world that did not understand.

“Yes, you can” she countered, coming closer to you.

“People will find out. And when they find out theyll talk.” you exasperated, The weight of the world's judgment pressed down on you, suffocating the love that burned within you.

Wanda turned to face you, her expression determined. "Then hide me. Lock me away from the world if you have to," She breathed out, her voice carrying a plea that mirrored the depth of her feelings. She was willing to sacrifice her visibility, her place in the world, if it meant keeping your love intact. “I just want to be with you Y/n. Why can't you see that?”

It was your deep affection for her that filled you with guilt, knowing that she deserved better than waht you were giving her. You believed she deserved someone who would cherish her openly, free from the shackles of secrecy that bound your love. Wanda's passion, her unwavering commitment, made your heart ache with love for her, but it also filled you with an overwhelming sense of guilt. You loved her so much that it hurt, and you wanted nothing more than to see her happy.

“I can't do that to you, Wanda.” Guilt welled up inside you, emotions spilling over like a river bursting its banks. “You deserve to be with someone different. Someone who can love you without fear.”

“But I don't want that!” Her breathing was heavy and her, eyes burned with anger. "I am yours, Y/n," she declared, her voice sharp with passion. "All I want in return is your love, And you can't even give me that.”

You noticed how her bottom lip pushed out ever so slightly, just like it always did when she was trying not to cry.

The pain of your recent avoidance cut deep into her heart, leaving a constant ache that refused to subside. All she wanted was you, all she ever wanted was you, and your unmistakable withdrawal over the past few months had left her feeling lost in a suffocating pit of self-doubt. Why were you so eager to get away from her? Why couldn't she make you stay, even when she had tried her hardest? Was she not good enough to hold your attention?

These questions ate away at her and she had never felt so small, like an insignificant fragment in a world that once felt whole.

“You ignore me and push me away without any explanation.” Her voice was loud as it echoed across the stage. The hurt and insecurity painted on her face. “You're always leaving me. It's like you don't even care about my feelings!”

“Of course I care about your feelings” You turned to her, your own anger begining to rise up inside you. “You’re all I think about, everything I do is for you!”

Every choice you had made was for Wanda, every step you had taken was to protect her from the storm that could come crashing down upon you both. Your love was genuine, but the fear was suffocating, threatening to eclipse everything

"You think this isn't hard for me?" your voice cracked with frustration, your eyes blazing with a mixture of emotions. "I am terrified, Wanda. Every time I see you or feel you, it's like I'm drowning in the fear of what could happen.”

"You make me feel things I never wanted to feel," your breath came out in rapid bursts, as your vision became clouded by tears. "And I'm afraid that those feelings will be written all over me,” Your emotions began to feel overwhelming, the room closing in around you, suffocating you with its walls and the weight of your fear. “So this is the only way I know how to keep us safe, to keep you safe." Your words were punctuated by a sob, choked and raw. The walls you had erected were crumbling, and you were left standing bare before Wanda.

“and It's hard Wanda, it's so fucking hard. I miss you, all the time.” the confession tumbled out, your voice breaking as tears cascaded down your cheeks, the floodgates finally opening.

At the sight of your panicked tears, Wanda immediately rushed to you, her steps were loud across the stage until she caught you in her embrace, wrapping her arms around you in a warm, comforting hold, Wishing she could take away all the pain and fear you felt at that moment.

“Im sorry, Im sorry sweetheart, I didn't mean to yell.” The tenderness in her voice was like a soothing balm, her arms holding you even tighter, as you fell into her body.

"I can’t-” You gasped, The fabric of her shirt absorbed the tears that fell from your eyes, “I cant loose you wanda”

The sobs that wracked your body were a release, a catharsis of emotions that had been pent up for far too long.

“You’re not. You are absolutely not losing me,” she reassured you, her words slightly muffled as she pressed kisses to your tear-stained cheeks. You instinctively clung onto her, worried she would disappear.

With her arms wrapped around you, Wanda's touch became your anchor. Her hands moved in tender circles on your back, a gesture of comfort that sent ripples of calm through your frazzled nerves. At that moment, the world seemed to blur and fade, leaving only the two of you cocooned in an intimate haven of solace

Your heartbeat slowed and your breathing relaxed against her. Her breath brushed against your ear, her voice was a gentle whisper, "I can't be without you, y/n" she admitted, spilling out the truths in her heart. “I know you're scared but please don't push me away.” The tenderness in her voice deepened as she continued, her words a balm to your fears. “I don't know what will happen in the future but I can swear to you that im not going anywhere.”

In those words, a sense of solace enveloped you, like a gentle embrace for your weary heart. With her by your side, the fear that had kept you captive began to lose its grip, replaced by a flicker of hope and the reassurance that you didn't have to carry the burden alone.

“Im sorry I avoided you” You whispered not bringing your gaze up to face Wanda as if you were hiding from your actions. “I was awful. I should have just talked to you.”

Wanda brought her hand to your chin tilting your face up until your eyes met hers.

"It's okay, I know you're trying to protect us both," she said softly, her voice carrying a weight of sincerity. "But you don't have to do it alone. Whatever happens, We can face it together."

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting Wanda's words melt into your skin. The attentiveness of her understanding touched you deeply, and You started to wonder how you could ever be away from her.

“I love you, so much,” you confessed hoping she could feel your sincerity “And i’m so sorry that I ever made you feel like I didnt.”

Her relief evident in her smile. She cupped your face, her touch grounding you in the present moment. Wanda leaned in, her lips meeting yours in a sweet kiss.

“I love you, more than you could ever know.”

In that stolen moment on the stage, beneath the watchful eyes of the empty velvet seats, your love was a dance in itself – a dance of vulnerability and strength, of passion and tenderness. And as you held each other close, you knew that the opera house, with all its secrets and faded grandeur, held a space where your love could flourish, defying the boundaries of time and circumstance.

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ swan song ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ cho sang-woo x player!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! please be sure to check out their profile for squid game fanfictions, they have helped me with my works and their writing is perfection! 🤍

˚ ༘♡ the rain cascaded in a relentless downpour, burying the world in its somber rhythm. you stood motionless, soaked to the bone, your tattered black satin gown clinging to your pallid skin, pearls glinting faintly in the dim moonlight. across from you stood cho sang-woo, his tailored suit stained with smears of blood that had long since dried, a stark contrast to the high-class reputation he once upheld. there had been a time when the sight of him would have filled you with affection, a time when you had imagined him as your husband, the man you would spent all of eternity with.

˚ ༘♡ the man before you now bore no resemblance to the one you had loved so deeply. where once there had been kindness, there was now a malicious cruelty. the charm that had drawn you in, the quiet strength and righteous honesty, had been nothing more than a facade. before the games, your lives had seemed perfect, lavish dinners at exclusive steakhouses, extravagant shopping trips, the allure of wealth. yet it was never the riches that held your heart. you had loved him for the moments of vulnerability, the whispered dreams during midnight strolls, the promises of a future built on trust. now, those memories felt like lies, twisted shadows of a man who no longer existed.

˚ ༘♡ his grip on the knife was steady, the same blade he had used to take sae-byeok’s life. you could still see her fragile form laid on the ground, blood swarming under her stiff body as her she weakly murmured her little brother’s name. she had begged for another chance to see him again, her eyes glazed with fear and dread, only to be silenced in a merciless slashing. that moment was etched into your soul, an infested wound that refused to heal. you had pleaded with gi-hun to spare sang-woo when the opportunity arose, your love for him, a ghost of what it once was, still clinging to the hope that he could be saved. however, sparing him had been a mistake.

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo had demonstrated no remorse. he had turned his blade on gi-hun after being confronted for sae-byeok’s murder, killing his childhood best friend with little hesitation, leaving you as the only two left to face the end. now, as the rain fell in endless torrents, you stood in the storm’s heart, the past unraveling between you. the love you had once cherished lay shattered at your feet, replaced by a chasm of betrayal and regret.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo,” you called out, your voice steady despite the quivering in your limbs. your gaze locked onto his, and slowly, deliberately, you let the knife slip from your grasp. it landed in the rain-soaked sand with a muted thud, quickly swallowed by the muck. droplets cascaded down your face, obscuring your vision, but you didn’t look away. “you’ve killed so many,” you said, your voice carrying over the storm, though faint and muffled. “innocent strangers, people who trusted you, those who loved you. i’m no different.”

˚ ༘♡ his jaw clenched as his face contorted with rage. “pick up the damn knife!” he shouted, his voice raw and jagged. his body shook, a mix of fury and something more fragile, a deep, unspoken torment etched into his expression. his eyes betrayed him, scorned and sorrowful.

˚ ༘♡ “i will not,” you replied softly, your soaked hair sticking to your melancholic face. “i won’t fight you. i can’t.” your breathing troubled as you continued, words tumbling out between the harsh pouring of the rain. “even if i won… what would it matter? what’s left for me to go back to? the money won’t mend this. it can’t rid what’s been done, the people we’ve lost, the pieces of ourselves we’ll never get back.”

˚ ༘♡ for a split second, his grip on the knife loosened, his fingers moving as though fighting an internal war, but just as quickly, they tightened. blood trailed down the cut across his face, mingling with the rain, streaking his skin with crimson. “damn it!” he barked, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. “stop being so difficult and come here! let’s finish this!”

˚ ༘♡ “no, sang-woo,” you said firmly, taking a step toward him, unarmed, your hands open at your sides. “if the money is all you care about, if you’re so desperate to go back and see your mother, to undo all your mistakes, to lead the life you desire, to have a beautiful home, a loving wife, good children, then kill me. go ahead. take the knife and end the game.”

˚ ༘♡ tears burned your eyes, falling hot and salty down your face before the rain could wash them away. you moved closer, mere inches from him now, your voice low and steady, almost a whisper. “do it,” you murmured. “you’ll have to, or neither of us gets anything, and i won’t hurt you, sang-woo.”

˚ ༘♡ his arm lifted, the knife angled toward your chest. his jaw tightened, his breathing ragged, but he didn’t strike. the blade hovered between you, shaking ever so slightly. “i… i can’t kill you,” he said, his voice breaking as the words escaped him.

˚ ༘♡ “but you could kill sae-byeok?” you asked, voice hoarse, choking on your words, your lips curving downward in a frown. “you could kill gi-hun? their lives meant less than mine? sae-byeok had her little brother waiting for her, and gi-hun has a daughter who will never understand why her father didn’t come back.” your voice grew softer, mellowed by despair. “their lives were important, sang-woo. their lives held no less value than yours or mine.”

˚ ༘♡ his face became grim, a flash of anguish breaking through his hardened mask. “don’t you think i understand that?” he shouted, his voice catching on the words. his free hand pressed against his chest as though the pain inside was physical, unbearable. “i didn’t do it because i wanted to! you think i enjoyed it? you think i’m a sadist?” his voice cracked, his desperation bleeding into every word. “everything i’ve done… i had no choice! i have to fix this. i have to make it right. otherwise, what was all of this for? the sacrifices, the suffering, it will mean nothing!”

˚ ༘♡ the rain fell harder, drowning out the quietude, as his words hung in the air, each one more bitter than the last. you could see it, the guilt embedded into his aged face, the torment tearing him apart, but it didn’t undo the blood on his hands.

˚ ༘♡ your fingers wrapped around his trembling hand, guiding the blade to your throat. the cold metal kissed your skin, and your voice was composed despite the tears falling freely down your face. “go home, sang-woo,” you said softly, your grip strengthened to keep his hand close to you.

˚ ༘♡ his face was streaked with rain and tears now, his composure unraveling. his breathing was uneven, his chest heaving as he tried to pull the knife away. “i won’t do it,” he choked out, his voice hoarse, trembling with something between anguish and resolve. his fingers curled tighter around the hilt, but not to push forward, only to keep it from you. “i won’t kill you.”

˚ ༘♡ the silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the rain pounding against the earth. your gaze shifted to the stormy horizon, staring blankly at the void ahead. “sang-woo,” you whispered, your tone solemn, distant. “do you remember that night you stayed over at my place? you said you liked my cooking, even though we both knew it was awful. and i laughed at all your ridiculous, outdated jokes and listened to your business jargon, even when i didn’t know half the terms you used, i liked being the woman you spent your days with.” a faint, bittersweet smile tugged at your lips, though it was short-lived, disappearing as quickly as it came. “that’s the day i remember the most. not the gifts, not the trips, not the money. none of it mattered to me. only mattered. i wanted you, nothing else.”

˚ ༘♡ his breath snagged, his lips parting to speak, but no words came. you turned your tear-streaked face toward him, meeting his tormented gaze. “it will never be like that again,” you said, your voice breaking. “we can’t go back, sang-woo. not after everything.”

˚ ༘♡ before he could react, you wrenched the knife from his hand with a sudden, sharp motion. his eyes widened, panic flashing across his face as he reached for you. but it was too far too late. the blade pierced your throat with brutal precision, and the warmth of your blood poured over your trembling hands. you staggered, the world moving and fading around you, your legs giving out beneath you as you collapsed.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo…” you murmured, your voice barely audible as you crumpled to the wet sand. scarlet-red ichor spilled out in thick rivers, melding with the rain-soaked earth.

˚ ༘♡ “no!” he screamed, his voice raw and broken, as he fell to his knees beside you. quivering hands reached for you, lifting your head from the wet sand as rain pelted down in icy sheets. his tears mingled with the blood streaking your face, his sobs shaking his entire body. “please, no… don’t do this,” he choked out, desperation lacing every word. “stay with me, please.”

˚ ༘♡ you opened your mouth to speak, but the words came weak, barely audible over the thunderous rain. “my… my family,” you sputtered, your voice thick with the blood flooding your throat. each breath was a struggle, your chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. “tell them… tell them i won’t be there anymore, okay?” your fingers, trembling and cold, lifted to brush against his bloodied cheek. your touch was feather-light, tender despite your waning strength. “sang-woo… please, don’t forget me, okay?”

˚ ༘♡ his face was agonized, tears streaming past the injuries that marred his angular features, it was rare to see him so emotional, so delirious with grief. “i won’t,” he swore, his voice cracking beneath the strain of his grief. “i won’t forget you. i’ll never…” he stopped, his words caught in his throat as he pressed his hands to the gaping wound on your neck, desperate to stop the flow of blood. it was a futile effort, the red blood spilled through his fingers, staining the sand beneath you. “please, stay with me,” he whispered, his voice shatterred into a sob. “don’t leave me. please. i can’t live without you.”

˚ ༘♡ his desperate efforts were all in vain. the life was draining from your body, the world dimming around you. your breaths came slower, softer, each one feeling close to your last. his frantic cries grew distant, muffled as if you were slipping underwater. your vision blurred, the storm above fading into oblivion. and yet, through it all, his face remained clear as could be, the pain in his dark eyes burned into your thoughts.

˚ ༘♡ the last sound you heard was not his voice, but something colder, emptier. an emotionless voice echoed through the air, chilling and robotic, void of anything human.

˚ ༘♡ “player 177, eliminated.”

˚ ༘♡ you exhaled one final breath, your hand falling limply from sang-woo’s bloodied face as the darkness consumed you.

a/n: another cho sang-woo fanfiction!! he’s my favorite character so there will definitely be more for him!!! please let me know you if any requests and your thoughts on this story! 🤍

[marimayscarlett]

Till looks super fit on recent photos, people are insane

Hi 👋🏻

Apparently, people have some strong opinions on Till and his aging process yet again, this time over on Tiktok (explained in this post by @rammingthestein). Apart from the fact that I'll never understand why people have no filter online and feel absolutely comfortable to share their unasked for (and most of the time negative) opinions about others, it's baffling to me that once again, the aging process of a grown man is criticized, by people who call themselves fans and are apparently literal children (16 year olds seemingly). I haven't seen these comments (I try to stay away from Tiktok apart from concert videos and memes my sister sends me) so I won't dive into what could've been said too much since I don't have much knowledge of it, all I can say is this:

I saw Till last year live, I saw him this year live twice, one time up close (him hovering on his canon 2 meters above me was a highlight of my existence), and let me you. He seems to be much more energetic than last year, his voice is INSANELY good (to the point that my mom and I simultaneously turned to each other looking like this 😳 when he started to sing at the concert) and this is just one really beautiful man with the most melancholic eyes. Of course he is aging, of course he has wrinkles and such, and apparently also some sort of problem with his hip (at least it looks a bit like it when he walks), but the man is 61. This is normal. Let Till, who had to go through a lot in his life, age in peace.

We can feel quite blessed that all of band members felt healthy enough (physically and mentally) to go on yet another tour leg this year. Let's just leave it there. I sometimes have the feeling that this broader sense of thinking is missing in a lot of (young) people's heads.

(gif by @endlich-allein)

[xcerizex]

"Can you hear my voice?"

fem!summoner, Sirius, character introspection(?), 1.5k words

Sirius had long forgotten the concept of familiarity in his life.

He knew what he had to do. The extremes he would have to take to achieve his goal. Any collateral damage would be of no concern to him, not when his heart had long frozen over.

From the day that thing came and took away his only piece of happiness, he was ready to risk everything.

The Constellations willingly despised him however. Because through some sliver of misfortune, he had found himself stumbling upon the doorway of the small greenhouse of Contell's garden in the dead of the night.

Witnessing the girl inside it, and her song.

Looking at the sight before him, he couldn't help but think;

'Is this something really worth losing?'

Moonlight filters through the glass windows of Contell, saturating the hallways with blue and silver. The moon shines bright enough that the darkness becomes irrelevant despite the hand pointed to twelve on the clock, and it makes walking around so much easier. There is no need for a lamplight.

Everything is peaceful.

A part of Sirius loathes that peace.

The reason so many people can sleep soundly in their beds is because of Polaris. They are grateful for it of course, it's not like that they have taken it for granted. On the contrary, they write ballads and books, all praising his genius and compassion. As if he were some sort of hero in a fairy tale.

'...He very much was like one. And to me...'

There was a time where Sirius was the same as them, and looked up to the person who saved his life. Loved him. Adored him even, putting him up on a pedestal.

His impression of him has changed a little since then. Just a little.

'I truly hate that.'

That feeling is directed moreso towards himself. Lost in his thoughts, he doesn't notice the small shadow that passes over him.

A tap at the window is what finally directs his attention to the little bird perched on the windowsill. It wasn't quite a real bird however, just a small form of light taking the form of one.

He quietly opens the window to create as little noise as possible, and holds his hand out gently towards the bird. If anyone he knew were to see him do this, they would claim it an odd sight, the Sirius they thought to know was someone incapable of any form of gentleness...or kindness.

'They wouldn't be wrong.'

The bird hops on to his finger and they start communicating. After while, he lets out a huff of a laugh. The bird flies off, and Sirius starts walking in a different direction towards a determined destination.

A bitter smirk graces his face as he thinks of the Summoner, and the words he will say to her once he arrives.

'It's not sleepwalking this time it seems.'

He chuckles aloud again, how romantic would it be to meet up at midnight no? He tries to imagine the face she'll make once he points it out, only for his smirk to be wiped off his face, as he realizes that he can picture it a little bit too perfectly.

Footsteps echo across the empty hallway which then changes into the sound then of rustling leaves, as Sirius walks towards Contell's smallest greenhouse.

The greenhouse in particular is nothing special, with the only outstanding thing being the stained-glass roof. But even that has lost it's splendor within it's years of neglect. Though recently he's heard that Vega has decided to take an interest in repairing it. Something that had been suggested by the Summoner of course, there's little chance that Vega would have decided on something like this out of nowhere all on his own.

The sound of a violin grows louder as he enters the greenhouse, and the view of the Summoner bathed in moonlight is the first thing he sees involuntarily.

The melancholic song must have drowned out the sound of his footsteps because the Summoner remains unperturbed in her music, her eyes staying closed as she immerses herself in the little world she has created. A world where only her and the little bubble remains relevant. A world where he doesn't exist.

He leans against the glass walls, waiting for her to finish. After all, he would consider himself a criminal to disturb such a work of art.

Once her notes begin to soften and the song begins to fade, she opens her mouth and says, "Hello, Sirius. Don't you think it's a little bit too late into the night to visit the greenhouse?"

He throws his head back and laughs, amused, "Why Summoner, you're one to talk. What on Bound Arlyn could have possessed you to lug such a heavy instrument all the way out here at one in the morning?"

She makes a sour face at him, "You followed me didn't you?"

He makes a hum, the same tune as her song, as he struts forward languidly while tilting his head at her, "So what if I did? I found the idea of our Summoner walking around Contell in the middle of the night a rather intriguing thing. I'm not wrong for being curious."

"You're like a stalker."

He sighs, "I'm a little hurt, Summoner. Won't you call this a romantic encounter instead?"

There it was. The Summoner's expression had scrunched up in a strange mix of incredulity and embarrassment.

...He loved that expression. And he hated it just as much. Hates the feeling of hotness that spreads across his chest like a whip to bone. And what can a dog do other than to bite back when it hurts?

"...Besides, you wouldn't care for such things in the end." Especially if it's him. She doesn't really care when it comes to him. "The Summoner is not going to report me for this are you?"

Instead of retaliating, she simply sighs and turns away from him, holding up her violin up to her chin. His eyes remain fixated to the every slight of her movements and he thinks, 'Again.'

Again and again and again. How infuriating.

The sound of the violin echoes across the silent night, and every note becomes more punctuated than the next the longer the seconds go by. Which was around 30 really, as she abruptly stops and says;

"Of course, I am. Straight to Arcky of course."

Oh.

"I didn't know that was your preference Summoner. Asking for Spica's help would be more effective wouldn't it?"

The words are bitter on his tongue. Out of everyone, the only one with the gall (or motivation) to reprimand him would be Spica. Vega doesn't count. He doesn't get to count.

"Wouldn't it be easier to find me every night if Arcky helped you though?"

The following sound of silence is deafening in his ears, ringing loudly in the dead of the night. His hands fall limply to his side as he lets out a soft exhale.

The jig is up.

"How long have you known?" Sirius asks nonchalantly. The uncomfortable feeling in his chest is gone.

He feels lighter than before. He doesn't have to keep up his pretenses around her.

"For a while now."

The Summoner looks back at him and meets his gaze. Lowering her violin and placing it gently atop of it's case, she makes her way towards him slowly, with every step as graceful as a dancer on a stage.

He almost takes a step back but stops himself as she stands before him only a foot apart.

"I also knew that tonight, you would be here."

He needs to run away.

"Sirius?"

He needs to leave her here right now.

Or else he may be stuck here forever in this bliss.

His unfocused eyes are brought back to reality as she touches his face with her fingertips, a worried smile playing on her lips as if painted by a delicate paintbrush.

"I'm sorry," her apology rings about in the green house. "Was I too forward?"

'Maybe.'

He does not say that out loud, and instead opts to take her hands off his face — by grasping hers as gently as possible — while trying to mask the softness lingering on the edges of his expression. He then reminds himself;

'You must play the role of the villain.'

He hopes that his mask is enough to convince her of the same.

But he also knows that won't be enough.

"If I hadn't known any better," Sirius drawls. "I would have thought that the Summoner had a crush on me."

That keeps her quiet.

Run.

Before he ruins everything for her alone.

She must have heard the venom in his voice. So when her hold on him loosens slightly, he takes the opportunity to leave as fast as he can. Turning around, he pushes open the door and walks out of the greenhouse, masking his fervent escape in the guise of a stroll.

He leaves her there, her face a portrait of confusion and embarrassment. He leaves her behind.

But he knows that she'll simply catch up to him later, knowing her annoying sense of preservance.

He thinks then, he truly is cursed to the depths of the Void.

[prismaticpichu]

I’m feeling a little down; solution?? Here’s a self-indulgent collection of various wholesome fic lines from the past few years <33

I cast Floof upon ye! ✨

~~~

But Zack, holding the man who was supposed to be the strongest in the military, didn't care. Not at all. He simply took the other in, sheltering him, nestling deep into his neck.

"It's okay, bud…” Zack whispered. "You're safe now."

~

Face buried in the other's charcoal hair, heart pressed against the warmth of a hoodie, Sephiroth allowed himself to smile. He enveloped his best friend and held him close, letting his eyes fall shut as Zack tightened the embrace.

"I missed you..."

They said it in harmony.

~

“Merry Christmas, Seph..." Zack mumbled into his neck, his smile warm and bright as the firewood purring behind them. "Welcome to the Fair family.”

~

"G'night, Seph..." Zack was already drifting.

"Goodnight. And Zack?"

"Yeah?”

"I have a request."

"Go f'rit."

Sephiroth gazed overhead, his emerald eyes glimmering with warm resolve. "Never change."

I love you just the way you are

~

"Partners..." Sephiroth repeated to himself, tracing his finger over the word, feeling the light of Zack's broadening smile beam down on his shoulders.

"Partners," Zack agreed, his tone much more serious now. "You and me, bud. Forever.

~

Seph was broken right now... but he would heal. They both would. Maybe when the cracks were gauzed, they would leave the puppeteers and let the bodies of Nibelheim rest. He could bring Seph to Gongaga, home, where he would live under the care of parents and a brother who loved him dearly.

He would never leave his side again.

As the first winks of dawn smeared across the sky, Sephiroth’s breathing finally began to calm. The ice was thawing from his muscles, melting under the warmth of a furnace, the poison filtering inside of him and purifying into untainted blood.

Thump… Thump… Thump.

"Everything's okay, bud..." Zack repeated, and these were the words that sailed his friend to sleep. "Everything's okay..."

~

As far as Sephiroth was concerned, there was only one appropriate thing to say. It twisted his throat into sandpaper, struggling to mouth a trio of words that had never left his lips, had hardly ventured through his mind. Words he thought he might have known once, but had been taken away, their meaning warped and changed into something nearly nonexistent. Now, someone had championed them; Zack had earned it. His soul sang that it was true, and Sephiroth knew it, too.

"…Zack?"

"Yeah, bud?"

Cocooned in warmth and gratitude, Sephiroth closed his eyes, saying what should have been said without ever needing an occasion.

“I… I love you.”

~

"...Just, always remember that you're you. I think Angeal and Genesis forgot that. So..." Another melancholic smile budded on Zack's lips. "Even if it's just for me, just never forget, no matter what anyone ever says to you: you're still Seph. You'll always be. Winged or crazy-haired or crazy-eyed. I don't know if anyone ever told you that, so maybe I'll just have to be the first."

~

And Zack couldn't hold his any longer. “Seph….!” he squeaked, springing forward and practically gluing his arms around his best friend’s neck. “Seph!”

"Stop that!" Sephiroth tried to bark, but every thread of authority was cut along the way. He was completely powerless as Zack tightened his embrace, their laughter harmonizing into one, a velvet and bubbly song drowning out the rainfall.

"My buddy's laughing...!" Zack repeated, the words still so ethereal as they danced around him. “You’re really laughing!”

~

Sephiroth paused. "…No. I do not have a friend."

The emerald ponds rippled, and he looked over to Zack, still standing in the crowd, the woman nowhere to be seen, watching the boy's eyes widen into gaping blue sapphires . A small smirk budded on his lips.

"I have... a best friend."

He had a best friend. He had a best friend…

Murmurs erupted from the crowd, heads bobbing as people turned to face one another and even the scattered gasp laced between. It was clear that this was not the response they were expecting to receive.

"Who?" the reporter wanted to know, clearly just as stunned.

Sephiroth never unlocked his gaze with Zack’s. His smirk softened into a tender, calm, grateful smile.

“My lieutenant."

~

“...I love you so much…” Zack mumbled into his coat.

The velvety warmth from before sparked all again, a strong heartbeat turned into a swelling throb in the man's chest. There were no barriers in Sephiroth’s mind anymore, making him hesitant. Making him question. Just as they did before, the words left in all their heartfelt, effortless honesty as he held his treasured friend tighter, emerald eyes falling shut.

"I love you too, Zack.”

My hero.

~

For another long swathe of time, silence reigned over the duo. And Sephiroth was left to ponder his best friend’s kind words once again. He let them sink into him like soft layers of balm—let them sink deep into his body, let them knead the aches in his soul… and sank further into the embrace. There seemed to be only one appropriate thing to say. Only one thing was that right.

“Thank you…” Sephiroth whispered.

Zack’s lips budded with a small, teary smile, burrowing deep into the warrior’s neck. “My amazing friend…”

Flash!

Sephiroth tensed and bristled as the room came alight again. His heart jolted—leapt, flared—and Zack made sure it stayed in his chest as he held him tighter.

“It’s okay… I got you, bud. You’re okay.”

The warrior kept his eyes shut, cocooned in warmth and blessed blackness… And this time, his head was silent. Hojo’s voice didn’t echo in his ears; his silent screams of the past didn’t plague him. It all melted away as he melted further into his best friend’s arms.

Listening to the sound of the rain against the window, Sephiroth fell asleep.

~

The boy's face softened, relinquishing his hold on his arm…

To place a warm, ungloved hand on his chest instead.

"I know who you are..." Zack whispered now. "You've shown me. You're Sephiroth. You're kind, and loyal, and would never hurt a soul who didn't deserve it."

He nodded gently towards his hand, pressed firmly over his heart.

"This here, Seph... this is what matters. And you have a good one."

The words still eluded Sephiroth's tongue as Zack held his gaze steady in his own, unwilling to let him go. Gazing right into his eyes, into the inhuman feline slits that drifted in the jade waters like two black daggers... completely unafraid. Completely calm, completely honest. And without a single ghost of doubt.

"You'll always be you..." Zack continued. "And nothing on Gaia will ever change that. I tried telling that to Angeal, but… he didn't listen to me." Something wet twinkled in Zack's eyes, a misty glimmer of plea. Of hope.

"So don't ever forget that... okay?"

~

He opened his eyes again, slowly, the emerald waters tame and vulnerable. The feline pupils round and glistening. "You are... everything to me," he said quietly. "You made my life complete, when I thought it would be shattered forever. You filled it again--with meaning, with joy, with... purpose..." Sephiroth had to fight the smile from sneaking onto his lips, blinking it away. He kept his gaze steady as he continued to hold the blue eyes firmly in his own.

"I repeat myself: you are not Genesis's shadow. You are not Angeal's shadow. Genesis, Angeal... they never brought me coffee. They never shortened my name. They never snuck energy bars into my drawer so I would eat. They never left their doors unlocked for me. They never embraced me, even when they would see me again the next morning." Sephiroth blinked again, fighting again. Only somewhat successful.

"I loved them dearly, but they are not you, Zack. And I am very thankful that you are you.”

~

He felt Zack’s smile press into his shoulder.

“…Seph?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks… by the way.”

Sephiroth hummed in response, another cozy spark and purr in his chest. “I’m honored to do this with you.”

"No," Zack continued to murmur. “I mean… for everything. For being here, for staying here, for always taking care of me…” He strained his eyes, inhaling deeply, letting his taut muscles relax again as he sank back into his embrace and clutched him tighter and found the words that finally rang right in his heart.

“…My hero.”

~

Zack was no longer resisting the tears—letting the weight of his burdens spill out into his shoulder, letting them flood, letting himself bleed out all the tainted blood that had been flowing inside of him over the past stretch of horrible, horrible months.

“I…” he sobbed, cracking. “I’m...”

“Shhh... it’s not your fault..”

“I… I…”

“…It’s not your fault...”

“I… I just…”

“I know…”

“…Why… why d… id this…?”

“I don’t know…”

“…I miss him…”

“Me too…”

“B… but you’re here…”

“…….I am.”

~

Swallowing, Sephiroth bit his lip, the guilty haze still clouding his mind. “Why did you fight for me?” he choked. “Why not fight against me? Why not try to kill me...?”

Zack’s eyes only softened at the question, taking a moment to compose a proper response. “Why...?” he eventually repeated. “Because you weren’t that creature, pal.”

“But you didn’t…” Sephiroth shook his head, then, realizing the weight of that question, amended with, “how...? How could you know it wasn’t me?”

Another beat drummed through the air as Zack processed the question, thinking long and hard of the response, keeping his forehead pressed against his friend’s and his arms wrapped wrap him until, gingerly, he lifted his bandaged arm, placed it against Seph’s chest, and just listened...

“I... I don’t really know...” Zack cracked another small, honest smile. “Gonna sound cheesy as Hell, but... I kinda just knew... kinda just sensed it, your pain... And then you turn around, at the top of that cord thing, look at me, and I just see all that Evil in your eyes... And I knew that wasn’t my bud...”

~

Eventually, Zack snuggled closer, resting his cheek against his chest, burying his face in the toasty material. “...I felt safer here, you know...” he murmured, his voice drenched in encroaching sleep. “And not just because of the blanket... in case you were wondering...”

A purr, a spark in the velvet fire, and Sephiroth just held him closer, pillowing his own cheek against his dear friend’s hair, strands of silver threading through the black quills.

“...I’m glad,” he murmured in return.

~

“Oh...” Sephiroth chuckled as their laughter began to die down, “I believe we almost forgot the most important affirmation.”

Zack’s smile gleamed brighter than moonshine. “...Yeah? What’s that?”

His own smile calm and content, Sephiroth scooted a few inches across the sofa, looping an arm around his treasured, kind friend as he added, with a swell of gratitude in his heart:

“That I am blessed enough to have the most wonderful friend by my side.”

~

"I'm... I'm never gonna leave you, pal..." Zack whispered, assured; a promise embedded in cement. "I'm... I'm never gonna stop cherishing our time together... Never. I'm never gonna forget how much you mean to me..."

And against the blackness, he felt the silken, feathery weight of Seph's hair falling over him, the comforting, understanding press of his dear friend's forehead against his.

"And I'll never let those memories spoil," Sephiroth murmured.

[the-star-seer]

To Appreciate The Beauty Of This World

TW: Injury & mentions/implied past character death

THE INCIDENT

@fukuzawa-armeddaddyagency @currentlyeatingrocks @aredeemantagonist @myluckymoon @paintedgrilledcheese

Some Time, Long Ago...

Out of everything, sight was not something the boy regarded as the Star Seer ever thought of that much. It was almost ironic, really. 

The boy who saw catastrophes before they even happened never took a moment to appreciate the world before him. 

It was a sunny morning. The crows cawed on the roof, sunlight filtered in through the broken stained glass of the window of the abandoned cathedral. 

Or, well, what people assumed to be an abandoned cathedral. In truth, eight young people had taken residence in this forgotten place. 

One of them was, a short boy with white hair who looked merely fifteen but had eyes that looked so much older. Eyes that were a deep, dark blue and glimmered with flecks of silver like a night sky. 

Star-Eyed, as some called him. 

He, not unlike his companions, were not like most people you'd regularly meet on the streets. His name was Alistaire, a boy born into a world where the supernatural was not just myths and stories told to children at night. 

He was someone who, despite his gift, failed time and time again to appreciate the beauty of the sunlight's glow, or the vibrant vines climbing across crumbling walls. 

He appreciated neither old nor new murals, not the wild flowers blooming on rotting and decaying wooden benches. 

For why appreciate that which you see day in and day out? 

Alistaire saw no point in it. Why would he, when he'd long ago deemed his sight cursed?

(It wasn't until a time not too far into the future that he was caged by darkness and chained by scratchy bandages that he longed to see a sunset, a mural painted by people long gone or his dear friends or the wild flowers, just once more.)

A deep sense of dread seemed to follow Alistaire ever since the meager breakfast he'd shared with his cousins and friends that morning, tucked away into a corner and listening to them gossip among themselves about the small village near the forest in which the cathedral laid. 

Apparently Anouk had scared some of the townsfolk into believing the forest was haunted by accident, whereas Kaji had almost set fire to some of the townsmen for the way they looked at Lumi. 

They'd split up, after. 

Lumi had gone down into the catacombs of the cathedral, to experiment with the powders and the like that Anouk and Juno had nabbed from a shop they'd raided recently. Lumi had taken one look at the vials during their trip there and mentioned that she could work with those. 

Anouk had headed up into the former priest's office to pour over the old books from the library, no doubt. An endeavor Alistaire enjoyed to join in on every now and then. He knew the younger boy always tended to do that when stressed by one thing or another, though, and thus more often  than not left him alone. 

Kaji, as per usual, had disappeared off to who knows where. Likely roaming the hallways, prowling around not unlike a silent, murderous guard dog. 

The white haired boy passed by Mateo, who's tanned skin was painted like a surrealistic, colorful work of art by droplets of the paint he used to draw new murals onto the decaying walls, leaving his handiwork for future generations to find. 

The organ played faintly. It was a sad tune. Thane must be feeling melancholic again. He pitied the man, who'd only ever known orders, who'd been thrown from the role of a mindless soldier to the role of a guardian of several children. 

Well, if one would call them all children. Most of them would soon be of age. And of course, there was Alistaire himself, who hasn't been a child in a long, long time, no matter how his appearance could fool the eye. 

There was, of course, also Kaji. But Kaji was someone he'd rather avoid thinking about further, considering he'd threatened to slit his throat during their first meeting. 

Kaji, quite plainly, terrified him. 

On his way he passed by many of Mateo's artistic escapades. While he was not one to care for art, he could admit that the boy was skilled, painting forests and oceans, as well as people and animals with vibrant colors and careful precision. 

One wall he passed by was covered in runes and symbols, and his lips quirked into the faintest of smiles when he recognized the words, though his eyes caught on the last one. 

Star-filled fortune? How laughable. There was no fortune with the stars. He, out of everyone, would know that best. The stars, after all, were the ones who showed him the future, in some way. 

On his way down to Lumi's makeshift workshop his sight kept fizzling out in silver and white sparks. 

Flashes of fire and smoke, tear-filled and frighteningly familiar faces, of decayed walls covered in ash kept invading his sight like bad omens. Which, knowing his visions, were. 

Something bad was going to happen, down in Lumi's workshop no doubt. 

There had been explosions before. That's why they'd all been in agreement to relocate all her 'experiments' to the basement. None of them had caused any major damage and had been contained in time, but they didn't want to take the risk of someone seeing smoke. 

The old stairs creaked ominously beneath his heeled boots, dust raining down from the ceiling above him. His nose itched, and he almost sneezed. 

"I th-think you... you sh-shouldn't work on... on that t-today, Lumi" 

~

"I'm... I'm telling y-you, Lumi! I- I have a... a bad feeling" 

Anouk tilted his head slightly as he watched the three of them. His sister, cousin and friend. They were in the catacombs, as the others had dubbed the basement, Lumi's workshop to be more specific. 

The white-haired girl shook her head. "You always have a bad feeling, Ali" she responded loftily, dragging jars and vials down from the less-rotten shelves that they'd managed to move to the basement. His sister was clearly annoyed. "I've done this one before, I don't need a prediction to know the outcome" 

As she threw her hands up, the air in the room grew colder, leaving not few of them shivering. Alistaire, ever alert to anything, turned his midnight blue eyes to him. Silently begging for his help. 

Anouk could only shrug, helpless himself. Lumi was Lumi, his big sister, a whirlwind of ice and chaos. The golden-eyed boy stepped closer to the seer. "I'll get Rajin, if it'd make you feel better?" he whispered, and Alistaire nodded, a grateful smile adorning his face. 

So Anouk went back up the stairs, moved past colorful and dull doors alike until he found one adorned by a mosaic of flowers and the sea. Their resident healer's door- even though Rajin, in truth, wasn't much older than Anouk was at the current moment. 

He knocked, waiting for a calm "Come in", before pushing the door open even as the rusty hinges protested. The older boy sat on the bed, their local seer's cat curled up on his lap. "Alistaire is worried. Lumi thinks it's unfounded, but you know that Ali's concerns aren't usually pointless" he explained with a sigh. 

Rajin nodded his understanding. "So, could you-" Anouk was cut off by a sudden, loud bang followed by screams. Two of plain terror, another of pure agony. Oracle's worried meow reached his ears through a fog.

The cat wouldn't react like that. Not unless... 

Neither of them needed to exchange even a glance to get moving. Anouk rushed back the way he'd came from, Rajin following right behind him, likely only falling back for that split second to grab his bag. 

Dread wrapped itself around Anouk's heart like thorny vines. Raj effortlessly took the lead, passing by him in the hallway, bolting ahead. The healer instinct in him, no doubt. Anouk remained right on the brunet's heels. 

He stumbled down the stairs, into the candle-lit room. Lumi was crying, almost sobbing, on her knees in the back of the room. Eyes wide and horrified, sooth covering her white hair. 

Kaji was by far calmer, despite being ash-covered as well. The redhead was kneeling next to an unmoving shape on the ground. Rajin fell to his knees on the body's other side, opening his bag. 

"He pushed me out of the way... Oh by the Eight, I should've listened-" Lumi sobbed, tears leaving streaks through the ash on her face. It left Anouk frozen in place. 

It felt like Ascian all over again. Like his twin all over again. Like the war that took so many of their friends all over again. 

"Raj?" he forced out, and watched the boy shake his head. "Lots of damage to his face. Glass shards everywhere-" a green glow emitted from their healer's hands. Anouk watched, despite his stomach revolting, as the more major injuries started to close, shards falling to the floor with clear noises. One after the other. 

Anouk, absentmindedly, decided that these were things nobody their ages should be forced to witness. Not that they hadn't before. The war had made them witness worse. It couldn't be helped, however. Things simply were like this and they wouldn't change. Not any time soon.

So he watched and waited, even as Kaji got Mateo and the duo dragged a passed-out Rajin back to his room. Watched as Lumi summoned snow to cool the remaining burns littering Alistaire's face. 

Then a finger twitched, followed by a soft groan. Quiet and confused. The relief was visible on all their faces when Alistaire slowly sat up. His face may still be covered in burns and scratches, as well as dried blood, but on first glance he seemed fine. 

Silver eyes blinked open slowly, unfocused, and Anouk's breath stilled. He found himself staring, speechless, and watched as Lumi grabbed her cousin and hugged him tightly. His violent flinch went unnoticed by the alchemist, but not by Anouk. "Oh, Ali, I'm so sorry- are you okay?"

The boy slowly raised his arms, shaken, pain and confusion and fear marring his face. Still, he hugged back regardless.

"Why is it so dark in here?"

Alistaire & Lumi, post incident