#this is my personal favourite of the prompts I've done

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Yandere König Headcanons

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

Wordcount: 14,544 words

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An impulse he had never known until today.

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

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

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

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

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

But he couldn’t.

With you, it was impossible.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Contempt.

The lesson dragged, yet playtime loomed.

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

Yet today, he was the one seeking them.

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

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

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

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

You.

A sniffle. Then, insults.

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

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

He pressed himself close to it, and listened.

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

The Cycle.

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

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

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

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

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

Devils in cherubs’ clothing.

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

The leader turned around.

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

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

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

“And what’d’you want, König,”

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

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

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

He only came up to König’s chin.

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

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

He was looking at you.

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

König’s eyes narrowed.

“What. Do. You. W–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey,” he said, quietly.

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

“I’m (Y/N)–...wait, no…I’m– König–”

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

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

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

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

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

He put his arms around your shoulders and held you.

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

“I’m (Y/N),” you said.

König smiled, his teeth crooked.

“Hello, (Y/N).”

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

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

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

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

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

And all the while, you and König became inseparable.

That was the day you learnt what true friendship was.

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

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

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

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

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

And König found this quality to spark something in him.

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

Whenever you had anything to say, he was listening.

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

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

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

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

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

He spared no hesitation as he answered.

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

“Will you sleep next to me ?”

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

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

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

You shifted closer, wrapping an arm around his front.

König became a corpse.

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

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

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

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

“Goognight, (Y/N).”

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

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

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

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

Later, later.

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

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

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

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

His heart spasmed.

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

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

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

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

The Bestie Bible.

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

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

An encyclopaedia of your lives right at your fingertips.

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

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

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

That part, he kept to himself.

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

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

Bible verses.

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

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

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

And he’d shelve it, every time.

Because his time with you was precious.

That much was innate; he just knew.

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

You celebrated birthdays together.

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t kiss him again after that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So why did this time feel so different?

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

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

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

But, again, König ignored the impulse.

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

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

“D’youwannakiss?”

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

Your eyebrows crumpled, and you looked down in thought.

König’s heart stopped.

Had he said something wrong ? Had he offended you?

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

You turned to face him, your previous expression dissolving.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He said nothing as he placed his forehead to yours.

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

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

Act 2

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

And throughout it all, König was at your side.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But something was…amiss.

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

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

Love.

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

Not the kind that you observed, anyway.

Perhaps it was your young curiosity.

Perhaps it was simply a longing for something new.

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

What on-screen heroes and heroines so easily attained.

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

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

Prospectors, you called them to König.

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

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

Just not in the way he wanted you to.

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

The first time you told König, he almost laughed.

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

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

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

And he hadn’t even interpreted your words correctly.

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

More people.

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

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

Or so he believed.

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

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

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

One in particular.

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

Initially, you thought little of him.

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

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

Fleeting instances of a desire for friendship.

That’s what you thought they were.

What else could they be ?

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

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

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

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

Though, that was not his only motivation now.

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

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

Anyone with eyes and common sense would !

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

Not that you knew this, of course.

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

He made sure to avoid them at all costs.

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

From what ?

He didn’t quite know yet.

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

Everything.

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

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

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

And yet, nothing struck him.

Nothing new, at least.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love.

Or the infantile beginnings of it.

And yet he knew not from what it was borne.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That night, he looked upon the paper.

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

A name.

Nothing more.

The name of a boy.

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

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

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

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

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

And, like an answer from God, it did.

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

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

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

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

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

And then, he saw it.

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

A name.

A confession.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It hit something, unknown damage being done.

It would not compare to the damage done to König.

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

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

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

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

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

He knew now.

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

That feeling he’d felt…

It was love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

An idea was brewing. A dangerous one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then nobody can.

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

Anything to get you away from those Prospectors.

You were slipping away from him.

He knew it.

Especially when you started liking that guy.

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

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

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

And König listened, albeit unwillingly.

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

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

König felt his heart seize.

Oh no.

That wasn’t right.

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

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

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

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

Of talking to him.

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

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

It shot you straight back to square one.

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

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

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

But with you…it was different.

He could tell.

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

You were going to be difficult to break.

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

It shocked him, made his heart stammer.

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

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

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

But it never left him.

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

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

Weeks passed, and König continued as normal.

Normal to you, at least.

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

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

All excluding you, of course.

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

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

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

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

And yet his demeanour remained unchanged.

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

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

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

You chose the latter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His rapidly growing height did that for him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He truly was fearless. Or arrogant. Or braindead.

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

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

It was not.

The boy would look at you again.

A feat not yet coined by any.

Except for him.

König knew he was losing you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You clambered the frame and came to sit with him.

He offered you his hand. Wordless. Intentionless.

(Or so he would seem).

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Much like the one you and König inhabited.

König looked down at your conjoined hands.

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

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

He knew he had to be quick.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s now or never.

“(Y/N),” he said, timid, lamb.

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

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

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

You listened for your friend’s tone.

“Yes, Köni ?”

God, that nickname.

As old as König himself.

Stay focused.

König swallowed. His throat prickled.

An oncoming sickness. A nestled affliction.

Lovesick.

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

He faltered. His gaze dropped.

Keep going !

He cleared his throat again.

Your hand lay limp in his.

”And we…we did that…thing?”

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

Your nose scrunched.

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

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

“Yeah…yeah, you’re right.”

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

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

He returned. Head above water, bobbing.

“I– what I’m trying to say…is…”

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

“What I want to say is…”

He looked at you, dead in the eyes.

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

It almost took you aback.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You felt frozen, breath stilted, thinned with revelation.

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

Confusion, apprehension, affection, and…disgust.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neither of you spoke about the incident after that.

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

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

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

You tried not to think about it.

And besides, it made no sense to.

Since your crush had asked you to the school dance !

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

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

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

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

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

And you waited.

And waited.

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

You didn’t want it.

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

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

And you jumped as a hand found your shoulder.

You knew who it was.

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

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

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

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

The very incarnation of a classic heartthrob.

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

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

You squeezed it.

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

You nodded. Dropped your head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that just made you want to cry more.

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

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

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

You made no attempt to move.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you hear that ?” he said.

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

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

All except you, it seemed.

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

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

He held them. Squeezed them once.

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

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

Something about König was…different.

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

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

Now, you were glad he hadn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Were somehow party and privy to it.

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

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

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

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

That, and the gentle grasp König had on you.

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

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

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

And yet, his confidence reassured you.

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

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

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

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

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

A sacrifice he’d make any day.

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

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

The music slowed the deeper into the night it became.

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

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

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

Both mentally and physically.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not yet.

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

No, König knew when he had to act.

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

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

Act 3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he’d return the favour, of course.

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

More so than it already was.

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

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

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

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

“My big bear,” you called him.

And a bear to most, he was.

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

And friends.

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

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

Especially if you were out in the evening.

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

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

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

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

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

“(Y/N), where are you?”

“Corner shop. Had to get some snacks.”

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

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

“How do you even know which store—”

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

“Impulse buy,” you told him.

König sighed.

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

Like me, the voice told himself.

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

And the whole night as you slept together.

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

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

You’d gone out to do it for him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing out of the ordinary.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not real life.

And they had never been you.

König felt a familiar tightness forming in his swim shorts.

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

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

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

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

This was all moving so fast.

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

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

Unlike this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wanted to.

God, he wanted to.

But he knew not to risk it.

Abstain. Abstain, the voice told him.

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

“Be right back,” he’d told you.

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

He returned soon, just as he’d said.

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

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

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

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

Or so he thought.

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

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

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

You and König took to sharing a bed again.

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

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

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

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

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

All while remaining as close as you had since childhood.

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

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

He won that particular argument.

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

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

Your eyebrow quirks up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your letters kept him more than excited, too.

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

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

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

You’d started to fancy someone at work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Days later, König was home.

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

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

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

To him, you were his home.

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

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

And you.

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

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

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

How deep a threat he was.

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

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

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

An easy deflection tactic.

You gave no indication of rejection.

No idea of disgust.

You only laughed.

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

“I suppose we do.”

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

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

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

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

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

You squeezed his fingers.

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

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

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

“Nothing at all.”

König began showing up to your work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rushing off to see him.

And König would remain.

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

You’d never find them again.

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

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

Like His.

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

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

He appeared genuine.

True.

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

“I’m…concerned about you.”

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

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

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

Annoyance.

König began to tread carefully.

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

He waited in silence, for your confirmation.

Or denial.

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

König pushed further.

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

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

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

Desperate.

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

König cast you a doubtful look.

“But…?”

You swallowed.

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

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

König almost let out a snort.

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

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

He leaned in, took your hands in his again.

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

“Ever.”

You looked up from your lap.

Your eyes were glassed. Doll-ish.

You sniffed. Sniffed again.

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

“Okay.” You relented.

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

König squoze your hands.

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

You were his prisoner from then on.

You just didn’t know it yet.

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

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

Lost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t go into the basement.”

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

König set your mind at ease regardless.

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

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

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

Through meniality, then obscurity.

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

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

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

You consorted with your mental audience.

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

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

König kept his on a hook by the door.

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

You searched your shared bedroom, the drawer.

You found something…peculiar.

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

Perhaps I’m mistaken, you thought.

Rationalised.

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

And you continued your search.

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

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

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

And you did so.

Quietly.

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

Not this time.

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

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

Your keys had to be here, right ?

Reaching for the handle, you opened the door.

And everything stopped.

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

The source of the light had been candles.

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

The Bestie Bible.

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

Stepping back, you hit something.

A wall that hadn’t been there before.

You gasped, turning on your heel.

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

It couldn’t be.

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

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

He took a step forwards. You scrambled back.

Ending...

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist

Masterpost

[onceuponastory]

comfort - bucky barnes x reader

Plot: After a bad day, Bucky comforts reader. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader Warnings:  A small mention of Bucky's past, and reader being stressed/anxious about work. But other than that, it's pure sickly sweet, tooth rotting fluff. But as always, if I miss any triggers, please let me know! Notes: This is pure self gratification, cause I've been super stressed at work and needing some comfort from my comfort character.

“Ugh.” Y/N groans as she walks through the door. She drops her bags and coat on the floor with a thump, kicking off her shoes with another groan.

“That didn’t sound good.” Bucky raises a brow, coming out of the kitchen, Alpine following behind. He pulls her close, softly pecking her lips. As his stubble brushes against her skin, Y/N sighs softly. “What’s the matter, love?” He whispers, giving her a soft squeeze.

“How is it you always make me feel better with just a kiss?” She whispers, a smile tugging at her lips. Bucky chuckles, kissing her forehead. 

“I guess I am that magic.” He grins. “But you didn’t answer my question. What’s got you so upset?” Y/N groans again, preferring to just stay cuddled in her boyfriend’s arms with their cat nuzzling against their legs than dwell on the horrendous day she’s had. 

But with the way he looks at her, concern etched on his features, she feels her heart swelling with love. “It’s just been a shit day.” She sighs. “Everything went wrong, the system broke, my boss was pissy….” She leans against him, her groan muffled by his muscular chest. She registers the sensation of Bucky rubbing her back comfortingly, and she sighs softly. The warmth of his embrace is already making her feel better.

“It’s not your fault, love.” He sighs. She knows he’s right, of course… but telling her brain that is a whole other story. As if already reading her mind, Bucky kisses her forehead again. “It’s not your fault.” He repeats. “You did nothing wrong, you tried your best, and your boss will understand that.”

“I know.” She sighs, “It’s just-”

“I know.” He gives her another squeeze, and she relaxes into his embrace. Alpine purrs softly, his tail curling around their legs as he snuggles close.

They stay like that for a while. Whether it’s half an hour, an hour or even longer, Y/N doesn’t care. She’s home, and safe, with her two favourite people in the entire world. 

She could stay here for the rest of her life for all she cares.

“Come on.” Bucky gently prompts. “How about we order some food and watch a movie, take your mind off things?” Y/N smiles. 

“That sounds perfect.” She murmurs, kissing his cheek. “I’m so lucky to have you, you know that?” Bucky chuckles, shaking his head as she interlinks her fingers with his.

“I’m lucky to have you. After all I’ve done….” He trails off, biting his lip. Y/N squeezes his hand tightly, wordlessly showing her support. “I don’t deserve someone like you.”

“Yes, you do.” She whispers. “You’re a good person, Bucky. I promise.” Pulling her close once more, Bucky kisses her softly.

“I guess we’re both pretty lucky, huh?”

“Definitely.” She chuckles. “Now come on… let’s go get comfortable together.” Bucky grins. 

“Sounds like a plan.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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[bucktommyweek]

Welcome to BuckTommyWeek!

Alright, y'all, the moment we've (I've) all been waiting for! (Again, probably just me...)

Here are your Prompts for #BuckTommyWeek which is June 3-9, 2024.

Monday, June 3, 2024: Date Night Tuesday, June 4, 2024: Emergency Wednesday, June 5, 2024: Bad weather days (mental or literal) Thursday, June 6, 2024: Gift Exchange (Sentimental, handmade or silly) Friday, June 7, 2024: AU (can be: 118 Tommy (he never left), First Meeting (back from the weekend), soulmate AU or string of fate au.) Saturday, June 8, 2024: Pride (First pride, or Pride traditions) Sunday, June 9, 2024: Leaving a mark (wonder where I got THAT idea from?)

And what will the alternate prompts be, you may ask? Where are the dirty ones from last time?

The alternate prompts are the weekend prompts so:

A figure from their past.

"I'll come for you, no matter what, if you need me, I'll be there."

Their favourite firsts.

"No touching. You'll be patient and wait until I'm done."

The toy chest.

"Guess what I'm wearing right now?"

Beast mode (wonder where I got that idea from?)

Important Information Before Participating

Rules

Rating System

FAQ

Racism and Prejudice

Ao3 Collection

Optional Post Format

Resources for Writing

If you have any questions either hit up our askbox or my own personal askbox or messages @evan-privileges

Haters need not engage.

[hobnob2020]

Lucanis Romance

Spoilers so please don't read unless you've finished the game

Lucanis was always going to be my first romance and he was the reason I went from my initial choice of Shadow Dragon to becoming a Crow and I wasn't disappointed.

But the reason I'm writing this review is because again people are moaning about how "little or poorly done" his romance was.

So a few points I'd like to point out are as follows;

Firstly people can have their opinions but I would like to remind everyone that his talented writer was fired and then rewrites were done for the game so who knows what got changed last minute for his character.

Secondly, he has been imprisoned for an entire year, been tortured and possessed, essentially having his mind broken because he didn't want to submit.

Thirdly his city is on the very edge of being destroyed.

And lastly Rook tells him they were sent by his grandmother who he loves dearly only to find upon his return that shes dead. He can also see that there's something wrong with Illario someone he sees more of a brother but is fighting him every chance he gets in order to point him in the opposite direction lest he realises he's the traitor.

With his grandmother's death it leaves the uncertainty of who gets first Talon as its a position he never wanted thus making the Crows weak as there's no clear leadership.

So please forgive him for not jumping into Rooks bed straight away.

His romance is very slow and after the first 2 or 3 flirty prompts I got I did wonder if I went wrong because he was giving me nothing back.

Until we got to that scene in the pantry where he says she deserves better than his mess 🥵

Jumping towards the end of the game for a second he says that he wanted her but was too afraid to want her and it's clear when you express your interests in the previous scene he likes you, also if you visit him after he does trip over his words and says he wants, but can't.

His body language, the way he smiles, the voice, the animation of him looking at your lips when you touch his chest is just perfection only to pull away at the last second to clear his head because again he's traumatised and hasn't dealt with his inner demon, the self doubt and torture that swirls around his head.

Then we get to the heart of his personal quest, when the body of Zara reveals she was Illarios lover and it was his greed for First talon that lead him to be captured and aswell as his grandmother's 'death'.

Let's not forget he's also by this point nearly tried to kill Illario for getting in the way so again fears losing control and likely hurting Rook.

Moving onto possibly my favourite companion quest of the game we end up in the fade, inside Lucanis' mind with Spite. It's simply tragic how tortured he is inside his mind, the way he sees himself through the eyes of another especially his grandmother is so sad.

Illario is the antoganiser in his head, cruelly bringing up the history of the Dellemortes family and the massacre that wiped all but 3 people. By saying Lucanis will kill his family for a job he doesn't want just twists the situation to make it feel that Lucanis has always been tainted and that the Demon was already inside him but Rook just denys this by saying he's a professional assassin, that he's basically not a mindless killer and knows the real enemy, that his loved ones won't be hurt only the one responsible and that when he needs to do it she'll be there for him.

The romance prompt that comes after shows how vulnerable he is around her, asking her to leave him there so he doesn't risk losing her and then she basically mentions what I've written so far, about his fear of moving forward as an abominantion and hurting his family is worse than any of the torture and pain he went through; so again people just need to realise this man is so messed up and protective to the few people he has left in his life and doesn't want to hurt the one person desperately trying to help him.

After you make the decision on stopping Illario or saving Caterina where Spite and Lucanis agree to work together you get that wonderful awkward moment where the two of them are just standing silently infront of Viago and Teia which is hilarious if you play as a crow because I imagine Viago is tired of Rooks weird shit by this point 😂

I like the fact that she doesn't speak of Spite or Lucanis' fears, that what they've just experienced is for them only.

Their commitment scene is really sweet but I wish it had like an extra scene where they're sat at the dinner table and the other companions could see something had shifted between them, that they tease about feeling the love in the hazelnut tarte making the two of them bashful, you know just something a little extra but it's not the end of the world left as it is.

When they eventually crash Illarios party and find Caterina all of his fears are put to rest where she excitedly greets him, even going so far as to kiss his cheeks showing how much she loves and missed him.

When the fight occurs and he embraces Spite fully and fights off Illarios hold there's such a proud moment when you're watching him, because he has his grandmother back, Rook at his side and the Crow houses watching on as Illarios lies are exposed.

During the fight when Illario fights Rook he tells her she's chosen the wrong Dellemorte and if he does hit her Lucanis tells him he's going to pay, it's just the simple things like this that make me love Dragon age games.

When the fight is over and he asks if they should make an early exit and return home i was expecting a first kiss as it just seemed right with him saying he'll stay for her and put off the crows as long as he possibly can.

I definitely think he has one of the stronger romances towards the end of the game, when he says he'll kill every blighted creature and the gods that stand in her way and she says that she won't be thinking of that all day just made me smile.

Their actual sex scene is beautifully done too, the fact he kneels for her, the animation and responses are great, even the humorous option is really good and there's no doubt how much he loves her.

I think what people have to remember is he's terrified of losing control which is why he hides away in the pantry, he nearly kills Illario in a fit of rage and just can't face hurting Rook which is why after the near kiss he says he wants her but can't.

It's been confirmed that Spite is obsessed with Rook so you can only imagine the inner battle and what he says about Rook on a daily basis, also the fact he can't control the wings of Spite so having them during their sex scene just shows how much she means to both of them.

I am gutted about the recent art released and that we missed out on the kiss in the rain, the gondola and sex scene in the pool but this is why fanciction exists.

I think his VA did a wonderful job and he's definitely my favourite and most interesting companion.

*I'm not going to comment on his other romance because saying anything negative about her triggers people which is just insane, I don't care that characters pair off and I don't find their banter particularly flirty but it should of happened once Rook hadn't committed to either of them just like Fenris and Isabella did which wouldn't have annoyed so many people, but that's an easy fix. Just don't bring them along together 😂*

[yeeterthek33per]

Girls Like You (Katrina Gorry x Reader)

A/n y'all wanted part 2, so here she is 😊

Warnings: teeny mention of bad times. Little bit of mention of some violence, not much, though. Mentions of mental health. Some mention of illness.

Also, buckle in, guys. She's a long one.

Part one

Katrina was sure she'd left her favourite shirt on the top shelf. That way, it was away from grabby hands and accidental spillages. Of course, now that she actually needed it, it was missing.

Harper's sat on the bed, playing with an electronic drawing pad. (She made the mistake of giving her actual non-toxic markers one day. Never again.)

As she digs through the large pile of clothing now on the floor, there's a small knock at her bedroom door.

"Hey, Min, just me and Kyra, you need help with anything?"

She sighs softly, standing up again and walks to the door, pulling it open.

"Yeah, I can't find my favourite shirt. Have you guys seen it?"

Charlie thinks for a second.

"You mean that blue sleeveless one?"

"No, the white button-up."

Charlie frowns for a second.

"Don't you own like ten of those?"

Katrina shakes her head. "No, Harper keeps spilling things on them, and at the rate she's doing it, my washing machine can't keep up, so I'm pretty sure I'm down to one again."

She rubs at her face softly. This really wasn't helping her nerves now. Charlie sighs softly before pushing the girl to the bathroom.

"Just put on your other clothes, and get ready. I'll have a look while you finish up."

"Thanks Cha."

She waves her off and continues digging through the mess that she'd probably end up having to lock in the wardrobe and clean up when she got back.

She puts on a pair of blue denim shorts and a simple tank top, so she's not wearing nothing when she steps out.

Twenty minutes of makeup, and another twenty for hair, later, and she walks out of the bathroom.

She can see Charlie sitting on the bed beside Harper, chatting with the small girl, keeping her occupied while she draws as well.

"Oh wow, is that a soccer ball?"

The girl eagerly nods her head.

"That's so coool. I love it. Who'd you draw it for?"

"Mummy! Soccer makes her happy, I made it for her."

Katrina's heart just melts that little bit more. Charlie turns to Katrina with the same expression, hand over her chest.

"Any luck?"

"Yup, it was on the top shelf in the corner still."

She rolls her eyes, and Charlie tosses the shirt to her.

"Of course it was."

She puts the flowy white shirt on and checks her reflection, huffing slightly.

"Nerves?" She hears from behind her.

Charlie's watching her with a small smile.

"Little bit. Nothing I don't normally deal with. In theory, this should be the easiest thing I've done all week."

The blonde only leans her head into her palm. She knows that's not really the case.

"Buuuut?" She prompts gently.

"But.. ugh, I don't know. She makes me a little nervous, is all."

"A little? Min', you've been jittery all week. What's making you so nervous? She obviously has the hots for you, and she set this date up, despite the fact you asked her out, so she obviously wants to go out."

"I know, but like, what if I end up being a disappointing date or something?"

Charlie gives her a pointed look.

"You're kidding, right? Min', I love you and care about you, and I'm gonna say this in the nicest way possible while your child is currently crawling all over me." Harper grins up at the defender.

"You are the nicest, sweetest, protective, and most caring person and a brilliant mother and one heck of a footy player. If you're disappointing to her, she's losing out on a world of love that she won't ever find elsewhere."

Katrina looks down, fighting a small flush creeping up her neck.

"Okay, but what if the fact that I have a child scares her off?"

"Are you serious? You better not be."

Katrina only blushes more at that. Charlie sighs softly.

"Min', aside from the circumstances you both met in and the fact she met your child before meeting you. She said yes to a date, knowing full well you had a kid. In fact, she messaged you just yesterday, asking if the date went well enough, Could you both spend your second date doing something with Harper. It's been four days, and she already loves this little human being. And I certainly don't blame her."

She trails off, giving Harper a big kiss on the cheek, making the girl giggle.

"Yeah, okay, I get your point." A smile makes its way onto her lips at the sight.

"You better. I'm serious Min', you're too good for her not to know what she'd be missing."

She gives her a grateful smile.

The older woman sits back on the bed, and Harper jumps out of Charlie's arms and into her mother's.

"Hi!"

"Hello, little miss."

It makes her little one giggle again, and she hugs her tight, Harper is very much happy to do the same. She's so grateful to have her. She's been light in her life for the two years since she'd been born.

A ping on her phone pulls her back to reality. It's from you.

"Hey! I'm on my way, be about twenty minutes or so? Say hi to Harps for me.😊"

There's a tingle that runs through her when she reads the message.

Charlie just gives her the I-told-you-so look.

Katrina gives her a small shove and texts you back.

"Hey, all good 😊See you soon 😉. Also, will do!"

-------

"I'm still nervous, Ash, It's my first date in like four months. What if I fuck it?"

"Dude, just don't fuck HER on the first date and it's fine."

Your sister's voice plays over the speaker in your car. You'd called her the moment you left the house, nerves grating you down a bit.

You roll your eyes at her.

"Yeah, there's no chance of that happening on the first date. You forget she's got a kid that she still has to go home to. Plus, she doesn't seem like the type to have sex on the first date and take off."

"She doesn't have to stay the night for you both to-."

"Alright! Jesus, I get the point. But still, she seemed genuinely nervous about asking me out."

"Wait, so why are you arranging the date then?"

"I don't know? I messaged first, she was happy to let me take the lead on that one, I'm assuming she's just a little busy, that's why I jumped in. Figured it would be nice for someone to take her out."

She pauses for a second.

"You said she's a professional football player?"

"Yeah why?"

"What's her name again?"

"Ashley, I'm not letting you stalk her, you already scared my last date off, I'm not letting you scare this one off too."

She gets defensive.

"I was not going to stalk her, I was just curious where she plays is all."

"Uhuh, right. Thats exactly what you were looking for."

"You want my help or not?"

"Not if you're gonna internet stalk the poor woman."

"I'm just making sure she's genuine and not some serial killer."

"Oh my fucking god, Goodbye Ashley."

"I was just looki-."

You hit the hang up button. You were just about to pull up at Katrina's place anyway.

You pull over on the side of the road and quickly check yourself in the mirror.

You went with a rolled up white rolled see-through button up tucked into a pair of black jeans and a black bra underneath. That and a pair of your lucky white skate shoes.

You try and steel your nerves a bit, wiping your palms on your pants and spray a quick bit of mint breath freshener in your mouth.

You get out of the car and make your way to the door and hit the door bell.

----------

"Ooh, shes heerrreee." Charlie takes off down the stairs.

"Charlotte Layne Grant! Do not answer that door!"

By the time she tells Kyra to watch Harper and runs down the stairs she's already got the door open.

"Hey, Y/n! She's just coming down now. Now, no funny business, we want her home by no later than ten and- Hey!"

She gets shoved away from the door by a very annoyed looking Katrina.

You watch on, biting your lower lip to hide a laugh, flowers in hand.

You hear her scold the blonde mildly and then she returns to the door a little flustered.

Her hair is down straight but tucked back just over shoulders. The white flowy shirt, rolled back to just below her elbows, shows off her wrist tattoos and her collarbone. Your eyes trail over it before meeting her eye again with a small grin noticing her having done the same.

"Hey, you."

"Hi." She says it with a grin of her own.

You offer her the flowers, and she pulls you towards her into a hug. Your arms wrap around her, keeping the flowers from being crushed. She's only a little bit shorter than you, so you're able to rest your chin on her shoulder as her arms wrap around you.

It's a short embrace, but she leaves a lingering touch to your waist as she lets go looking up at you.

She takes them inside for a second while you wait and returns swiftly.

You step back, holding out your hand for her's.

"Ready?"

She takes it, her hand warm in yours.

"As ever."

As you both walk down the drive and you open the passenger side door for her to step in, she gives you a grateful smile and a small peck to the cheek. You hear one final yell from behind you.

It's Charlie at the door, sporting a glare. "Home by ten." And gives you an I'm-watching-you gesture. You chuckle and salute at the blonde while Katrina yells back.

"You better be watching my daughter, Charlotte Layne."

Charlie's eyes widen slightly, and the front door slams shut behind her when she takes off inside again.

You close the door once she's settled and return to the driver's seat.

"Alrighty, Clicked in? Let's go."

As you pull away, she watches you carefully, waiting for an explanation as to where you guys are headed.

You hum softly. "So, I wasn't sure entirely as to your preferences, so I've got a few places we're going to, if you agree that is, we don't have to go if-"

Her hand rests on yours, your arm having been leant on the centre console.

"I'll go where you've picked for us. Im not fussed, I'm just here with you."

You smile and nod, her fingers intertwining with yours for the rest of the ride. When you pull up in a spot beside a blank modern style building, there's a little confused look on her face that's adorable.

"C'mon, you'll see once we get inside."

You nod your head towards the place. Katrina raises a brow slightly but decides to trust you as you both step inside.

It suddenly makes sense to her as you both step into a crowded bar.

It's an open mic night. In a gay bar.

It's somewhere you're a regular at, to the point where the bartender, Aiden, yells out to you the moment you both step in the door.

"Ayyy, look who's here, ladies, theydies and gents!"

There's a few cheers around the bar as some of the locals spot you. The bar isn't packed, there's only maybe forty or so people in the room, but there's a stage and a mic setup where the current half tipsy singer has stopped to cheer as you come in as well.

Your face flushes as you turn back to Katrina, a really curious look on her face now. "I'm a bit of a regular... for the karaoke, that is." You rub the back of your neck.

"Well then, miss singer, sign me up, let's see what you've got."

You smile and lead her over to the bar.

"Ms L/n, the usual?"

You shake your head at Aiden.

"Virgin tonight, and another entry for, oh, Katrina, this is my best man, Aiden. He's the one who built this bar from the ground up."

He shakes his head as he fills a glass with some lime juice, sprite, mint, and a little soda water.

"Not on my own. Your girl here runs the place when I'm not in town."

Katrina raises her brows at that. You just smile sheepishly. It certainly explained why you were a regular then.

"Okay, I may have lied a little bit about only coming for the karaoke. But it definitely is a highlight, I swear."

She just gives you an amused look.

"What about you, love, anything to drink?"

"Just a soda water, thank you." He nods and pours her drink. He processes the drinks, but when you go to tap your card, his hand jumps in ahead of yours with another.

"Little bugger, you're gonna get me in trouble, man. Paying for my drinks."

"Who said I was paying for yours?"

He playfully winks at Katrina beside you, and you tut and whack him softly, knowing he's joking with you.

"Don't mind him. He can't keep a husband, so he steals my dates instead."

He puts his hand to his chest, giving you a mock offended look.

"How dare you? I'll have you know, it's husbands, not husband."

You stick your tongue out at him. "Too bad none of them could teach you to finance either."

He raises his hands in surrender, with a small laugh. "Got me there. What's getting added to the queue tonight ladies?"

You look at Katrina, but she just gestures for you to take your pick.

"You're the karaoke expert."

You raise your brow but take the tablet from Aiden. Putting in an intrumental that you know well enough and she'll probably know.

"Up for some gender bent Maroon 5?"

Katrina nods and you both grab your drinks.

You take a seat at one of the open tables.

As you both wait for the queue to progress, you talk about what led you to take over part ownership and what Katrina's life is like playing professionally.

"Honestly, he was desperate for someone to babysit the bar at the time. He knew me from back in Uni, knew I'd graduated with some certs in business management, finance, and accounting. So he calls me up and asks me to take over for a few weeks. I kind of latched onto the place after that, and now I do his yearly taxes for him in exchange for a few free drinks and a lifetime entry to the karaoke. What about you, what's the league like?"

"It gets kind of busy during the season, particularly during the summer months. I get asked to play in other spots, and it gets complicated. I play for the Brisbane Roar currently, so media duty is something I get asked to do regularly."

You raise a brow at that. You knew she played professionally, but to what level? You had no idea.

"That's really cool, and that's November through April, right?"

She nods.

"I was in Sweden for a bit with Harper, but I wanted to come home again. At least for a while."

You nod in understanding.

"I was actually in Sweden for about six months doing international work for a company I used to work for."

She tilts her head slightly.

"Really, when was that?"

She takes a drink.

"I came back about a year ago, so June through November."

"Was it meant to be that long?"

"No, it was supposed to be a permanent move, but I got homesick too quickly, didn't know anyone, and I was living on my own for five out of six months."

"So you told them to bring you back?"

"Ha, no, I just quit. They refused, so I left and never turned back. They were underpaying me anyway, I don't regret it whatsoever. Life is less stressful when you work for yourself."

"So what do you do now?"

"Well, when I'm not here doing Aiden's paperwork, I work as a freelance financial advisor/accountant, it pays decent but the residential market in Brisbane is kind of crap, so I live with my sister and her wife in the meantime, do you do anything between seasons?"

She kind of hesitates for a moment, but as she goes to speak, next in the queue is called up.

"That's us." You take a long sip of your drink and hold out your hand for Katrina to take.

She looks a little nervous, now suddenly overcome with a little stage fright.

"C'mon, these guys aren't scary, just drunk and happy to listen to us sing gay shit all night."

She puffs out her cheeks and takes your hand.

You lead her ip the stage and the small audience in the room cheers.

You take the mic for a second.

"Evening everybody, another night in for me. Bringing you Girls Like you by Maroon 5, covered by yours truly, aand."

You gesture to your date.

"Katrina, my new partner in crime."

You nod at Aiden to hit play.

It's a soft piano based melody compared to the usual guitar intro she's used to, but she knows the song.

Spent 24 hours

I need more hours with you

You spent the weekend

Getting even, ooh ooh

You start out singing, hoping to calm the girl's nerves and let her get used to the atmosphere as well.

She's pleasantly surprised by your singing voice, although given the cheers you got, she'd suspected you weren't exactly terrible either at that point.

We spent the late nights

Making things right, between us

But now it's all good, babe

Roll that Backwood babe

And play me close

You gesture the mic to her, grabbing her hand to pull her closer to you and nudge her to sing with you.

'Cause girls like you

Run around with gals like me

'Til sundown, when I come through

I need a girl like you, yeah, yeah

You grin when she sings into the mic with you. She's pretty good, actually. It shouldn't surprise you, though. The smoothness in her voice makes your heart jump a little.

Girls like you

Love fun, yeah me too

What I want when I come through

I need a girl like you, yeah, yeah

You start to sway a little, and her hand squeezes yours as you meet her gaze. You use the moment to watch her sing. Her blue eyes are sparkling under the orange-yellow lights. Her eyes crinkle slightly, and her nose scrunches when the guys in the audience cheer and whistle.

Yeah, yeah, yeah

Yeah yeah yeah

I need a girl like you, yeah, yeah

Yeah, yeah, yeah

Yeah, yeah, yeah

I need a girl like you

She blushes when the crowd cheers louder and lets you take over again.

I spent last night

On the last flight to you

Took a whole day up

Trying to get way up, ooh ooh

The mic stays in your hand this time, and Katrina steps back a little to watch you sing. The way you smile brightly while singing, the way your eyes close as you let the music take over you, it has her heart racing a little.

We spent the daylight

Trying to make things right between us

And now it's all good babe

Roll that Backwood babe

And play me close

You motion her back over and she bites her lip, hiding a smile as she shakes her head, wanting to hear you sing instead. You raise a brow as you continue, stepping and grabbing her hand to pull her back towards you.

'Cause girls like you

Run around with gals like me

'Til sundown, when I come through

I need a girl like you, yeah yeah

You brush your shoulder with hers, your other hand settling on her back and you feel hers settle low on your hip, you turn and give her a wink as you continue.

Girls like you

Love fun, yeah me too

What I want when I come through

I need a girl like you, yeah yeah

Your hand is warm on her back, and she can smell your vanilla perfume from her position beside you as it floods her senses. Your voice is soothing, calming her more energetic side and allows her to relax into you as she sings with you.

Yeah yeah yeah

Yeah yeah yeah

I need a girl like you, yeah yeah

Yeah yeah yeah

Yeah yeah yeah

I need a girl like you

The song rounds out and the audience applauds you both, whooping and clapping and you take a playful bow and turn to Katrina to applaud her as well, giving her a proud smile.

You both step down off the stage, a little hot from the heat of the lamps facing the stage.

"So we gonna talk about the athletically talented mother soccer player being able to sing?"

She coughs slightly and turns her head away. "Nope."

You try to meet her eye again, a small pout on your lips.

"No? Aw c'mon, you were so good up there."

Her face flushes as her head whips back to you.

"Says you. When was that gonna come out? Professional singing level talent."

You end up with a blush matching hers.

"I.. never really pursued it. Not worth it in my opinion."

A raised brow in your direction.

"What? Just not something I was interested in pursuing. Was never stable enough for people so.."

Her face softens, realizing exactly what you meant there.

When her hand grabs a hold of yours again, there's a small tingle that runs up your arm.

Instead of commenting further though, you nod your head at the door.

"You hungry?"

She knows you're avoiding it but she's not going to push, not on a first date. She could actually eat though, she hadn't had food since that morning, a little too stressed about the date and also making sure there no possible way for Charlie and Kyra to screw up looking after Harper again.

"Yes, who knew singing worked up an appetite?" It's said in a joking tone, and you laugh with her as you wave goodbye to Aiden and some of the others.

The moment you step outside, the warm afternoon air has set in with a light breeze. You jog over to the door when you get closer to the car again, opening it for her with a cute bow that makes her laugh. God, you could listen to that all day.

"Such a gentlewoman."

You grin and wink at her, before moving to get in yourself.

"Alright, where to next?"

"How's seafood sound?"

Katrina's face lights up.

"And you just became my favourite person. Seafood sounds perfect, lead the way."

Your laugh gives her butterflies and she swears her heart stutters for a second.

"Yes Ma'am."

And with that, you drive for about twenty-five minutes to a place closer to the water. A little restaurant you'd picked up on while out with your sister.

Katrina's hand is in yours the second you pull out onto the road, her fingers interlocking yours. You graze your thumb gently over the back of her hand. You talk about her early days as a player, her days in the academy and you almost get into her being asked to play somewhere when you pull into a spot.

The restaurant is a quaint little spot, beach themed, because of course it is, and a bar stands on the outside facing the water. Stools line the counter and the waft of cooked fish blows your way in the ocean breeze.

"This place is so good. I come out here when I need to process and just get away, even if it's not too far from home."

"Smells good too."

You wander up to the bar and take a seat behind one of the extended counters meant for two people with the bar window to your right and Katrina sits on the other side.

You order from the employee through the window and get your food without issue.

The woman's soft groan from her first bite makes this worth it.

You chuckle. "Good, right?" She covers her mouth slightly, cheeks reddening as she nods.

She swallows. "Seriously, where the heck do you find these places?"

You shrug, "Honestly, I have no idea, I like to think luck has something to do with it."

"Luck?"

"If, and this is gonna sound bad, I don't really do it so much anymore, but, if I'm having a rough day or I'm feeling lost or just, I need a breather, I tend to wander out into the world for a few hours. Furthest I've gone is like, four hours further inland. Exploring has always been my mental stabiliser. Keeps me cool, keeps me calm when I'm stressed. I don't crave it, and I don't expect it when it does happen but it just kind of happens."

"Where's the worst you've ended up?"

"Well, there's been a few and honestly in my younger years I was kind of stupid too, so I've ended up where I really shouldn't. I was down in Melbourne for four months when I was twenty. In the last month I was there, I ended up wondering somewhere on foot. Keep in mind, it was just a crap way to go about it."

You kind of look off into the waves as they crash.

"But, I ended up being fired that day by a contracting company, they decided they didn't like the fact I was so young and that I wanted more for my qualifications than 10 bucks an hour. So I just left my apartment. Ended up with a missing wallet and a black eye. Turns out my dumb ass had walked where it shouldn't have and pissed off some gang members. After that one, I moved back home again to just focus on my studies."

"I'm sorry that happened. What about the best place you've been?"

You wave her off.

"Honestly, I'm past that. That's nothing. I'm lucky, but it was definitely my dumb ass that got caught out. As for the best place? I mean, Aidan's place. We met while in Uni and I stumbled into the bar one night after a rough day about two years later. He picked me back up and we became buddies after that."

"Alright, what place surprised you the most?"

"The four hour one, I wasn't expecting to find much. I found something, though. I ended up going on a hike and found this amazing lake that just went down forever. Massive open mouth cave and a waterfall. It just looked so untouched and peaceful. It was so green and colourful and it just makes everything in the city feel so grey."

You push around your food. Take another bite and then gesture to Katrina.

"What about you? Before you had Harper, what was going on then?"

"Depends, which part?"

"Why have Harper?"

"I've always loved the idea of having kids. At first, I kind of wanted to wait until I found someone to have a child with, but in my profession, that just doesn't come easy enough. I ended up out injured and right before I came back. That was the moment where I was like, 'Screw it, with or without a partner, I want my own child.' So I walked into an IVF Clinic in Norway, picked the donor I wanted, and started right away. My timing was perfect, and the first try was a success, and now I have little Harps. There isn't a single day in my life where I ever regretted my decision."

Your hand slides across the table as she talks, her's sat unoccupied, and as you listen, you slowly grab it. Letting it sit in your palm and without much thought, she let's you.

You toy with her fingers, running the tip of your index down each one. And then half intertwine them. She squeezes your hands closed, and it settles you fully for the first time since you moved to Sweden and back. Or before that even.

"She's been a light in my life, I feel so lucky to be her mother, ya know, it's Harper's world, and I'm just living in it. The girls on the national team are so good with her."

Your head perks up at that. National team? You ask exactly that.

"National team?"

Katrina's expression winces, realizing her slip up.

"Oh yeah, that too. I've been playing with the national team since I got called up in 2012."

Your brows raise at that.

"As in..."

"Australia. For Australia."

Oh. That. Was. Not what you expected.

"Wow, that's really big. Congratulations..? Sorry, that sounded weird. That's amazing, though. I can't imagine how much hard work that is. I mean, for real, a kid right in the middle of that, and you come back to play. That must be some strength you've got."

Her head ducks slightly.

"Honestly, I'm just glad it worked out the way it has. Harper has twenty aunts and two unofficial sisters that look at her like she's hung the stars. That and achieving my dream is all I care about. Harper, more so. I think, if having Harper had taken me out. I would've okay with that. I'm perfectly happy with it, actually. If anything, having Harper actually saved me a bit, too."

"How so?"

"I ended up with an infection, and it ended up swelling up the muscles between my two pelvic points. The pregnancy actually completely took out the swelling entirely. The pain just stopped one day and never came back. Even after Harper was born."

"I really admire the level of resilience you have. To push back on any expectation, to say fuck it, if that's what you want, you'll make it happen. It's actually really attractive. I'm sorry you had to go through so much though."

She shaked her head, squeezing your hand.

"I wouldn't go back and change a thing about how it happened. It's turned me into the person and player I am. I don't regret any of it."

You smile, watching her eyes as they flick down to your lips for a second and then away. You don't know if she noticed she did it, but you did.

Your hand loosens from her grip, fingertips tracing her wrist up to the tattoo on her forearm and then back down to her palm. Her skin tingles with every touch.

It feels mildly intimate, and you realise she's been silent this whole time, watching you do this. You look up to meet her gaze, a small apologetic smile.

"Sorry, little distracted, I am listening though. Continue?"

She just gives you a soft smile in return.

"What about where you grew up?"

You ponder for a moment.

"I grew up in a small town in New South Wales, actually. We moved to Brissy later, but that's another story. A place like a couple hours south of Sydney. It's really gorgeous there, I haven't been since I was a teenager but the place was really nice. Most of the folks living there were friendly. The schools were kind of crap but that's just the public system. We had a place in the more urban side of the region. Small brick house, big gum tree in front. Good sized backyard. The town had yearly markets. They were okay. Mostly to bring in tourists, though. It worked, and the place ended up really busy right before we left. I loved it when storm season came around. The rain was always a relief to have after hot summers. I love thunderstorms. The rain always helps me sleep better, too. Just anything rain, honestly."

While you speak, she repeats your earlier actions, fingers trailing gently over the veins in your wrist or the slenderness of your fingers. They trace the once obvious scars left there. They're subtle, but they're there. Years of healing over the top of what she assumed was a particularly dark time for you. Your hands are soft but are mildly scarred in their own right. A small scar above your wrist. A big one across the back towards your thumb.

"The town was a part of a bigger community region. The next town over was known for the museum there for one of the more famous sports folk of Australian history. There was the cricket oval in town, too. Just an average joe half rural town to live in honestly."

Her fingers continue their path around your hand, tracing the creaselines in your palm and the callus that sits just on the inside of your left pinky.

"What about your home life? What are your parents like?"

"My parents were... okay. Not great to be real with you. Hence why I'm staying with my sister rather than my parents. Kicked me out at seventeen and haven't looked me in the eye since."

She feels a small amount of anger flare up in her chest.

"Why would they do that?"

"Same cliché as any. Found out I was into girls over guys. Tried to have me cured. My sister had already moved out when this was going on. She knew they were strictly homophobic and took off the first second she could. I don't blame her for that. When they realised I wouldn't conform to their bullshit, I was kicked out. To experience the cruel harsh world, they said. The assholes just realised their children wouldn't give them biological and 'natural' grandchildren."

You roll your eyes as you remember the disgust and disappointment in your birth-giver's eyes.

"What the hell kind of parents do that to their own child? The one they're supposed to love and protect. And care for. And-"

Your hand squeezes hers, and you push the now empty plates aside to grab it with the other.

"Hey, I'm okay. Im fine. I dont miss them, and they'll never get the chance to miss who I am. They'll never get to hear about who I meet or who I'm with. I'm dead to them for all I care."

Katrina takes a small breath and uses your grasp on her hand to calm a bit before shooting you an apologetic look.

It's the first date, dude. Chill pill. So she tells herself.

Your heart swells at her protectiveness. She really was born to be a good mother.

"I hope they never get to see this side of you. Or who you are and who you'll be in five or ten years."

You blush lightly.

"Thank you." It's a soft murmur, and you duck your head slightly.

She smiles softly, and her thumb rubs at your hand.

You gesture to the worker and hand back your plates, and move to the register to pay.

There's some bickering, but after a sneaky slip of the card to the worker, you end up paying for it. Though that does earn you a soft shove and a whine when she hears the eftpos machine beep.

You chuckle softly.

"We better get going. I've got one more place for us to go, and I want to be there before complete sundown." You say lightly joking.

"Well, come on then!" She jogs ahead with a grin on her face, dragging you with her.

You play your routine part of valet and it earns you a tip, consisting of a kiss to the cheek that's far too close to the corner of your mouth and it makes you freeze for a second. She just chuckles, and you shake your head lightly and shut the door.

"It's about a half hour there, so feel free to pirate the aux cord."

You dig it out of the console and offer it to her.

"Aye aye, captain." She gives you a wink while she plugs in her phone.

You hear a familiar tune, and you immediately shoot her an impressed look.

"You, Ma'am, have amazing taste."

She smirks and nods as she starts singing along to the lyrics.

The drive passes by quickly with both of you yelling to various songs.

There's a small beach cove that opens up to a really nice view of the ocean. And it allows the sun to come down on the majorly clear water with a nice sparkle, too. You'd only come across it about a month ago, but it was a regular spot for you.

There was something else you'd wanted to do for a bit of fun, but it seems stupid now, considering her profession.

When you pull in to the driveway leading up to the spot, she gives you a funny look.

The driveway is completely surrounded by shrubbery, so it doesn't really surprise you.

She makes a joke, "Is this where I'm supposed to find out you're secretly a serial killer?"

You roll your eyes good naturedly and give her a slight push as you get out. She jumps out with you, and you both make your way up the path.

The dirt path turns to sand, and you stop, starting to take your shoes off.

"It's only getting sandier from here, so you might wanna take your shoes off."

She nudges you softly and does the same.

"Yeah, I did have another thing for us to do, but I'm afraid you'll kick my butt if we do it."

She has a mischievous look on her face.

"It was beach soccer, wasn't it?"

You smile sheepishly and give her a slight nod.

"Oh, you're on now. Go get it."

You raise a brow at her and jog to go get the ball and some mini cones.

The sun's just starting to set as you return with the stuff and a bag slung over your shoulder that you'd forgotten to grab.

Katrina's standing there staring out at the water when you walk up again. You quietly set the stuff down on the sand and move to stand next to her.

"You find places like this all the time?"

"Sometimes, it's a hit or miss kind of thing. This one was pure luck because I hadn't even meant to come down this way. It was the next street over."

"It looks amazing out here."

"Water is pretty good too."

She raises a brow in your direction but doesn't say anything. You move to set up the cones and lay out the blanket that was in the bag you had.

The moment you start, you realise how physical playing with her is. You keep up for the most part, but at one point, she wraps her arms around your waist to try and steal the ball and you both topple over, her landing sitting on you, legs either side of your hips.

The smug grin she gives you makes your heart flutter, and you lean up on your elbows.

"You give up yet, newbie?"

You give her a mock offended expression and accept the hand up she offers when she stands.

"Surrender?" You think for a few seconds.

You stride over to her, a mischievous glint in your eye. You lean down slightly and whisper in her ear. Her head tilts slightly.

"I'll think about it." At that, you take off with the ball.

"Oi, little cheater."

You cackle and try as you might to keep the ball away. She ends up stealing it from you. Her foot sits on the ball, hands on her hips as she watches you. You're practically dying at this point, huffing. Man, you needed to hit the gym more.

"Surrender yet?"

You flop onto your back onto the sand and give her a pleading hands motion.

"I think I'm dying here."

She just shakes her head at your antics and drags the blanket over to you, leaving the ball by the cones.

You both settle on the blanket, the sun finally going down enough to enjoy the view fully.

You sit, leaning back on your hands, and she does the same beside you, legs crossed.

As your breathing calms and the late afternoon breeze sets in, the waves start to crash a little more than the tiny laps at the sand that they were.

Katrina sighs softly, taking in the feel of the open air and the salty wind and the smell of harsh greenery.

The serenity of the scene put her more at ease than she'd felt in a while. She sits up a bit and shuffles closer to you, shoulder to shoulder, and nudges you softly.

"Thanks for bringing me out tonight."

You smile, "Thank you for agreeing to come out with me."

"I feel like I should be saying that."

"Maybe, but I'm the one that planned."

"I still asked first." You poke your tongue out at her cheekily, and she just laughs.

"Goof."

You clutch at invisible pearls.

"So mean."

"Oh, I'm sorry." There's a jested look on her face, and she moves to straddle you. Her hands settle on your shoulders, and yours find her hips.

You playfully huff with a half smile.

"Better be."

Her eyes flicker down to your lips, gaze darkening as the air around you shifts, your brow raised slightly when she meets your gaze again. You let out a shaky breath as her hand slides up to cup your cheek.

"Kiss me?" It's mumbled, but she still hears it.

Your lips are parted slightly.

"Don't even have to ask."

She leans down and captures your mouth with her own, and your eyes drift shut. The noise around you drifts away as your lips move together.

Her fingers tangle in your hair, tugging you closer to her, deepening the kiss slightly. One of your hands slips up to settle in the small of her back, holding her against you.

She pulls away from you with a playful nip to your bottom lip. You steal one more kiss, and her hands settle back on your shoulders, pushing you onto your back.

You raise a brow at the spark in her gaze, and she kisses you again, hands settled beside your head.

You stay there for a while. Until you're both breathless and have to come up for air.

Your pupils are dilated, and her hair is slightly mussed from you, having had your hands in it just seconds earlier. Her fingers are tracing at the hem of your shirt, just barely having dipped under the fabric to feel the skin beneath.

Her hands are cold, but they leave heated sensations where they travel along your stomach. It sends shivers down your spine, and you have to resist moving your hands where they probably shouldn't go. Not here or now, not yet.

She has the same thought and has to pull her hands back slightly, going back to settle beside your head.

Her teeth nip at your lower lip again. And you groan softly, going to kiss her again, only for her to pull away slightly, an amused look on her face.

"We're both gonna get in trouble if we stay out here any longer." You look around, noting the sun's gone down fully now, and the sky has cleared to stars, twinkling brightly.

"I forgot, we're both on curfew here."

She slaps your shoulder, a cute pout forming on her face. You kiss it away, and she groans, feeling her phone buzz in her pocket, and she pulls away again.

"Seriously, those two will kill me if I don't get home before ten. They hate being left alone with each other for too long, I have to play referee to keep them from fighting after a while. They love each other, but they get along about as well as sisters do. Plus, Harper is most likely loaded up on ten tonnes of sugar, so I'll be putting her to bed after that, too."

You chuckle, nodding in understanding.

"Mine's gonna report me missing if I don't get home soon too."

Katrina reluctantly gets off you, and you both pack up the gear and walk back to the car, shoes in hand.

The drive back is pretty quiet but peaceful. There's music playing softly in the background.

Your linked hands sit in her lap for most of the drive, and you get an occasional hum out of her as you sing softly along.

You get her home at about 9:30pm, having stopped halfway back to raid an ice cream freezer in a servo and some more kissing in the carpark. Almost reminding you of your teenage years, sneaking around kissing girls in the back of your parents' jeep.

Only this one feels a lot more passionate. Permanent. There's a lot more emotion behind each brush of her lips against yours, and it leaves you aching for more. To feel her pressed into you.

"I'd let you walk me to the door, but I'm afraid Charlie might actually interrogate us both."

It's only half joking this time. Knowing by now, that was well true.

"Let you out with a kiss goodnight instead?"

Her breath is ragged. "Please?"

Katrina's feels like she's addicted to your kisses at this point. A breath of fresh air. Your touch sends tingles through every nerve ending in her body.

You get out of the car, and when you open the door, she hops out and grabs you by the shirt, pulling you down into her, and smashes her lips on yours.

You steady the both of you, one arm leaning against the door frame, the other around her waist while her fingers tangle in your hair.

You finally pull away, leaving one last peck to her lips and a dazed look on both of you.

"Message me when you get home safe?"

"Of course."

She smiles and slowly steps away from you, hands slipping off your shoulders with a lingering squeeze.

"Good night, hot stuff."

"Good night, sleep well gorgeous. Give Harps a hug for me."

She nods and turns back to the house. The door slamming open makes her jump.

"Excuse me, young lady, you're one minute past ten 'o' clock. Why are you late?"

Her face flushes red, and she groans.

"Charlie, I swear to god."

The blonde just shakes her fist at you, still leaning against your car as you watch her go inside. A small smirk appears on your face as you wave to both of them and get back in, driving off.

Katrina brushes past the girl, and she calls out after her.

"You're so grounded"

She rolls her eyes, and as she goes upstairs to find Kyra and Harper, she can't drop the giddy grin on her face as she bids Kyra good night and puts Harper to bed.

Hot stuff❤️🥵

"Hey, made it home, alright. Sister might kill me though 😳😅😂"

Katrina 🔥❤️

"Yeah?"

Hot stuff ❤️🥵

"Yeah, turns out she did some digging while I was out... I forget she's a soccer nut sometimes, annnd... well, you can probably guess. 👀"

Katrina 🔥❤️

"Tell her I'm happy to sign anything she wants as long as she leaves you alive. You're not getting away from me just yet."

Hot stuff ❤️🥵

"I'll arrange something, I like being alive."

Katrina 🔥❤️

"I like you being alive, too."

Hot stuff ❤️🥵

"I like you 👀"

Katrina 🔥❤️

"You better, I don't kiss just anyone on the first date."

Hot stuff ❤️🥵

"Does that mean I get a second one?"

Katrina 🔥❤️

"😉 Ask me"

Hot stuff ❤️🥵

"Aboslutely beautiful, gorgeous, sweet Katrina, go on a date with me?"

Katrina 🔥❤️

"🤔"

Katrina 🔥❤️

"No"

Hot stuff ❤️🥵

":("

Katrina 🔥❤️

"I'm kidding you dork, of course I will. Call me tomorrow too and I'll plan this time?"

Hot stuff ❤️🥵

"Will do 🥰"

Hot stuff ❤️🥵

"Sleep tight, gorgeous 😘"

Katrina 🔥❤️

"You too 😘🥰"

-------------------

[ratatoast]

Son coeur est le tien

Alastor x Reader qpr (general headcanons)

a/n: halfway through writing this, i realised that maybe my idea of a qpr might be different than someone else's haha,,, also, this is the very first time I've written for hazbin hotel lol (and should i mention that english isn't my first language? haha)

that being said, i hope y'all enjoy this mess :P

also also if y'all would like me to continue writing Alastor qpr (cuz there's def a shortage on that), feel free to send me prompts :)) i obvi wont write nsfw, but other than that, i think anything is fine (?)

Being in a qpr with the radio demon would include…

Long talks over tea/coffee

There’s never any awkward silence between the two of you. You two could be chatting about the most mundane things, and the conversation would still flow perfectly.

He’d definitely learn exactly how you like your hot beverage.

I personally can’t imagine him being an avid coffee drinker tbh, but I don’t think he’d mind if you are one.

Takes your tea parties very seriously, knows all your favourite pastries, puts on some smooth jazz, brings out the fine china, etc

Loves listening to you talking about your day, your current interests, hobbies, etc. Even if the topic itself isn’t all that interesting to him, he’ll still listen to you.

The both of you love gossiping with each other. Neither of you will admit it to others though.

Petnames

You very rarely hear your given name come out of this man’s mouth.

He never calls you anything that he deems too sickly sweet, usually sticks to dear, sweetheart, or darling.

If he’s having a particularly great day, he might call you love, but that doesn’t happen very often.

Constant praises & words of affirmation

I think words of affirmation is one of his main love languages.

He constantly showers you with praises, telling you how gorgeous you look, how witty your jokes are, etc.

We all know that this man is a charmer, however his compliments to you are more than just empty words… most of the time :p

Do keep in mind that this man is a master manipulator tho, so he isn't above using sweet talk to get what he wants.

Playful banter that keeps you on your toes

He loves a good back and forth, especially if his darling is a particularly witty individual.

The two of you can turn any conversation into a battle of words.

However, if you take it too far, he’s not afraid to put you in your place with a couple of sharp words, aimed to hurt.

But most of the time it’s just good fun :)

Never having to so much as lift a finger

He’s very big on acts of service.

Forget about opening doors or pulling out chairs for yourself.

He takes being a gentleman very seriously, especially when it comes to you.

But not only is he a gentleman, he’s also a powerful overlord.

So if you ever need anything, be that a new pair of shoes, or getting rid of a particularly nasty demon, consider it done.

Being his closest confidant

We all know that Alastor has many acquaintances, however he falls short on meaningful connections.

He doesn’t let people get too close to him, and it is sort of understandable why.

You are one of the only exceptions to that.

You know more about this man than all of hell combined.

It took a while for him to open up to you, and even longer until he started telling you about his past.

He’s the kind to drop hints about himself and let you figure out the rest.

Trust goes a long way with him, I think he’d be more open to sharing his plans and such with someone that he knows won’t question his every move.

Even so, there’s still a lot that you don’t know about him, but you’ll just have to take what you can.

You can dress however you want… as long as it fits his taste

He’s not all too picky about what you wear.

Contrary to popular belief, he wouldn’t expect you to be in full glam 24/7.

If you like more revealing clothes, well, he’ll just have to make sure that anyone that dares to as much as look at you the wrong way is taken care of.

That being said, looking well put together is a must.

You represent him in a way, and he expects you to look the part.

He can’t have you wandering the streets of hell in rags that not even the lowest sinners would wear.

Absolutely no modern technology allowed

Do I even need to explain this?

He’d rather be safe than sorry when it comes to the possibility of Vox messing with you.

You are never truly alone

Alastor would make sure to accompany you on your outings as much as his schedule allows it.

But let’s be real, he’s a very busy man.

He makes sure that a few of his shadows keep an eye on you though, even in his absence.

I don’t think your personal strength matters in this case, as I’ve mentioned before, there’s very little that this man wouldn’t do for you, especially when it comes to your personal safety.

Lets you get closer to him than anyone else

This time, I’m talking about physical closeness.

We all know that he isn’t big on physical touch.

However, I feel like you could get away with a lot more than others.

When the two of you are walking somewhere, it’s not unusual for him to offer you his arm.

When you’re standing next to him, he sometimes rests his hand on your back, although that is often a subconscious thing.

If you’re having a particularly rough day, he isn’t too opposed to letting you hug him.

You can also get away with laying on his lap sometimes, and if he’s feeling exceptionally gracious, he might even pet your hair.

PDA is definitely a big no-no, on one hand he has an image to protect, but I also just don’t think he’d be too comfortable with showing his more vulnerable side in public.

As for kisses… if you haven’t seen each other in a while, he might greet you with a kiss on your hand, but that’s as far as it ever goes.

He’s not a very touchy-feely person, so if that bothers you… good luck finding someone better than the radio demon ;)

me af tbh lmao

anway, thanks for reading pookies mwah (slash platonic lol)

[nadas-dirthalen]

I Chose the Wrong Romance in a Game About Regret, and It Made the Game Better

A love letter to BioWare about Dragon Age: the Veilguard.

I don't have the thoughts in me for a formal review of all the aspects of gameplay at this time, nor do I have the brainpower for dissecting my every theory just yet.

But tonight, I want to write to you about the thing that stuck with me the most about Dragon Age: the Veilguard. And that is... I chose the wrong romance for my Rook, and it made the game unforgettable.

Veilguard endgame spoilers below the cut.

(I just liked this tiny screencap, okay. This specific dialogue isn't what I want to talk about.)

For a few days now, I've been trying to think of how to phrase what I want to say. The emotions I felt in the endgame of Veilguard were massive—to the tune I became dehydrated. To convey why that was, I think I have to start at the beginning.

This is the story of Winged Death: the party, the romance, and the headcanons that formed a nightmare combination to break me emotionally.

Meet my Rook: Thenera Sa'renan Aldwir, or Nera for short. A Veil Jumper who lost her mom to blight sickness when she was a teen; who tried to find the Wardens at Skyhold only to learn they'd been exiled; who joined the Veil Jumpers to protect people, but also honor her mother's memory. (Yes, all of this becomes relevant.)

Her name is taken from elven: Thenera from theneras (dream), and Sa'renan from sa (one; one more) and renan (voice). I used the patronymic system outlined in Project Elvhen: Sa'renan was her mother's name. I chose all this in late August, long before I'd really theorized anything substantive about Veilguard.

I did not know how much it would hurt.

All through the game, I got more and more into Nera's head. This was helped out a lot by how much footage I'd seen in September, how I knew Nera would be the "throw a chair while beating up an entire bar" Rook rather than try any attempt at diplomacy. How I knew she'd punch the First Warden without second thought, despite not knowing what the First Warden had done before Weisshaupt. She was always the "hit things with rocks to fix them" Veil Jumper to me, just like Bellara's dialogue references.

It also meant that I felt a lot of her insecurity in the early game: her doubt in her own intellect; her insecurity in her Dalish identity from being kicked out of her clan as a child and living in Wycome as a young adult; her acute awareness of her own trauma and fear around all things blight. To mirror my Inquisitor, who had Dirthamen vallaslin, I gave Nera Falon'Din vallaslin, to signify that she had seen too much death at far too young an age.

I even picked a party for her "default" group: Lucanis and Davrin. Because of Nera's Falon'Din vallaslin, Lucanis' demon wings, and Assan's battlefield presence, I gave my group a name: Winged Death.

And I loved them.

But just like I'd headcanoned a lot of Nera's backstory, I also hypothesized a lot about the Lucanis romance. And, to put it briefly... the game did not match what I expected, and the Lucanis romance was not to my enjoyment, personally. (If you like it, good! I'm glad you do! This post is about Nera, though.)

Right away, Lucanis asked about Nera's favourite drink. When she said tea and he made a disgusted noise and nothing else, I reloaded, choosing the "better" answer of liking the same coffee as him—something that prompted more dialogue. For me, in hindsight, this was the first moment I should have seen that for all Lucanis' charm, he would not fit my gruff, chair-throwing Veil Jumper. But I'd committed, and I was determined to see it through just once.

I didn't want Veilguard to be the story of an elf romancing an elf—for me, that was my Inquisitor's story. I wanted a new flavour.

Only... Lucanis' romance, for Nera, did not pick up much from there. Almost the entirety of act 2 was silent—and that was after saving Treviso. Lucanis seemed to care more for Neve and Minrathous than he did for Rook, in my perception. By then, I'd sunk into Nera's headspace, and I could feel her feeling neglected. I could feel her insecurities rearing their ugly heads: was she too blunt? Not intelligent enough? Somehow too elven, even for a Crow, whose organization is made up of so many elves?

You know who she constantly found acceptance in, though? Whose approval triggered almost every time Nera answered a question honestly, in the stern way that she was predisposed to do?

Davrin. The other half of Winged Death. The one who, now, was bickering with Lucanis almost nonstop in party banter, each constantly jabbing the other about how death would come for them, death would claim all they'd known, their choices would bury them.

Lucanis had precious few opportunities to discuss Nera being an elf; an elf Rook facing down their own gods. But Davrin? Davrin talked about it so much, he would know the horror of being called Da'len by Elgar'nan.

Together, they survived the Cauldron. And where did they shelter? In the ribcage of a slain archdemon. But not just any archdemon.

Zazikel. Who has been confirmed now, in a Veilguard codex, as Falon'Din's archdemon.

And where were the griffons allowed to go, at the end? Arlathan.

I could never have foreseen those parallels, and yet? There they were, piling up too late. I'd already made Nera's choices for her, and I'm not someone who would normally attempt a love triangle.

(She's so pleased with their shenanigans. Just look at that totally carefree and happy face.)

Lucanis' content dried up for Nera, but stayed pretty consistent for Neve—to the point that she had begun to feel sincerely cast aside. I began playing her with that mindset: as if she'd been set adrift, even as she locked in Lucanis' romance.

Around 45 hours into my ~60 hour playthrough, I found myself thinking... maybe I try the Davrinmance next game. Maybe I reroll Nera, even as a Veil Jumper again, to see those griffons in Arlathan. To see two Dalish elves haunted by the same ghosts, and see how they grow. I talked to friends about it. I even headcanoned some more, trying to see how Nera's narrative and personality might slot in with Davrin's questline.

In my head, that looked a little like Nera realizing she felt stronger kinship and connection with Davrin, but denying that to herself. She was, after all, locked in with someone else.

I let myself laugh at this, taking more screenshots of Nera and Davrin than of Nera and Lucanis, right up until the beginning of act 3.

And that's how BioWare got me.

If you're here, you know what comes next. I didn't.

I thought I needed Harding to potentially face down Solas, thanks to her line about wanting to look him in the eye after one of Solas' memories. I thought, maybe, some dialogue would unlock by having Harding in the party during any potential final confrontation.

This was the second time I went against Nera's own character: I chose to keep Harding at Nera's side, rather than Davrin. I did it for my Inquisitor.

And at first, I thought Davrin was surviving my choice.

I even felt happy—proud—that I freed him during the Ghilan'nain fight. I thought if I delayed too long, he might die to the fight's mechanics. But he survived that, too.

Then, the worst played out before my eyes: Lucanis going to take the shot at Ghilan'nain. Being caught. Davrin, racing in to defend. Being impaled. Lucanis hitting Ghilan'nain, only to appear suddenly dead—dead, somehow, how could he be dead, I'd just seen him?—seconds later.

Because of Arlathan, I'd thought this was just another Elgar'nan trick. Solas would come to save us soon. He had to. This was just fake-Solas, conjured by Elgar'nan to make Rook lash out or feel lost. Right?

It didn't hit me until I was in the Fade, and Solas was gone. Until Neve's statues were everywhere, because Nera had chosen Neve to risk that dangerous magic. Neve, who was her very antithesis; who was human enough and sophisticated enough and eloquent enough in ways my spellblade had struggled with reconciling since her teen years.

Saying it was my fault, that my Rook chose this for her—and she had. Her decision was motivated by her favour for Bellara.

I think this is when my Rook stopped denying things to herself. Right here.

This was the person she was closest with in her own party. This was the person who shared her feelings on both her culture and the blight. This was the person who brought joy to her days, with more meaningful dialogues (in Nera's opinion!) than Lucanis had had since act 1.

It is hard to put into words how hard this moment hit me. She had chosen wrong—and I had chosen for her. I was reminded of Taash's line from after Memory #2: "There was stuff he wanted to tell her. But he waited too long. And then she was dead."

And then she was dead.

My Rook knew why Fade Jail held her so well, in that moment. Even before the Varric reveal that had my tear ducts begging for mercy.

The game's mechanics had done that to her. Locked her into a romance with Lucanis (my choice, hellbent on seeing it through), didn't let her leave, didn't allow for her to say anything akin to, 'Hey, Davrin, not in this worldstate... but how about the next one?' (and all of those, for the record, are 100% understandable, and just the nature of video games!)

Lucanis continued to have little in the way of content that fit Nera, and was First Talon, to boot. Nothing in the game could change that; games aren't designed that way. He was destined for a life she was never going to enjoy, locked in to that choice—and she, and I, should've figured it out sooner.

We didn't. Varric was dead. Everything had been a lie. We'd been duped; played. We were never smart enough; together, we were doomed all along.

Every insecurity I'd imagined for Nera came crashing down. And all of them, I'd gleaned from hints in Companions Week. From the footage that released on September 19, showing Rook's backstory choices. From the overall tone of the promotional material we saw, and the strong emphasis on companions, and the declaration of the theme of regret.

And it culminated in me crying harder than I have at any piece of media.

Ever.

Ever.

BioWare gave me every hint I needed to make a fitting Rook, and every single choice they showed me I could make was a weapon. That's why I not only accept, but appreciate the 'spoilers' that we got from Bioware beforehand. That's why I am so far from jaded about the Lucanismance. I could not denounce this experience if I tried, and you know why?

Because through Lucanis' continued flirtatious banter with Neve, the way he stays continually animated so close to her, and the way he gives the same mid-combat praise to Neve as to Rook, my Rook felt like a woman scorned. And it made the game BETTER.

I wouldn't have cried so hard, for so long, if Nera was allowed to be happy. I wouldn't have been shaken to my core as a Solavellan, wondering if there really could be a light at the end of this long, dark tunnel.

The game wouldn't have hit me like it did if Lucanis hadn't come to Rook to declare his feelings only after she had spent time mourning Davrin and Assan. It wouldn't have hurt so good if Lucanis' dialogue afterward never mentioned his worry for exclusively Neve, and not the loss of Davrin—who he'd travelled with all game long.

But Solas had done it: he had molded Nera into a creature of pure regret.

And I, through my determination to try a romance that turned out not to fit my Rook, had let him.

The way it was structured, Lucanis' every sweet word rang hollow after Nera was freed from the Fade, and it made Davrin's, Varric's, and (what I thought was) Neve's deaths hurt that much worse.

There was nothing that could fix the pain in Nera's heart, the pain of her wrong choices not just in failing to romance Davrin, but failing to question Solas, failing to notice peculiarities about "Varric" in the Lighthouse. She felt like she failed, and she had. Undeniably. Because no matter where the conclusion of the game would take us, she'd never end up happy. She'd never want the life of a First Talon's spouse.

Every piece of her character lined up with regret, all at once. It all clicked into place, all in two soul-crushing hours.

Her name is Thenera Sa'renan Aldwir—and she was the victim of a dream of just one voice. She wears Falon'Din vallaslin, and was given a moment to spend time alone with the many, many dead.

Falon'Din: friend of the dead. That was what Nera had become, wasn't it? Because her closest party member—and what might have been her truer love—would not be coming back. Because I could feel that a part of her did not want to leave Fade Jail, and that Emmrich really did have to pull her out.

Winged Death destroyed her.

She rained down fire and lightning all through parts 13 and 14. She became Wrath and Thunder. I let her hit enemies harder than she had to, wasting her mana at every opportunity. Let her vent her every frustration. All I could think of, through the hurt, was this codex.

Elgar'nan, Wrath and Thunder, Give us glory. Give us victory, over the Earth that shakes our cities. Strike the usurpers with your lightning. Burn the ground under your gaze. Bring Winged Death against those who throw down our work.

Nera became all that was left of Winged Death, having let Lucanis fight with the Crows, taking Taash and Harding instead.

Elgar'nan was resistant to all her magic in that final fight. She was weakest at the end, and I didn't want to change her specialization to avoid that fact. She was broken, deep down. Solas' happy ending did not fix what the game had done to Nera's heart.

She, the other half to my Inquisitor, ended up with the opposite fate. Where my Inquisitor's journey on the din'anshiral was ending (or at least, was no longer alone), Nera had thought she had the companionship she wanted, only to wind up on the din'anshiral alone, with no way of recovering Davrin.

Which brings me to her last parallel: Solas' devotion to Mythal. Saying that if he did not tear down the Veil, then "I—she would have died for nothing."

To love someone and say nothing; it twisted them both up inside. Rook and Solas, always intended to be mirrors. One death, enough for each of them to bring the Eldest of the Sun to his knees. To change the elven pantheon forever.

I don't know how I managed to stumble upon this level of pain, but I could not be gladder that I did.

So, at the end of this extremely long post, here is my praise for BioWare. You mad geniuses, if any of you ever, ever see this... you wove regret into this game so well, so deeply, that my own passing thoughts about romance beats and game mechanics wound up stabbing me an additional time in Fade Jail, just as deep as the wound of Varric's death.

So well was this narrative constructed that I found my Rook in every corner of this story, even its tiniest references twining with every headcanon I had made.

Veilguard is so good, so profound, that a romance that did not work for me made the game better. That, to me, is the mark of a kickass narrative: one that fits almost any headcanon while still delivering on a deep, resonant theme.

BioWare couldn't have known that my party would be "Winged Death." Couldn't have known Nera, or her position as a Veil Jumper, or her doubt in her own intellect and her own ability to love. Yet, that is the beauty of Veilguard and of Dragon Age in general: they don't have to know. The writing is brilliant enough that it fits as much as one single story can in terms of possibility, while still hitting home with the same theme for everyone.

So thank you, BioWare. Thank you to every writer, to every animator, to every amazing, talented human whose hands and minds touched this game.

I needed the cry after a hard year, and you all delivered in the best way. I'm doing the Davrinmance now—because I think it's right to try it, and I think Nera deserves it—but this run will always hold the dearest place in my heart. The one where the regret bloomed, in part, because of jokes and headcanons I had made in the middle of a romance I did not enjoy, wishing for a different second playthrough.

The one where it all stabbed me, all at once. You bastards. (affectionate)

[febuwhump]

febuwhump 2024 survey results

has it been six months since febuwhump? yes. yes it has. nevertheless, here's the cold hard data (analysis) of the survey from febuwhump 2024: feb five.

firstly, this year was our most popular yet! with 1417 works in the official collection across 329 fandoms, we made (and shared) 103 fics more than 2023, and 770 more than my first year running febuwhump in 2021! this isnt even including all the art and fics posted to tumblr, or wasn't shared during the event, which would put our total so much higher!

the prompt list had 4000+ notes and i received 115 responses to the survey.

there were 62 people in the hall of fame, up from 51 in 2023.

the blog hit 2,683 followers, up from 1,946 at the end of the 2023 event.

across two independant check, based on the average word count of 2,000 words per fic in the 2024 collection, and aware of the multi-chapter fics (some of which were finished after the event), it is estimated that 2.8 million words were written for febuwhump 2024. which is just. fucking insane.

now, onto the survey results!

firstly: in what way did you participate in Febuwhump this year?

with extra write-ins not pictured, fanfiction was the overwhelming winner with 92 responses (82.6%), followed by original fiction (22.6%) and artwork (11.3%). interesting to me personally is the 4 responses who wrote poetry and the not-pictured 1 response who created web-weaving! which is very cool and i would like to see it.

fandoms

according to the survey:

the most popular fandoms written for were the star wars universe and legend of zelda universe (8/115 responses)

21 responses included original fiction

the majority of responses also referenced more than one fandom, meaning less people stuck to a single fandom or topic the entire time.

according to the collection:

21 anime/manga fandoms were represented

51 books/literature fandoms were represented, 12 being specific star wars subseries

24 RPF fandoms were represented, including bands and minecraft servers

the most popular fandoms written about in the collection were:

star wars (all media types) - 253 works

star wars: the bad batch - 80 works

torchwood - 66 works

original work - 56 works

my hero academia - 54 works

why and how

next, there were a lot of really lovely responses about why participants took part in febuwhump, a few favourite and repeated responses being that it seemed fun, they'd done it before and so wanted to do it again, and they liked to write about their favourite characters suffering. also, multiple people have been doing it for three of the four years i've been running it (of five total), and several were encouraged by friends!

the majority of participants discovered febuwhump through tumblr, the admin's tumblr, ao3 fics and discord servers. a handful said there's apparently a google doc floating around that houses a whump event calendar. i would be interested in seeing that if anyone's got it.

did you participate in Febuwhump 2020, 21, 22 or 23?

the majorty of respondants were new comers to febuwhump at 66.1% "no" to 33.9% "yes". the majority of comparisons to previous years referenced a noticably bigger community, more interaction on the blog, and the admin being more "confident" (oh, you guys), however several noted that the prompts felt more repetitive or samey this year than they did previously.

are you a Febuwhump completionist or participant?

a fairly even split, 51.3% of participants didn't finish compared to the 48.7% who did. however, only 88.1% of those completionists submitted to the hall of fame.

for those who didn't complete, the most common amount of prompts completed was 2 (13.6%), 3 (11.9%) and 12 or 6 (6.8%).

the most common place to share prompt fills was tumblr (74.8%), ao3 (72.2%), or choosing not to share at all (7%). several write-in responses said that they were planning to share in the future but hadn't yet. and while 76.4% of people submitted to the ao3 collection, those who didn't claimed it to be because the fics weren't ready to be shared on time, they weren't following the rules so didn't add to the collection, an inability to find the collection on ao3 (i swear i'm working on it) or shyness/fear.

what went well/even better if:

the only actual criticsm of the event received was that the blog was posting in a "spam"-like way, to the point that the participant almost unfollowed (and another suggested a reblog tag so it could be ignored easier if people didn't want to see the works throughout the month).

several comments asked for a later deadline for submission to the collection/hall of fame, which is going under advisement, but the current position is that by doing so, it makes the event a different event. there are no stakes to actually create once a day if, at the end of it, you actually get 2 weeks of extra time.

another couple mentioned there being too many dialogue prompts and vague prompts. this will be considered during the next voting period and prompt collation - potentially, if i allowed less dialogue prompts into the final 100 vote, less would make it through to the official 28, however the voting itself is out of my hands (unless voter fraud occurs once again).

the main suggestion for improvement (8 times out of 44 suggestions) was for an additional mod to help with reblogging more. (which imo flies in the face of the "spamming" from earlier, but there is surely a middle ground). this is likely to not happen, because i like running the event alone, despite the major burnout i receive every single year without fail. but thanks for your concern lol.

on discord:

31.3% of participants were in the discord server (which, this year, ignored the first year's 100 user cap and had 172 total users).

43.6% of people who didn't join the server did so because they hadn't heard of it, while the majority didn't join because they were either shy (the minorty) or don't use/like discord (the vast majority). i don't know if tumblr still does groupchats and if that would be a viable alternative, or if there is another forum/chat location that would work better (or to have in tandem), but i am open to suggestions.

of the people who were in the channel, most (33.3%) used it "rarely", followed by "most days" (25%) and "for half the month" (22.2%)

febuwhump 2025

the majority of responses wanted next year's colour scheme to either be red or green, but shout out to everyone who wanted orange, the person who said "children's hospital" and the other person who gave me this specific hex code: #4BEC13

which is vile, but also another vote for green.

finally, here are my favourite suggestions for febuwhump 2025's colloquial name. previously, we have endured febuwhump 2: electric boogaloo, febuwhump 3: tokyo drift, fourbuwhump and feb five.

febuwhump 6 suggestions:

fe6uwhump (which, i'll be honest, is a real contender)

"I don't know"

febuwhump 666

febuwhump: revenge of the sixth

"I don't know, sorry"

"febuwhump sex and make all the prompts kinky"

"??? i have been thinking about this for 10 mins"

febuwhump 6(9)

feBEEwhump

"i am bad at this"

"could not care less"

febuwhump feb five 2: electric boogaloo

apparently, i accidently made this a mandatory question and that made some of you mad :(

and that's the wrap up survey, six months late! any questions/queries/want to see some of that cold hard data? send me an ask. i'll actually respond to it i swear! (probably!)

[brotherwtf]

i love you so much for constantly giving us new buck + bucky content based on all our prompts <3 but i want to know what your own personal favourite clegan tropes/kinks/au ideas are! what would you like to see more of in clegan fics/fanart etc?

oh my gosh!! thank you so much!! I honestly love to write for y'all's prompts, but here's some of my favorite stuff I like to see!!

I LOVE Dom/sub dynamics between John and Gale (I'm privy to Dom Gale, but honestly if a dynamic is written well I'm eating it the fuck up)

absolutely going bonkers for praise (all that that entails), give me Gale calling John a good boy, give me John telling Gale he's going so well during sex, give it to me all of the time I fucking love it

love some feminization when it's done really well, have John call Gale his girl, a good girl, MAKE GALE WEAR SKIRTS OML, but also when they feminize John? yep yep but that big beefy man in a skirt

I love when they're so sweet with each other, domesticity and living together will make me weep every time :(( absolutely love when they call each other pet names and endearments (JOHN CALLING GALE DOLL? KILL ME)

for fics my favorite genres are post war, canon, and any au stuff. I love the "forbiddeness" of it all, love how they'll try to be with each other no matter how much society tries to force them apart

I personally love reading fics from John's perspective (maybe bcs me and him are both in love with Gale Cleven), but I just love to see big and loud John Egan fall for quiet and sassy Gale Cleven, one of my favorite things to read

I write a shit ton of aus, I think I have more aus than actual canon content on this blog, but my fave aus I've ever written are my wedding au, firefighter/detective au, and all of my modern au stuff hehe and honestly for fanart I'd love to see more au stuff! I feel like I haven't even scratched the surface on clegan fanartists bcs I don't see that many, if you draw fanart lmk!!

here's some of my personal favorite fics!! some have what I've listed above and honestly these fics changed my damn life

Close and Yet Closer - Anonymous

Tough and Sweet (Like You and Me) - @johnslittlespoon

Born To Ride - @bucking-mustangs-with-wings

my man, my doll - @stereobone

peacetime like a liminal space - mercess on AO3

thank you so much for this ask! it really let me reflect on what I'd like to see, I really appreciate it!! sending all of my love to you 💕💕

[cheesus-doodles]

It's funny lowkey for me whenever you write about the reader being unable to resist the tears and puppy eyes because since I'm the third oldest out of ten (oldest daughter, just number 3 in the line up) I've become immune to puppy eyes and if my own siblings can't work that on me I doubt that the Founders could. So I was wondering how you think said Founders would be like if Darling was immune to the puppy eyes, especially if said Darling is like me and has a bunch of younger siblings >:3c

Immune to puppy eyes+multiple younger siblings anon here, feel free to ignore that though if it isn't a prompt you want to do! No pressure at all!

aksjdnaskjdnas finally getting round to answering some of the older asks ;-; sorry it takes so long y'all - just disappointed in myself today cause I hesitated to buy Izzy's standee and in that moment he sold out ;-;

‎

Masterlist

Upon reflection, the Toman founders really are like younger siblings huh. Maybe not so much Draken, Mitsuya or Pah, but definitely your needy trio of Mikey, Baji and Kazutora who would be as good as clingy younger brothers with separation anxiety. Or maybe more so like puppies, but same difference in the end.

I think it would only take just the first visit to your house and a glance at all your younger siblings clamouring for you to help them with something for the realisation to set in with the Toman boys that no amount of tears or puppy eyes would work on you. No doubt Mikey and Kazutora would still try, but the boys would be quick to turn to other means to wring out what they want from you.

Draken and Mitsuya find out quickly that annoying you into giving in and doing what they want works pretty well - after all, Misty himself has two younger sisters and he knows what buttons they usually push to get him to do things for them. Though they personally don't want to whine and plead (they are still delinquents with some measure of pride after all), they know who will, and young kids are easily bribed for their help. Sets your younger siblings on you with a small bribe of sweets and with their help, would ultimately manage to force you into doing whatever the two Toman boys wanted just to get the hassling and pestering to stop. Sometimes even pretend to step in to help you stop the non-stop disturbance so that you can get your homework done, no doubt putting them in your good books. High fives all around, no doubt Draken and Mitsuya are the more popular pair around your place.

Mikey and Kazutora, on the other hand, have no such dignity left when it comes to you. The two of them would definitely still try their tears and puppy eye combo a few more times just to be sure it doesn't work before they switch tactics. Would do literally anything to get your attention and affection on them, even if it means blackmailing you - stealing your homework and holding it hostage, refusing to leave the bathroom whenever you need it unless you pinky swear to spend time with them afterwards, dragging you out of class and straight up sitting on you and not moving. Tears and puppy eyes were the easier option if they were honest, but whatever works ain't stupid. Your siblings couldn't get to you when you are in school, but they can, and these baby boys absolutely will, threatening to kick up a fuss and disrupt every class if you don't let them lay on your lap and cuddle. Tried to give you some of their favourite snacks as bribery but obviously didn't work cause they were all half-eaten, so back to disruption they went.

And then there's Baji and Pah - the two who have individually consulted outside persons and have come to the same conclusion. Baji would have asked his mum on advice on how to steal your attention (she thinks he's trying to get a girlfriend), while Pah will ask Peh, and the two airheads will end up bribing and buying your time and attention. Baji would take advantage of the community cats that he cares for and invite you along to feed and play with them whenever he could - none of the other Toman boys can get as close to them as he could, and he knows all the good spots too. The community cats let you pet and rub them since you were with Baji, and this baby boy would use the opportunity to get your attention and affection. Pah is the best out of the six at arcade games, so buying your time with games and prizes was no brainer (or at least that was what Peh told him) - you did enjoy winning a ton while with him, and he got to hang out with you with no complains, so its a win-win.

End of the day, it just makes life more difficult for you if you were immune to their crying and whining, so my recommendation would be to play along when its convenient and encourage the behaviour rather than let the boys come up with their own idea of how to get your attention: the more things doesn't work out, the more desperate the boys become. Wouldn't be long before one of the more desperate ones get the idea that if they hurt themselves, you would be sure to pay attention and fuss. Or worse, if they took out the number of people who wanted your attention, then you'll have to give time of day to them - so maybe just give them the pats and forehead kisses they want and they'll be happy to be nothing more than your clingy baby siblings.

[rainydayathogwarts]

.·:*¨༺ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ༻¨*:·.

See my updated navigation/masterlist here because tumblr won't let me add more links to this one.

You do not have permission to copy any of my work!! If you do, I will not be kind.

All of my upcoming work in August!!

Updated version of my masterlist!

I've written for Marvel, Harry Potter, Stranger things, Criminal minds. My requests are always open! All dividers are by @cafekitsune and @saradika-graphics

**to indicate hardcore smut

*to indicate not quite there smut

Read my favourites from other writers here!!

STRANGER THINGS

ᴇᴅᴅɪᴇ ᴍᴜɴꜱᴏɴ

Reputation - 'In which Nancy leaves you a crying mess after you breakup and you find comfort in the person you'd least expect.' coming soon...

Watch don't touch** - Eddie x reader x Steve - In which Eddie loves to show people what they want but can't have and Steve just happens to want you, Eddie's precious girlfriend.

Polaroid Evidence pt.1 - Your brother Jonathan doesn't approve of your boyfriend even when he's always over, but your mom and younger brother love him.

Polaroid Evidence pt. 2

Please, please, please, don't bring me to tears when I just did my makeup so nice** - Eddie likes to make a mess of you when you're all dolled up for him.

bf!Eddie takes you to get your nipples pierced

ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇ ʜᴀʀʀɪɴɢᴛᴏɴ

Roll the dice* - Steve wants you but your play thing named Nancy Wheeler does too.

Realising you don't hate each other at all

Watch don't touch** - Eddie x reader x Steve - In which Eddie loves to show people what they want but can't have and Steve just happens to want you, Eddie's precious girlfriend.

Red BMW** - you and Steve are in a relationship and just happen to have sex in the back of his car in a restaurant’s parking lot. When you're done, a clueless Dustin knocks on your window.

'In which reader is dared to give Steve a lap dance at a party, so she insists to do it in private, but Steve just can't keep his hands to himself.' coming soon...

ʀᴏʙɪɴ ʙᴜᴄᴋʟᴇʏ

Coworker's ex pt.1 - You have an undying crush on your ex's coworker and aren't afraid to act up on it.

Coworker's ex pt.2

Coworker's ex final pt.

'In which Nancy and Robin finally start becoming friends until you come along.' coming soon...

ʙɪʟʟʏ ʜᴀʀɢʀᴏᴠᴇ

My girl - Billy makes it clear to everyone that you're his but a particular Steve Harrington doesn't get the hint.

Caught - Reader sneaks out to meet Billy and gets caught.

'in which reader in fucking Steve behind his back and he finds out' billy x reader, reader x steve coming soon...

ɴᴀɴᴄʏ ᴡʜᴇᴇʟᴇʀ

Spiked berry punch - In which a girl tries hitting on you at a party and Nancy isn't having it.

'In which Nancy and Robin finally start becoming friends until you come along.' coming soon...

ᴘʀᴇꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇꜱ

He/you get turned on at the wrong time.**

HARRY POTTER

ʀᴏɴ ᴡᴇᴀꜱʟᴇʏ

Jealous, jealous, jealous girl - ** ron notices you upping the PDA when Lavender starts flirting with him and you decide to show her who he belongs to.

popular!shy!reader - * ron’s friends think you were the one who made the move but are shocked to find out the opposite.

the dream** - ron has a dirty dream and wakes up hard next to reader

Needy** - needy!ron misses you because you've been taking NEWTs too seriously but he finds the perfect moment to drag you into an empty classroom.

Overstimulation with dom!Ron**

Goodbye kisses that last longer than intended blurb

Opposite teams** - You play a Quidditch match against your boyfriend, who's a very sore loser.

Glossy lips - Wiping off lip gloss from his lips after a kiss

Late to class** - Ron doesn't want you to leave to class so soon and manages a convincing excuse for you to stay (https://rainydayathogwarts.tumblr.com/post/757601505693040640/heyyy-i-have-a-request-please-prompt-6-with)

Ron won't stop complaining about Seamus and his girlfriend taking up the dorm until he's the one with a girl in there. coming soon...

ʀᴇᴍᴜꜱ ʟᴜᴘɪɴ

Can't take my eyes off you** - The first time virgin!reader wants Remus to continue..

Precious, drunk boyfriend** - In which Remus gets more drunk than ever and clings onto his girlfriend for dear life.

The Rabbit hole - In which remus lupin has a way with all the ladies, even the popular girls.

1 boyfriend, 3 perverts** - 'In which your bf loves giving you head... especially when he's high, and doesn't mind having friends around' bf!remus x reader x james x sirius x peter

1 boyfriend, 3 perverts pt.2** - When your boyfriend's best friends barge into you having sex, you can't just say no to them. bf!remus x reader x james x sirius x peter

potter!reader x remus secret relationship au Sirius scolds* - When Potter!Reader and Remus aren't too careful about hiding their relationship, Sirius gives them a scolding... Closed curtains and open doors** -  Remus and potter!reader still aren’t careful enough in hiding their relationship from James. (ft. Jily)

ᴊᴀᴍᴇꜱ ᴘᴏᴛᴛᴇʀ

How they react when you tell them you're in the mood* - James Potter edition

Not drunk

Jealousy, jealousy - You kiss Lucius to make James jealous since he was too slow at making the first move.

Teaching James how to dance blurb

1 boyfriend, 3 perverts** - 'In which your bf loves giving you head... especially when he's high, and doesn't mind having friends around' bf!remus x reader x james x sirius x peter

1 boyfriend, 3 perverts pt.2** - When your boyfriend's best friends barge into you having sex, you can't just say no to them. bf!remus x reader x james x sirius x peter

Big, strong James Potter** - James Potter is just a big softie with a praise kink and a girlfriend who feeds it.

ɴᴇᴠɪʟʟᴇ ʟᴏɴɢʙᴏᴛᴛᴏᴍ

Snake ring* - In which the twins pull you into a game of seven minutes in heaven.

Dry-humping Neville at a party**

Kiss and tell - In which a very aware y/n of Neville's crush on her gets the courage to make a move.

Stolen glances - Stealing glances at each other across the room until your friends notice.

ꜱɪʀɪᴜꜱ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ

How they react when you're in the mood*

1 boyfriend, 3 perverts** - 'In which your bf loves giving you head... especially when he's high, and doesn't mind having friends around' bf!remus x reader x james x sirius x peter

1 boyfriend, 3 perverts pt.2** - When your boyfriend's best friends barge into you having sex, you can't just say no to them. bf!remus x reader x james x sirius x peter

When we were young** - How Sirius and reader's relationship changed when she got sorted into slytherin and how they reconnected thanks to her current boyfriend.

ʜᴀʀʀʏ ᴘᴏᴛᴛᴇʀ

Harry's bi awakening

"You knew?" "You didn't?" - In which the twins only just find out their sister is dating Harry.

Me and You - You keep telling Ron to just 'ask her out' but he won't take your word seriously until you take your own advice. Somehow, you both end up with dates...

Sub!harry begging mean!slytherin!reader to let him cum, but she's having too much fun... coming soon

ᴏʟɪᴠᴇʀ ᴡᴏᴏᴅ

I already won - even though he very much lost the game, he still won you.

How they react when you tell them you're in the mood - Oliver wood edition

Blood, dirt and reunions - You almost die and reunite with an old ex-boyfriend... or not.

ꜱᴇᴀᴍᴜꜱ ꜰɪɴɴᴇɢᴀɴ

Tipsy - Seamus takes care of you when you're drunk.

Safe in his arms - Brother!Harry Potter makes Seamus promise him to keep you safe because of how obvious your feelings are for each other.

ᴘᴇʀᴄʏ ᴡᴇᴀꜱʟᴇʏ

Just a swim - Percy's partner tries to get him to break a couple of rules.

How they react when you're in the mood*

'For the first time in his life, Percy pushes academics aside to focus on a girl, but his family doesn't know and thinks he has gone down a dark road.' coming soon...

ᴄʜᴀʀʟɪᴇ ᴡᴇᴀꜱʟᴇʏ

Guilt trip - Charlie tries to guilt trip the reader to visit his family with him.

ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ ᴋʀᴜᴍ

What's her face - Rita skeeter being annoying

ɢᴇᴏʀɢᴇ ᴡᴇᴀꜱʟᴇʏ

'Reader wakes George up to go out for a morning walk at the Burrow but George is feeling quite frisky and drags you behind a tree to give you some pleasure.' coming soon...

ᴄᴇᴅʀɪᴄ ᴅɪɢɢᴏʀʏ

No disturbances - You and Cedric make such a cute couple that teachers have turned a blind eye to several accounts of PDA.

ᴘʀᴇꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇꜱ

Someone finds out you're dating

he gets turned on at the wrong time*

She gets turned on at the wrong time*

CRIMINAL MINDS

ꜱᴘᴇɴᴄᴇʀ ʀᴇɪᴅ

Our clouded ray of sunshine - In which the reader is the sunshine of the BAU, but the team finds her having a breakdown in the parking lot after a case.

Emily finds out

Suspicions - Spencer finally outs his and reader's relationship to the team, who inevitably already knew

Curtain Call - You're an actress. Opening night of the show, a cast member is killed. FBI finds out you were the real target...

No more ink - reader goes undercover for a mission and the team discovers all her tattoos. Tattoos which might be the reason her life ends.

ᴀᴀʀᴏɴ ʜᴏᴛᴄʜɴᴇʀ

Haunting - Reader wakes up from a nightmare on the jet and Aaron comforts her.

someone you wanna fight loverboy?

Skin on skin** - In which you forget about the hickeys on your neck and when your boss finds out, he's not happy about it.

In which the team discovers you're dating - (single!mom!reader)

ᴇᴍɪʟʏ ᴘʀᴇɴᴛɪꜱꜱ

Picture frames - In which you give Emily her things back after a messy breakup.

Open arms** - In which Emily tries winning her ex back in a dimly lit bar.

Back talk** - Emily decides to teach you a lesson after talking back to her at work.

MARVEL STUDIOS

Here's the link to my other marvel masterlist, with a list of old works that I want to keep separate from all my newer pieces.

ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ ʙᴀʀɴᴇꜱ

Valley Girl Charm** - In which reader from the 1940s knows just how to play the damsel in distress to get exactly what she wants in the modern age after coming out of the ice.

ᴘᴇᴛᴇʀ ᴘᴀʀᴋᴇʀ

No boundaries** - You and Peter have been best friends forever with very little boundaries. What happens when you wake up to Peter having a wet dream about you? (https://rainydayathogwarts.tumblr.com/post/758075476014202881/no-boundaries-best-friends-peter-parker-and)

Nervous, nerdy Peter Parker always seems to have his eyes fixed on you whenever he stays on the bleachers 'reading his book', so you decide to confront him after practice, but it goes a little differently than you'd expected... coming soon.

ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇ ʀᴏɢᴇʀꜱ

Steve Rogers looked a little too close to Natasha's new recruited vigilante spy at practice and needs to blow off some steam afterwards in his room, but little does he know she's listening in through the door... coming soon

ᴛʜᴏʀ ᴏᴅɪɴꜱᴏɴ

Who knew a mere mortal woman could have the strongest god in all nine realms wrapped around her finger like a teenage boy?... coming soon

OTHER FANDOMS

ᴊᴇɴɴɪꜰᴇʀ ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋ

Maneater** - Jennifer may need boys to survive but there's only one person she wants.

Photographs** - Obsessed!Jennifer comes up with a plan for you to end up in her bed instead of the boy toy crush of yours.

[askinkiskarma]

ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ ᴅᴀʏ ᴠ - ᴅᴀᴅᴅʏ ᴋɪɴᴋ

pairing: neteyam x avatar!reader (part of the cardigan saga)

➽ a/n: it's neteyam and atan's world, and we're just living in it! hi besties and welcome to day 5, aka the day that almost killed me bc writing daddy!neteyam is actually much harder to me than i thought it could be. but i wanted so much to give this day to them, since they are my forever favourite pair from my forever favourite work of mine.

you don't have to have read cardigan for this to make sense, although it helps. i hope you enjoy, i've seen a lot of you besties reading cardigan recently and it's nice to know you wouldn't have had to wait as long for this prompt as my og readers, who i've promised this to for far too long hahahhaa my bad.

finally, this will continue in another (or two) kinktober prompts, so enjoyyy ;) x

➽ words: 1.7k words

➽ warnings: it goes without saying, but all of these works (kinktober-related) are smut and therefore minors should NOT interact with them. other warnings include: anal fingering, p in v, pet names, hair pulling.

➽ taglist (x) ➽ kinktober masterlist (x)

➽ na'vi compendium: atan - light, ma 'itan - son, kalin - sweet to the taste

“Come on, ma ‘itan. You have to let go of him at some point, you know?” Letting go of your son was harder on Neteyam than either of you ever envisioned. Well, not really. In truth, he’s always been a born father - loving, caring and attentive, he has been the unofficial parent of three kids ever since he reached puberty, and yet, it’s never made him bitter or deterred. On the contrary, it seemed that the birth of your son, the sweet Kalin, only made him more enthusiastic to put everything he’s learnt about parenthood to good use with his own family. Still, there were times, like right now, where you wanted to remember what it was like to be alone with your mate, the love of your life, the man who you’ve gone trough hell and back with. Solitude was a scarce resource right now, with a babe barely over a year old, but you were lucky to have a village full of people who were more than ready and willing to help babysit, and some who were more excited about it than others - like Neytiri.

“I’ve wanted to have this little one all to myself for so long, we’re going to have so much fun!” Her little coos were adorable and once more you couldn’t help be forever grateful for the person who’s been a mum to you for years now, who loved you and has done so ever since you were born. Although so different, you couldn’t help see your own mother in her, and you were reminded to pay her and your dad a visit at the Tree of Souls. It’s been a while. 

But for now…

“We won’t be too long. Thank you for doing this, sa’nok.” 

“We might be… a little long. Isn’t that so, Atan?”

You chuckled at the quiet desperation in his voice, and, with a roll of your eyes, you clicked in the direction of the tent’s entrance, wordlessly willing him out. This was going to be fun…

It was still risky, coming to the places that used to mean so much to you once, that you had to forsake when you moved to the Metkayina, that you got back once more once you returned home, but you couldn’t help yourselves. Not when these places, this place, in particular, has been one where so many memories, all shared between you two, were made, not when it still brings goosebumps on the surface of your skin, the thought of all you’ve lived through here, from learning how to swim and climb to conceiving your little bundle of joy that was safely back home. You never realised how much being a mother would mean to you - although it was always clear how much being a father meant to Neteyam. You’ve loved him all your life, but somehow never more than when taking care of your son, then when he showered you in love and affection, when he acted like the dad and partner you always knew he would be. 

“I miss this place so much every time we don’t visit for a few days. It’s like after all these years, and all these memories… it’s part of me. It always will be. And even now, I feel like a teenager, obsessed with you, desperate to look into your eyes, excited beyond belief at every glance or touch you send my way.” 

You couldn’t believe how even despite knowing each other since birth, being there for each other every day of your lives, your heart still galloped in your chest any time he spoke, and he still had so much power over you, power to take your breath away with words… and actions.

“Whatever you say… daddy.”

Neteyam turned around almost robotically, alert and frantic as he struggled to make eye contact with you in the least amount of time possible. You chucked at his demeanour, almost predatory, tail perked and unmoving, eyes wide and pupils even more so, swallowing the beautiful yellow of his irises whole. 

“What did you just call me?” 

You smirked and curved an eyebrow in his direction, enjoying the tingly feel that came with doing so, the goosebumps peppered on your skin after being conditioned to expect him to react to it, to unleash on you demons and urges that only you could swallow, only you could help quench. 

“Fuck.” A second later he was by you, and even after a few years in this body, his reflexes still amazed you, still took you by surprise. You gulped at the intensity in his gaze, a gulp that got stuck in your throat as soon as his fingers found your neck, as soon as they wrapped around it and squeezed in just the right way so you felt euphoric, so it felt like the beginning to a night to remember. 

“Atan, you have no idea what you started. But I’ll show you. Let daddy show you.”

His sultry words made your legs clench together, a desperate if futile attempt to cease the dew gathering in your beaded loincloth and seeping past the fabric onto the soft skin of your inner thighs. 

“Turn around.” 

It never took any effort on your part to wholly and relentlessly obey your mate. He loved control and for him, only him, you loved to give it up - you loved it when he manhandled you, his strong, muscular physique perfect for such a task, made to do exactly what he was doing now, spinning you in place and pushing you gently, but forcefully by your shoulder and lower back until you were on the ground, kneeling and waiting. 

“I’m gonna need this perfect little body on all fours, Atan.”

The ground felt moist and tender beneath your hands and knees, and you were so aware of every move, every breath, every fleeting touch of his nimble fingers on your body, slowly making his way from your neck, down your spine until he reached your hips, that he gripped with both his large hands, before giving a praising, appreciative murmur at the sight before him. 

“So, so beautiful. Look at you, spread open for me, making a mess before I even touched you. Daddy’s little slut.”

You nearly snickered at how quickly he adopted and adapted to the nickname, how natural it was, rolling off his tongue, how somehow, every time he said it, you got impossibly wetter, almost panting with the desire to be filled up with his cock, with his cum. You moaned softly when you heard him spit into his hands, and could only imagine the mouthwatering sight unfolding before you as he pumped himself, before plunging into the depths of the desire that would overcome you both. When he guided his rock-hard erection to the plush of your ass, gliding it effortlessly in between your asscheeks, over and over, all you wanted to do was scream for more. It felt wondrous and dirty, and you wanted it all, wanted him everywhere, all at once, all the time. Like the mindreader he always was, he spoke before you had a chance to voice your unrealistic feverous dreams.

“Let’s start with two fingers and work our way up, how’s that sound?” You appreciated him for his thoughtfulness always, but especially now, always ready and dutiful in making sure you were prepared, that your body was capable of taking him, of taking it the way he ended up wanting to give it to you.

“Words, Atan.” 

“Sounds go-good. So good.” 

“That’s right.” 

He was taunting you now, slapping the tip of his cock on your clit, dragging it against your folds before sliding into you with ease, while plunging two fingers into your puckered hole.

“Fu-uck! Fuck! Argh!”

The feeling was beyond comprehension,  beyond your wildest fantasies. It was always this good, always this mind-blowing and yet, you have never gotten used to it, never gotten used to the amalgamation of sensations and how they’d all accumulate to a night of orgasm after orgasm, until you were passed out on his cock, too tired to even mutter a tired I love you.

His hand was soft as it trailed up your body until it reached your braided hair, that he took into his fisted hand. When he tugged on it, as he slammed back into you, you cried out, moaning garbled attempts at his name. Your head pulled backwards as he used your hair to establish a brutal, ruthless pace of both his hips and fingers, and soon enough, you could feel your first orgasm as it approached, thunderous and violent and ready to take over you. 

“I can’t wait to be a dad again, I can’t wait to see your swollen belly and know you have made me the happiest man in the world every day of my life so far and will continue to do so 'til the day I die. I can’t wait to hold your hand when you bring our baby girl into the world.”

“But not tonight, Atan. Tonight, I want to ruin you. I need to ruin you. I need to watch my cum drip out of your every perfect little hole. Do you understand?” 

A meek nod is all you managed, the sensation too overwhelming to allow for any coherent, cohesive expression, the cried-out iteration of “yes, daddy. Yes, fuck, y-yes!” only audible in your head as you screamed it with all your internalised might. 

“Good girl. Come for daddy. I want to hear you, Atan.”

His words were enough to push you over the edge, and you came, vision blinded by the high, mind numbed by the way every nerve in your body felt electrified, alight with the pleasure that didn’t seem to want to cease, not even as you squirted on his cock as he continued to pump into you, the overstimulation enough to make tears fall down your cheeks and onto the ground. 

You didn’t have time to catch your breath, no time to gather any thoughts before he leaned onto your back, whispering seductively in your ear. 

“Ready for round two? You didn’t think I was done with you yet, huh?” 

taglist: @pandoraslxna @sulieykte @blue-slxt @eywaeveng @neteyamsikran @elenamoncada-ibarra @spicymayyo @itsjazzsworld @daddysmurfslefttoenail @eyrina-avatar @iameatingmyhair @hadesbabygurl @linydoll @the-mourning-moon

(pls complete the form in the beginning of this post to be tagged)

[allwaswell16]

[4 pics, 4 quotes, 4 iconic 1D fics]

Iconic Fics by...

- reminiscingintherain -

[1]

“Move down through the bus,” the driver harshly snapped out a demand over the tannoy. “There’s plenty of room, show some consideration for others.” He continued to mutter under his breath, his frustrated mumbling and swearing just audible over the speakers.

Louis rolled his eyes at the driver’s lack of manners, but followed on down the centre and reached up for the overhead strap when there was nowhere further to go.

“Why is it such bad etiquette to ask for a lap to sit on when it’s so busy?” he pondered aloud, a little sulky at the thought of standing for the whole of the twenty five minute journey to his flat.

“Um, you, uh, you can sit on mine?” a low voice stammered out beside him.

Louis looked around in surprise, partly because no one ever responded to his mumblings as a rule, but also because someone had actually accepted his suggestion. His eyes widened further as he took in the stranger.

[2]

He was just getting his groove on to a bit of classic Bee Gees, when the bell over the door jingled, signalling the presence of a new customer. Harry turned with a cheerful smile, almost missing a step as he caught sight of the man who'd just entered his shop.

Wearing a black vest that revealed inked collarbones and arms, with the tightest skinny black jeans Harry had ever seen, and a pair of scuffed up Vans, the man stepped up to the counter and slammed down his credit card.

"How do I passive-aggressively say 'fuck you' in flower?" a soft clear voice demanded.

"U-uh," Harry stammered, caught by a pair of bright blue eyes, and taking a few moments to register what had been said. "Wait. What?"

"I just found out that my supposed boyfriend is fucking the girl next door," the customer glared. "I've already burned his favourite books, snapped all of his vinyl," Harry pressed a hand to his chest at the mere thought, "and had the locks changed. Now I wanna send the girl flowers. I want a 'with sympathy' card. And I want 'fuck you' flowers. Cos she was supposed to be my friend."

[3]

“Yep. I’m hoping I get some kind of award for being the most awesome best friend in the world.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” Adam nodded. “We’re the ultimate gift, specially Styles over there. He’s been fussing over his outfit for two days. Trying to decide the right level of ‘acceptable wedding tit’ or something.”

Louis burst out laughing, letting out a snort and choking on it as he caught sight of Harry’s attempt at looking insulted.

“Did… did you decide on an appropriate level of wedding tit?” Louis eventually managed to ask.

“Not yet,” Harry replied primly.

[4]

"I'd like to take a look around the island," Liam added. "The scenery and art is supposed to be amazing."

"Yeah, that's boring Payno," Niall rolled his eyes. "I may try a bit of surfing? Ooh, I wonder if they have those inflatable rides. Y'know the ones where you're tugged along behind a speedboat and you gotta try and stay on? I wanna try those."

"Okay, calm down," Harry chuckled quietly. "I like the sound of the scenery and art, Li. I've brought my camera, so maybe I can get some --"

"If the next words out of your mouth are 'get some work done', I will throw your Saint Laurent boots in the Mediterranean," Niall threatened.

"Let's not get hasty," Harry said quickly, paling slightly.

- answers below -

1 - On This Winter's Night

When a random bloke offers his lap for a seat on a busy bus in December, Louis' Christmas ends up being much different, and far less lonely than he was expecting.

2 - Say It With Flowers

From the prompt: Person A owns a flower shop and person B comes storming in one day, slaps 20 bucks on the counter and says “How do I passive-aggressively say fuck you in flower?”

3 - Latching Onto You

“Wait a sec,” Harry interrupted. “Zayn and Liam?” “Yeah, my best mates, who are getting married?” Louis said slowly, slightly baffled at the question. “This is a gay wedding?” “Is that going to be a problem?” Louis asked, his voice losing its friendly edge and taking on a decidedly icy tone.

Or, the one where Louis wants to book Harry Styles to perform at his best friends' wedding.

4 - Can't Help Falling

"I like the sound of the scenery and art, Li. I've brought my camera, so maybe I can get some --" "If the next words out of your mouth are 'get some work done', I will throw your Saint Laurent boots in the Mediterranean," Niall threatened. "Let's not get hasty," Harry said quickly, paling slightly. "No work, Styles," Liam reinforced. "At all. We promised Anne we'd get you to relax." "We're gonna go see Li's mate," Niall offered. "He works in a bar out there, right?" "Yeah," Liam nodded. "You remember me saying a while back about Zayn from school?" "Uh, he sent you a friend request or something on Facebook, right?" Harry guessed. "And you were surprised cos you've not seen him for like, ten years or something." "Right," Liam agreed. "He and a mate from uni went over once they'd graduated and opened up their own bar. Apparently it's doing pretty well, and he wanted to let me know where they were." ~~~~ Or the one where Harry's a workaholic, until best mates Liam and Niall drag him away for a holiday to Ibiza.

@reminiscingintherain

[actuallysaiyan]

FWB prompt #20 with Nanami. Reader says it to him make it angsty with a happy ending hehehe

“My bad for thinking we could have been something more. My bad for thinking that everything we’ve done up until now feels way too fucking real and has crossed too many lines for us to be just friends with benefits.”

It started with some drinks after work. Just some shots and a beer or two before you headed back home for the night. A sorcerer's life wasn't long and full of risks. And you knew that getting involved with Nanami was probably just going to end up being some sort of fling. Not that the man saw you as beneath him, but he had said to you many times that he didn't want anything serious.

The sex was always good. He treated you like you were the person he desired most in this world. He would take you out on dates too, claiming he wanted some company. Kento said he found it too cheap and odd to just have sex.

No matter what happened, you always found your way into his bed. Nights turned into weeks, and weeks into months. By the time you had been doing this for a year, it was much too late to say you didn't have feelings. You couldn't turn back the clock. Still Nanami was steadfast in his belief that this should be casual and not stay tied down to you.

One night he invites you over for dinner. There's romantic music playing. He's cooking you your favourite meal. The entire time you feel like he's trying to woo you. You think maybe this is the night that he confesses he feels the same way about you. Throughout dinner and champagne, you both laugh and joke and flirt as you always do. But he reminds you that this is just casual.

You feel your heart breaking. It hurts you to think that he only wants casual sex. The way he fucks you, it's like he absolutely loves you and never wants to let you go. He makes you feel so wanted and so desired. So you leave his home that night with your heart heavy. And things only get more tense between you from here on out.

He notices how you avoid him while at work, and you barely ever want to get drinks with him anymore. Kento feels saddened by the way things went. He wants to fix this, but he's not sure how he can. So he doesn't the only thing he knows that can fix this. He confront you.

"What's wrong? Why won't you talk to me anymore?" He asks, feeling stressed. "Are you kidding me right now? You don't know what you did wrong?!"

Tears fall from your eyes, and Kento ushers you into his office. He closes the door behind you both and wraps his arms around you, but you shrug him off.

"I guess it's MY bad for thinking we could have been something more..." you begin, your voice shaky. "I guess it's my bad for thinking that everything we’ve done up until now feels way too fucking real and has crossed too many lines for us to be just friends with benefits.”

Kento stares at you shocked for a minute. Then he's quick to cup your cheek and pull you in for a kiss. It feels surreal to be kissed like this. You feel all of his love in this one kiss.

"I was a fool to let this continue to be casual...because I've been so in love with you."

You wrap your arms around him, allowing him to pick you up in his arms. Kento pins you to the wall, and he presses your lips to his in a searing kiss.

"I never meant to make you feel like just a one night stand..."

[the-offside-rule]

George Russell (Mercedes AMG) - Academic Rival

Requested: yes and I WOULD ARGUE THIS HAS BEEN ONE OF MY FAVOURITE THINGS TO WRITE

Prompt: 13) "Sometimes I think you do these things just to annoy me."

15) "You're a wonderful person. Don't ever forget that."

Academic Rivals with George Russell

Warnings: bout to be converted to a George girly

"Russell. George! Hey George Russell wake up!"

George snapped awake, looking around confused as his fellow classmates were leaving the lecture hall. "Late night?" He looked up to see Y/n, a girl in his class that he simply despised. She sat a few rows behind him and since they began university, they have been practically rivals. It had been tit for tat on who would get the better test result, who would get the better assignment result, who would get the better anything. "Very, if you must know. Had to finish that assignment that was due this morning." He replied, stretching back in his chair. "Well at least you got it done. I sent mine in last week." Geofge scoffed. "And I am simply delighted that you had enough free time to send it in before me." He replied in a harsh tone. "I've been sending the assignments in before you for the past few weeks, George. Not falling behind, are you?" He stood up quickly and began packing his bag. "Absolutely not! I've just been caught up recently, that's all." She chuckled. "If that's what you want to call it." Y/n opened her refill pad and ripped out a few pieces of paper,before handing them to George. He looked between her and the paper confused. "What is this?" He asked.

"I took the liberty of writing your notes for you." Y/n mumbled, handing him the paper. George examined each piece carefully, seeing her perfect handwriting of her notes on the topic. "You wrote these?" He asked. Y/n nodded and turned to leave. She was just about at the door when she heard the brit call her name, making her look back at him. "Thank you." He muttered, placing them into his folder and walking out of the class behind her. "So what are the plans for this evening?" George asked. "I have a date. My friend set me up so I'm hoping it's not a philosophy student again." George chuckled at the girl. "I'm gonna head this way. My flat is closer to this side." George said. "That's fine. I suppose I'll see you after mid-term?"

"You definitely will. Can't have You having an upper hand on me." Y/n smiled. "Not after today's naptime." George joked. The pair chuckled before bidding their goodbyes and walking their separate ways to their usual study places. Hers being the study hall and his being the old library.

Y/n smiled as she spotted her friend Debs sat at their usual spot with her coffee cup and her headphones connected to her phone and undoubtedly playing Taylor Swift's folklore again. "Hey Debs." Y/n smiled as she sat down and began to set up. "Hey, Y/n. How was class today then?" She asked. "Well, Russell fell asleep. It was funny to see." Y/n replied. "Ah, so noe you have blackmail material. Wonderful." Debs joked. "Actually, I wrote the notes out for him." Y/n questioned the silence after she said that. She looked up to see Debs staring at her eith a shocked expression plastered all over her face. "What?" She asked. "You helped George? Why would you do that? You hate eachother!" Y/n rolled her eyes. "I don't know, Debs. I think it's just a case of us actually maturing now that it's our last year I university together. Just kind of-" Y/n's face dropped as her eyes scanned her files for her document titled Mid-Term assignment but nothing. "Debs....I think I deleted my assignment. Or it didn't save or- fuck!" Debs scooted over to Y/n and scrolled through the laptop while the poor girl beside her, sat with her head in her hands. "Maybe you saved it somewhere else?" She asked. "No, I always save it here. I was working on it this morning! I-"

"Y/l/n." She groaned as she heard the all to familiar voice of her class rival, George Russell trailing behind her. "What the hell do you want?" She asked, continuing to walk and not dignified the brit with a glance. "Studying again?" He grinned. "Yes, I always do." She replied. "It's a shame you have to actually try to be here. It's like you almost don't belong." She scoffed. "And it's almost as if the only reason you're here is because your dad bribed the board." George clenched his jaw before walking over to a table nearby and setting himself up. "What the fuck is he doing studying here? Thats-"

"I'm just gonna have to go to my dorm and start over. All my notes and references I used are up there." Y/n said in a panicked state, began packing everything up and didn't bother herself with why her classmate wasn't studying in his usual spot. She didn't have the time. Every second mattered in this moment. "Debs, I'm I'm sorry. I'll call you tomorrow but I can't right now." Y/n said as she stood up quickly and hurled the bag across her back, grabbing the attention of a particular classmate nearby. She and Debs briefly exchanged goodbyes, before Y/n set off running to her dorm to quickly throw together her mid-term paper.

A few hours later, Y/n had just about managed to find half of her notes and that's about it. She groaned and chucked yet another folder to the corner and onto the next. A sudden knock caught her off guard from the task at hand. She figured it was just Debs coming to say goodbye before her parents came to pick her up so she sat up off the ground and opened the door with a bright smile, only for it to change to one of pure confusion as she was faced with George.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Y/n grumbled, looking up at her rival. "Well I heard your assignment got deleted." He said. "And what? You're here to laugh?" She arched a brow. "No, I want to help. I have some websites. Might be helpful?" Her face softened at his words. He wanted to help her? "Thanks." She muttered. George pushed past her into the room, taking his scarf off. "Right, you start writing, I'll put on some hot chocolate. Do you like marshmallows? Wait a minute-" He looked in the cupboards. "Do you even have marshmallows?" She shook her head confused. "Right, I'm heading to tesco. They should be open. I'll be right back!" He quickly tied his scarf back around his neck. "Wait, what? What are you doing?" Y/n asked as he walked off. "I just explained-"

"Yeah but you said your train back home goes at twenty past eight. It's a quarter to eight and the train station is a fifteen minute drive away." He shrugged his shoulders. "It's no problem, I'll just get the first one tomorrow." He reassured her and opened up his laptop laptop the websites her had. "Right, so these are the websites I used. Very helpful, but you might already have your references sorted out. So I'll leave you alone with my assignment and these websites and I'll head out. I'll be right back." George smiled and headed towards the door.

"I don't understand." She muttered, amking George stop in the doorway. "You don't have to Y/l/n. I'm trying to help my fellow classmate." He said. "But there's no reason that you of all people should be looking to help me." George chuckled and tied the scarf around his neck. "Think of it as paying it back for today. Its no big deal, swear." George said, going to close the door behind him but stopping to give the last word, as he usually did. "It's nice how you remembered when my train went though." He winked and closed the door, leaving Y/n and her burning red cheeks. She let out a shakey sigh as she tried to steady her heart. Did she...no! Out of the question! Its George, for God's sake!

He- he's kinda sweet.

[2busyatchb4urshist-alt]

Alastor & Lucifer x gn!Reader Comfort

I’m trying to get back into writing, this is probably not the best thing ever. I’ll avoid y/n (personal preference), and try for heavy comfort/fluff. It’s some of my favourite stuff to write, so this should be good for me to write. Pardon my French (please).

Prompt: “I'm having a really hard day, could I please request a little comfort one shot or artwork where the reader has a health issue with their heart and just had an attack and Alastor and/or Lucifer are comforting and caring for them and are worried about them too (can be female or GN I don't mind, can have any character traits/ animalistic traits, but basically reader is feeling emotional and vulnerable and needy and in pain, can't get up because nearly collapsing, weak/ dizzy/ pain/ feeling nauseated when they try) (not projecting at all here lol) 🥺 it can go/ appear anyway you want, I'd just really like that included because I could cry rn with my struggles and I've got no-one...”

For @nyx-umbrakinesis

Word Count: 774 words

Black clouds my vision as I attempt to stand up, another sharp pang reverberating from my chest through my arms and torso. It’s a mistake I regret almost immediately, the heavy feeling of not being able to breathe properly weighing down on me.

“Sit back down, chérie,” the familiar static indicating Alastor’s presence returns to the room, enveloping those within it. It wouldn’t be described as warmth, per se, but there’s a comfort in it nonetheless.

The feeling of a strong hand against my shoulder pushes me back down onto the bed, which I had much too quickly tried to leave. Whose hand? Good question.

“What do you need, darling?” Ah, it was Lucifer.

The fog that had clouded my vision has finally fully evaporated, and I look over my shoulder to the King of Hell, somehow him and Alastor have managed to forget their “little” disagreements and not be at each other’s throats. Interesting.

“A drink, that’s all,” I lay back down, regretting trying to get up. Of all things that could be wrong, it’s the heart. Always. Always. Always.

“I’ll get you something, stay laying down,” he’s so gentle for someone ruling over who knows how many people.

The creak of the bed is the main indicator that he left it, the dip in the mattress from where he was sitting suddenly gone. My eyes follow him as he leaves the room, Alastor soon taking his place by my side. I reach to take his hand, tears burning behind my eyes.

"Don't cry, amour, it'll be okay. I'm here for you," he speech is laden with static, like usual, but it seems more comforting than times past. Despite his aversion to touch, he doesn't recoil from my grasp on his hand. His other hand comes up to brush hair from my face, his smile visibly strained. I've got the Radio Demon and the King of Hell worried, lucky me.

"Mhm..." Should I try to sleep? Would that even be a good idea?

I pull his hand closer to me, holding it against my cheek as a means of seeking comfort. The creak of the door opening again alerts the both of us of Lucifer's return, and he comes back to bed, kneeling beside where Alastor is sitting, and helps me sit up. He places the glass in my hands, watching as I take a drink.

"Thank you, Lucifer," I set the glass on my nightstand after I finish taking a drink.

"You're welcome, doll. Do you need anything else?" How the hell is he so sweet?

"Not right now, but thank you," I quickly wipe the tears away as a few slip down my face.

Two lovely individuals, what could I have ever done to deserve them in my (un)life? I pull Alastor's hand into my lap, staring down at it while forcing the tears back to their hiding place deep down.

"No hug? Do you want to lay down?" His voice is soft, almost as if someone had taken a remote and turned him down.

"A quick one, yeah," I let the king pull me into a hug, holding onto him like a lifeline. Once I pull away I have to wipe away another stray tear away as I lay back down, taking Alastor's hand once more.

"Thank you both. What did I do to deserve you two?"

"What did you do? Why, I can't think of anyone more deserving of care and affection than you, chérie," the hum of static continues to fill the room, practically lulling me to sleep. I hold Alastor's hand closer to my face, laying my head against it as I try to fall asleep.

"Oh, darling," Lucifer whispers, running a hand up and down my arm as I drift away, an unnaturally upset look on his face.

"Don't leave," I mutter, grabbing onto Lucifer's hand with my free one. I pull it up to my chest, nuzzling my face against it a bit while holding it up to my forehead.

"I won't, I promise," I swear I can hear his voice crack a bit as he speaks, lacing his fingers in mine.

I crunch myself up a bit, knees curled up to my chest as I attempt to fall asleep. The feeling of having each of them by the hand, however, does a bit to ease my nerves. The feeling of being grounded to not only one, but two of my favourite people helps me to fall asleep.

"Sleep well, chérie." Is the last thing I fully hear as I drift off, Alastor's free hand pulling the comforter further onto me to cover me properly.

Not as long as I hoped, but I felt that to be a decent ending. Hope you like it @nyx-umbrakinesis. Lots of love, hope you feel better <3