#would you like. a large serving of angst. because i would.

[mongooseundertheporch]

"Will," Faust put away the bags of groceries when he saw those teary eyes. What had happened while he was away? His heart ached as he scooped up Will into his arms, holding him close to his chest - placing a kiss atop of his nose. "Cher, what happened? You seem distressed- shh... I'm Here. I'm not going anywhere"

[ — @corxner hehehegehehe ]

Will gave a whine, burying his face into Faust's shoulder despite the fact that he knew this wasn't anything, knew this couldn't be real, knew his brain was lying to him again. Always. His shirt grew wet from Will's tears overflowing, a harsh sob wracking the older man. "... You're not real and I don't know what to do with that. I can't do this again Faust, can't deal with it again. I miss you too much for this, I can't.... I can't-" He mumbled into him, voice cracking and wavering, pausing frequently to swallow around sobs.

[cursedcatvibes]

SWEET BELIEFS

re2r!zombie leon x survivor reader

word count: 7.2k

summary: Leon turns into a zombie and has to learn to navigate how to live as one, while doing this he comes across you and your group of survivors. What will he do when he eats your now dead boyfriend's brains and falls head over heels in love with you enough to make you become like him?

tags/warnings: 18+ only please. I don’t want any controversy, minors DNI. Smut, Angst? Fluff for a paragraph or two. Descriptions of blood and gore. This could technically be considered a bit of Necrophilia? Implied suicide. Pain kink, Leon kinda takes a few bites out of reader. Slight non-con. Mentions of breeding but it doesn’t happen. AFAB reader, I tried to keep it as gn as possible.

A/N: hii so like i am absolutely awkward when it comes to writing smut to be honest, like it’s a bunch of thoughts that have to go into positions and the dialogue. i’m still a little unsure how to work tumblr and i feel so old. I took very very heavy inspo from warm bodies, one of my personal favorite movies. (I pulled up the script and everything so if you've seen the movie and are like hey.. word for word, bar for bar, YOURE NOT WRONG)

Songs I listened to while writing (just so you can picture some scenes with what songs I was feeling):

Sweet Beliefs - Cyann and Ben

Yamaha - Delta Spirit

Midnight City -M83

Hungry Heart - Bruce Springsteen

happy reading!

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Leon was a determined man; he could do mainly anything he set his mind to if he tried, and he did. He would do everything in his power possible to stop the spread of this virus, well, he tried anyway. He knew that he couldn’t do much to begin with, but he always had a small sliver of hope that he could. Stupidly he braved his way forward after the car exploded, promising Claire to meet at the police station. How naive. Is the two words he uses as he thinks back to that same day.

He held his Matilda gun in both hands as he made his way towards the front gate of the R.P.D. He grunted audibly as he shut the gate and then proceeded to lock it. He turned around to face the front of the building in partial awe, a bitter expression souring his face. This is where he was meant to work, to protect and serve the people and yet he never got a chance to properly even start to accomplish that task. 

With a heavy sigh Leon stepped into the building and looked around the main lobby, taking note of the shudder to his right that had a large warning with blood splattered on the floor, he grimaced and walked up to the small computer on the front desk, watching the cameras to see some guy flailing around a small notebook with the promise of a way out inside of it. 

Leon typed away on the computer to find out which room the guy was in and felt his heart sink a bit when he realized it was being blocked off by that same shudder he had saw earlier which was definitely not ideal but if he wanted to help get a cure he had to first escape with as many survivors as possible, so he inhaled sharply and opened the shudder by a lever with shaky hands, his grip on his gun tightening.

The shudder only opened enough for him to crawl under, so he pulled his flashlight out and crawled under while shining the light around, biting his bottom lip anxiously as he stood up from the floor and made his way to the room where the guy was, which unfortunately was behind another shudder. 

Leon holstered his gun quickly and manually forced the shudder open enough to pull the other officer out from, but unfortunately he was too late because the zombies had caught up to the guy on the other side and all the pulling from both ends along with the pressure of the shudder on the guys pelvic area ended up splitting him into two, leaving Leon with the upper half and the zombie with the delicious bottom half. 

He immediately felt sick, just staring at the blood and organs leaking out from the guy's poor body. Yet he forced himself to look away once he grabbed the small notebook from the guy's dead hand. He gasped softly when he saw that he needed to collect three medallions from different statutes and put them into the main statue in the lobby to unlock a secret path. 

Leon quickly pocketed the notebook and stood up, silently disappointed in himself for not saving the guy and making a quiet promise he would find a cure and try to save everyone else. He turned towards the door he entered, only for the door to swing open and a zombie to come barreling through, without hesitation Leon shot the zombie in the head and darted off, his main goal? Get back to the damn shudder that led him to this damn area in the first place.

As he ran, he bumped into two zombies, he panicked and shot one in the head and kicked the other one in the stomach to stagger back enough to fall on the floor. Leon heard a window break and started running towards the shudder, he could see the main lobby light peeking out from beneath the small sliver.

He got down on his hands and knees and started to force the shudder open, fear and adrenaline pumping through his veins. Yet he couldn’t get it open much with just his hands so he pushed his upper body through it and placed his palms flat on the floor, forcing it open enough with his back, almost crying with relief as he crawled through.

That relief was short lived as his leg was grabbed from the earlier zombie and before Leon could try and either shoot it or attempt to squirm away he felt this horrible pain shoot through his leg. A loud scream erupting from his lungs, he scrambled for his gun and shot the zombie, standing up quickly to force the shudder shut. He whimpered in pain as he limped over to the medical beds in the main lobby. 

He could see the blood seeping through his pant leg and when he rolled the fabric up, he almost vomited at the sight of his flesh missing. Apparently while he was crawling and squirming it caused his pant leg to bunch up a bit to expose skin and a bit of his pants fabric was missing from where he was bit. All the hopes of saving everyone and being the help people needed went down the drain. He’d seen enough zombie movies to know he was going to turn within a few hours and this whole thing was pointless and stupid. 

He glanced down at his gun, breathing heavily as he brought it up to his temple. “I won’t become those... Things.” He whispered to no one but himself, tears welling up in his eyes, but he was too chicken shit to kill himself. He burst out into tears and laid back onto the bed, sniffling softly to himself. He failed. For the first time in his life, he failed to protect someone. 

That was the last thing he remembered as a human as his eyes got droopy, fluttering shut every once in a while, before finally shutting, taking his last breath. 

When he awoke, he gasped as he rose up, clenching his hand over his heart, taking no note of the fact his heart was no longer beating anymore. He glanced down at his hands and saw they were paler than usual, he figured it must’ve been a nightmare or maybe he was immune. Otherwise, how did he survive a whole zombie bite? 

He got off the bed and grabbed his gun once more he was able to find a sharp object to use to pry open a door, he carefully stalked through the West Office, pulling his lips into a thin line as he tried to be as quiet as possible but when he stepped onto an empty plastic bottle his head shot up towards the two zombies in the room that roused up from their sleep. Leon fumbled for his gun getting ready to shoot because he was not about to be bitten or eaten alive, only for the zombie sleeping at the police desk to shush him. “Sleeping... Shush.” The zombie grumbled tiredly before going back to sleep. 

Leon’s jaw dropped in awe, why hadn’t they attacked? Why could he understand them now?! All the scenarios ran through his head at once and he could only land on one possible one. With a panicked look on his face, he rushed out and sprinted up to the second-floor bathroom, the zombies lingering in the hallway ignoring him, grunting and groaning out broken English to each other. 

He threw the bathroom door open and walked towards the mirror, finally looking at himself. It finally made sense to him now. It only took one look at himself to clearly see that he too was now a zombie, a hideous creature like the rest of them. Yet he didn’t look busted and beaten up, all his facial features were still intact and none of his skin started rotting, although some joints of his were stiff, assuming the rigor mortis set in for him if he were to be an actual dead corpse, but he wasn't. 

His reality came crashing down on himself and he couldn’t even cry, dead things don’t have emotions anymore.

-

Upon watching the news for a few days, months, years? He wasn’t sure anymore, everyday blended into one and after a while he stopped caring, he was dead now. He made a few zombie friends, those…people? Helped him adjust to the new life he was forced into fairly quickly. Almost like a family, every zombie was family, it didn't matter if you weren’t related or what you looked like, if you were a walking corpse you qualified as family. 

But if you were human, you were considered bad, an enemy, a meal. He learned that humans managed to build a wall to keep zombies out while they tried to start civilization anew, hoping to repopulate. Though some rebellious teens often snuck out beyond the walls and became a meal or turned into a zombie, or people ransacked through old buildings in hopes of coming across supplies, fortunately for zombies they could sense humans by smell from miles away, just most were lazy and didn’t want to die a whole second time for a worthless meal, unless the humans were in groups. 

Just like your group.

Out ransacking a place for medicine for some members of your community that fell ill and just extra medicine just in general. Leon was rather hungry as he walked with his usual horde of zombies towards the building you and your friends were in. He was quite happy because it smelled delicious. (Having grown accustomed to eating humans at this point.)

It didn’t take long for the horde to break down the door to the room you were in before they started attacking, gun fire ringing through the air, yet if it wasn’t a headshot, it didn’t matter much. Leon made eye contact with you when a zombie in front of him got shot in the head. Once he locked his eyes with you, he was smitten, he hadn’t felt like this since the day he arrived in the city. He felt… determined. He was absolutely fascinated with you enough to spare your life from being taken by him, he watched your beautiful eyes widen before sliding away behind a counter to hide. 

The moment was short lived as some annoying guy shot him, Leon growled and pounced on the guy, ripping him to shreds within seconds, eating the yummy brains he got through hard work, blood all over his mouth, hands, and clothes. As he chewed on some of the guys' brains, he indulged in the memories he got from them, for some reason if you consumed the brains of a human you get to see, experience, and feel all their past memories stored in that part of the brain.

Yet as he silently ate the brain’s he started seeing you in this guys’ memories, your sweet laugh, the soft and tender kisses between you both, even when you guys had sex. Leon’s eyes snapped open at the last part, gasping softly at the stirring in his loins. It wasn’t strong, no. But it was very faint, and for a moment he felt human again. 

It didn’t take a miracle for Leon to figure out he ate your boyfriend, he gulped down the brains in his mouth and pocketed the rest, all while chaos ensued around him, people dying, gunfire, stabbing, crying, shouting. None of it mattered. He could feel the amount of love your boyfriend had for your coursing through his veins as he crawled over to you. 

He saw the look of horror on your face as he spotted you, slowly crawling over to you because your gun had jammed, and you ran out of stuff to defend yourself with. He sat right in front of you and watched as you leaned back with a scared and disgusted look on your face. He frowned slightly and leaned closer, placing his bloodied hand on your cheek, making sure to smear you in your now dead boyfriend's blood.

In a hoarse and cracked voice Leon then spoke up. “S-Safe... Now.” He stuttered out, it had been a while since he had to use that word that he almost forgot it. He wanted to keep you safe, he now claimed you. It didn’t take long for the other zombies to grab the brains and other pieces of human body parts before they got ready to leave, sniffing around to make sure they couldn’t smell any more alive humans. 

He carefully took your hand and placed his bloodied finger over your lips. “Shh... Come.” He muttered softly, it hit him that he hadn’t spoken in full sentences or English in a while now, zombies understood each other by just grunting or groaning, they did speak in broken English sometimes. 

“What?” You whispered in confusion as he helped you up and walked you alongside the pack of zombies. He held onto you tightly with an expressionless face, guiding you along with the group all the way back to the police station, very determined to keep you as his own. He took you to a small space that no one really lingered at. Luckily, he had claimed this space, so no other zombies dared to go back there out of respect for when Leon wanted to be alone. The other zombies didn’t suspect you either, to them; if you smelled like you belonged then they thought you were one of them, plus they’re brainless idiots too, who is gonna know the difference if they don’t have the intelligence to figure it out.

Leon stared at you with uncertainty in his eyes, wondering if it was really the best idea to bring you back here of all places. What he did know was that he was super happy to even have a human in his vicinity, even if well you did attempt to kill him.

“This is... home...” Leon said softly, crouching down in front of you on the floor, trying to figure out how to explain he wasn't going to eat you. He pointed at you and then himself, chomping his teeth a few times. Cringing internally when you looked even more horrified, so he repeated the motion once more. “Not... eat.” He mouthed quietly with a soft expression in his eyes.

“Keep you safe.” He stated firmly, his eyes darting away from your gaze awkwardly. He got up and searched the room for some canned goods he had stored away when he first turned into a zombie. Eating humans disgusted him and he really didn’t wanna try to figure it out, so he tried to eat normal food, but that was never no use. He always spat it out with a disgusted look on his face, it tasted horrible.

He found a large can of fruits, smiling happily as he brought it over to you with a knife. You shakily took both items from his hands, being extremely cautious around him still because you were still unsure. Plus, it’s not like he looked like a model, you were sure that if he wasn’t covered in blood and didn’t have a few pieces of his cheek missing he would be close to a model. 

He was cute in a sense, like a dog almost. But you didn’t trust him, not yet at least. Zombies were the things you were warned about. With a reluctant sigh you stabbed the knife into the top of the can and ended up prying it open. You glanced up at him as you used your fingers as a spoon, catching his eyes dart away nervously. 

You pulled your lips into a thin line before letting out a small chuckle. “I guess you’re not all that bad, Mr. Zombie.” You snorted, watching Leon sit down in front of you. He scratched gently under his chin, a habit he never grew out of even when he was undead. He also learned that if he scratched too hard then his skin would fall off. 

Which is why it looks like a cat scratched the side of his cheek; it would’ve been a cool scar if it healed. But he was dead... So, nothing could scar... Or heal.

“My name...” He murmured, trying to think back on what his name actually was. It had been so long since he actually heard his name or even said his name that he forgot what it was. You on the other hand perked up a little bit. “You have a name?” You asked, sitting up a little straighter. He nodded and tried to think back on it. “L...” He elongated the first letter of his name because that’s the only thing that came to what little mind he had left. 

“Leonard? Lachlan? Landon? Leroy? Lawrence?” You started listing off different names that started with an L that came to mind, hoping one would stick but he just kind of shook his head before blinking a few times. “Familiar.” He narrowed his eyes before shaking his head, he almost had it but just as soon as he thought he did he lost his train of thought.

You sighed and ran your clean-Ish hand through your hair, eyes roaming over his body before you saw what looked to be an imprint of a wallet in his pocket. Your eyes widened slightly, and Leon noticed your gaze at his pants. He got excited for a moment, thinking you were checking him out or trying to look at his dick. He would gladly show you if you wanted!

He watched with excitement as you moved your hand out to his crotch area, he wasn’t sure if he was prepared! What if you didn’t like what you saw? Could he even have sex? So many questions racked his brain, each making him more excited than the last. Until... Your hand swerved to the left of his pants, aiming for his pocket as you tapped the stiff object. His face dropped in disappointment, but what was he thinking? Why would you even want to think about such an ugly hideous monster in such an intimate way? “Can I?” You nudged your head towards his pocket, and he nodded in slight defeat. 

You took out the wallet and flipped it open, looking at his ID. If you thought he was partially cute before, he was definitely cute now. You had to hide the blush that was threatening to sprout on your cheeks, quickly shaking it off. You redirected your attention where it was supposed to be aimed at. His name. 

“Huh. Leon Scott Kennedy.” You murmured aloud, watching Leon perk up with excitement as his name came back to his brain. “Yes! My name...Leon!” He pointed at himself happily again. He nodded and gently took the wallet from your hands. 

His eyes settled on the ID photo, and he felt a small wave of sadness wash over him, it wasn’t even his fault he turned but he supposed he turned in the least painful way possible, the most unscathed too. Some people had their limbs pulled off their body and some people had been halfway eaten alive because the damn zombie wanted their organs and not the brain. 

Yet he felt this was the closest he had come to crying ever since he turned into a zombie. He had tried everything he could do in his power to cry, and none of it worked at all. It mostly just damped his mood.

But even now he could not get that tear he so desperately wanted to fall from his eye. He shut his wallet and stuffed it into his pants pocket again, looking away from you awkwardly. He was going to say something until he watched you look out the window with your own longing look.

He wanted to comfort you but didn’t know how, plus he definitely didn’t want to be called or considered creepy. So, he turned around and pulled out some of the stashed away brains in his jacket pocket, he popped a big piece into his mouth like it was gum. He was able to divulge in a few new memories that your boyfriend had.

His eyebrows scrunched up as he could see your dad happily welcoming your boyfriend into the family, having a serious conversation while also celebrating your dead mom's anniversary. Then the memory faded out until he came back to reality because you had started talking to him. 

“I want to go home, Leon.” You stated firmly, your gaze still peering out the window for a bit longer before turning around to stare at him. “It’s n-not safe...” He warned you once more that going outside was not a good idea at all and you were stubborn and set on leaving. 

You sighed rather heavily and rubbed your face as you tried to figure how to explain it to him because he was quite literally not the brightest tool in the shed, and it wasn’t even on purpose either. “I get that.” You paused before continuing. “And look… I know that you ‘saved’ my life. And I'm grateful for that. But you walked me into this place. So, I know that you can walk me out again.” You narrowed your eyes at him as you waited for his response, you had a solid argument through and through. Leon knew that but didn’t want to let you go.

His poor brain scrambled for an answer, he didn’t wanna lose you. “H…h… have to wait. They… They’ll notice.” He blurted out as best as he could manage. You weren’t the happiest person on the planet with that answer, but it was better than staying with him permanently. 

“How long?” You questioned, sitting down in front of him as he kept his eyes trained on you. “F.. f.. few days. Th.. they’ll forget. You’ll be o-kay.” Leon tried to reassure you and he sounded quite serious about this. 

You nodded with a firm tight-lipped expression. “Fine. A few days it is then.” You responded quite tiredly. Leon was a bit eager that you bought into his lie, why wouldn’t you? No one else could sway you to believe otherwise since he was a zombie and you believed he knew everything about every zombie in this post-apocalyptic world. 

The next few days consisted of the both of you doing fun things to relieve your boredom, he showed you his fun little trinkets and items he collected during his time as a zombie just so he could feel a little human again and you in turn showed him the fun things humans still did that he forgot about.

But all good things must come to an end when he got distracted roaming around outside the safe place, he took you to find some more food and perhaps a better blanket, it was a big police station, something had to be there. But when he arrived back a while later with the objects, he was shocked to find you missing when he deliberately only went out while you were napping or sleeping so he didn’t have to stress about you running away.

He pursed his lips into a pout before he heard you scream, he immediately dropped the stuff in his hands and rushed off towards the direction of the scream, finding you surrounded by zombies. He panicked and grabbed a fire extinguisher, whacking the other zombies in the head in order to protect you while you stepped out the way to avoid being attacked or injured in some way possible. 

When he was sure he killed the other zombies, he dropped the fire extinguisher and huffed softly, wiping the blood away from his face and hands onto his already bloody clothes. Leon snapped his head up towards your direction with a frown on his face. “You said a few days. It's been a few days, Leon.” You demanded answers, you were feeling restless after all. “I have to go home; I have a family. A family that's on the other side of that giant wall that keeps creatures like you out of it.” You tried your best to explain it to him, but he didn’t want to hear the nonsense. He wanted you.

He took your hand in his own cold and stiff one, tilting his head at you fondly. “S... stay t-together.” He smiled as best as he could manage while guiding you to the parking garage. “We leave.” He tapped his wallet again and then took you over to a hoodless red car that had the keys still in the ignition.

Leon wanted to drive but he wasn’t very sure in his abilities and as if you read his mind you spoke up. “I'll drive.” You exclaimed cheerfully, hopping into the driver’s seat while he got into the passengers. He took the parking garage keycard out from his wallet that he often used to go out and explore carefree and handed it to you, which you gladly accepted. 

-

It had been a few hours since you and Leon left the police station, a clear destination in mind for you. That same wall you referenced earlier. You could’ve gotten there before midnight, but it had started raining and the heater in the car crapped out. “Dammit it, I’m freezing...” You grumbled in slight frustration, but Leon wasn’t cold at all. Corpses don’t get cold, which is an added bonus sometimes.

You glanced around and realized you were in a neighborhood close to home, well not super close but close enough to finish driving the rest of the way there.

“Full disclosure, I am exhausted beyond, and I want to warm up before I catch hypothermia. I’m not a corpse you know.” You teased, smiling a bit as you informed Leon of what was about to happen. He nodded and gave you a thumbs up.

You were still a little uneasy around him, but he was growing on you. You pulled over into a random driveway and hopped out the car, shivering as the cold wind paired with the rain blew harshly against your skin. Leon followed right behind you, albeit a bit slow but he still followed along.

As you approached the door you silently hoped it was unlocked, because who the hell would lock their door after being evacuated in a zombie apocalypse? 

Unfortunately, it was locked, and you seriously considered busting the door down, you took a step back but stayed beneath the awning of the front porch, rubbing your hands up and down your upper arms to warm yourself while searching for a window that wasn’t boarded up to break into.

Leon on the other hand was confused why you didn’t just open the door considering he got there a little after you did. “What's... wrong?” He questioned, staring at you with his usual cute look of curiosity.

Your eyes darted back towards his own and you purse your lips tightly as you explained that the door was locked. “It’s locked, I can’t get in it and I’m searching for a window-” Before you could even finish your sentence Leon slammed into the front door and it swung open. You were stunned. Could he always do that? If so, why hadn’t zombies come in bigger hordes to storm the wall keeping the rest of humanity alive.

Leon turned towards you when he opened (broke) the door for the two of you, but mainly you. It’s like he was expecting some praise for helping you out. He was a good zombie after all! 

With a small smile on your face, you patted his head. “Thanks Lee.” You crooned, the nickname easily slipping past your lips as both of you sauntered inside the house while Leon closed the door behind the both of you once inside.

You desperately rubbed your hands together for a shred of warmth, Leon took note of this and frowned. He wanted to help you warm up but how? His brain (what was left due to deterioration) searched for an answer and came up with one possibility but didn’t know if you were going to want to do that. After all, he was let down earlier with the whole wallet situation.

“Let’s go upstairs, I’m dying to get out of these clothes and under a blanket.” You emphasized your point by tugging on your soaked shirt. Leon being Leon let his eyes roam over your body, admiring the way it clung to your skin before noticing you were walking away towards the stairs. “O-Okay.” He murmured, tailing after you like a puppy.

Once you reached upstairs you asked Leon to make sure no other zombies were in any of the rooms, you survived this far. No way in hell were you going to die in such a pathetic way. It's the first rule of the apocalypse, be cautious and also know your route to escape if you do encounter a zombie. You can thank Zombieland for that warning, it did amuse you in some odd way.

Watching some guy who was surviving a zombie apocalypse thinking it would never happen but never say never. It felt like some sick joke that sometimes didn’t feel real until you encountered a zombie, then it felt a little too real.

Speaking of zombies, here comes the cutie who waddled back with a shake of his head. “No zombie!” He exclaimed, pointing to a room at the end of the hall. "Bed.” He said simply, putting his hand on your lower back to guide you inside the room. You didn’t protest it at all, hell you would sleep on a rooftop if it provided you with good enough shelter along with a decent bed at this rate.

After a quick check of the mattress to discover it hadn’t rotted much, and a bedsheet was over it so it added a decent layer of protection as well, you sat on the edge of the bed while Leon sat on the floor like usual, wanting to make sure you were comfortable.

“I’m gonna get undressed. Don’t look.” You ordered firmly, hoping he would understand. You smiled when he nodded and turned your back to him while he turned his head away long enough for you to see he did before he turned right back towards you.

Leon wasn’t an idiot; he knew very well what he was doing. He was once human too after all, plus he would feel stupid if he let this rare moment slip away from his grasp, it had been too long since he saw actual decent tits and ass, most of the other zombies who were women were all rotting and very unappealing to him. He’s sure you would look so beautiful if you looked like him. 

You on the other hand were completely oblivious to Leon’s plan or the fact he was ogling you like you were his next most delicious meal, and in a way... You kind of were. 

Nonetheless you stripped down to just a bra and panties before curling back into the bed and under the blanket, shivering quietly while hugging your legs for warmth still. It was so silent between the both of you. So silent you could hear your teeth chattering echo throughout the room.

Leon sat on the floor awkwardly, wondering what to do with his newfound feelings. You never banished him from the bed, nor were you shying away from him when he touched you recently. Maybe this time he could get what he wanted from you, right? He would have to eventually.

A very confident Leon rose up from the floor, you watching with furrowed brows in confusion. Was he going to leave the room? But to your surprise he curled up in bed with you, his cold dead hands sliding around your waist to cuddle you from behind, you instantly stiffened up from multiple things, the fact he was cold, and his hands were resting on your belly and the fact he was so close to you like this. But after a few moments you relaxed and leaned back into his touch.

Leon felt like he was over the moon when you reacted positively at his touch, he could smell your scent, your musk and if he had a consistent blood flow, he was sure it would’ve all rushed down to his penis. Luckily for him he could make his body stiffen up in places or even all over in general. Lord knows how many times he escaped second death by doing this neat party trick when humans tried killing the groups of zombies he was in. He never left unscathed though and caught a bullet in his shoulder once. But it never bothered him because he didn’t feel it. It did piss him off though. 

He was so tempted to take a small bite of your sweet supple flesh; he had been suppressing his desires for so long now it was becoming unbearable. “Such a temptress...” He thought to himself, rubbing his hand up and down your waist gently, easing you up to his touch in small doses. 

You were feeling pretty sleepy but a part of you was getting a little turned on, you hadn’t had sex in a while even while your boyfriend was alive so any touch from a male was enough to set you off, even if unfortunately, that male was a zombie. But it was different somehow, he was gentle. Plus, he was cute so that definitely didn’t hurt either.

You guess the only plus of the whole situation was the fact Leon wasn’t breathing super loud in your ear like a fat pig. That’s what your now dead ex(?) boyfriend did, and it was a major turn off because it sounded like he was dying every time he was moaning or even came. 

Not a word was spoken between the two of you as Leon’s hand drifted lower to cup your inner thigh, the two of you looking down at his hand on your body. He whimpered softly at the warmth between your thighs. “M-May I?” He pleaded; he can’t remember the last time he was this nervous. Oh wait, yes he can. The first time he met you and a few hours earlier when you pulled that little stunt of disappearing on him. He thought he lost you forever. 

Not this time. 

Not ever again. 

You gulped quietly and looked over your shoulder at him nodding slightly, breathing out a soft yes. 

Leon was happy, he felt a warmth within himself in his chest area, well maybe if he had a beating heart it would feel way better, but he can’t get greedy now. Not after he worked this hard to get to this moment.

It had been a while since he had sex, things with his ex-girlfriend weren’t so great before he came to Raccoon city. He silently apologized if he was a bit rusty. Though as soon as his hand slipped beneath your panties, and he heard your soft gasp when his fingertip brushed against your clit it's like all his knowledge on how to please a woman came back to him.

He tightened his grip on your waist with one hand while the other dipped down to collect the slick leaking from your hole, using it as lubricant to swipe at your clit as best as he could, hoping to pleasure you. He figured he was doing a good job when you pressed your face into the pillow to muffle a moan.

That wouldn’t do at all!

Leon removed his hands from you and sat up, pouting a bit as his ego inflated from the soft whine of confusion left you. “I wanna..” He paused and looked down into your eyes. “So pretty...” He thought to himself. 

“Sound.” He pointed at your mouth; it took a second for it to click but once it did you nodded. “Right, yes. Sorry.” You blushed at his comment, for a zombie he seemed sure of exactly what he wanted. Even if he wasn’t good at it verbally.

Leon smiled and climbed on top of you, running his knuckle against your cheekbone with a delighted expression. You nuzzled against the gesture, a small part of you was calling yourself a freak for even enjoying this and the bigger part was you telling that other part to shut the fuck up.

Your hands came up to cup his face, being mindful of the piece of flesh missing from his cheek, he appreciated the gesture, but he couldn’t care less if you touched the wound. He rested his weight on his forearms to grind his cock against the wet spot on the gusset of your panties. A soft moan left your lips and if you weren’t so scared of getting bit you would’ve kissed him, but you didn’t want to tease him and him end up biting you.

You were so eager and desperate though that you yourself disregarded foreplay because you were definitely wet enough. You helped Leon strip down to nothing, admiring his toned body, ghosting your fingertip over the bullet wound too. He was embarrassed and shied away from your wandering eyes.

“You’re so handsome, Leon.” You confessed, watching his eyes go wide with his head snapping back towards you with a hint of vulnerability beneath them. “Really?” He tilted his head at you while you discarded your bra and panties somewhere in the room. 

When you met his eyes, you leaned forward to kiss his cheek, nodding while dragging your fingers through his soft but slightly matted hair, trying to ignore the fact you might’ve tugged a bit too hard that some strands actually fell out. It was just another reminder that you were literally about to have sex with a whole zombie.

Leon cleared his throat as best as he could while positioning himself between your legs to rub his cockhead between your folds. Low moans escaped both of you before he slowly pushed himself past the tight muscle that relaxed with ease. Leon swore he was in heaven, that he died for a second time and that heaven was you.

So warm and wet. Is literally all he could think of.

You on the other hand couldn’t get over how good it was, but that lingering guilt still bubbled at the back of your mind. You shoved those thoughts down and wrapped your arms behind his neck tugging him closer towards your body.

Slowly he started to thrust into you, he tried to be gentle, but each thrust was hard and rough. Punched out gasps and moans filling the room each time his hips met yours. “D-Do you like...?” He asked quietly, burying his face into your neck, holding his desire to bite you at bay. He had to remind himself it wasn’t a good moment. But seeing your bouncing tits and flesh so close to his face was his breaking point.

“Y-yes... I love it–AHH!” You screamed at the end of your remark, feeling tears well up in your eyes at the pain of being bit. 

Leon cursed himself for doing it, but he could only hold his primal desires at bay for so long. “What the fuck did you do! G-Get off of me!” You shrieked, trying to fight away from his grasp but he was much stronger than you. Immediately pinning your wrists down to the mattress with one hand, shaking his head as he continued pounding into you.

“I'm s-sorry!” He apologized profusely but his hips never slowed down. “Accident...” He whimpered coyly as you kept struggling. 

You felt like an idiot, who in their right mind would trust a zombie after all? You. You did and now you were reaping the consequences. 

As much as you hated to admit it, the blood loss and the blood around Leon’s mouth was making you dizzy with pleasure. It didn’t take long for your struggling to cease; you knew you would ‘die’ from blood loss but the adrenaline in your body was fighting while blood gushed out from the bite on your neck.

Leon let go of your wrists shakily to test if you would harm him but when you didn’t and you just laid there looking up at him with a hazy look in your eyes, he felt like he was on top of the world. In one swift movement he put your ankles over his shoulders, putting you into a mating press damn near with how feral he was fucking you.

The lewd squelching sound of your pussy was enough to send him over the edge, but he can’t cum, he lost that ability the day he died. He was upset he didn’t meet you earlier, he’s so sure that you would look so perfect with his child in your belly.

“You’re going to be just like me...” Leon hummed, concern brewing in your belly when he started getting easier to understand. Was this really it? You weakly protested against the idea when his thumb pressed against your clit to get you to have one final orgasm. 

He tilted his head to the side to lick up your calf all the way up to your ankle, suckling on the area he wanted to bite. Without much thought he sank his teeth in your leg, right where he was bit. What was more romantic than having matching bite marks?

You jolted from the pain mixed with pleasure, weakly crying out Leon’s name. “L-Leon... Stop it...” You pawed at his back as your back arched off the bed, feeling the life slowly draining out your body the faster your heart pumped out blood from such a stimulating touch, your body temperature lowering to almost eerily match his own.

He could feel your gummy walls squeezing the non-existent life out his cock and he threw his head back in pleasure, groaning loudly as he doubled down on his efforts, he could tell you were close. 

He wasn’t wrong though, you were so close to reaching your sweet release, the bedsheet and mattress soaked with your bodily fluids. Blood and your arousal forever staining the sheets. “P-Please my Goddess...” He squeaked out, leaning down to lick at your neck, lapping up the blood oozing out. 

Your body was getting weaker and weaker, eyes fluttering shut longer than they were open as you slowly died beneath him, yet right before you took your last final breaths as a human you came violently around his cock, feeling utterly spent and satisfied as you drifted into an unconscious state.

Leon sat up straight, staring down at your lifeless body with a small amount of concern. He had never turned someone into a zombie before, so he wasn’t sure if he actually killed you or not. He pulled his cock out of your hole, admiring the creamy white ring around the base of it.

He ran his fingertips over the bite mark on your leg, sighing in content, his eyes drifting up your body to admire your glistening folds. He glanced around nervously before leaning down to lap at your cunt, moaning softly at the taste. "Gosh..." He could definitely eat you up.

He whimpered in frustration when you didn't stir awake after a few hours (minutes), placing small kisses on your belly with a pout, wrapping his arms around your waist while he laid on top of you, covering your naked bodies with the blanket. 

He kept your hand outside the blanket, staring intensely at it. 

“Please move. Please move.” He thought anxiously, finally after what felt like eternity, he saw your fingers twitch and he felt relieved. He smiled fondly at the sight, kissing your sternum with a dopey grin.

You were going to be with him for eternity. <3

[mysterystarz]

kiss me maybe:

summary: finding a flier for the volleyball's kissing booth was surprising for two reasons. a) kuroo had created one of the worst fliers known to mankind and b) oikawa tooru, the school's resident pretty boy was capitalizing off the rumors surrounding him. still, you couldn't deny your attraction to the setter, and he couldn't hide that you were the only one he wanted to kiss

pairing: oikawa tooru x g!n reader

word count: 12.6k (please give this a chance)

genres + themes: college!au, sort of friends to lovers(?), fluff, angst, kuroo being an occasional menace, iwaizumi being the sexiest friend you can have, kiyoko being an icon, romanticized college experience, oikawa being an idiot but yours

warnings: cursing, a tad suggestive in some parts, absolutely not proofread

a/n: hi there i am back with a long fic. anyways this thing is my lovechild and probs the most fanfic thing ive written. its really just a fluff monster (lol) and i hope you give this a chance <3 also dedicated to @chimielie because her stuff gave me the inspo to write ily lia thank you for being so talented

It was said that Oikawa Tooru’s kisses were mythical. 

Some claimed that one press of lips from the kingly setter was like a hit of a drug, sudden in a way that sent you reeling. 

To some, his kisses tasted like the finest candy, hand served on an ornate dish. 

Most magically, it was claimed that a kiss from Oikawa Tooru could heal even the most broken of hearts. Just one thread through sun bronzed hair could make you forget about the most painful memories. 

And of course, like any celebrity would, he knew about each and every rumor.

Naturally, you reckoned you were bound to see the dreaded flier sooner or later. It sat there still, taped onto the tiny bulletin board outside of the Organic Chemistry I room. It was the worst godawful flier you’d ever seen in your life. In front of you was a myriad of colorful borders, and even more whimsical fonts atop of a cardstock page. It seemed to call out to you with its boldness, as if to say “kiss me” with its scrawling typography. 

Mystic Kissbooth, it read in an infuriatingly ornate font. Come and kiss your woes away (and kiss ours away too – a mutually beneficial fundraiser!) 

“I see you’ve seen our handiwork,” chuckled a voice. You didn’t have to turn around to recognize Kuroo, who simply leaned against the bulletin board in an attempt to catch your expression. 

Not that he would. You weren’t going to give him that luxury. 

“No wonder it’s such shit,” you laughed, gesturing to the list of names at the bottom, “I’m honestly ashamed to even know you.”

“Hey,” he frowned playfully, ruffling your hair as he began his signature large strides. Curse him and his stupidly long legs. “That was heavily inspired by your Canva templates…..you know….the bad ones.” 

You let out a long and dragged out sigh while you followed your best friend (unfortunately) to one of the secluded benches on campus. Beneath the hustle and bustle of students as they sprinted to class, it was almost peaceful to rest your legs for just a moment. 

Relaxing onto the bench, you placed your backpack at your side, creating a wedge between you and Kuroo, who’d taken the seat right next to you. He didn’t seem to mind, simply casting a grin in your direction. 

For starters, you weren’t sure how to feel about the Canva invasion. Yes, it was a design platform, and yes, you’d tried (and failed sometimes) to create infographics whenever Kuroo needed a helping hand. It was just a tad surprising to discover that Kuroo had drawn his inspiration from your least successful works. 

“What’s this whole thing about?” You decided on asking after a lengthy pause. Kuroo cast his gaze to meet your own, his grin almost glued into place. 

“Well, not that we’re in any trouble, but the volleyball club could use some funds. We’ve been trying to set up some pretty competitive matches and practice games, but we need the fuel to do it. Oikawa thought this was a great way to make use of all the attention we have.”

“No wonder. He’s probably the most popular one on the team….though Iwaizumi is honestly the one to be looking at.” 

“Rude,” Kuroo huffed, “There’s a lot of other people to be interested in, you know.”

“Hopefully you don’t mean yourself,” you chuckled, dodging a playful hit on the arm from Kuroo. “But in all seriousness, a kissing booth?” Kuroo paused for a moment, seemingly mulling over a proper response, when Iwaizumi entered your frame of vision. 

There were times you wondered why Iwaizumi Hajime didn’t consider a career in modeling. From where he stood, the sunlight almost seemed to caress his skin, tanned and sun bronzed from a summer spent playing volleyball on the beach. Upon seeing you and Kuroo on the bench, he extended a quick wave before jogging over, arms flexing as he got closer. 

“Stop ogling him,” Kuroo smirked, “You could stand to be a bit less obvious.” “Shut up,” you muttered just as Iwaizumi ended his jog to stand in front of you. 

“Nice to see you here,” he beamed, his eyes meeting your own, “I barely see you around these days. Did Kuroo scare you away from the club?” “No not at all,” you smiled, moving your backpack to make space for the handsome spiker. Some of the students on the nearby path stopped to turn at the three of you, and Iwaizumi, none-the-wiser, took a swig from his water bottle. 

He was never aware of the effect he had on people. That was exactly what contributed to his charm. 

“Y/N wanted to know a bit more about the booth,” Kuroo started. “I think you’d explain it better than I could.” 

Iwaizumi raised a brow, “It’s just a club fundraiser. I mean, it's the only decent idea that Oikawa’s had in a while.”

“So he really was involved, huh.” You said (more to yourself than anyone else). The two men looked at you confusedly, before Kuroo finally spoke. 

“You know, you always seem to get a bit fidgety whenever someone mentions Oikawa. And you always try to be away from him when you come to our practices…were the two of you involved or something? Because if you were, I am honestly offended you didn’t tell me.” 

You aggressively shook your head no, warranting a chuckle from Iwaizumi. “Well, if they were, I think it’s had an impact. You start to see him for who he really is.” 

The three of you laughed, choosing to enjoy the fresh breeze. 

However, even despite the simple beauty of this moment, you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking about the booth.

Oikawa stood at the front of the lecture hall, spinning his pen while meeting the eyes of his teammates. At his side was Kuroo’s flier, whimsically colorful in all the ways a magical kissing booth (like this one) was supposed to be. Iwaizumi sat in the front, close enough for Oikawa to catch the teasingly judgy stares of his best friend while he waited for everyone to settle down. 

Finding a free lecture hall had been no problem. All he’d had to do is smile nicely at a few eager students, verify with a few professors, and send a frantic “MEET NOW” to the club group chat. 

The real problem was convincing the rest of the team of this idea in the first place. 

“Hey guys,” he beamed, putting the flier down on the desk closest to him, “Thanks for showing up on such short notice. You guys are the best.” 

“We didn’t come for you,” Makki snickered. “We’re just here to see what crazy justification you have for this.” “Well,” he began, “We’ve been in the spotlight for quite some time now. A lot of us have been featured in the campus newspaper, we’ve made it onto our university’s podcast, and have you even seen the instagram fanpages for us? They’re absolutely insane. So, what better time to take advantage of this?” 

“And this has nothing to do at all with the rumors?” A voice asked. Oikawa turned to meet the eyes of Semi Eita, who sat on the left corner closest to the door. 

The team laughed as Oikawa shook his head in faux denial. “Absolutely not. Why would I ever do such a thing?” 

“Because you're smart!” Oikawa was almost surprised to hear the remark from Bokuto, who sat near Kuroo with his own flier. “And it’s a lot of fun.” 

The team murmured their respective agreements before the room fell silent again. Oikawa, ever the opportunist, slid into the silence with an explanation. 

“I was thinking we set it up as sort of a de-stress day after midterms. We could get the other clubs to join in their own mini fundraisers…like a carnival of sorts. We’ll set up the booth with colorful signs and posters, and we kiss based on the cash. We can take shifts to make sure the two of us aren’t running the whole show. All proceeds are for our matches and practice games. Sounds good?” “A question. Are you going to make people line up to kiss you?” Matsukawa asked casually. 

“You mean us Mattsun. And yeah, a line works just fine.” Oikawa stopped for a moment to admire the unanimous cooperation of his team. “I’ll talk to the other club leaders and see if we can come up with a date. If that’s all the questions you’ve got, I’ll see you at practice tomorrow!” 

With this, his team filed out the door. He caught Kuroo animatedly discussing a design to attract customers to their booth with Bokuto, mentioning that he had a friend who’d know just what to do about it. In the midst of his rant, he’d mentioned a name. 

Yours. A name he hadn’t realized he missed hearing. 

A faint smile crept onto his face at the thought.

Kuroo was a menace. From the minute he’d found you at the library, he’d been nagging you the entire day, practically begging for you to come to their practice. 

“Y/N please,” he whined, attempting his own version of a pout, “If you see us, you could help design the poster to attract customers.” “I don’t think you need help with that.” That much was true. Especially with Oikawa headlining the event. They were guaranteed strong profits. 

Somehow in the midst of all this pleading, you’d ended up right outside the gym. The sounds of volleyballs hitting the wooden floors resonated off the walls, the sound so clear that you could hear it from your spot near the door. 

“You planned this,” you glared, watching Kuroo’s smile twist into one of faux innocence. Bastard.  

“What can I say? I am the master of distraction.” He opened the door, swapping his shoes out at the front and walking into the gym to the greetings of his team. You followed closely behind him, carefully striding across the polished wood and shutting the door behind you. 

The gym had always been grand. Your university’s colors were plastered onto the bleachers, with a wide curtain separating the different sides of the gym. There was space – so much of it – and the team spread out to practice various skills. 

For a brief moment, you allowed yourself the childish awe of standing in a space so big. 

“I forgot how long it’s been since you’ve been here,” a voice greeted, “But it’s good to see you Y/N.” You knew that voice. You’d know that voice like the moon knew the stars. You’d know it anywhere. 

“Oikawa,” you said, turning to acknowledge the brown-haired setter. “Long time no see.”

As much as you didn’t want to, you drank him in. He seemed to be in high spirits this afternoon, hair artfully tousled in the way he always did, and lips so perfectly smooth that they seemed out of a Chapstick ad. 

“You don’t really come around anymore,” He said, taking to walking with you around the gym (much to your own surprise). “I was getting a bit worried actually.” 

“What do you mean?” You stared at a spot a bit beyond the setter, watching Bokuto’s cross court spike slam into the floor with dizzying speed. 

“Well….we talked a bunch. And you came here at the beginning of the year. You suddenly stopped though….so I wondered if something happened.” 

“You noticed?” You scoffed. “I’m surprised you paid attention.” 

“Why wouldn’t I pay attention?” Oikawa raised a brow in confusion before suddenly, the answer seemed to smack him in the face. “You’re petty about that?”

“You barely paid me any mind,” was all you said, meeting Oikawa’s warm gaze, “It was like we’d never met at all.”

You’d met Oikawa Tooru on the flight to university. You’d waved your family goodbye at the gate, hugging them tight to your chest and memorizing the feel of them against you. 

You walked steadily, pulling your suitcase along as you made your way to the security check in. 

“Everything goes in a bag! Belts, shoes, phones! Take off your shoes and step aside. Laptops can stay in your bags! Move along!” 

You hauled your suitcase into the bin, placed your phone and wallet beside it and sent it over to the TSA associate, taking a minute to place your jacket and shoes into another bin and sending that over too. 

The gray bins were plain, old and rackety and classic, comparable to a washed out 1930’s movie. You trodded through the metal detector, feeling the cold floor through your socks. 

When you finally made it through check in, you were met with a TSA associate over your bag, looking straight at you as if you’d committed some heinous crime. 

“Excuse me,” the TSA officer asked, gesturing to your bags, “Are these your bags?” 

“Yes,” you affirmed, almost nervously. “Is there an issue?” 

“You seem to have some liquid above the restricted amount. I’m going to have to take a look.” 

For a moment, you were startled. What did you even bring? You’d diligently packed your belongings and made sure everything was secure….surely there had to be some mistake. 

Your breath wavered the minute the officer pulled out your favorite body wash. 

In the midst of your packing, you’d forgotten you’d slipped it into your carry on. 

“Oh.” Your voice shook as you meant the TSA officer’s eyes, “I’m sorry. That’s my favorite one.” 

“I’m sorry.” For a moment, it almost seemed like the man had sympathy for you, “But I’m going to have to ask you to pour half of it out. If you refuse that, you’re going to have to give it away.” 

Every step towards the outside garbage felt like a punch to the chest. While you kept composed on the outside, pouring away half of your prized wash felt miserable. 

A dying rose. A dying star. Something dying slowly and surely inside. 

Now you’d have to get another one. Brand new packaging lost to your honest mistake. 

This sucked ass. 

You meandered through the security area again, more ghost than person and collected the rest of your belongings. While your voice wavered, you didn’t shed a tear, and simply walked along. 

Somehow, in the midst of all your wandering,  you ended up in the departure lounge. In front of you were an array of connected seats with their generic cushioning and the customary TV screens telling you what flight was taking off when. 

The glass paneled windows to your right showcased the hangar, and from your spot, you could see planes parked out in front. The sun set down in the distance, leaving a watercolor blend of pinks and oranges in its wake. 

You could almost call it picturesque. 

You leaned your suitcase against a wall for a moment, scanning the lounge for an available corner. Unfortunately, your plane was packed. 

The chatter of students was overwhelming, and without a choice, you settled into a seat at the far corner of the lounge next to a pretty-boy who you were certain wouldn't speak to you. 

They normally never did. Why should it be any different now? And honestly, you didn’t want to talk. 

“This plane is probably fully booked.” A voice (the perfect blend of warm and deep) said. You turned to meet the eyes of said pretty boy, a surprisingly lovely shade of brown. Light and bright and inviting. Almost like a mocha. Or a latte. 

“Tell me about it,” you laughed, slightly amused by the novelty of the situation. It wasn’t common for pretty boys to talk to you. Even less common for you to entertain any conversation, especially when you felt the way you did.  “When I waved ‘goodbye’ to my family, I wasn’t expecting this much of a crowd to tell them about.” 

“Yeah?” Oikawa smiled, the corners of his mouth lifting upwards invitingly. “I was more surprised at the lack of seats.” 

“You’d think they’d anticipate a college student stampede.” 

Oikawa laughed, the amusement lighting up his whole face. It was a simple laugh — chiming and lovely in the way that all laughs were, but you were certain you’d do anything to hear that again. 

His presence had a way of putting you at ease. 

The two of you coincidentally had seats right next to each other on the flight. As the plane lifted off, you snapped a picture of the city lights, twinkling their tiny goodbyes as they faded from view.

The cabin’s lights were dimmed, yet even in the haziness, you could make out the features of the boy next to you. 

High cheekbones. A defined cupid’s bow. Lips that seemed even softer than the lather of that soap you loved so much. 

You’d mourn your soap later. Even if it was an object, your attachment to it simply showed a care for your belongings. 

What could be more human than that? 

Oikawa turned to you, gaze friendly as the plane began its mounting ascent. 

“You know, the TSA can be real dicks sometimes.” 

What the fuck. Who was he? A psychic?

“What did they do to you?”

“They made me pour out half my expensive hair gel. I insisted it fit the requirements but they refused to accommodate me. So mean.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at the pout he wore. It seemed even someone as vivacious as Oikawa couldn’t charm himself out of aviation regulations. 

Somehow the whole thing made you feel a lot better. 

You and Oikawa (Tooru as he later insisted) shared many conversations throughout the flight. Some revolved around human existentialism (with him quoting the “we were infinite” from The Perks of Being a Wallflower). Some revolved around space. 

Some even revolved around clubs, with him sharing high school volleyball stories and pledging your university’s team to greatness. 

When fatigue finally claimed you, the comfort of his shoulder was unmatched by anything you’d ever felt. He’d extended an invite for you to come and see them practice anytime, and laid his own head atop of yours. 

Of course, when you showed up for said practice, so had a bunch of other fans. He’d barely spared you a glance, let alone spoke to you when you’d tried to seek him out. 

A grand gym and an even grander boy. 

You just avoided him after that.

“Im really sorry about that,” Oikawa said. While his expressions were genuine, you weren’t sure how much you were going to trust it. Certainly, in all the time you’d spent apart, he must have changed at least a bit. 

To think he was the exact same boy who you met on the plane would be foolish.

“Yeah, water under the bridge.” 

“No, not really.” Oikawa paused to study your expression. Beneath all of your nonchalance was something fragile. Admiration? Loathing? He doubted it. “How long did you plan on avoiding me?”

“As long as I needed to.” You answered matter-of-factly. “Then again, that was when I thought you’d forgotten about me.” 

“How could I ever do that?” Oikawa’s expression morphed into a worried one, eyebrows knitted together and mouth downturned as if to say damn that’s an accusation. 

“Well-“

“Look I meant to seek you out after that day. I saw you there, wanted to come over, but at that point you’d gone off to continue chatting with Kuroo and met Iwa. And classes exist.”

“Okay. Water under the bridge for real.” 

His eyes lit up. “You mean it?” 

You nodded in approval, only to be dragged away by Kuroo, who’d suddenly appeared behind you. 

“What the fuck?” You yelled, not caring much for your use of profanities. Some of the nearby team members snickered as you were pulled to the corner of the gym, in front of an array of poster boards. 

“What?” Kuroo asked, “You and Oikawa seem to be fine now, so I thought I could ask you some questions about stuff that really matters. Namely posters.” 

You were met with various shapes and sizes of poster boards. Some were Elmers Tri-Folds. Some were the cheap foam boards you sometimes saw while grocery shopping. 

“If you want a design for your freaking booth,” you began, looking at Kuroo, “Give me some time.”

Oikawa was in the podcast studio. The room was secluded, plastered with posters and heart decals of all shapes and colors. Right beside the door was a framed picture of the volleyball team, with their silly faces frozen in motion. 

Shimizu Kiyoko walked out from behind the desk, nonchalantly acknowledging Oikawa with a nod. “Oikawa, what can I do for you?” 

“Hey,” he winked, unaffected by her lack of reaction, “Have any idea where I can find your host. I’d like her to do me a favor.”

“Advertising.” Kiyoko said bluntly. “I don’t think your booth needs any more attention. Our socials have covered it already.” 

“We always love the extra coverage.” 

“Doesn’t your friend help with all the designs? I think they’d be the perfect candidate to help with all this.”

“Y/N?” He asked, almost dumbfounded by how obvious that answer was. 

“Yes,” Kiyoko smiled. “They’re very nice. I’ve seen you talk a few times, though it honestly seems like they don’t like you very much.” 

“Not true.” He huffed. 

“Well it makes sense. Especially if the rumors are true.” 

People saw Kiyoko’s beauty and shyness and mistook her for a soft and innocent podcast manager. 

Anyone who’d dealt with her enough knew she was actually a force to be reckoned with. 

“The rumors are whatever you make of them. I’m simply an opportunist.” 

Kiyoko chuckled and for a moment, Oikawa felt accomplished. “You don’t need to tell me this. I already know.” 

He leaned against the door, and stretched out his arms in front of him before resting them at his sides again. “Would you at least consider telling the main host to help us out?” 

Kiyoko shuffled the papers in her hands, before meeting his eyes. “I won’t give any guarantees, but something tells me that if you do set up a de-stress carnival, your club will be the central focus of our broadcast.” 

“Thank you!” He beamed, feeling like a weight had been lifted off his chest. “I could kiss you for that.”

“No thank you,” Kiyoko declined, “I’m not interested in confirming the rumors.” 

As Oikawa left the studio, Kiyoko walked into the recording room, a tiny smile on her lips.

Your Canva page lay woefully blank before you.

You’d promised Kuroo a design if he gave you time and Kuroo, ever the considerate friend, actually stopped bothering you about the poster. He seemed to trust in Oikawa’s judgment, and it seemed that the rest of the volleyball club did too. 

As a token of thanks, you’d come to the library, your brain and Pinterest providing you at least a vague idea of what it was you wanted to do. However, when it came time to put pen to paper (or more fittingly, hand to mousepad), it seemed that your ideas had been wiped clean. 

Your disappointment felt like a leaky faucet. Despite the minuteness of the feeling, it seemed to pool the more you thought about the situation. While designing was never an obligation, you owed it to your friends. 

You sighed, placing your bag onto the hardwood library table and casting your eyes outside. A slowly setting sun was what greeted you, a medley of pinks and oranges appearing onto a slowly disappearing blue sky. 

How cliche. Considering one's disappointments next to a sunset. 

“Y/N?” A voice called, almost saccharine in the silence of your surroundings. 

And there he was. Draped in the setting sun like a painted figure, cloaked in a veil of sunlight that skimmed his skin like silk. Oikawa’s eyes were almost honey colored in that lighting, and beneath the darkened shelves, he was almost a mystical apparition. 

“Oikawa,” was all you said, cursing every possible force for him appearing now, looking like that, when you barely had anything to show for it. 

“Kuroo told me you’d offered to help us put together some signs for the de-stress carnival.” Oikawa walked over, stepping away from the sunlight and placing his bag down at your table, opting for a seat across from you. “Which, in case you were wondering, I got approval for. A lot of the other clubs are going to be there.” 

“That’s good.” You allowed yourself a glance at him. Your pettiness had all but dissipated, but you were still wary of looking at him for too long. He was like the sun, golden and lustrous and magnetic. You weren’t quite ready to be pulled into his orbit. 

“So,” Oikawa said, taking a glance at your computer screen, “Rough designing?” 

“Yeah. Inspiration has been hard to find and your club is counting on me.” 

“If it means anything to you, we wouldn’t have asked for you to do it if we didn’t believe in you.” You looked up to see Oikawa’s gaze set firmly on your own, as if tracking your expressions. Under his stare, you felt raw. Vulnerable. If you were a cake, and he was cutting you open. 

You weren’t sure what to say. 

A beat of silence permeated the space between you, and the two of you made no effort to stop it. It was somewhat comforting. Unsaid words of yours were understood by him.

“It feels like a lot of pressure,” you finally admitted, letting out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. “I want it to be worth your while.” 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Oikawa was closer. His breath was soft, fanning over the side of your cheek like a secret. 

“I’m not sure.” Your voice was nothing more than a whisper. 

Oikawa paused for a moment, as if contemplating something before decisively placing his hand on top of yours.

For a moment, you were startled by the warmth of his palm, grounding you in some way that didn’t quite make sense to you yet. Something about this was intimate in all the ways it shouldn’t be. Amidst a darkening sky and a slowly dimming library, you could almost consider this clandestine. 

You waited for the rustle of a book’s pages or the resounding footsteps of the librarian to break down the moment, but they never came.  

Oikawa looked at you, seemingly memorizing your features. He said nothing, but a slight smile appeared on his face the second he spotted a stray lock of hair by your ear. You could feel your face progressively heating with every moment spent in this proximity. 

Damn celebrity setters. Damn stupid stupid beautiful men who do this. Damn that Oikawa Tooru. 

Gently, as if touching something fragile, Oikawa smoothed down your hair, brushing the tip of your ear with his fingertips. He held your gaze fondly before suddenly, making an incredulous face. 

“What the-“ He said, looking at your hair again. “It’s back up again.” He looked at his hands in horror, as if their magic didn’t work. “Damn it, that’s not how that goes.” 

You couldn’t stop the laughter from erupting out of you at his antics, You swiftly flattened that pesky strand and looked back at him, feeling the amusement pool in your chest at his dismayed expression. 

“Sorry man,” you laughed, syllables coming out breathless, “Sometimes stuff doesn’t go to plan.” 

Oikawa seemed like he wanted to melt into the floor, and feeling the need for some fresh air, you dragged him out of the library. Upon leaving the double doors (and air conditioning), you were met by the lit sidewalk and found the wooden benches by the line of trees. 

You sat down, gesturing for him to join you. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen this one before,” Oikawa mentioned off-handedly, “I mean I’m here a lot, but I’m not sure when this was put here.” 

“It’s been here…?” 

Oikawa sighed, tilting his gaze to the now dark sky. “You do have an eye for good things.” 

You raised a brow. “What does that even mean?” 

“The stuff you make is adorable. And Kuroo’s always said that everywhere he brings us are all places you found.” 

“Really?” You leaned your upper body onto the bench. “I didn’t expect credit from him.” 

“He cares about you,” Oikawa said. “He gave a lot of shit when he realized that we’d talked on our plane and then not again. But I deserved that.” 

“I was petty. But it’s not like I can actually walk up to you.” 

“What?” Oikawa seemed puzzled, as if this was something impossible for him to fathom. “Why not? I don’t think I’m that bad.” 

“Iwaizumi says otherwise.” 

“Mean. But seriously, why?” 

You’d forgotten how refreshing Oikawa was. Even though you were sitting on a bench, you felt practically weightless. 

“Rumors,” was all you said, gesturing to him. 

Understanding seemed to flash into his eyes, and slowly, like connecting pieces of a puzzle, it all fell into place. He paused for a moment before meeting your eyes with a grin. 

“You know they’re just rumors right?” He smirked, “I went to a party a while back to kick off club season. There was this one girl who really wasn’t leaving me alone, so I ended up leaving. Turns out she’d told her friends that she and I made out at the party and gave me a whole lot more credit than I was expecting. Not that I mind making out, but I’m picky.” 

“Picky how?” You asked, words leaving your mouth before you even had the chance to think them over. 

“Picky as in there’s really only one person I’ve even wanted to kiss since I got here but haven’t got the chance to. I’m hoping they come to the booth. Just so I’ll get to know what that’s like.” 

You felt a subtle twist of something in your chest, though you weren’t sure what to make of it. Of course he had his eye on somebody. It was bound to happen eventually. 

“Why are you making a booth to do mass kissing then?” A valid follow up question. A guy like him could successfully pull whenever he wanted to. 

“Because I’m an opportunist,” he sighed, “And I’m not even sure if I can make a move properly. I don’t function like I normally do when they’re around.” 

“Of course you can. Anybody would say yes to you, Tooru.” 

With this, something in him seemed to snap and he immediately pulled you closer, your faces just an inch apart. His hands were firm around your waist, and the sensation was nearly searing. You could feel everything, from his hands to his breath to even the way his eyes seemed to scan your face. 

The way he looked at you now was like worship. 

“What are you doing?” You whispered shakily. With him all around you you could barely breathe, let alone think. 

“Making a move.” His eyes were on your lips. His hand gently left your waist to skim your arm before placing a hand on your cheek. “May I?” 

Your nod was nearly imperceptible before he captured your lips in yours. 

Soft, was your first thought as you felt his lips brush yours ever so lightly. You leaned into him, relishing the vaguely sweet taste of strawberry Chapstick on his lips as you swiped your tongue over his lips. 

Oikawa Tooru was a mystic. His fingers tangled in your hair and his lips searched for yours as if he was a lost man and you were his savior. He traced the curve of your waist and kissed you passionately, nibbling your lips when you pulled at his shirt. 

You could kiss him forever. You moved to nip at the tip of his ear, and his shaky breath had you considering if you should bite down harder. He pulled you back in and you melted into the feel of his lips and hands and the way his touch seemed to awaken something inside you. 

The way he held you was reverent. 

When you finally split for air, Oikawa held you close, his smile never wavering. He rubbed a thumb across your cheek, and placed a chaste kiss on your forehead. 

“That was magical,” you murmured into his shirt, and you couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit happy to hear the laugh you liked so much. 

You reckoned you’d be able to put together a solid design after tonight.

Oikawa had a skip in his step the following morning. He’d aced every assessment, finished all his homework, and made major breakthroughs at practice. His sets to Bokuto were so flawless that Bokuto could hardly believe he’d made those shots. 

Everyone on the volleyball team was certain that something had happened, but Oikawa refused to let up. 

He didn’t kiss and tell after all. 

“What is up with you?” Iwaizumi asked good-naturedly, tipping back a water bottle. “You’ve been in a surprisingly good mood all morning.” 

“It’s been a good day,” Oikawa smiled, offering no other details while picking up a few stray balls on the court. The gym floor seemed exceptionally shiny today. He’d be sure to thank whoever waxed the floor for their services when he could. 

“Something definitely happened.” Kuroo chimed in, scrutinizing Oikawa like he was something under a microscope. “The question is what.” 

“Am I not allowed to have good days?” 

“No you are,” Kuroo smirked, “But a day this good only happens after a sudden surge in popularity which —last time I checked— didn’t happen, or……did you make some breakthrough?” 

“With my sets, yes.” 

“No,” Kuroo smiled knowingly. “I’m gonna curse them out for not telling me anything.” 

Oikawa hid his surprise with a flash of indifference, though internally he cursed the middle blocker. It seemed that he was just as good at reading people as he was at read blocking. 

Iwaizumi caught on almost immediately, casting his eyes to his longtime friend, who all of a sudden, was acting like a deer in headlights. He found it odd that the nature of your relationship with Oikawa had transformed seemingly overnight. 

It seemed that you never truly harbored any resentment against him. 

Still, he resolved to approach you about it as soon as he could. 

The minute that you walked through the gym’s double doors, the entire team thought that they’d summoned you with all the prying they were doing. You hauled something large through the door and placed it against the wall, proud of yourself for the herculean effort it took to bring it through. 

The minute he registered your presence, Oikawa’s face looked like a puff of cotton candy. His cheeks were rosy with all the teasing and the memories of last night, and when he saw what it was that you’d leaned against the wall, he thought he should run over and kiss you out of pride. 

“Good morning guys,” you beamed, a smile so radiant that Oikawa had suddenly lost all the focus he’d had all morning. 

“Morning Y/N,” Iwaizumi greeted, walking over to greet you with a hug and a slight gesture to the object that was now leaning against the wall. “Is this it?” 

You nodded excitedly. “I got the inspiration to put it together last night. I think it captures the magic of the booth.” 

Iwaizumi leaned to flip over the posterboard and decided that he’d never seen anything more fitting in his entire life. 

The sign was a pastel wonder, a pale blue at the bottom and moving to a light pink at the top. Across the poster were small and light volleyballs, somewhat transparent against the background as if the pattern was a part of it. The borders of the poster were filled with various lip prints (and even funnier, some hidden Chapsticks).

The font at the center was a far cry from the scrawling archaic font that Kuroo had used on their initial flyers. It was a simple block font, a shade of pink with a glow filter and a pattern that made it look like a light-up sign on the part that really mattered.

The Volleyball Club presents, the poster read, written in a smaller font. Right below that, the light up letters spelled out The Mystic Kissbooth. Help kiss us to greatness. 

The team crowded around the board, marveling at both its quality and its thoughtfulness. 

“Y/N….” Bokuto trailed off, his eyes nearly bursting with amazement, “This is crazy!” 

“Yeah,” Semi added, “This is ridiculously good. Kuroo, where the hell have you been keeping them.” 

Kuroo simply crossed his arms and smiled with pride. He’d always believed in you. 

Oikawa stood shell-shocked at your work, feeling all the days of preparation finally coming together. He looked at you and smiled a smile so genuine, you were glad you’d finally pulled through. 

You looked to the floor bashfully for a moment before meeting the team’s eyes with renewed confidence. “Thank you. I’m glad to help.” 

Iwaizumi stood at your side, smiling fondly at you before turning his gaze to Oikawa. “Hey. Oikawa. What is the deal with the de-stress carnival? When is it, where is it, and where are we setting up?” 

Oikawa, still elated, looked around the gym at the team. “If you want details, I think we should call another meeting.” 

”That is a great idea,” you chimed in. 

“Wanna join?” Oikawa asked (hopefully). 

”I’m sorry, I don’t think I can. I’ve got a date with Kiyoko.” 

The team went silent. “You have a what?!”

The evening hues only made Kiyoko more beautiful. She was dressed casually, wearing classic blue jeans, a tank top, and a cardigan that only accentuated her figure. When she saw you approaching her, a smile appeared on her face instantaneously. 

“Y/N!” She greeted, “It’s good to see you.” 

You jogged up to her and pulled her into a friendly hug. “It’s good to see you too!”

You and Kiyoko fell into step naturally, opting to have dinner at one of your favorite places outside of campus. It was a quick walk from where you’d chosen to meet up, and in such good weather, it was a crime not to spend more time together. 

“I have a lot to tell you about,” Kiyoko began, “Starting with Oikawa Tooru. He showed up in my room and asked for the host. He’s got to know it’s me right?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I know you use a modulator to stay under wraps so people take the podcast seriously, but he’s had a very good track record for being perceptive.” 

“That’s a pain” she sighed, “I hope he’s not going to spread it around.” 

“He won’t,” you assured her, “Oikawa can understand rumors better than anyone.” 

Kiyoko smiled relievedly, though she raised a brow at the mention of rumors. “Are those true?” 

You fought the heat that seemed to emerge onto your face the minute she mentioned that. You just hoped it would go unnoticed by her. 

Her blue eyes, unfortunately, were just as perceptive as they were pretty. 

She smirked, crossing her arms and stopping on the sidewalk path. “When did that happen?” 

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s keep walking.” You wish your voice had come out more strongly than a murmur. 

“When?” 

“Last night.” Damn Kiyoko for getting answers out of you. 

“And…?” She raised her brows expectantly. 

“Rumors are baseless but I confirm them. He is magical.” 

“I ought to say something about that,” she giggled, and you wanted to bury yourself into your hands to avoid her teasing. 

“Shush.” 

The two of you had a lovely dinner and opted to grab a quick drink from the speciality beverage store next door. Kiyoko grabbed a strawberry milkshake and you opted for a tropical fruit floater that they’d just created. Thanks to Kiyoko, both drinks were on the house. 

She nursed the straw between her lips and took a drag of her milkshake before meeting your eyes. “I have some information on the de-stress carnival.” 

You urged her to continue, and Kiyoko did. 

“Looks like Oikawa and the other members of clubs decided to officially name it the Cool Down Carnival. They’re just going to refer to it as Cool Down for ease. They’re planning to organize it the Saturday after midterms and they’ve been working on concessions like cotton candy, caramel apples, popcorn, and a whole boatload of stuff. Administration is also totally fine with this.” 

“Wow,” was all you could say as a response. You were honestly impressed with Oikawa. He put so much thought and care into a silly rumor that had transformed into one of the school’s biggest upcoming events. He was an alchemist of opportunities, taking a rumor of lead and transforming it to gold. 

“Yeah,” Kiyoko nodded, “I’ll get social media to cover it for me. So far, nobody doubts that I’m the manager of the ‘Cast, so it should be fairly reasonable for me to do.” 

“Out of curiosity, do you know anything about how they’re planning to do the shifts of the booth?” 

“All I know for certain is that Oikawa said he probably wasn’t gonna do a headlining shift…or a shift at all. A lot of the other members were perfectly fine with taking this on, but there has been some backlash.” 

He was planning on not headlining the booth?

Your heart was suddenly very warm and fuzzy in your chest. 

Kiyoko knowingly smiled at you before tipping at the front register and dragging you outside. The breeze was oddly pleasant, something a bit uncommon for this time of year. It was approaching colder weather, but it felt nearly spring-like. 

“The weather isn’t making sense,” you said, enjoying the feeling of freedom that came with nighttime out. 

“It hasn’t been making sense,” Kiyoko smiled, “We’re anticipating a fresh fair.” 

Springs and falls blended together. You found a beautiful leaf on the sidewalk and pressed it to your palm, preserving the feel and look in your memory. 

“I’m looking forward to it,” you’d finally tell Kiyoko as you parted ways, meaning each and every word.

When Oikawa had showed up at your doorstep in the morning, your sleep-addled brain could barely fathom the reason as to why he would do such a thing. 

That was, until he walked into your room carrying breakfast in a brown bag. 

“Good morning Y/N.” He said, voice still slightly raspy from a good night of sleep. (You weren’t going to forget how that sounded forever). 

You greeted him with a morning greeting of your own and sat on your bed, stretching your limbs and analyzing the boy who—at this present moment—seemed like the happiest guy on earth. 

“Feel free to help yourself,” Oikawa grinned, grabbing a bagel and a pack of cream cheese from the bag. “I have some updates for you.” 

“Does it have to do with the Cool Down?” You walked over to the bag and grabbed something you liked from the inside. 

“Wow. How did you know about the name?” 

“I have my sources,” you winked. 

Oikawa simply laughed. “I know it’s Kiyoko dumbass. She’s one of the sneakiest podcast hosts of all time.” 

“So you do know.” 

“Obviously.” Oikawa lounged on the chair in your corner. “Nobody else is ever working in that office. She should get some people to join her.” 

You nodded and shifted to sit next to him on the couch. His warmth was a surprisingly pleasant addition into the morning, and you found yourself leaning into him. He didn’t make any move to stop it, opting to pull you in and place his arm over you. 

“We have classes soon,” you said groggily, “But I don’t want to move.” 

“We don’t have to right now.” 

“Thanks Tooru.” 

“Of course, Y/N.” He smiled. “Though we do have an afternoon meeting on how to divide the shifts. I’m not sure what we’re going to be doing about me.” 

You suddenly felt a lot more awake. You shifted your weight onto your unsupported arm and looked up at Oikawa. “Are you planning to take a shift?” 

Oikawa shifted nervously in his seat. “I’m not sure. I may have to for the sake of demand. Everyone is expecting me to live up to the expectation. I think we would be less successful without my involvement.” 

You felt a twist of something. Not jealously, but not comfort either. Something between the two. You rose away from Oikawa, walking over to the opposite side of the room where your bed was and met his eyes. 

“Do you really have to?” you asked, feeling partially unfair. There was nothing official between the two of you at the moment, but you’d thought after the kiss two nights ago…..you thought you had a chance. 

“I might,” he gulped, “But you know you’re the only one I’ve ever wanted to kiss.” 

You sighed exasperatedly. “I know that you came up with this as a business opportunity and because you thought we’d never…get anywhere, but a long shift is going to be a lot of people.” 

“I know,” he sighed, meeting your eyes with an expression in his own that looked a lot like sadness. “But the fundraiser might just have to come first for now— no that’s not what I—“ 

“Please leave,” you said, voice wavering a bit, “I don’t want to deal with the whole priorities thing right now. We can say we kissed once for fun. Headline it if you must. Later Oikawa.” 

You turned away from him and walked towards your closet to find appropriate clothes for the day. You couldn’t even stand to look at him right now. Things would become too complicated for you to handle. 

“Y/N, I’m really sorry.” Oikawa said from behind you, “That is genuinely not what I meant.” 

You turned to face him again, not even able to meet his eyes. “There’s got to be some semblance of truth in what you said earlier. You love your team Oikawa. They are important. I don’t expect you to throw away opportunities for me. We’re not even dating.” You laughed dryly. “I’d like a bit of space. We can talk a bit later.” 

Oikawa seemed like he had a lot more to say, but he wordlessly slipped out of the door, leaving your room noticeably empty. 

Once he’d left for certain, you collapsed onto the floor and let loose the dam of tears you’d held in for so long.

When Iwaizumi found you in the library, he knew immediately that something was wrong. Your eyes were reddened ever so slightly, covered over by a splash of cold water to the face (most likely), and your usual cheerfulness when you greeted him was a lot less lively. 

He took the seat beside you, surprised by your lack of response. 

”Hajime,” you said softly, turning over to smile sadly at him, “Good to see you here.” 

Correction: something was horrifically wrong. 

“What happened?” He asked softly, wondering what was enough to dampen your normally resilient spirit.  

“Fucking Oikawa,” you laughed sarcastically, “Look at me saying I’d never get caught up in his web, and then doing exactly that.” 

Iwaizumi wrinkled his brow. That day on the bench, he’d known enough to discern that you and Oikawa had some sort of history. That much continued to be made obvious by Oikawa’s constant urge to see you and include you in everything that he and Kuroo didn’t think was important enough to invite you to. 

However, he wasn’t sure when you and Oikawa became more than a past set of acquaintances….and that stung a little. He understood your reasoning though. Especially if it was as complicated as you seemed to feel at the moment. 

“Were you guys dating?”

“No.” You turned to face him in full, and he was struck by the magnitude of just how magnetic you were. Iwaizumi was guilty of being stuck in your orbit. “Just a kiss. Because he sweet talked me into thinking he wanted something.”

“Knowing him, he probably did.” Iwaizumi said, “Oikawa has a tendency to be obsessive to get what he wants, but also be blinded by obligations. This was definitely about him headlining the booth, right?” 

You nodded, feeling a sudden tightness in your throat at the thought. You weren’t ready to confront the morning’s events quite yet. 

“That dumbass,” Iwaizumi groaned, “If he’d told us that he liked you and had actually managed to make a move we would’ve gladly taken his shift! Who gives a fuck about what the college body wants? Half of them thirst over everyone!” You laughed a bit at the truth of that statement. “Yeah, and Kiyoko told me she was also planning on making a little appearance.” 

At this Iwaizumi raised his brow. “Oh that’s about to be carnage.” 

“Absolutely,” you giggled, “Who knows? Maybe you’ll be the lucky person.” Iwaizumi laughed, a sound that was low and sweet and comforting. “I think I’ll leave it to some of the other boys. They deserve a chance after all.” 

The two of you grinned at the mental imagery of the team fighting for a chance to interact with your beautiful friend, and suddenly, Oikawa’s shittiness seemed like something far less relevant. 

Still, even with the humor of the situation came the very uncomfortable realization that you and Oikawa–-whatever you were–-were done if you didn’t come to some consensus. 

You shoved your hands into your face, wondering how the hell you’d managed to go from avoidant and unattached to too attached. Maybe the rumors had some merit. A kiss from Oikawa was all that it took to get so jumbled. 

Iwaizumi’s warm palm on your back was what brought you back to your senses. He rubbed his slow circles and sat there patiently until you emerged from your cover of shame. 

“What am I going to do?” you asked, voice raw and vulnerable and everything you’d rather it not have been. 

“Whatever you want to do.” Iwaizumi’s gaze was genuine, soft eyes studying you. “You’re entitled to your own decisions. Kuroo and I would never ditch you for Shitty you know.” 

“It’s for the team,” you whispered, feeling tears threatening to spill over your cheeks. Your vision was hazy, and you blinked slowly to clear the water from your eyes. “So then why do I feel like this?” 

“Because you care about him, Y/N.” Iwaizumi squeezed your shoulder affectionately, “You and him clearly bonded on some intergalactic level, so having that be suddenly shattered in favor of something seemingly less important is going to feel like shit. In fact, he is the real piece of crap here.” “The team matters.” “The team is all about relationships.” Iwaizumi said firmly. “I have a hunch there’s someone in this tournament that he needs to beat. That’s why he’s been obsessively orchestrating the perfect way to raise money to have a practice match beforehand. Still, I won’t deny it. Oikawa is an idiot for doing this to you. You have all the rights to move on with your life.” 

“I think I’m gonna take my space from him for a few days,” you eventually responded. “I think I’ll also not visit the booth. I’ll give Kuroo the sign in advance so he can help with setting up?” 

Iwaizumi nodded solemnly. “If that’s what you need to do, I’ll be your number one supporter. I’d still love it if you could stop by though. We love having you around.” 

You nodded at him. “I’ll be there for you and Kuroo. Always. And you guys can hang out with me at the Cool Down when you’re off shift.” 

“Of course,” Iwaizumi smiled, “For you? Anything.”

“How do you say, ‘I’m angry’ in French?” The ping of the recording microphone tapped on as Oikawa paced quickly around his room. 

“Je suis fâché.” 

“How do you say, ‘I like to go out with my friends’ in French?” “J’aime sortir avec mes amis.” 

“How do you say, ‘I went to my friend’s house’ in French?” 

“Je ne veux pas continuer.” 

“Oui Monsieur. À Bientôt!” His phone’s recording feature switched off, leaving him in a silent room once again. 

He was regretful, so much so that he paced around in his room in the hopes that it would give him some sort of clarity. As much as he wanted to approach you, he knew you weren’t ready to talk to him right now. 

“Shittykawa,” he heard from his door, opening with a subtlety and closing with a bang. Classic Iwa move. 

He turned to face his best friend, who at this moment, seemed to be quite irritated with him. He could feel the lecture as certain as one could feel a thunderstorm in the air. 

Iwaizumi stood, arms crossed in Oikawa’s room, leaning against the wall and pinning him with a look so strong it might as well have been a thumbtack. Oikawa felt rooted in place, and all the words he initially planned on saying left his mouth. 

“So Ushijima Wakatoshi happens to be at a school just a bit over,” Iwa started, “I did my research. Why not play a practice match with them to start to see their setting style? Break down their setter, practice receiving from a left-handed person, and maybe we can beat him, right?” 

Oikawa sighed, feeling all the fight leave his body. He made his way over to his pale blue rug and sat down. “I know. It’s ridiculous.” 

“What’s ridiculous is what you did to Y/N.” Iwaizumi glared at him. “If you’d said something about liking them and actually successfully getting them to like you, then we would’ve been perfectly capable of handling the shifts. Hell, even Kiyoko is coming. That alone will give people incentive to come and kiss us.” 

“I made a mistake,” Oikawa cringed. He didn’t even want to think about the morning. What was intended to be a romantic gesture ended up being a horrible memory. His attempts to distract himself were futile, and he couldn’t help but wonder how Iwaizumi had found you. “But they probably don’t want to talk to me.” 

Iwaizumi looked at Oikawa sadly. “They’re planning on skipping the booth. They’ve already decided to give their poster to Kuroo so he can help us with set-up. So don’t plan on seeing them.” 

He grimaced. “Not coming? Really?” 

Iwaizumi nodded. “I was pretty unhappy about it, but we’ve got to give them space to process everything.” The minute you’d smiled at him in the airport, talking about “college stampedes,” Oikawa knew he wanted nothing more but to know you better. He’d thanked every lucky star for the seats you had next to each other and relished every moment spent with you. 

He wondered why you avoided him for the next months, always daydreaming about what he’d say to you when you finally reappeared at practices. He’d searched for you in your classes, but he always missed you. 

When you walked into the gym on that fateful day, he thought he had a genuine chance. You were perfect. Your thoughts were exquisite, your smile radiant, and everything about you felt right. When he kissed you, he could’ve screamed to the heavens that his heart was yours. 

Perhaps that was why his heart seemed to tear a bit at Iwaizumi’s declaration. You wanted to move on from this. 

“Oikawa…you can still fix this you know?” Iwaizumi pulled him up from the rug, noting the reignited spark in his eyes. “You should probably get the fair set up, find Y/N, and explain yourself. I’m certain they’ll understand.” 

“It’s the least I can do,” he said solemnly, “And if they still decide they want nothing to do with me, at least I did my part.”

You found him at Kuroo’s place at night when you’d stepped through his door uninvited (like you did at times). In your hands was your laptop, a few pencils, and the sign you’d made for the booth. The last thing you’d expected was to see the person you’d been trying so desperately to avoid. 

Oikawa, for a moment, looked like he’d seen a ghost. He looked at the door, brown eyes concerned and scanning you as if you’d just walked in through the wall. 

Nobody said anything. You stood still, too shell-shocked to process the fact that a night before the Cool Down, Oikawa was spending time with Kuroo. In fact, you could barely believe Kuroo had ever allowed Oikawa into his place in the first place, especially when he knew that you were planning on popping in at some point. 

Kuroo’s eyes followed your gaze, finding it landing right on the floor next to Oikawa (as opposed to straight at him). 

“Well,” Kuroo began softly, “I didn’t warn either of you.” 

“You could have,” you said, looking back at Kuroo, “I would’ve liked to know before I got here.” “But then you would have never showed up.” Oikawa’s voice was clear, slicing through the silence of the room with a blade of decisiveness that you hadn’t heard from him. He looked you over, seemingly analyzing your health since the day he’d fucked up. 

“I wasn’t planning on running into you,” you admitted, finding the courage to meet his eyes. “In fact, I was literally just coming to drop off the sign for your booth, talk to my best friend, and then go to bed.” 

“Please let me explain myself.” Everything about Oikawa seemed pleading. His face harbored an expression of guilt so boundless that you weren’t sure how to react. 

You wordlessly sat down in the corner chair closest to Kuroo’s door, setting your stuff down on the surface closest to it. 

“I’m sure Iwaizumi must have told you what it was that we were raising money for.” 

You nodded.

“I never had the chance to tell you more about what I struggled with in high school," Oikawa said quietly. “I was surrounded by talented players. Some of them are so talented that I thought I never even stood a chance.  I realized at the end of my matches that I deserved to be on the court just as much as anyone else.” 

“You’re a damn good setter Oikawa,” Kuroo interjected, “And even Semi admires your sets. He’s from the same school as Ushijima too.”

“Thank you,” Oikawa laughed softly, but even the sound was sad. He turned to meet your eyes. “I was out of line trying to say the volleyball club mattered more to me than what we were getting to be. I was worried they’d be weird at me for flaking, but they’re my team. Iwa told me they’d always have my back. Happy setter happy tosses right?” 

You took a moment to process everything that he was saying, ultimately coming to one conclusion. He really did feel bad. 

“Why are you so obsessed with having a chance to beat someone you had a rivalry with in highschool?” 

Oikawa paused, contemplating your question. His brow was furrowed, and his hands clutched anxiously around nothing, seemingly finding the best words to phrase—whatever it was—that he was feeling. 

“It was to give myself the confidence to know I can still beat tough opponents,” he said quietly. “But it was never worth losing you.” 

You gently moved onto the floor, kneeling your way over to where Oikawa sat. When your fingertips skimmed his cheek, cool from the fall time air, he seemed fragile. 

You gently curved your fingers to tuck a lock of his hair behind his ear. “Are you sure you mean it?” 

“Every last word.” Oikawa whispers, and maybe against your better instincts, you pull him into an embrace.

As far as Oikawa was concerned, you weren’t coming to the booth today. 

Cool Down’s set up began bright and early, and despite last night’s emotional clarity, Kuroo was still the one who showed up with the sign. 

The booth was placed in a central location, but deep enough into the carnival so that after a sweet kiss, everyone could go and support the other clubs. He hadn’t been able to spot Kiyoko quite yet, but he was certain they were bound to cross paths eventually. 

He walked across the grassy area where the carnival was being set up, watching the glorious “Cool Down” sign being placed at the front of the admit area. Many sports teams and board members of academic clubs were helping organize their own booths. 

“Hey Oikawa! I can put up the banner!” Bokuto shouted from across the field, jogging up to their area with a rolled up “Mystic Kissbooth” backdrop. 

“Be careful!” He yelled back, “We can’t have one of our best spikers getting hurt. I need those cross court and straight shots in perfect condition!” 

Bokuto grinned so widely that Oikawa couldn’t help but grin back. “You can count on me!” 

He took a moment to slouch against the now filled bouncy castle by their stand, clutching his clipboard to his chest. He could practically sense the excitement seeping into the space as the nearby club members set up their stands. 

He’d had the opportunity to survey the space beforehand, and was quite pleased with the nearby stations. 

The art club created a paint gun bullseye game to win handmade trinkets and jewelry. The president stood proudly at the set up side, excitedly loading up paint into the guns. He could already predict the boyfriends who’d attempt to win there.

To the other side of them was the statistics club’s probability stand. They’d set up numerous games: cards, a wheel, and even ring toss for the chance to win huge prizes. At the present moment, Kuroo was inquiring about the legitimacy of the airpods in one of the member’s hands (and yes—they were legit). 

“This is pretty amazing, huh?” 

Oikawa snapped out of his reverie, only to see Mattsun sporting his classic smirk. He looked around for Makki, but didn’t find him. 

“Yeah,” he admitted, “I’m honestly surprised our little flier accomplished this much.” 

“I’m not,” Mattsun chuckled, “You’ve been like this since high school Oikawa. Everyone here is really grateful for the rumors. Speaking of which…think the culprit is going to show up today?” 

Oikawa snorted, momentarily horrified at the sound 

that escaped him. “That’s ridiculous. I’m not planning on being a headliner. Iwa’s got that covered.” 

Makki walked into view just a few moments later, looking thoroughly confused. “Where’s the rest of the team?” 

Kuroo walked over at the exact moment, clapping Makki on the back. “We decided to give them a little break, considering they’re going to be doing all the kissing later.” 

The group gathered together, and Mattsun pointed to the castle. “Who’s running this thing?” 

“Oh it’s just a free fun thing the school is putting up.” Oikawa smacked it for good measure. 

“How did midterms even go for you guys?” Kuroo laughed, “I pulled what I wanted in all my classes. Somehow. Orgo was a fucking miracle though. I genuinely thought I failed.”

“I was mostly fine,” Mattsun chuckled, “Though we won’t talk about history. Freaking liberal arts.” 

Oikawa’s midterms had gone more or less to plan, but the added emotional stress had made it much more difficult to keep cool. 

Standing there in that grassy field, he felt more at peace than he did the rest of the week. 

Maybe today would be okay after all.

You and Iwaizumi were in your room trying to devise a plan on how to attend the carnival. The cool wood of your desk hit your wrist as you spread out the makeshift blueprint of the event that Kiyoko had so graciously given you. 

Iwaizumi paced along the floor, inspecting outfits that you picked out while you devised a mental list of everywhere you wanted to go to maximize your enjoyment. Economic principles were literally designed off of utility, and you wanted to make sure all your contributions would have the best outcome for the clubs and yourself. 

Midterms had been stressful, and while last night’s talk had fixed most of what had contributed to that stress, you still wondered about Oikawa.  

Iwaizumi was the event’s new headliner, so what did that mean for Oikawa? 

You weren’t sure. 

The Saturday morning filled your room with sunshine that was comforting. From your window you were greeted with the multicolored leaves of campus, some floating down leisurely to hit the grass. 

Iwaizumi, it seemed, had finally picked your outfit. 

“Here,” he gestured, pointing to one of your favorites. “You rock this one.” 

“Why thank you,” you smiled, tossing him the blueprint. “I’ve finally figured out the order I’m going to tour the Cool Down.”

Iwaizumi caught the paper in one arm, muscles flexing ever so slightly as he did. You nodded appreciatively. He was going to generate a shit ton of money. 

He put a pen between his lips ever so slightly as he read the marks on the page. “Cotton candy. Art booth. Bouncy castle. Stats games. Chemistry lab. Apple dunk to win candy apples. Physics coaster.” He handed the page back. “That’s a pretty solid list. I think you’re missing something though.”

You pulled the pen out of Iwa’s mouth (surprised at your boldness) and smiled gently at him. “I’ll be sure to pop in at some point or be nearby to support you.” 

Iwaizumi nodded, “Of course. I just need to beat you at any and all games we visit after my shift.” 

You snickered. “Not a chance.” 

Iwaizumi simply smirked in response.

“Hey, I need two tickets!” A student hollered to her assistant, who at the present moment, was working on acquiring more admit tickets from the roll they’d customized for the event. “We have quite the line here.” 

“I’m working on it!” The assistant hollered back, jogging over with the entire row. 

The line for the Cool Down was large, and you were thankful you’d had the foresight to arrive early enough to avoid a majority of the crowd. Being friends with Iwa had its perks too–the minute that the admitting team had spotted him, they’d immediately ushered you to the front so you were in a position to visit him later. 

Soon enough, you were at the front of the line. 

“Well hello there friend of Iwaizumi,” the girl at the front smiled, “How many tickets do you need?” “Just one,” you said, surprised at the lack of prompt to pay the entrance fee. “What about the entrance fee?” 

“Oh, Iwaizumi took care of that already,” the assistant grinned, handing you a beautifully designed cardstock ticket and tying a wristband around your wrist. “So you can walk straight in.” 

You smiled graciously at the duo. “Wow. I’ll go find him and pay him back. Thank you guys.”

Stepping around the ticket distribution center, you walked straight through the decorated entrance area and walked in. 

For a moment, you were awestruck. The usually empty grass fields were filled to the brim with activity. All around you were the booths of various clubs, all with lines to try them out. You could smell the sweet and tart scent of caramel apples in the distance, and saw a couple trying out the physics club’s make-shift coaster with a cotton candy in their hands. 

The late afternoon was brisk and fresh, and you felt the possibilities of the evening unfurl around you. As the sky darkened its hues, the fair would begin to light up from the fixtures that trimmed everyone’s areas. Everything, from the food areas, to even the Mystic Kissbooth would create a movie-like scene. 

You decided right there and then that the Cool Down was the best fair you’d ever attended. You’d never seen anything as well thought out as what you saw today. 

You made your way to the popcorn area, finding new booths that you hadn’t seen on the blueprint. In front of you was a simple dart-throw, with the guarantee of winning a special edition Cool Down shirt if you hit within a certain range. 

This was intriguing. 

“Hi there,” you said quietly, walking up to the booth. “Can I give this a whirl?” The booth’s president looked up at you shocked for a moment before nodding. 

“Of course!” He said excitedly, elbowing his shift mate. “Y/L/N Y/N, right? We are huge fans of your work. Kuroo has told us so so much about you!” 

“My work?” You asked curiously as they pressed a dart into your palm. “Like my fliers?” “Hell yeah,” the president grinned. “Pay if you win okay? I honestly want you to get our design out of it. We were inspired a bit by your Mystic Kissbooth sign.” 

In the spirit of good fun, you aimed the dart as best as you could, so surprised when you hit a spot very close to the bulls-eye. 

“Hey!” you shouted excitedly, “I actually got in range!” The president smiled excitedly. “Amazing! What’s your shirt size?” You told him your size, tucking a good amount of money into the jar. As soon as the soft shirt fabric hit your hands, you were immediately overcome with a sense of pride. The design was beautiful and simple, capturing the essence in the fair in just an image.

“You’re the design club?” You grinned, “This is amazing!” “Ah thank you,” the president said bashfully, “It’s an honor to get a compliment from you. You’re more than welcome to join us. Canva art is still art we love.” 

“I’ll be sure to consider it!” You waved goodbye to the design booth as you made your way deeper into the fair, a t-shirt in hand. 

“Hey there! Want a chance to win a cool plushie? Come right over!” You turned your head to be met with the sewing club with something that looked a lot like “Bop-It” set up with sheets of papers next to them. Out of sheer curiosity you made your way to the booth, finding a larger crowd than you anticipated. “Okay,” one of the members began, “Here is how this works. You and your competitor will receive a pre-programmed Bop-It machine. Follow the color scheme as closely as you can and note the last color in each sequence on your sheet. If you don’t mess up before your partner, you win ANY handmade plush of your choice!” In front of you, you spotted a couple tucking money into the jar and competing against one another. The round was quick, ending when someone clicked the wrong color. The handmade plushie of the winner was adorable. 

Somehow, all your observations had led you to the front of the line. 

“Hello,” a student smiled, “Do you have a competitor with you?” You were about to share a response when you heard a voice behind you. “Yeah, they do. I’d like to play please.” You were pleasantly surprised to find Kiyoko grinning as she tucked a hefty amount into the jar. The student at the front seemed enamored, and so did the entire line. 

“Shimizu Kiyoko is here…” they all whispered. 

“Hey Kiyoko,” you smiled, placing your own money in the jar. “Planning to beat me?” 

“Of course.” She grinned mischievously, “I ran a volleyball team. I am competitive enough to beat you.” 

The game began as soon as the students got a grip of themselves. You frantically hit the colors and noted them down, only to tie with Kiyoko. You’d both walked away with adorable plushies, though Kiyoko had forcibly had to ensure that they didn’t hand her an extra. 

“I’m glad to run into you,” you smiled, walking with her further into the grass. “I had no idea what time you were planning to get here.” 

“I’m glad I found you.” Her smile was infectious, and soon enough, you stood in front of a candy apple stand. 

“Are you planning to visit the booth?” You asked her, watching her pay for her apple. 

“Yeah,” she smiled, “Oikawa begged me to cover, so I was feeling nice. Though he’s been sulking lately.” You raised a brow. When you saw him last night, you could feel his fatigue. You felt the stress melt out of him when you pulled him in for a hug, but you hadn’t realized the extent of his distress. 

“He hasn’t kissed today at all,” she smiled knowingly, “I think he’s saving an appearance for a special someone.” “He’s….not headlining?” You were shocked. After everything, it seemed that he really meant what he said. 

“Nope,” Kiyoko wiped some caramel from her lips. “And the booth’s sales have been spectacular.” 

Standing there in the field, you were hit with the intense urge to see him. “Go,” Kiyoko smiled, “They’ve been waiting for you to show up.” “We’ll catch up.” You smiled as you took off in a jog towards the booth. The wind swept your cheeks as you ran, and you could see the evening sun dip into different colors. Beautiful, you thought, feeling the adrenaline pump through your veins. 

He really had meant everything. You needed to see him. 

When you arrived at the booth, you were shocked at the line. So many students lined up, money in hand as they waited for their chance to kiss a volleyball player. You were shocked to see the crowd, watching someone hand Semi a particularly large bill before leaning in for a kiss. 

You surveyed the booth for Oikawa, but you couldn’t find him anywhere. You couldn’t stop the thrum of your heart in your chest from overpowering your senses. Where was he? What if you were too late? At that particular moment, Oikawa walked out from behind the stand, putting some Chapstick onto his lips. And then, he saw you. 

You stood in line, a large bill in hand and an expression that seemed almost desperate. Oikawa has never seen anyone look more perfect than you did right now. You held a handmade plushie and a shirt, lips flushed from biting them. 

You met his eyes, feeling your heart shock at the sensation. There he was. 

Before you even had a chance to think about what you were doing, you ran out of line to him, shoving the bill into his hands. 

“Tooru,” you said breathlessly, looking at him with an expression he’d never seen before. “Kiyoko told me you weren’t headlining. I was afraid I wasn’t going to find you. I’m sorry for not trusting you.” Oikawa could hardly hide his shock as the words tumbled from your lips. He studied your cheeks, and smoothed out your wind mused hair with a soft smile. “Hey, it’s alright.” You exhaled, looking at him like he strung the stars. “I thought I wouldn’t make it in time.” Oikawa simply grinned before pulling you in for a passionate kiss. 

This was different from the last time you kissed. He cupped your face softly and wrapped his other arm around your waist, tracing a small heart into your back. You could feel the curve of his lips as he kissed you softly, pulling you deeper when you smiled back into it. Everything about this was soft, almost loving. It felt like a truce. It felt like a confession. 

It felt better than both of those things. When you finally split for air, his smile was nearly blinding. He looked at you like you were a poet and he was your poetry, a product of your purest affections. 

“Go out with me sometime?” He looked nervous, standing there like he hadn’t just kissed you like you were the most special person in the universe. 

“Of course,” you grinned, pulling him down for another kiss.

©mysterystarz all rights reserved, please do not plagiarize, translate, or modify my fics in any way even if credited

if you got this far, thank you for reading <3!!

[comfortless]

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

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

Keep doing what you do❤️

A Place For Us

Frankenstein’s creature! König x fem! horologist reader

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

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

wc: 10.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The wind is not what you had anticipated.

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

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

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

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

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

Lamplight would have done well, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

They never smile for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, you extend your umbrella outward, toward him.

“Awful rain, hm?,” you chime.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t want to catch a fever.”

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

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

Surely it was best not to let it distract you.

This was good enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That isn’t imagination.

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

“This isn’t my watch, dear.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, you enter.

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

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

You leave the window open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Es tut mir leid.”

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

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

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

“No, it’s fine, it made me happy.”

“Happy?”

“Yes, it was sweet.”

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

“You have the hands of a maker.”

Strange, sweet Goliath.

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

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

“You have kind eyes.”

“I am not kind.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“See..?”

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

“You are soft like…”

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

“… like one of the flowers.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you stay?”

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

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

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

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

“I should get home, before the rain.”

“Verstanden.”

“You can come too.”

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

———

König, you think to call him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Natürlich.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I would go anywhere with you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Beloved,” is all that he says.

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You only take his hand.

“Let’s go home.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your turn, hm?”

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

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

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

“And you’re still mine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” he states simply, shrugging.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

“I vow to take you as my wife.”

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

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

“I love you, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

[knight-of-flowerss]

I Will Wait.

Part one.

|__> part two will have smut I think :p also if u wanna be added to the house of the dragon tag list pls comment on here and I’ll add u!!

Benjicot ‘Davos’ Blackwood x Bracken!Reader.

Fluff + a bit of angst

Song inspo: I will wait by Mumford & Sons

Masterlist

Being a Bracken was hard. Well, being a Bracken girl was hard. Your brother, Aeron, was a pompous arsehole. Always acting like he was this big, tough knight, when in reality, he was a little boy who was playing as a pretend knight.

Your uncle, Humfrey, also known as Lord Bracken, was also a pompous arsehole, but he knew how to toy with people. He wasn’t a pretender, he would make promises and keep them. Like the promise that he would get one of his guards to whoop you as a child if you didn’t stop misbehaving, and as all children are, you continued misbehaving, and as you can expect, your uncle stuck to his words, even had the nerve to laugh at you when you tried to sit down on your sore bottom the next morning.

There are many things wrong with House Bracken. But the worst and most annoying of all was the ongoing rivalry between House Bracken and House Blackwood.

Apparently, to the Blackwood’s, years and years ago, the Bracken’s poisoned their dear Weirwood tree. It could be the truth or it could be another of the miscellaneous lies that both houses seemed to spew about each other to back up their rivalry. But in reality, I don’t think either side really knows why they hate eachother.

But what you did know is that you love a Blackwood.

And that was wrong.

Benjicot Blackwood was a sweet boy. Shy and caring. He was everything you wanted in a man. And he didn’t care that you were a Bracken.

Even when you were little, Benji always intrigued you. He was an honourable boy, an honourable man. He would never include a girl in a family feud that all stemmed from jealous men.

“Benji.. the war is coming, isn’t it?..” You whispered to him. You were both deep in the forest, Benji sitting up against a large tree, and you lying in his lap, your head resting on his chest as you get your large dress comfortable on the ground. Playing with his shirt, you look up at him, seeing him staring infront.

“Yes my love. I’m sorry but I must fight, it’s what I was born for. If I cannot protect my Queen then what type of Lord am I?” Benji breathed out. You sit up slightly, placing your left hand on his leg and your right on your chest, your faces inches apart.

“And what about me Benji? If you cannot come back alive then where does that leave me? Married off like a brood mare to the highest bidder? Dead at the hands of the other Blackwood’s? And what if Aegon wins? You could get executed for going against the crown-“

“And you can’t? Rhaenyra will win. And when she does she just might have mercy on the disloyal houses like House Bracken. Or she might kill you. But I know my Queen. The backers of the usurper cunt call her King Maegor with teats. She mourns her children! Her legacy! But even after all that she would spare the lives of those serving the pretender, because she is a good Queen.”

Tears brim your eyes as you stare at him. Wishing this could all be different. “Benji.. I don’t care who wins and who loses, I just want you. I want us to marry and grow old and have children, I want to not be afraid to love you Benji..”

Leaning your head against his, you squeeze your eyes closed and pressed your lips together tightly, trying not to spill tears or a pathetic whimper.

“I’m sorry my love. I promise you I’ll be back. And when I do, I promise I’ll marry you under the Weirwood tree, under the Old Gods and the New. I’ll love you unconditionally, no matter what any Bracken or Blackwood say. You are mine and I am yours. The day we get back, I either ask for your hand or take you as mine if anyone objects.”

You open your eyes and look at him, lips parting slightly. “Really?..” He adorns his sweet little smile finally and let’s out a small, breathy laugh. “Of course my love, you mean the world to me and I’d rather die than let you be used as a political piece for those piece of shit Brackens. Always have been a piece of shit, do you know what your uncle did to my father when they were-“

You grabbed his face, slamming your lips onto his, it was probably the last time that you could and you were going to make the most of it.

It had been two years. Two full Fucking years. It was over, finally. The usurper, Aegon, had been defeated.

From the start of the war ‘til now, you had matured a lot. All Noble women and children of the Riverland houses had lived in Riverrun since the war started, protecting the houses heirs and family.

Two years ago you were naïve, wide-eyed, and dependent on your surroundings to comfort you. Innocence was your very essence.

Now, post-war, you had come to terms with the world, it couldn’t change, people will continue to kill each other for power. But also, you were ‘ready for children’ according to Lady Tully. She claims your hips have widened and your breasts have grown. She is determined to find you a living husband to carry on your Bracken line but in reality, you wanted to taint that line, with Blackwood blood.

Soldiers were returning home.

Finally, your family was returning home.

Thousands of men from each houses spewing through each and every crevice, determined to get home.

Tully men made their way towards the Riverrun to celebrate their victory with their wives and children, with those who fought bravely along side with each other.

Darkmont men marched their way home, proud banner men who were eager to pray to the Seven, giving thanks for the victory that the Warrior gifted them, grateful that the Warrior answered their prayers of protection, valour and skill in battle.

The Piper men stalked towards the Pinkmaiden Castle near the Golden Tooth and the border with the Westerlands. Their loyalty towards the Tully’s unwavering in and out of battle. They make their way home while their faces reflect their words, ‘Brave and Beautiful’.

Other houses marched home, House Endymion, House Deddings, House Teague and others. They were all either matching home or to Riverrun to celebrate. You would try and pay more attention, but you’re too busy to acknowledge each and every men as you’re looking out for your man.

Your silly, crazed, depraved man that, hopefully, still has that shy, tender-hearted, gentle and loving boy inside.

You were just about to turn away, to pack up and return home to see what was left of your family, when you see it.

Three sets of flags, each having a trail of burned, bloodied and beaten soldiers following.

In the middle there rode a man holding the Clement House coat of arms on a large banner, a white flag with for blue, jagged line going down vertically.

They were loyal men of the Tully’s, Defenders of the Riverlands but there is only so much those soldiers can do before they stick their swords through their chest due to the constant bickering of the houses on either side of them.

On the left of House Clement, there was your family. House Bracken. Holding their golden banner with the Carmine coloured Stallion plastered in the middle up high as if they weren’t serving the pretender, the usurper, the loser. They had been defeated, yes. But their life long rivalry with the house over the field seemed to make them forget that.

You finally spotted your brother, Aeron. He looked utterly defeated. But that was in his eyes, his body and mouth concealed his battered condition with a confident facade.

Even from so far away you could tell they were bickering. They always were.

Finally your gaze drifts towards the right of House Clement, to your enemies.

A large, grey Stallion, big hooves, a dark matted mane with bit splotches of white and grey littering it the further you get towards its back legs moved in sync with the others at the front of the House Blackwood line. It was the most beautiful horse you had ever seen, trotting at a slow pace and showing off its regal strut. For being such a big and burley horse, it was quite elegant.

But, as beautiful as the horse was, a god sat atop it. The Maiden herself reincarnated as a Blackwood boy, Man.

Benjicot Blackwood had returned, more a man than those marching. He held his family’s banner up high, displaying their victory.

You smiled and stepped away from the window, running through the halls of the Riverrun. You stood at the front of the gates, greeting men as they trotted in.

All the other houses entered or passed and then finally House Clement entered, the banner men leading the Fyrd.

Next came your house, House Bracken. Your cousins and siblings came boasting in. Upon an auburn horse, your brother chucked the banner to the on foot soldiers and got off his horse.

“Sister!” Aeron shouted as he rushed towards you, “The fucking bitch Queen won, the little fuckers burnt half our house, I’ll fucking kill them.”

“Maybe it is for the best Aeron, we should at least be grateful she hasn’t burnt us to a crisp. And.. I’m glad to have you back brother.” You smiled and pressed a palm to his cheek. He sighs and wraps his arms around you tightly, “I’ve missed you sister, truly. It was horrifying out there, you ever seen a dragon rip a man to shreds? Well, hopefully not. Has everything been alright while we’ve been gone?”

“Of course it has brother, I’m a Bracken after all. A Bracken woman. I know how to handle myself. Now, go inside and show everyone how a Bracken stands tall, even after a loss.”

He smiled at me, tightly nodding. He let of me and started walking inside, catching up with our cousins on the steps.

Finally, finally the Blackwoods came marching. But that large stallion wasn’t matching at the start, Benjicot Blackwood, your Benji was no where to be found in fact.

Panic set in through you. Where had he gone? Had he fled? Had your family hurt him? Your questions were left un-answered as Lady Tully came out.

“Sweetheart, come inside, celebrate.” She spoke to you with great kindness, her hands gripping the sides of your arms and gently pulling you away into the Riverrun.

While the Lady Tully was coercing you inside, Benji was arguing with your uncle, Lord Bracken.

“Your false, usurper, cunt of a ‘king’ has been defeated Lord Bracken, I see no reason why you still think you can act like you have the upper hand.” Benjicot had started to lose his temper.

He had came to Lord Bracken to ask for your hand in marriage, to throw away their rivalries and start a new beginning of joint houses. Of course this was not Benjicot Blackwood speaking, Benjicot Blackwood would rather die than admit this. No, this was Benji speaking. This was the boy who loved a woman speaking.

But as time passed, his new nickname gifted to him in the war came shining through, Bloody Ben came out. He started losing his temper, lashing out at your depraved uncle, calling out his foolishness.

In reality, Benjicot was being just as foolish, lashing out at a Bracken while their large hoard pricks surround him, fucking stupid. But, he had brought Oscar and Kermit Tully alongside him, two long friends of his. So if shit went down, at least they’d die together.

As the bickering continued, both Bracken and Blackwood became increasingly more agitated and aggressive, the two Tully boys standing there like they’re ready to kill them selves and not the men coated in yellow.

“Young Lord Blackwood, do you really think I’d let your tiny Blackwood cock defile my innocent neice?”

Benji huffs, “Lord Bracken, your neice will have the taste of a real man, not a Bracken boy. The gods know we are destined-“ , “You worship the old gods! You will not say the fake gods destine you and her.”

Kermit moves forward, leaning to whisper into Benjicot’s ear, “Ben, maybe we should leave”, Benjicot puts a hand on his chest and softly nudges him away.

“Lord Bracken, rest assured, the old gods and the new know our binding of houses will avoid years of bloodshed in the future-“

Lord Bracken interrupts him, “Why would you want out houses binded? The Blackwood’s hate the Brackens and vice versa, it’s been like that for years, why would you of all people want that? You wish to take a jab at House Bracken while we are at our weakest? Belittle us?-“

“I love her.” Exclaimed Benji, Kermit looked to Oscar and Oscar rolled his eyes, just wanting to sit and feast, tired from the war.

“You know nothing of love, boy.”

Tags: @thethreeeyed-raven @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @tiredsleepyhead @onlyrealjoy

[cherryredstars]

would you write married life hcs with simon i need some domestic fluff paired with angst please🥺😢

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x gn!reader

Warnings: Fluff, Angst 

Summary: Married life with Simon. 

Word Count: 745 (Not Edited)

The ring he proposes with is gorgeous. It fits your finger perfectly, not catching on your skin once. It’s fashioned from his mother’s ring. His mother’s ring was also the ring Tommy had used to propose to his own wife. You carry the memory of four lost Rileys with you, and it is a weight you are proud to hold. Simon cannot think of a better person to share the weight with. 

He spoils you rotten. Wants the best for his spouse and wants nothing less. He gives you random gifts. Brings you back souvenirs from his deployments. Takes you to your favorite restaurants. Stocks the kitchen with your favorite foods. Gives you access to all his bank accounts. He makes too much money from his high position and his long years of serving, the money might as well be spent on someone he loves. Someone who deserves the world. 

He truly believes that you’re an angel. Someone sent him to hold him together. Every second he spends at home is with you. Follows you around like a lovesick puppy. He’ll stand with you in the kitchen as he cooks. He’ll sit on the edge of the bathtub or on the toilet seat as you do your skincare or get ready for the day. Lays on the couch or on the bed doing his own thing. As long as he’s in the same room as you, he’s content. 

He wants to share your happiness. Wants to absorb everything good about you and have it stained into his soul. He feels that as long as you are in his hold, he can keep that sacred part of you safe. He worries whenever he hears a thump in the house, rushing into the room to find you hopping because you dropped something on your foot. It warms his heart, to have something so normal and domestic. He doesn’t know how he ever survived without you. 

He has never taken his ring off. Not once. Not since you had placed it on his finger. He doesn’t take it off when he’s cooking. Doesn't care that the shampoo from his shower is making it soapy. Doesn’t mind that there is a slight bulge in his glove from where the ring still sits on his finger despite being against code. You’d have to kill him to pry that finger off his ring. But even in death, you’ll have to fight him for it. 

Plans dates for the two of you. He wants you to know how much he truly cares for you. How grateful he is to announce to the world that he has a spouse waiting for him at home. Will never get tired of the privilege to have that. With all his time away from home, he wants to be able to spend that intimate, one-on-one time with you. Sometimes you wished he just stopped.

Marrying Simon means empty promises that he tries to apologize for by throwing money at it. It means excitedly texting him something and being disappointed when he replies two weeks later with a thumbs up emoji reaction. It means being suffocated when he’s here, and then drowning when he’s gone. It means being drained of everything within you because you keep giving it to a man who is never there. It means waiting in a restaurant in your best outfit for hours and going home with tears in your eyes and a message the next morning saying, Sorry, have to wrap some things up before returning home. See you in a few days. 

Having Simon as a husband is like being a widow. It is spending nights in a cold bed alone, in a large house devoid of life. It is yearning every day for something and clinging on to the love you have. It is full of being bitter and understanding and tired of an endless cycle. 

Being Simon’s spouse is full of debating and fighting with yourself. It is spending every day that he is away staring at the folder of divorce papers in your bedside drawer. It is wonder how you could ever think of divorcing him every day he is home. It is thinking that the Riley ring is a curse because everyday you feel like you are dying from its weight. 

Wearing Simon’s ring makes you feel like you’ll just be a memory of another Riley he has lost. Another Riley he has sacrificed for his job.

Join Cherry’s Discord Server

[yanderenightmare]

Thinking about Alpha Bakugou using the internet to find out how to calm down his terrified little omega darling during mating <3

I love this idea!!! Because you just know he stumbles upon the worst most subjugating blog post, written by the most pompous Alpha-dirtbag out there – degrading Omegas, talking down about them as though they’re but silly childish things in dire need of an Alpha’s help. 

And you know Bakugou’s egocentric enough to eat all that self-serving shit right up like it's gospel.

BNHA ! FIC

Alpha ! Bakugou Katsuki x Omega ! darling

WC: 3.2

TW: NSFW, dubcon/noncon, omegaverse, yandere, marking/biting, blood, subjugation + a little angst in the end

Five Steps for Alphas Mating Omegas

Step 1. Step one is simple: Talk Remember, Omegas, though a little wild and chaotic, are equally influential, sensitive, and weak to not only an Alpha's orders but our compliments, confessions, and encouragement as well. Just a few simple sweet nothings can warm an Omega’s core even when confused and stressed.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, puppy~” Katsuki made sure to mouth against your neck while sucking the skin full of blooming bruises.

His large warm hands, kept like a belt around your waist, messaged the soft skin with restraint – having slipped beneath your top to feel you directly. His back hunched and hips fighting to keep from humping – feeling his mouth water and the growing bump in his pants start to ache – getting drunk with all the right overwhelming instincts, sniffing until his nose stuffed full of that sweet Omega scent.

He’s always known what you are. Way before your scores ever confirmed it. He’s been able to smell it off you ever since you grew tits – and been able to tell long before that simply by the way you scurry around with those big puppy-dog eyes of yours. 

The ones you’re looking up at him with right now.

“Katsuki…” You whined, and he grunted – head too hot to formulate any other response – only getting rowdier the more he lapped at the sheen of sweat coating your flesh.

It’s always been obvious that the two of you would wind up as mates – you’ve been imprinting on each other since you were both in diapers.

Even so, he hasn’t found making you trust and accept him easy over the years.

You’ve always regarded him with that very Omega-like uneasiness – looking up at him through your lashes with your shy fluttering eyes – a little pout on your lips and a little hitch in your breath each time he makes a move.

You’re too cute like that. Making him so fucking horny.

“Katsuki?” You whined again – this time more urgently, bringing him out of his thoughts.

Giving a reluctant groan, he smacked off your neck for only a second – huffing out a rushed “Yeah?” before returning to your neck. Working the skin – making it warm and numb to take his bite.

“Can we- can we wait?” You managed to force through the anxiety making your throat snug under the threat of his canines – a mix of pleading and shame evident in your meek voice where you felt smothered beneath the mass of him.

“Wait?” He questioned with a small laugh, though otherwise ignoring you – his lips still mouthing your neck and cheek with damp hot breaths – greedy hands climbing further up under your shirt, high enough to start playing with the lace of your bra.

“Just a little while?” You urged. “Please, Katsuki? Just a couple days?” Lip quivering and brows knotted as you tugged on his shirt, trying for his attention.

He pulled off your neck yet again, this time with an audibly annoyed groan – his red eyes soaked with hunger and focus. “Why?” He asked, visibly trying his own best to consider your concern, albeit begrudgingly where his hair had become sweaty in the wait.

“I'm not ready… can we please wait?” You begged, your big doe-eyes wet with the beginning of tears, searching for any ounce of pity he had to spare – doubtful but hoping he would listen.

You’re a little silly sometimes, he thought. What do you think he’s been doing all this time except wait?

He tsked, looking at your cute face torn with timidity and nerves – thinking silliness couldn’t be helped. 

You’re an Omega, after all. 

He gave your pout a kiss of assurance but otherwise offered little other comfort – hoping the small effort would be enough to calm you. “You’re ready, puppy. Believe me.” He encouraged, once again slipping down to your neck – thinking if he found your soft spot, he could lick all your uncertainty away and unlock that domestic spirit he knew lived inside you.

But you weren’t so easily soothed – no longer just reluctant but protesting now. “No- please, Katsuki-” You insisted – your hands raising to pull on his shirt, even when knowing full well what little it would do.

“Puppy~ you couldn’t be more ready.” He insisted, trying to keep his voice soft and comforting. Gently prying your hands from his shirt and lifting them above you. “You just need to trust me.”

“No, no, no, please, please, please wait- Katsuki, please.” You shook your head with a sniffle, eyes squeezing shut with teeth sinking into your lip – trying hard to keep from sobbing even as your voice wobbled in the hysterics. “Just a couple of days- please?”

Katsuki started feeling defeated in his tactics, looking over your face twisting with panic and dread, hearing you beg while feeling the fight in your fists grow more adamant, trying to pry themselves out of his hold. 

It was time to give up on step one and move on.

Step 2. This step is for when the first step doesn’t work: Tie your Omega up It might sound harsh, but it’s actually in everyone’s favor. Tying up your Omega benefits and prevents a lot of uncomfortable situations during mating. For example, they won’t be able to scratch and claw, and you won’t have to use your strength and potentially hurt them when trying to calm them down. If your Omega is especially wild, it might be a good idea to gag them as well in order to keep them from biting back.

He didn’t want to have to do it this way, Katsuki told himself. He wanted you to accept it as a yielding Omega should – and where he had expected you to be a little anxious, he certainly hadn’t thought you’d be so brazen as to fight him on it.

But he guessed it couldn’t have been helped, pulling the cotton rope he’d kept ready in his pant pocket – bringing it up to the small hands he had pinned to the pillow right above your head.

“I’m sorry, puppy. I have to do this.” He mumbled, starting to loop the soft thread around your conjoined wrists while holding them down. 

“What- no-” Your eyes peeled open from withholding tears, growing wide when looking above you. “No, Katsuki- please don’t tie me up.” You started then, now with salted streams running freely down your cheeks. “Please- I’ll be good, I promise-”

“Sh-sh-sh, puppy-” He soothed, placing his lips on your forehead, tying one secure cross-knot after the other before fastening them to the bedpost in a neat bow. “It’ll hurt either way. This is so it doesn’t hurt more than it has to.” 

He tried reasoning with you, but you wouldn’t listen – further spiraling into a complete panic with endless prayers rushing past your sorry lips. “Please untie me, Katsuki, please- please don’t do this- please-”

“It’s for your own good, puppy.” He dismissed – holding your face in both hands in an attempt to try and keep you from shaking.

“No- please, don’t do this-” You sobbed in spite of his efforts.

And in the failure of trying to lull you, he really didn’t know of any better way than what he said next. “If you keep screaming, I’ll have to gag you as well.”

And you went still.

And he realized a little too late how he’d growled it threateningly like a bark – left to watch how your pout quivered silently after – your twitchy button-nose and watery red eyes such a terrible twist to his heart where you looked so undeniably pained and betrayed whilst terribly pitiful whimpers left you, sniffling and hiccupping with hitched breaths escaping you in trembles.

He tried comforting you with yet another kiss to your forehead, maintaining the smoothness of his tone so as not to further scare or upset you. “I didn’t wanna have to do it this way…” He mumbled softly, rubbing his thumb against your cheek in hopes you would nuzzle into his palm, but only succeeding in smearing tears. “But you’re not really leaving me much choice here, puppy...”

Step 3.  Keep eye contact Omegas are a neurotic and forgetful breed. Keeping eye contact will help them stay calm, especially when you’re trying to soothe them. For example, assuring them that you’re not going to hurt them. Additionally, explaining why and what you’re doing can help an Omega understand and therefore ease their worry.

“I’ll be gentle with you, I promise.” He vowed, keeping your face cupped in one hand while letting the other fall back down to grip your waist, feeling your breath quicken beneath it while watching the anxiety widen your eyes even further. “Look at me, puppy.” He distracted, fishing your gaze up from looking down at the threatening tent in his pants. “There’s nothing to be scared of.”

You tried finding solace in his words but didn’t find it much comforting upon the sight of his fangs – reminded of how he was going to sink them inch-deep into your neck.

“I’m not ready-” You repeated once like before, eyes swirling while looking deeply into his, trying to latch onto anything that might take pity enough to listen to you.

But it didn’t seem like any amount of your pleading words or teary trembling features was enough to reach him. “It’s okay, puppy~ I’ll help you get ready~” Is what he answered instead – nose nuzzling against yours in his own attempt at convincing you. “I’m gonna make you feel really good…”

You weren’t swayed, feeling ignored and suffocated and overwhelmed because of it. “But-” You tried again, only to once again get cut off.

“Shh- stop thinking so much.” He shushed you, still with his thumb rubbing gently over your cheek. “Listen to me, puppy. You know I would never do anything to hurt you, right?” 

The question was left hanging without an answer for a moment longer than what he was comfortable with – his brows furrowing at the way your eyes skittered to avoid contact with his – feeling something twist in his chest at how you shifted uncomfortably beneath him.

“Right?” He repeated a beat later, his red eyes big and searching while vying for your gaze – gutted when you looked further away to escape it.

The quiet that followed felt strangling, and he had to swallow thickly to prevent choking on it. 

He thought you trusted him more, but your silence spoke loudly. Suddenly he felt like what he was doing was something much worse than what it was… 

He’s only doing this to help you, but you’re treating it like he’s committing a callous crime.

He knows he’s not always been the best mating material, but he’d thought you’d seen the change in him the last year.

But… you’re still terrified of him, aren’t you?

He exhaled a breath he’d been holding and resumed the normal pace. “I love you, puppy.” Once again, he brushed the well of tears forming beneath your eyes away with the stroke of his thumb – as the other hand continued its path, now moving downwards, over your skirt, until brushing your naked and trembling thigh. “You know that.” He spoke in a tone devoid of brass, simply tender yet hot, brushing your lips with his. “I’ve always loved you.”

You made unsure sounds but kept any words to yourself – unable to deny how his confessions made your cheeks heat, yet still left feeling dubious – lashes fluttering upon downcast eyes, feeling the rough fissures of his warm fingertips brush upwards, hiking your skirt up in its path until fingering the dainty lace of your panty line.

“All I want is to keep you safe.” He murmured, now in a damp whisper smeared wet against your neck, where he returned like before, kissing the same spot while searching for the place that would make you weak. “I’d never hurt you…” 

His finger curled around the lace kept at your hip, and your fingers curled into your palms – knuckles whitening and joints aching in your trembling fists when he began pulling the dainty article down your thigh.

“But-” You couldn’t help but plead, feeling the air ride under your skirt to lick your exposed private – but the protest was left unvoiced as the hand kept on your cheek locked over your mouth instead.

“Shh-” Katsuki continued, his mouth and lips and tongue and teeth lathering your neck with growing desperation – a breathy growl in his voice now as the hand kept between your legs grew clammy from the heat. “No more buts and don’ts. No more silly fears.” He swallowed thickly to keep from drooling, sucking in a breath. “I promise, puppy, you’ll feel a lot better after letting me do this.”

Step 4.  Next to last: Put yourself in your Omega’s shoes It’s important to remember that Omegas feel things differently than Alphas. While we smell sweet and fertile Omega pheromones, they smell threatening Alpha pheromones. Moreover, being smaller and weaker than your mate can't be easy. It’s natural for them to feel scared and hopeless. And as an Alpha, it’s your responsibility to ensure your Omega feels safe, protected, and taken care of.

Your whimpers buzzed against his palm as he cupped your sex with the other, his thick fingers stroking the tender puff of pussylips there, feeling the softness with curiosity.

“I know, puppy.” He soothed in a strained whisper. “You’re scared, you’re confused, you’re tired.” His breath getting heavy when delving between the folds to feel the wet heat there, needing to bite his tongue to keep from growling out a curse. “It must be exhausting being on alert every day… acting like something you’re not.”

You trembled, tasting the salt of his hand on your tongue where muffled cries failed to reach him – thighs quaking around the thick arm prying them apart – breaths erratic, feeling his fingers touch and explore and play in the slick found there.

“I wanna help you, puppy…” He insisted – but the smirk inching up his face wasn’t convincing, nor the way you felt it graze your throat like a knife. “I’ll make you feel so soft and safe- I promise, puppy.”

Step 5. Finally: Find the soft spot and bite it Keep in mind that you’re not saving or helping anyone by not claiming your Omega. Despite how much they might be crying or begging you to stop, marking them will only help them in the end.

Panic made you feel inclined to bite the hand smothering you and kick the weight which had you trapped – but something more instinctual made your body burst open like a blooming flower as his lips finally found that terribly delicate spot, the one hidden just beneath your ear.

You gave a moan and felt everything unknot, smoothing out into something numb and mellow – into something which welcomed his mouth and the promise of teeth within it.

“There you go, puppy~” He hummed, feeling you go slack and cuddly, turning into something even softer beneath him. “Just like I promised~”

He lifted his hand from your mouth, watching you pant in heat – having turned into something all too vulnerable – eyebrows cinched, and spit-slicked lips parted with soft moans while his fingers swept through your slit, rubbing circles into your budding clit – making your hips timidly buck back in chase of the pleasure. 

“We’re gonna be perfect, puppy~” He purred, mouth still hooked onto that same spot that had you feeling all manors of fluffy – while his own hips stuttered in restraint as his other hand dove down alongside the other in order to unzip his own pants. “No more pills and suppressants- no more holding back-”

He tugged himself free, pushing his pants and boxer down to where he knelt – letting loose a long hefty sigh of relief against your neck while stroking himself against your cunt. Exchanging hands to rub himself with your wetness – breath stuttering with a groan – getting ready to enter you while his teeth sharpened for blood.

“Every time you get you’re little bellyache, I’ll breed you good and full…”

He pressed inside you in the same moment his teeth bit into your neck – swiftly, yet slowing, sinking in as deep as possible with ears too hot to hear you scream.

Large paws squeezed even tighter into plush handfuls of flesh, drawing claws at the blinding taste of blood rushing out of freshly split skin, pouring into his receiving mouth where a full eclipse occurred in his mind, making him go fully feral.

Benefits of the bite:  - their ruts/heats won’t affect anyone other than you (meaning they’ll permanently stop being a target to other Alphas) - moreover, regarding ruts/heats, they’ll feel grateful for having someone they can always trust to help them at that vulnerable time of the month - they’ll become more domestic, feeling safer and happier for it - and because of the above, they’ll be less prone to stress and fear (all of which will improve their mental health) - additionally, the newfound sense of safety and loyalty will indict maternal instincts (making them more joyed over the idea of having pups) - furthermore, having pups will give them a sense of purpose and drive (allowing them to finally feel complete)

His senses came back to him slowly as the wild rush of blood died down – leaving him cold – feeling your limp body lay weak in his arms – barely breathing – if one could at all call it such and not whispy whimpers which left you at the labored rise and fall of your withering chest.

The blood was everywhere.

Sticky on his face and chest and hands, and redder than he could’ve imagined – coated thickly on your skin – gushing in wild flows from the gaping wound he’d ripped open on your neck.

He'd lost control.

His breath shuddered, dry in his throat – which croaked when he tried opening his mouth. “You’ll be okay, puppy-” His hands shook – speaking as if trying to convince himself more than you – unsure if you could even hear him. “It’ll be okay-” 

Tired eyes seemed too heavy to stay open, with a glazed gaze that stared straight passed him – vision spotted and darkening quickly, fuzzy and just too slipping to hold onto.

You could only hum weakly as everything became blanketed – his voice giving way to an echo of unstable curse words and muted utterings of your name – soon to become simple shapeless sounds in the lulling void that enveloped your mind.

With every sense laying to rest, a sudden foreign warmth coaxed you to give in – to let yourself be smothered in something which felt akin to sleep yet seemed somewhat heavier – luring you away from the blurring sight of red eyes and red-stained skin and into the quiet comfort of dreamy drowning darkness.

tip-jar: Kofi

[theonewiththefanfics]

Love Conquers All (one-shot)

Synopsys: The wedding is finally afoot. Astarion and his love have fought for it tooth and nail, but could there be more to life after happily-ever-after?

Set after the main events of BG3 This is a follow up to Homecoming (one-shot). Would probably advise reading it beforehand :)

Pairing: Astarion x fem!Reader

Genre: fluff, maybe a bit of angst, insecure Astarion, but just pure teeth-rotting fluff

Warnings: talks of blood, injuries, swearing, mentions of abuse, mentions of SA

Word count: 8875

A/N: I have not played Baldur's Gate 3 (I don't own a PS or a PC where to play it. all of this is based on the info gathered online and through Neil's own gameplay etc. Please be kind :) )

Astarion knew ever since he met Y/N, she was the only one he could imagine spending the rest of his life with. They had gone through hells and back for one another, quite literally going head-to-head with a devil. They’d fought for their happily ever after tooth and nail, and now, the biggest day of their lives (yet) was here.

           The vampire spawn woke up from his trance jittery and excited for what was to come. It had been ages since he’d felt this way, such joy while looking forward to what the day had installed for him because he was finally going to marry the love of his life.

           Their day would be perfect, Astarion had done everything to ensure it. He’d taken to wedding planning like a cat to cream, making sure that once their day arrived, even the smallest detail would be flawless.

           It had taken them two years to settle on a time of the year, let alone a date, but that had given him enough time to grow the flowers for the arrangements that now decorated their house, fussing with them like one would with a child (and sometimes threatening a certain rose if it didn’t grow the way he wanted it to). He even invertedly created a couple of new variates in the process, but those were specifically relegated as the flowers Y/N would weave in her hair for the ceremony.

           He had even meticulously studied cookery books, having his parents along with his love be his taste testers, seeing he couldn’t really enjoy eating human food, but he’d be damned if something disgusting would be served in his house, no less on his wedding day. Unless it had a ten out of ten approval from everyone involved, Astarion scrapped the recipe and started over. He was fairly certain the caterers hated him because he’d made them prepare the food before and until they got it absolutely right, he was on their asses day and night.

           But if he had to pick a favourite process throughout all the planning, it was when Y/N had come to him late one night as he burrowed himself in his sowing room and requested, that he design and make her wedding dress. Astarion almost got down on his knees in reverence as she looked at him with such tender eyes. And, well, let’s just say – during fittings, his hands might’ve skimmed the inside of her thighs on more than one occasion, and his head might’ve slipped below the skirt to taste between her legs, wholly unprofessional.

           Oh, and that dream of a house with a grand library, where shelves of books stretched from one corner to the other, and a large ballroom to host parties until daylight broke – no longer was it a simple dream, but rather his reality. Not only that, he could hear people fussing all across the house as hired staff prepared final details and decorations for the ceremony.

           The new house, or let’s be honest, the manor, Astarion and Y/N lived in, had not come easy though. He’d pretty much brought his lover to the end of her wits when they’d gone on the search for their dream home. In the end, it boiled down to her threatening to make them live in the forest like Halsin, sleeping on the hard ground, if he didn’t come to a decision.

           Astarion was aghast at the suggestion, crossing his arms and pouting hard. “Why are you so upset about this?” He couldn’t understand what the big issue was with him being so picky. “We’re looking for the place to start our new lives in! It has to be no less than absolute excellence! Do you not want that?”

           “Of course, I do!” Y/N rolled her eyes, putting her half-drunk wine glass on the bedside table and shifting her body to completely face him. “But nothing is perfect in this world, Star.”

           When he narrowed his scarlet gaze at her, she huffed and shifted to sit on her knees, cupping his face between her palms. “Nothing in life is without its flaws, but that’s the beauty of it all. It gives us a chance to grow and change. And it’s the same with a house. Floors are fixable. Sofas and divans can be reupholstered. Walls can be repainted, those dilapidated wallpapers ripped off, hells we can knock the wall down if we want to… but we will never find our perfect home if we don’t put the work in and make it ourselves.”

           Y/N’s soft thumb ventured up to smooth out the grumpy lines that had appeared on Astarion’s forehead. “If you want perfect, you have to do the work to make it so. Because that last house we saw, the one you said could be ours, if it didn’t have those stains on the table or that feeling wallpaper or the hole in the roof that needs fixing – that was someone else’s perfect home because they made it that way.”

           Astarion scrunched his nose. “Did a shitty job, that’s for sure.”

           If Y/N could roll her eyes any harder, he was sure they’d get stuck in the back of the skull like that. “My point is, we have to make it that way. Yes, the whole process will be long and tedious and I’m fairly certain, there will be moments where we want to kill each other, because, gods forbid, I want the blackout curtains to be emerald not burgundy. But none of that will matter because it will be ours… what can be more perfect than that?”

           The vampire always had a comment on the tip of his tongue, he always had a sarcastic remark or some sort of critique to offer, but to this, he had nothing to reply, as he pondered the words.

           Y/N tilted her head, a smile blooming on her lovely mouth. “I know you want everything to be exactly how you see it in your head, right from the very start. I know you don’t want to fight anymore, and gods, my love, you don’t deserve to fight for anything, but this isn’t it… this is change. And I think you’re more scared than annoyed at all the little things that might need mending.”

           Astarion averted his gaze, looking past Y/N and to the window, the bright light of the moon illuminating the woods beyond. From the corner of the eye, he could see her engagement ring, the ruby glinting like a star in the sky. A finger brushed over his brow, soothing him. “I think you’re nervous to go after what you want, so you’re trying to find any possible reason as to why every house we’ve viewed has had something unfixable to it.”

           Closing his eyes, Astarion leaned into her touch. “I hate it when you can see through me like that.” He hated to admit it. It felt like some sort of weakness to be seen so clearly, but he also knew Y/N would never judge him for his fears. But it was still hard to voice them. “I just – I’m scared it will be different.”

           “It will be.” She shrugged. “But different doesn’t mean it’ll be bad.”

           He didn’t seem convinced though as his mind and attention drifted off, and she had to tilt his chin towards her, a kiss to his forehead bringing him back into the moment. “My Star, we can always stay right where we are. I love this house. And as long as we’re together, it doesn’t matter where we make our home.”

           “Oh, don’t be ridiculous, my love,” Astarion let out an undignified scoff. “As darling as this place is, I still want that library. And, well, maybe a tailoring room would be lovely. And I can’t say I would be opposed to a walk-in closet, instead of that little dresser we have now.”

           More and more his lips turned into a smile and his gaze lightened as they went on until the morning dawned, talking and mapping out what their perfect abode would be like. They talked about the colours of the walls, where they’d like to hang paintings and how many mattresses their bed should have. Astarion insisted on at least three, so it would feel like resting on a cloud. Y/N thought it was a bit ridiculous, but if that was what he wanted, it’s what he would get. As long as he promised her to have separate duvets, the cover hog that he was.

           They settled on a manor near the city, but far enough from the crowds to still keep some sort of privacy. She had been right about the restorations being long and mind-numbingly taxing and took them over a year and a half to return the manor to its former glory. All of their funds sank into it, and as Y/N had also warned – there came a moment where it seemed like they would rip one another’s heads off, having to spend a night in separate rooms. But now they got to relish in the fruits of their labour as the ballroom Astarion had manifested was being transformed into their wedding chapel.

           He lazily stretched out his limbs, curling around his still-sleeping love. If he’d had a tail, the cat that he was, he would weave it over Y/N’s middle and curl it, trying to pull her closer if possible.

           The woman grumbled something unintelligible, tightening the hold she had on one of the four pillows she had.

           “Good morning, my wife. Our big day is here. Time to get up.” Gently, he brushed strands of wild hair from her face, placing them behind her ear, to which he leaned down and gave a playful nibble. To Astarion’s delight, he felt a shiver run down her spine, her toes curling against where she’d pressed them to his calf.

           “Not your wife yet,” Y/N grumped, turning so that she could hide her face in the crook of his neck, tickling the sensitive skin there with warm puffs of breath. “And your bride needs her beauty sleep unless you wish for her to look like a troll at the altar. Didn’t give me much of it last night.”

           A wicked grin formed on his mouth, one incisor lightly biting on her earlobe. “I didn’t hear you complaining though. In fact, I didn’t hear you say anything but my name.”

           Teasing fingers brushed against her ribs and the underside of her breasts, a breath hitching in Y/N’s chest. When he splayed his hand against her stomach, she hummed in pleasure, the sound reverberating through his chest and seeping into his bones.

           Her own palms moved from hugging Astarion’s side to his back, nails softly scratching up and down the skin there – so very tenderly over the scars, but with a bit of a bite right above his rear. If he could purr, he would be, but alas, he just moaned and melted like an icicle in the sun.

           It was almost tempting to just stay in the bed like that, twining together and just relishing in one another’s touch.

           “When are your parents getting here?” Y/N yawned and pressed a kiss to his collarbone. “Your mother promised to help me with the dress and hair.”

           “Right as the sun goes down. We should have plenty of time before the moon is high.”

           They had decided on a night-time wedding, so the following celebrations could be moved outside into the lavish gardens Astarion had so lovingly created. He may not be able to walk in the sun anymore, but he’d be damned if he didn’t enjoy at least the moonlight. Besides, daytime weddings were so casual, and he was anything but.

           He rested his palm in between Y/N’s breasts, but he just kept it there, didn’t try and stray any further. He simply wanted to feel how her heart beat against his palm, the rhythm a steadying and grounding feeling, and it somewhat calmed his fluttery nerves.

           “Then we have a few more hours to sleep,” came Y/N’s slurred response as she hitched a leg over his naked hip, but she didn’t try to go any further either. “And you are not getting out of this bed, my personal pillow.”

           Astarion smiled at her words and kissed her forehead. He’d been smiling an awful lot since he met her. “Wouldn’t dream of it, my love.”

           And even though he itched to go downstairs and supervise every single thing, he allowed the peace that came with being next to Y/N to settle over him as well. It was their day. His day. And starting it off with his little human sweetheart wrapped around him like a vine, keeping him close to her, was nothing short of wonderful.

           At some point, she did fall asleep again, Astarion’s movements as his deft fingers massaged the back of her head, lulling her to dreamland. His mind drifted a bit but remained more alert than when he tranced, wandering to how exactly he’d gotten to a moment where in just a few little hours he’d become someone’s husband.

           Not only did he have Y/N, but he had his parents to relish in the moment with. He had friends, something that was competently out of the question for two hundred years, and all of them would be arriving to witness the most joyous day of his life. Him! With friends! He even had a true sister, something that’d surprised even him.

           That had come about when Astarion had ventured into the Underdark once and reconnected with Darylia. At first, he’d thought there would be too much bad blood between them, no pun intended. It’s why he’d strayed away from the region after he’d freed the rest of the seven thousand spawn from Cazador. Too many painful memories bound them, but instead of admonishments, he found comfort.

           He’d bumped into Dalyria at a tavern as he was tracking down an artefact. Astarion was nothing short of astonished when she invited him to a tavern for a drink. The conversation was awkward at first, but as they talked more and more, she seemed to be actually happy for him as he confirmed he was still with Y/N, had a little house by the forest to call their own and spent his days keeping in touch with the party that’d formed during the tadpole adventure while trying to get a sowing business off the ground. She was even more ecstatic to hear when Astarion announced he was engaged.

           Dal had a wistful smile on her face. “I would be a liar if I said I didn’t envy you, but… you deserve it. All that happiness… after what Cazador put you through, you deserve all that’s good.”

           He didn’t want to, but a ball formed in his throat at her words. “Cazador wasn’t kind to any of us.”

           “No,” she mussed. “But you did free us from him. And when you had the chance to take his power for yourself, to become the most powerful vampire in existence, you didn’t. You allowed us to go out there and regain the years we lost under his control. To make our own lives. For that, you deserve only the best.”

           A snort escaped him as he swirled the remains of his wine. “Y/N would say not committing mass murder is quite a low bar, if that’s why I’m worthy of happiness.”

           “Maybe, but no one would fault you had you gone for it.”

           “Maybe…” Astarion pondered. “But I would not have been worthy of Y/N, then. That is for sure.”

           Dalyria clinked her glass of blood against his before emptying it, and he was glad he had not been drinking himself as he sure would have choked on the drink. “Will you teach me how to find love? I – I think I’d like to find what you two have. Become… worthy of having it.”

           Astarion didn’t know how to respond, but ultimately said he could only try, yet unless the change came from within, there wasn’t much he could do. And the hardest part wouldn’t be learning how to find love, but learning how to love oneself. Only then you could learn how to love others.

           “Seems awfully tedious,” Dalyria’s brow had furrowed.

           He chuckled and nodded. “It is. But I’ve learned, as much as it can be boring, it’s worth it in the end.”

           It had taken time for the vampire to start the process of self-acceptance and processing the trauma, but Astarion was right there by her side, and now, she would be by his, a partner of her own next to her, a human at that, as he tied the knot.

           Y/N’s nose scrunched in her sleep as their blissful moment was interrupted by a bell chiming through the house. She grabbed a pillow and smushed it over her head hitting him in the face in the process. “We should’ve eloped.”

           “My love, you know as well as I do, our dear friends would’ve hunted us down like prey and dragged us before an altar by the ears. And honestly – I would help them with that.”

           When they had rolled out the announcement of their engagement, Astarion’s mother helping them write beautiful little cards to send to their party most had actually shown up to congratulate them in person.

           Karlach had been the first one to arrive, banging on the door to let her in, seemingly bursting with excitement. “If my engine wasn’t fixed, I think I would have levelled a whole block when I got the card!” She jumped up and down as she smothered them in a hug.

           The second the Tiefling reluctantly released Y/N and Astarion from her grasp, Shadowheart appeared, a bit more subdued in the way she showed her happiness, but still very much so thrilled. She’d even brought along a bottle of wine, as such an event had to be celebrated.

           Gale along with Tara teleported right into the living from straight from Waterdeep, a chest of tomes with him, a gift for the library Astarion wanted.

           “I even cancelled today’s lectures, and my students were so delighted, they also got you something.” He extended a smaller box, a gorgeous set of feather pens inside. “A thanks for the day off and congratulations on the engagement.”

           Wyll, now Grand Duke, joined the festivities right as the sun started its descent.

           “I would’ve come sooner, but duties call.”

           “Ever the honourable man.” Astarion hugged the once Blade of Frontiers. “I’m lucky Y/N doesn’t care much for honour, otherwise I would be fighting a losing battle.”

           “It’s all the blood loss,” she chimed in, hugging Wyll as he congratulated her. “Questionable decisions are not uncommon when oxygen is depleted in the blood.”

           Her vampiric love pointed a finger at her. “Well, there are no takebacks, so deal with it.”

           Oh, how far he’d come such jokes didn’t sting, and instead he could laugh at them because he knew she wouldn’t leave him. It was certainly not something he ever had to fear.

           Halsin and Lae’Zel were last to join Dalyria accompanying them as the night settled, completing their little group.

           They spent hours drinking and laughing, enjoying red drinks, some wine, and some other ethically sourced, of course, substances as they lounged by the fireplace.

           “So, when will the actual wedding be?” Gale asked as he stretched over a loveseat, Tara having claimed his lap as a napping spot, her purrs echoing through the room. “I would be more than happy, and well, my students most definitely, to cancel the exams for it. Such an affair cannot be missed. Two heroes of Baldur’s Gate wedding each other.”

           Wyll pointed a finger at the wizard. “You know, you are onto something. I might just have to make it a day of celebration in the city!”

           “Actually…” Y/N shifted next to Astarion. “We were thinking of just going to a magistrate and signing the papers as soon as possible. Nothing grand really.”

           A stunned silence settled before Dalyria snapped her gaze toward her brother. “You must be joking,” she deadpanned. “Astarion, I think you might need to lay off feeding from her for a while.”

           “Y/N was thinking that,” he rolled his eyes at the outburst. “I disagree.” Turning on his best pout, the vampire glanced at the woman pressed to his side. “You would so willingly deprive me of seeing you in a wedding dress like it isn’t the most important day of our lives. I, for one, wish for this to be my only wedding, yet you break my heart into pieces with your words.”

           Lae’Zel let out her signature “t’chk” of disapproval at Y/N’s amused huff. “I cannot believe I am saying this, but the spawns are right. A ceremony must be held. None of this magistrate nonsense, but a real, proper ceremony.”

           “You all just want a party.” The Y/H/C-haired woman crossed her arms over her chest.

           Halsin boomed a chuckle. “Well, we will not say no to the one a wedding comes with. But if you do not wish to have your dearest companions, people who love you most in the world, to be next to you on such an important day, that is completely dine. It is your wedding after all.”

           “Oh, come on!” Y/N threw her hands up with a laugh. “That is so unfair! I mean, I just don’t care for the pageantry of it all.”

           “Sweetheart, you are marrying the most pompous man to walk this earth. No offense, Astarion.” Shadowheart looked at the elf, but he simply shrugged, as it was true. “And you mean to tell me there will be no grand display of love?”

           Her lover nodded at the cleric’s words, batting his lashes at Y/N. “Besides, would you truly be so cruel, that you’d deny my parents such a day? After everything they’ve gone through.”

           “Alright, now you’re just blatantly blackmailing me.” She gave him a humour-filled look.

           Astarion put a hand on his chest in mock outrage. “Blackmail my darling intended? I would never! However, if I were, I would also mention that the ring on your finger did belong to my mother, who so lovingly passed it onto you, saying she wished for you to wear it when she saw you next. You know, just a little information, to tug on your heartstrings.”

           And tug at her heartstrings it did, as Y/N’s Y/E/C eyes widened, no doubt mind whirling from the statement.

           “This is your mother’s ring?” She looked down at the piece of jewellery like it was the most precious thing in the world. “You didn’t tell me that.”

           He didn’t intend for her to cry, but he wiped at her cheeks as a couple of tears rolled down her face. “She gave it to me the night we went to see my parents for the first time. I was already preparing to do it, but it just gave me the final push I needed to actually ask you. Even though I technically never did ask.” Astarion nudged her side, and Y/N snorted, dabbing at the corners of her eyes.

           “Wait, hold on.” Dal leaned forward, a scrutinous gaze turned towards the elf. “What do you mean he never asked the bloody question? First no wedding, now no proper proposal?”

           Karlach though seemed to have other more pressing thoughts in her head. “Holy shit, Fangs, you robbed your mother’s grave!? I mean that is messed up even for you!”

           “Rewind.” Gale swirled a finger in the air. “You have a mother?”

           All these questions and statements were said one over the other as the room exploded into a full-blown interrogation, everyone flinging queries their way. It took Astarion and Y/N about an hour to respond and tell the full story, but not before they stopped laughing.

           At that moment though, Astarion clad in his silk pyjama set, the face greeting him was so full of delight, Karalch shone brighter than the set sun.

           “I feel like I could just burst!” The tiefling hugged him, and he responded in kind. It’d become one of his favourite physical ways to show and receive affection. “But where is the wife-to-be herself?”

           “Still in bed. You know Y/N and mornings, well, nights I guess, do not mix.”

           “Ah, yes,” a male voice agreed and Karlach stepped aside to allow Wyll to enter. “You know, there were moments during our adventure when I genuinely thought our fearless leader would be the one to end us. Remember that time Gale woke her up before dawn because he needed an artefact to consume? His poor eyebrows.” The Grand Duke shook his head. “Honestly thought it might’ve very well have been the last moments of our dear wizard.”

           “And yet, it wasn’t!” As if summoned, the Wizard of Waterdeep himself poofed into existence in the foyer. “I live to see yet another day where I can bless my friends with my presence. Eyebrows intact this time.”

           Astarion couldn’t control the eye roll as it was almost reflexive when it came to Professor Gale Dekarios, but he couldn’t deny the happiness rushing through his veins seeing the man. If he ever saw Mystra in the mortal plane, she’d better start praying to a god herself, for what he put his friend through.

           “It was… quite the look, I have to say,” Lae’Zel commented as she entered the house, joining their group. It seemed like they had a tendency to appear in the same places at the same time even without scheduling such a thing. “But do not attempt to upstage the bride, Gale. Astarion will already be doing his best. Though if these are your chosen clothes,” she gave him a onceover. “I believe Y/N has absolutely nothing to be concerned about.”

           Astarion scoffed. “This is handwoven silk.”

           “That is poor excuse for wedding attire.” Shadowheart appeared behind them all. “For once we agree, Lae’Zel, so enough with the chitchatting. A wedding needs to happen, and you need to get dressed.”

           The only reason he’d decided to put on some clothes was because the thought of his parents walking in on him naked, was enough to pull out all the stashed winter attire and cover himself up so much nothing but his nose would be showing. Now though, Astarion almost wanted to rip them off just to spite the gathered crowd but abstained.

           Before he did scamper off, he showed where they could go and mingle while he checked on the final details, especially how the ballroom was looking, and he had to admit, the drow in charge of decorations had turned it into something from a fairy tale.

           The room had high windows, all the shutters open to let in the pale light of the moon garlands hanging from the ceiling and walls, the many mirrors on the sides, giving an effect that the room was larger than it truly was, creating an illiusion of a forest inside their home. At the very end between two columns of chairs was the altar where Shadowheart would officiate, two golden cups already placed on a velvet pillow.

           There was hired staff in the gardens where food and drinks were being handed out.

           Astarion took in a deep breath and held it for a moment before letting it out. Everything was going to be just fine. He had promised as much to Y/N. This nervousness had been one of the reasons he’d wanted to take on the whole wedding affair onto himself.

           “I don’t want you to lift a single finger.” Astarion had brushed his nose against Y/N’s cheek after it was settled a full-blown wedding was happening and their friends had dispersed, leaving the two lovebirds on their own. “Just leave it all to me.”

           “I mean, I can’t do that,” she exasperated. “It’s our day. We both should be involved. I won’t put such an event all on your shoulders.”

           “But I want you to! Listen to me – me getting to order others around as they have to bend our every wish and whim, while all you have to do is nod for yes, and shake your head for no – sounds like a great time to me.”

           “Sounds very unfair to you.” Y/N was still sceptical frowning hard at Astarion’s proposition.

           “Look,” he sighed, taking her hand in his. “Let me do this for you. For us. You saved me back when I thought I was beyond it. I fully believed I was relegated to nothing but a life of pain and darkness and then… you showed up. You helped me through so many horrors, held me when it felt like the walls were pressing in… I would not have been able to do so without you. So please… let me make this day something you can enjoy and not have to worry about. I am very convincing when I set my eyes on something I want.”

           And when he pulled his puppy dog eyes on her, Astairon knew he had her right where he wanted. Y/N could never resist him when his eyes got all soft and round. He could practically see her resolve melting then and there like fresh-fallen snow.

           “Alright,” she conceded, and with a passionate kiss against her lips, he pulled her to sit in his lap. “But if it becomes too much, you have to promise to ask me for help.”

           “I swear it.” Astarion pecked her lips once more, and though he had no intentions of letting her lift a finger, he was truthful when making such a vow. With Y/N, he’d learned it wasn’t a crime or sign of weakness to request aid.

           He left the door open, surely more guests would be arriving, but before he could disappear, two more frames rushed up the steps, his mother and father practically beaming with pride as they saw him.

           “I think your druid friend is also on the way,” his mother said, pressing a light kiss to Astarion’s cheek and pulling him in for a hug. “But he stopped to pet a flock of sheep along the way.”

           The vampire snorted. “Well, we can only hope Halsin actually arrives for the ceremony on time. Or doesn’t bring the lambs as guests… appetizers though.”

           She gave him an amused smile, before squeezing his hand. “I’ll just go and say hello to that wizard of yours. I think I saw him walking somewhere in the gardens and then I’ll be right up with Y/N. Has the sleeping beauty awoken yet?”

           “Yes,” he mumbled, frowning. It was a well-known fact his love was a notorious sleepyhead, but that was not his reason for watching with a grimace how his mother practically skipped to the terrace in search of Gale.

“How does she know him?” he directed the question at the male elf standing beside him.

His father sighed, looking at his wife as she disappeared behind the corner, but not before she made sure she looked good, fluffing up her hair in the mirror before the grand entrance to their house. “She’s been quite obsessed with his cookbook. Just be glad she didn’t bring it along for an autograph. But enough of that. You need to get dressed, my Star. The moon is almost nigh.”

All other thoughts vanished from Astarion’s head as he noted how the white orb was pretty much at its peak, and the notion of getting married suddenly became a tangible thing. In just a few hours, under the pale light, he would vow to protect and cherish Y/N, they’d fill one another’s cups and drink, before tying strands of magical gold around one another’s fingers as a symbol of their unity in the ancient elven traditions. Astarion was about to become a husband with Y/N as his wife. If his heart had still beaten, it would’ve been jumping out of his chest.

“Did you feel like this as well when you married Mother?” the vampire’s hand shook as he entered the sowing room he’d claimed as his dressing room for the day. A naked mannequin stood at the corner. It’d born Y/N’s dress which was now surely being slid onto her frame, perfectly fitting against her body, and it was just another reminder of what was to come.

His father closed the door, going over to a suit that was hanging on another mannequin and slipped it off, laying it gently onto a settee. “Like what, Star?”

“Like unless in twenty seconds this whole thing is over, you’ll pass out.”

The deep chuckle the older elf let out was like a reassuring hug, somewhat calming Astarion. “Yes. Very much so. Add onto that wanting to throw up and black spots across my vision, I was pretty much hopeless. But then I was by the altar waiting for your mother, and when she appeared… nothing else mattered. It’s just the waiting that’s horrible.”

“Gods, maybe Y/N was right,” Astarion breathed out, sitting down by his tailoring table, head in his hands. “We should have definitely eloped. I mean it’s not normal to feel this way, is it?”

“Dear Star, it might have taken us two hundred years to find you, and we’ve only been lucky enough to have you back for two, but make no mistake,” his father deadpanned. “Your mother is not above murder and physical restraint if needed.”

“Yes, I know, you kidnapped my bride,” Astarion said. “But, I mean, what if it’s not perfect?” He looked at the elf. Blue reassuring eyes stared back, but even the conviction he saw in them couldn’t quench the lingering fear. “What if she isn’t there? What if I’m left a fool standing by the altar and she does not come?”

Those last words were barely a whisper, shame running through his veins as he said them, but it had been something plaguing his nightmares for weeks on end – Y/N finally realising she deserved so much better and leaving him heartbroken.

When he awoke in a cold sweat and she asked what was wrong, Astarion wrote it off as having a bad dream about Cazador. In truth, he hadn’t dreamt of his master in a long time, his only fear being Y/N tossing him to the side for something better.

           “Astarion,” his father said sternly, but not unkindly. “That woman has walked through literal hells for you. And taken on a devil, as you yourself have told us. I highly doubt now would be the moment she gets cold feet.”

           Deep down in his heart, he knew the words rang true. Astarion remembered after having killed Cazador, how strongly the urge to Ascend took over. Such power right at the tips of his fingers, yet at the cost of seven thousand souls. But at that moment, he was willing to pay it. He’d never have to be afraid of anything anymore if he finished the ritual. All he needed was for someone to copy the runes on his back. He’d turned to Y/N, someone who he knew supported him, but to his shock, she refused.

           Fury took him over. He’d thrown insults so vile it made bile rise in his throat nowadays when thinking back on it. Words wishing her a painful and slow demise, telling her he hoped she died screaming. Astarion had expected her to leave, yet as his mind had cleared, processing the grief and agony he was going through, she was there by his side.

           Even though he didn’t deserve it, Y/N held him as he cried, and whispered comforting words when he could do nothing but slump over himself in physical and emotional exhaustion. She was there for him like an unmovable rock, that not even time or tide could erode.

           “I’m sorry,” Astarion had begged that night for her forgiveness while she cradled him in her arms. “I’m sorry for what I said. I was – I was blinded by the power. By what I could be, what I could do… I – reality was no longer visible to me. And I’m sorry.”

           “I know you are.” Y/N’s kiss was a balm to his wounds, especially those that no one else but her could see or soothe. “And I forgive you.”

           Astarion’s father put a hand on his shoulder, bringing him out of the reminiscing. “She will be there because if there is one thing in this world I don’t doubt, it’s her love for you.”

           He wrapped that thought around his heart. She would be there. Y/N would always be there for him. But first, he had to be the one to await her, so with his father’s help, he stood up and got ready.         

           After a year of getting reacquainted with his parents, he’d told them some of what Cazador had done. With Y/N holding his hand through it, he even felt brave enough to show his scars. There were a lot of tears and hugging, and much to his surprise, talks of resurrecting the vampire lord by his mother, just so she could drive a stake through his heart. And Y/N was very eager to agree.

           His love had a vicious glint in her eye, and Astarion had to swallow his arousal as she leaned closer over the table where they’d been drinking afternoon tea and said, “I know how to skin a man and keep him alive the whole time.”

           “Yes!” His mother accepted the idea immediately. “Let’s do that! My Star, how do we contact that Withers friend of yours?”

           Honestly, the fact that Astarion was the one trying to quench their bloodlust and be the peacekeeper, for a moment, made him think he’d been thrown into some different universe. That was not how he expected the conversation over some tea and biscuits to go.

           His father smoothed down the back of the white linen shirt and Astarion tucked it into the white trousers while the older elf helped with the cuffs, onyx squares glinting in the warm light of the candelabras. Looking down, he surveyed the intricate frock he’d slaved over days and nights.

           It was matching a ivory to that of Y/N’s dress, the chest decorated with weavings of golden threads, much like what he’d sown across the bodice and through the hemlines of her gown. Astarion smiled, a gentle finger skimming over his work, knowing what the scribbles meant.

           To the unknowing, it looked nothing more than a pattern of leaves and flowers, but to those who could read ancient elvish, the truth was laid bare. The idea had struck him late one night as he’d sketched Y/N’s dress. With the help of his parents, as his memory of what once used to be his mother tongue was not so good, he stitched into the fabric little love confessions.

           Throughout her wedding attire, he’d sown the words of his undying love, of what she meant to him, and on his own jacket, he’d sown the promises he intended to keep as a husband, to always make sure she was safe and loved.

           By the time he was tying the cravat, Astarion’s knees were shaking, and his father had to take over, tucking in the piece of cloth by his chest.

           The vampire ran a quivering hand through his white hair. “So?” Gods, even his voice was trembling. How was he supposed to say his vows and not sound like a growing youth whose voice was on the verge of breaking? “How do I look?”

           For a moment, his father didn’t say anything, just smoothed down the fabric over his shoulders. “Like a man ready to start the best chapter of his life.”

           “Good.” Astarion nodded. “Because now I’m feeling that nausea you talked about.”

           The older elf let out a warm laugh before nudging his chin towards the open window and when he looked over, he saw the moon shining bright in the sky, a smattering of millions of stars behind it. “It’s time, Star.”

           With a shaky breath, Astarion nodded. He was ready. As long as he remembered how to move his mouth and say words, nothing could go wrong.

           As he walked back towards the foyer, gentle music greeted him, meaning the string quartet of bards had arrived and their family and friends were filtering into the ballroom.

           It was as if he was floating, barely being able to acknowledge the gathered people. Some patted him on the back, some asked if he was excited, and all of his responses were like through a haze, especially as he took his place by the altar.

           Shadowheart was already there, giving him an encouraging smile.

           “Don’t you clean up nice.”

           Astarion wanted to give some sort of a sarcastic quip, but all he could manage was a hum of acknowledgement. He was really truly, nervous. The breath entering his lungs was shaky and came out the same way. He didn’t even need to breathe, but if he didn’t, he might just pass out.

           “If it’s any consolation, Y/N is calm as a cucumber,” the cleric said. “Or maybe she’s just a better actress than you.”

            The vampire’s pale brows scrunched, as he looked at the woman. She just shrugged.

           “She said she knows you’ll be here. What more is there for her to want or be afraid of?”

           And that trust, the belief Y/N had in Astarion, settled something in his heart, and when his parents entered, taking their seats in the front row, both elves beaming, all that fear disappeared like mist in the morning.

           Beautiful music swirled around them, and all of the guests stood.

           The whole world stopped turning the second he laid his eyes on Y/N.

           Her body was clad in the white gown he’d poured all his love and care into, the gold thread shimmering in the candle and moonlight. Her hair was free as she always preferred, but small, intricate braids inlaid with diamonds as if rain had settled atop her head, a flower crown gracing the top of it. Y/N’s skin was also covered in a shimmery powder, that made her absolutely glow, as if from within, and the Y/E/C eyes he loved to get lost in, were lined with kohl giving her gaze an intense look. Had it not been for her rounded ears, Y/N would be the epitome of a true elven queen.

           Astarion released a breath that’d gotten stuck in his chest and tears welled in his eyes, rolling down his cheeks.

           He’d been lucky, especially in these past few years where he’d been able to witness a lot of beautiful things. But nothing was as beautiful as her walking toward him.

           Y/N’s head was high, as her gaze bore into his – his scarlet not looking away from her Y/E/C ones – her lips pulled in the widest smile he’d ever seen on her face.

           Gods, she was beautiful, and his ego also revelled in how that grin was directed at him. At only him. It seemed like it took her ages, but at the same time not even a couple of seconds to be standing before him, handing off her bouquet of lilies of the valley to his mother and placing her palms in Astarion’s awaiting ones.

           He couldn’t take his eyes off Y/N, but she couldn’t take hers off him. Vaguely he heard Shadowheart offer blessings and words of wisdom for the new couple as they started their joined lives. Astarion only snapped back to reality when it was time for him to take the golden thread and tie it around her finger, an ancient elven tradition – instead of simply exchanging rings, one would take a twine of gold and imbue it with the power of their words, before the vows were sealed.

           No longer did his hands shake, and his voice didn’t crack once as he said his vows, as he gently twisted the twine and looped it back around where it moulded together by magic on their own, creating a gorgeous ring.

           Then it was Y/N’s turn.

           “I vow to protect your life as my own,” her voice was soft and steady as she spoke. “I vow to walk the dark paths and lead you to the light when needed. I promise to be your reassurance when doubts come, and I promise to love you until the stars no longer shine.”

           Astarion didn’t care as more tears slid down his cheeks and wetted the neckline of his frock when finally, the golden thread connected and solidified itself on his ringfinger.

           He was married. He didn’t care that Shadowheart hadn’t said yet he could kiss his new wife, that they needed to drink the blessed wine from the cups, as he surged forward, taking Y/N by the wrist and smashing their lips together. From somewhere afar he heard whoops and cheers, and a “you could’ve waited for just a second more,” but it was all background noise with no meaning as his love’s palm slid to cup his jaw and pull him in for a deeper kiss.

           All the nerves had been worth it. All the pain and suffering he’d gone through – it was all worth it just for that moment alone, when Y/N had to press him back a bit, a breathless laugh escaping her lips as she took in greedy gulps of air, but put her forehead against his, not straying far from his touch.

           “I love you, husband.”

           His cheeks hurt from so much smiling. “I love you, wife.”

           They didn’t get to stay in the small bubble for long as people were stepping up, congratulating them, and pulling them in embraces from left to right.

           The revelry slowly moved outside where drinks and food flowed without stopping. Slow melodies turned into fast foot-stomping beats, as people twirled and danced, celebrating the union between two of Baldur’s Gate’s heroes.

           It was during a moment of reprieve when Y/N was chugging down glass after glass of water and champagne, Astarion following suit with some blood, when his parents came up to them, a small, yet intricate box in their hands.

           The frame was of old oak, no doubt, scuffed at the edges and corners, while the top of it was engraved with a whole flora and fauna piece, but that didn’t matter. He’d said them being at the ceremony would be enough of a gift and that him and Y/N didn’t need anything, yet here the two elves were.

           “Don’t even start, my Star,” his mother interrupted Astarion’s rant before he could even go on one. “There was no way we would’ve come empty-handed to your wedding. Besides, we think this might be of great interest to you two. And of use”

           Gently, as if the box might crumble if touched any harder, the older elf opened it. Inside, laid on green velvet sat two golden bracelets, their visage moulded like wreaths of leaves and budding flowers.

           They were handmade, that was certain, and ancient if his eye for jewels and jewellery didn’t deceive him. And it rarely did. But the oddest bit was the sensation it radiated as if it was imbued by vibrating energy, barely contained in the circlets.

           “Could it really be – but no. That is only a legend,” Halsin’s and Gale’s eyes were wide as they beheld what lay in the box as the two had snuck up on the group and shadowed behind them. The druid gave Astarion’s parents a bewildered gaze. “How in the worlds did you come by this?”

           “Let’s just say, you are not the only ones with connections.” His father threw Halsin a mischievous smile, but Astarion didn’t like that.

           “And the cost for such a thing?”

           His mother smiled. “My dear, you talk like your skill of words and stealing didn’t come from somewhere. We might be old, but that doesn’t mean we cannot have adventures of our own.”

              “I’m sorry for interrupting this moment,” Gale said, “but can we get back to the fact you have the True Love’s Curse sitting in that box.”

           “The what?” Y/N’s brows furrowed, but no one bothered to answer as Gale went on.

           “I can feel the magic.” The wizard laid a reverent palm above the bracelets but didn’t touch them. “The Weave… I’ve never felt something so strong. As if it could change the matter of the cosmos around us at any second.”

           Astarion lifted a finger, just as confused as his love, pointing at the bracelets. “What exactly is this curse? And, I do apologise, mother, as we appreciate everything you've done for us, but why in the worlds did you think a curse would be a great gift?”

           “True Love’s Curse is simply the name,” Halsin said. “It’s an old elven legend of two lovers – one forever meant to walk the dark, the other meant for light. In the myth, they are so convinced they are soulmates and meant to be, they create two bracelets, symbols for their loves, imbued with a mirroring spell, but not just any average enchantment. It gives the nightwalker the ability to walk in the sun, but there is a cost – if the other person is no true love, no soulmate, the nightwalker will succumb to the rays and perish forever.”

           Y/N grimaced. “Seems quite harsh. And unfair.”

           Astarion’s father closed the box. “It’s why it’s called True Love’s Curse. But if there is anything we all can learn from you two, is that love conquers all.”

           Hope ignited in the vampire’s chest, as he accepted the box.

           Could there really be a chance he would be able to live his life with Y/N by his side, and also live it in the sun?

           He used to be scared of what the future held for him, especially what the future with Y/N would be like. He’d had his doubts – that she probably didn’t actually love him. How she was with him only for pity or to use his body like so many others had before – but those no longer existed. She’d meticulously shattered every single brick of the wall that was his mistrust and built a castle of love in his heart. If what Astarion’s parents said was true, he had nothing to worry about – Y/N had been ready to walk her life in darkness with him and not asked anything in return apart from his devotion.

           But he pushed the thoughts of the bracelets, of the True Love’s Curse, to the side as he was pulled in a dance by Dalyria, then her girlfriend, and at some point, even Lae’Zel allowed him to lead her in a slow waltz before once again returning to Y/N’s side. His rightful place

           His arms wove around her waist, while her cheek leaned to rest against his chest. She sighed, closing her eyes.

           Astarion pressed a kiss to Y/N’s head. “I don’t know what I might have done in a previous life, but whatever it was, it had to be something exceedingly good for me to end up with you.”

           She hummed in contentment. “You deserve all that is kind in this world, my love. I am the least of it.”

           He wanted to argue, to tell her she was his whole world, but instead, he closed his eyes too and smiled, relishing in the love. He did deserve good. He deserved all that was kind. It was time Astarion finally embraced it, and if that was Y/N in his arms, he would hold on a bit tighter then.

Hours later they stood alone by the cliffside, a slight breeze ruffling their hair as they waited for the sun to fully rise, the gardens empty, their house as well, as the wedding party had ended, leaving people satiated and tipsy on their way home.

           “What if it doesn’t work?” Astarion asked. “What if they were wrong?”

           “Then I have the cloak right here, and all the shutters have already been closed at the house.” She took his hand in hers, the bracelet clicking against his.

           She didn’t try to convince him, give him false hope of how it would work, because not everything in life did. Not everything was perfect and not everything was supposed to be perfect. Of course, he would be devastated, if the True Love’s Curse was not real. But Astarion also knew he’d never be alone in it. He’d have Y/N by his side, as he always had. She wasn’t going anywhere and that was enough.

           As the sun rose, the sky turning from a deep blue to pink, then orange and red, Astarion took in a deep breath. Then – on the first day as a married man – the first rays of a new day touched him for the first time in four years.

           A tear rolled down his face, scarlet eyes not daring to stray away from the stunning view that was the dawn and greeted the sun like a long-lost friend.

           Y/N gave him the widest smile ever, a match to the one she’d sported when seeing him by the altar. “Where to first, my love? We have the whole world for the taking.”

           He looked at her, cupping her face. “First, to home. And then – to the very edge of the universe.”

Tags:

Astarion tags: @spacebarbarianweird @omggiannarosa @poisonquinzell @iffazu @alisoncdariel

Everything tags: @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @m-a-t-91 @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @lestersglitterglue @im-squished @strangersstrange

A/N: I've re-written this whole thing like 3 different times because I just couldn’t get it right, but now I feel like this is how it's meant to be :) I do have like extra 8k words of stuff I might release as smaller fics set around these two specific versions of the characters. Let me know if you'd like that or want to be tagged in future fics :)

I might edit this at some point a bit more. English is not my first language, so I need time to step away, before I can see additional mistakes.

Please don't repost on other platforms without specific written consent! That is called plagiarism

[brailsthesmolgurl]

1 YOU, 1 ME

This is a one-shot request by one of the lovely readers of mine, enjoy this one :) Although I must say, this brings me back to the days when I used to be suicidal, so the experiences of mine are translated into the form of reader's POV so that you would get to take a trip of what I had dealt with as well. Just as my other one-shot Delirious, I do not take mental health as to be a joke. I am here for you if you needed someone to talk to, just like how I know you would be supportive of my works. I would do my best to cater to you as well because YOU MATTER <3.

Warnings: Deals with HEAVY Topics, Depression Mentions, Heavy Angst but yes to fluff. Please please please refrain if you are easily influenced by such topics.

XAVIER

When you had arrived at HQ today, Captain Jenna had approached you, handing you a file and informing you about the location of the wanderer as per usual. You studied the file, the wanderer looking like a saber-tooth, with fangs that could definitely pierced through skin like paper. "Good morning." You directed your head upwards and your partner stood by the side of your desk, a smile on his handsome features as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Good morning Xavier." You handed the blue file to him and he took it, opening up the page and started reading through the details just like you did. "This should be a relatively easy mission. You ready for it?" He gently placed the file onto your desk and he waited for you to get up, before walking at the same pace as you to get to the basement parking.

Xavier is wearing his white suit today, the silverish-blue garters an accessory that also serves as a tool. You can tell that he had a good sleep last night given that his blazer was pressed and there is barely a crease on it. Regardless, crumpling of clothings would be normal anyways given the dynamic range of movements hunters have to do to kill a wanderer.

The mission had ended early just like every other time. Your pairing is known to be the best due to the compatibility of Xavier's light evol and your Resonance evol, hence it is an added advantage when it comes to dealing with wanderers. Him dealing damage to one of the wanderers and your evol resonates the same act of his, inflicting damage upon other wanderers without you touching them.

"Shall we go and get something to eat?" Xavier asked you, readjusting his garter and wiping off some of the dried crusts of a wanderer's bodily fluids off of his shoulders.

You flicked your hand, your weapon disappearing on call and you looked over to him. "It's alright. I am a little tired. I'm just gonna head home for the night." You turned and started heading towards the direction of your parked motorcycle, the moonlight only being your source of lighting.

"Wait, don't wander around alone." His warned, footsteps catching up to yours effortlessly. "You might get lost in this forest you know."

Your lack of comeback made him ran his palm across the back of his neck out of embarassment. If only you are still interested in his facial features, then you might just be able to catch sight of him blushing bashfully. "My bike's here. I'm gonna head off. Enjoy your meal." You did not give him any time to revert the same to you. You just hiked up onto your bike and rode off into the night.

The same situation happened for a couple more times, till he got used to it. You would appear for missions, complete it and then you would leave. Just like how he did last time when you first met him but now the tables have seemingly turned. He watched you as you tried to control your breath after the wanderer was defeated. This time it was a huge creature, with a large tail lined with huge spikes that could kill with one swipe and it took the both of you a bit more time than usual to defeat it.

"Hey, y/n, do you---" He walked closer to you, leaning down to get a better view of your hidden face. The long hair of yours a brunette curtain.

"No Xavier, I am fine." You assumed he was going to ask you out for dinner but you were quick to reject, not wanting to add on to anymore complications. "I just needed some time to myself."

"I was meaning to ask, if you are okay?" He stopped for a tad bit. "Is everything alright?"

Your nod was curt but his frown is becoming more prominent by every added minute. "I can tell something is wrong y/n."

"Perhaps I have not been getting enough sleep recently." You dismissed him, walking towards your bike with him following behind you in quickened footsteps. "But I can assure you I am fine."

"But, you barely come to HQ and you have been excusing yourself from dinner with me after missions. Your reason for the past few times have only been 'I am fine' and 'I am tired' which is what's concerning me." He came up to you, obstructing you from getting onto your motorbike.

"Xavier." Your voice lowered. "I just want to go home and rest." With your tone, the blondie gave up, sighing and stepping aside to let you get onto your bike and he watched as you revved your engine and darted off into the embrace of the darkness.

┊ ┊ ┊ ˚✧

The rings of your doorbell beckoned you to get up and off of your couch, the drama on your television turning into white noise in the back. Not that you were actually watching it anyways, the screen was on but your mind was floating elsewhere. This time however, you did not falter into your state of guilt, rendering you a chance to actually sit in still silence. You are admittedly taken aback at the sound of your doorbell ringing as you do not have any visitors checking in anytime soon including Tara. You took your time to get to the door, not even bothering to check the peephole and you swung open your door.

Here he is now, in front of your door, looking down at you from his towering height, with a casual outfit and a pizza box in his hands. Yes, he did pretended he was the pizza man just to get you to open up the door for him. Now he also knows that the peephole is just a decoration for your door.

The sight of you however, made his jaw dropped mentally. Your arm was littered in cut marks, in different shapes and depth, but the crusting of the scabs tells him that this had happened a couple of days ago. You nervously pulled your sleeves down to hide your scars, making intense eye contact with the ground. It did not hit you for you to cover your scars as to a stranger, they would care less of what happens behind your doors. But maybe much of a dismay towards Xavier. He occupied himself within your door frame and you staggered backwards.

"What's wrong?" He placed the pizza box onto the shelf next to him and he gently took your arm, pushing the sleeve up. Your hiss made him halted his actions, eyeing you for a further reaction before he spoke. "Why did you do this?"

"I..." You could not make up any words, tears gathering at the back of your eyes. The guilt flowing its way through your system instantly. It was like you lost all of your control and succumbed to your emotions. The emotions that you were so scared of showing to anyone. Especially to Xavier. With him being your partner, and your crush. You did not want him to report this to the team, and you certainly do not want him to think differently about you. "I...I was scared..." Your fist tightening. "I didn't want to lose anyone else like how I lost Tara."

Ever since that day you found out about Tara's death, you got lost. Blaming yourself was the only viable way for you to forgive yourself. She was stuck with some rookie to go and defeat a wanderer on the day you had called in sick. It was that specific mission with the inexperience rookie that got both her and the rookie killed.

Yes, it has nothing to do with you but it also has EVERYTHING to do with you. What if you did not report in sick that day? Maybe things would have had a better turn? And maybe, just maybe Tara would be able to pull through till you arrived on the scene? You remembered, the way she stared at you as she laid on the battlefield, blood oozing out of all of her orifices. Her eyes a window to her soul, opened but lifeless. As if she died hoping you could have arrived on time.

Xavier said nothing, his breaths slow and steady. Approaching you, the blond haired man pulled you in by your waist, his grip solid. You had sunken into the hole of self-blame, rotating around a death circle and at this point, Xavier could do nothing but to tell you that he is here for you, through his actions. "It's not your fault that she lost her life, y/n. Please don't blame it on yourself. I am sure Tara would not want you to do this to yourself either." He slowly lifted your arm up, analysing the wounds. They are skin deep but not deep enough to damage your skin permanently but he had to wash this and wrap this up quickly before it evolves into a nasty infection.

"I just couldn't stop myself Xavier. It hurts so much in my head that physical pain is the only way to relief it." You croaked with your dry throat. "I just felt so sad you know. Like it really hurts my heart. I don't know what is this feeling." After the first few hours of you losing Tara, you experienced nausea and headaches. Then comes the crying and the grief and then to the self-blame. You had read up about mental pain being able to manifest itself into physical pain but you were too ignorant of how severe this may be. So severe to the point that you had to result to self-harm to remind yourself of the pain you had to go through because of your carelessness. Leading you towards the bathroom, the boy was careful in his words and steps. "I believe this is what one would call grief. It hurts so much mentally that it hurts you physically as well. In this case, you have to hurt yourself to relieve the pain and I think it is time for you to meet a psychiatrist y/n." He sat you down onto the toilet seat and took out the medical kit from your cabinet. His words gave you the confirmation of what you had read about being factual. Kneeling down, he seeked for your confirmation with an alcohol pad in his hand.

When you nodded, he dabbed the pad across your arm and you bit onto your lips harshly to stop yourself from screaming out in agony. You do not deserve to scream as you had done this to yourself. His pause made you look at him. "You do not have to hold back. If it hurts, you can scream. If it hurts, you can cry. If it hurts still, you can talk to me." His eyes were sincere, the cerulean orbs a vast ocean, inviting you to be within his embrace as he opened up his arms to you.

And you fell, straight onto your knees and you grabbed onto his shirt, the blood crusts on your sleeve staining his shirt in the progress but the both of you could care less. You needed a good cry while he knows that you needed comfort. "It's alright y/n, I am here for you. I will always be here for you." His fingers ran through your hair, tucking some stray strands behind your ear, your body shook with every sob you took. "I just need you to know that regardless what happens, you can always tell me. I will never leave you alone, I can't bear to see you in this state because I love you." His sudden confession halted your cries for a moment, staring up at him with the ugliest look you got.

At this moment, you really wished that you could take any other days to hear his confession rather than hearing it from him when you are in such a vulnerable state. Seriously, who would want to get a confession when they are having a break down and they have tears and snot streaked on their face as part of their 'makeup'?

"You are saying this because you pity me, don't you?" You were ready to pull back, a slither of embarassment passed your expressions. "I do not need your pity."

"I do not pity you, y/n. In fact, I had always been admiring you for the things you do. You had uphold yourself well despite you are struggling so much. I really do like you and no matter what I will always be here for you." He reinstated his point and you grabbed hold onto his neck, crying even louder, strained voice echoed through your bathroom.

"I thought, I really thought I would have to deal with this all by myself. I can't, I never know that I am this weak." Your cries a reflection of your sadness and your relief, knowing that you can finally put your heart at rest, not having to deal with the grief all alone like how you always done it to yourself. Xavier placed his hand under your chin again and you looked up into his eyes of blue, with him leaning down and pressing a kiss to your lips. The death cycle shall come to an end.

ZAYNE

You tapped your feet onto the tiled floor impatiently. Clack, clack, clack. If anyone were to be within your vicinity now, your tapping against the floor would definitely be another added on frustration towards their state. Eyes darting everywhere, focusing on one thing to another. The door in front of you still remained tightly shut. The smell of antiseptic a constant fragrance within the hospital and you were about to get a headache.

You are up for your monthly routine check-up and meeting Zayne has always been nerve-wrecking, not because your heart is desperately trying to jump its way out of your chest and to give Zayne a hug, but it is also because you would like him to examine your brain as well. You figured something has been wrong with you mentally recently, after Tara's death to be exact. You get hot flashes at night, waking up at ungodly hours and sometimes, just sometimes, you would just want to lie in bed all day and not wanting to do anything, let alone eating.

You could not pinpoint exactly what was going wrong until the day you woke up from a nightmare, your chest tightened in a way you had never experienced before. Your breaths short and rushed, but no air was going into your lungs. Your throat had constricted airflow as well, choking you till your tears are being squeezed out of your eye sockets. It was until you had to scratch your arm till you bleed then you only regained consciousness, your breathing slowed, airways opening to welcome the fresh breaths of air that you were restrained from. You thought it was an allergy reaction for a moment but you were sure none of the allergies would get you to paw through your arm, breaking the skin barrier and seeing crimson red to replace the pain you had felt a while ago. Something is clearly wrong.

You had chose to wear a loose sweater today, not wanting to reveal your so-called battle scar to random strangers. Not wanting them to judge you for 'Im so emo, I hurt myself to be cool and I preach that battle scars are a sign for me fighting for my life in everyday society'. You can hear that in your own head, slowly succumbing into a state of blurred vision as you lowered your head, your vision darkening. "It's your turn." The familiar voice brought you out of your own reverie. Another shadow loomed over your hunched body, with straight shoulders and what seemed to be an outline of a long coat, you knew it was Zayne.

"Yeah." You stood up slowly and followed behind the cardiologist into his room. As usual, you took a seat next to his desk, the padded seat warm to your bum. A knob twisting, in suit with a locking sound, it marks the start for your checkup session. The room was filled with tension, as Zayne ran his stethoscope down your back, listening cautiously to your heartbeat as you took in deep breaths. The man's eyebrows were furrowed, eyes narrowed as if your heartbeat had an arrythmia. "What is it?" You asked, noticing that the listening session of his is unusually longer then usual.

"It seems like your heartbeat is slower. And there were slight staggers of arrhythmia on your right atrium. I should run some bloodtests and perhaps get an MRI scan on your heart as well." He retracted the stethoscope away from your back and walked to the front of you, fingers scooped your chin up and you looked at the man in front of you now. Standing tall, with broad shoulders that could be spotted underneath the bulky medical coat of his. He is in his blue scrubs today, perhaps a surgery aligned earlier on and he did not have much time to change out of it.

He took a small flashlight the shape of a pen out of his coat and he leaned down, a waft of his cologne hitting your nose. Minty fresh with a mix of antiseptic, that is what he smells like on the days he has a full schedule ahead. You peeled open you eyes wider and he flashed the light into your pupils, his hazel green orbs in an uncalled staring competition with you. "Pupils are functioning well as usual, but I do realise some redness at your whites. Have you been getting enough sleep?" A slight hint of him caring for your quality of sleep went away as fast as it arrived.

"I...Actually..." Your lips froze, words forming at the tip of your tongue but you could not roll out any of them. It was like your brain was subconsciously begging you not to tell Zayne, in order to not ruin his impressions of you being a healthy individual. He is a doctor, what harm would that cause if you were to tell him that you had been experiencing some mental issues these past few days? Perhaps he would just throw you some medical facts, ask you to drink more water and you should feel better in a day or two.

Then you recalled when your grandmother had passed, he did not show any bits of sympathy towards you other than passing on the box that was left behind by your late grandmother. He did not even ask if you were doing alright when you sat right here in his office, trying so hard to hold those choked sobs back. The thought of him not showing any sympathy towards you during the loss of your grandmother gave you the ultimate decision that you will not reveal anything to him. "I had been sleeping late these days because of paperwork."

The doctor sighed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, the glasses sat comfortably at the bump he has on his nose. "If its so, try not to procrastinate in the afternoon and actually do your paperwork instead of rushing them all at once in the middle of the night." His sound advice not a bit helpful to your fib. "You wearing a long sleeved sweater in the middle of summer would cause you to get a heat stroke, which would directly affect your heart as well. So I would advice you to keep cool whenever you can." He sat down in his chair, picking up a pen and started scribbling away on the prescription tab. "As for now, take these medications for your arrhythmia. Once the MRI is scheduled I will get the nurse to contact you to come in for the scan."

┊ ┊ ┊ ˚✧

"Y/n." Tap tap tap. "Y/n wake up." An oddly familiar voice drowned your hearing, your body lifted off of the floor by a force. "Y/n. Please wake up." The smell of antiseptic filled your nose and your eyes slowly opened up, the blinding lights above made it hard for you to adjust to your surroundings. Your name was called out again and you turned your head a little, catching sight of Zayne, his eyes slightly widened. He was staring at you as if he had seen a ghost. You could barely remember what happened. Ringing in your heads made you winced and the man pulled you tighter within his arms. Your face now against his hard torso. "What happened?"

You blinked your eyes a couple more times and you looked down. Blood pooled on your wooden floors, the wax layered on top of it preventing the liquid from seeping through. Your arms were streaked in red, the evidence clear as daylight underneath your fingernails. It probably happened again, did it? "I...I don't know." You responded weakly, your lips equivalent to sandpaper. "I don't know what happened."

Zayne pushed you back a little and he held your arm up by your wrist, eyeing over all of the bloody and deep scratches to search for a sign of infection. Perhaps, a sign for why would you do this to yourself as well. Zayne decided to come by your abode when you had missed out on your MRI appointment, him knowing that you would not purposely miss out on any medical appointments and even if you have to, you would at least have the decency to make a call to inform.

That day when you left the room, he noticed your charm was lacking, your retorts were non-existent, and your face was ghoulish. You struggling to tell him a piece of your mind, only to retract back and say that you fell asleep late due to paper work caught the doctor off-guard as well. But he is not the type to intrude, to ask you questions that you would not want to answer.

He came by, searching under your potted plants for the key and it was slotted right beneath the jasmine pot that he had given you as a congratulatory present when you got accepted into Unicorn. His heart inexplicably felt warm at the thought of you still caring for the jasmine till this day. He twisted the key into the doorknob and it clicked open, slotting himself right into your doorway and he looked through your apartment. It looked neat, but the lights were not turned on. He heard a loud thud and his footsteps reacted to it, carrying him across your living room and towards your bedroom.

Another thud, this time louder, echoed through your room and he opened the door hastily, immediately catching sight of your body, laying on the floor, jolting as if you were shocked by an invisible electric current. You are having a seizure, in a pool of blood that he could only assume belonging to you. He took three long strides and he was shocked to his core. Your arms were littered with long and narrow open wounds, the culprit being your blood stained fingers. Your eyes were flipped to the back of your head, veins popped out of your neck as one of your hand latched itself onto your forearm and yo dug deeper into your wounds. "Y/n!" He shouted, unbuttoning his sleeves and pushing them up his forearm and he dived down onto his knees to heave you towards him, away from the wall.

He immediately started doing CPR, going according to the beat as he switched between pumping your chest and blowing air into your mouth. The effectivity of the CPR started kicking in when your convulsions started to calm down, your body going from tensing to limp and you laid unmoving on the floor. He leaned down to get a good hearing of your heart. It is beating in a normal rhythm, a good sign that you are still alive. The arrhythmia is gone now but the soon-to-be scars on your arms is the next thing he worries about.

He did not understand, none of the theories he had studied about one's physicality applied. The heart arrhythmia, the sight of you convulsing on the floor, the hearings of your choked breaths as he watched you, the skin deep lacerations inflicted upon yourself only with the use of your fingernails. None of the symptoms matched any of his medical theories. i am not a doctor, pls dont chew me on this :,)

Unless it has something to do out of his field, which is the mental aspect. Zayne being a doctor, although succeeded at a relatively young age, but his expertise has always been within the field of cardiology. Of course he has friends within the psychological field, but it never struck him that you would end up with a mental illness. You had always been fit as a fiddle in his eyes, both mentally and physically. But all it takes is for two accidents in a row to trigger the mental illness for you. If its so, why did you not tell him anything about it? Why did you keep it all to yourself? He knew he should have said something, he should have stayed by your side when he found out about Tara's death. It was too short of a timeframe for you to be dealing with two deaths within a few months' gap.

"It's alright, you will be okay. Everything will be alright." He only remembered during one of the mental illness campaigns he was asked to attend, they taught of ways to identify individuals experiencing mental illness and very little was talked about how can one deal with someone who is having an episode. The speaker said something about acceptance, comfort and validation. And that is to the extent of what Zayne knows.

"Y/n, I need you to take in deep breaths, I need you to calm down." He could not treat her just like any other patient in this damn moment. This vulnerability of hers is new territory for him, but it shows that she is not as strong as she portrays herself to be and this part of her provoked him to want to be there for her even more than before.

"I don't know...I don't know why I am like this." You trembled in his arms, your head spinning and you felt like you were about to taste bile anytime.

"And it is not your fault, y/n." His voice is calm, soothing to your ears. You could feel his hot breath against the shell of your ear and you looked up at him, the lights above him forming an angelic halo. "It shall never be your fault." He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "I am sorry that I was never there for you. From now on, let me be there for you." Other than the kiss on your forehead being a shock factor, the fact he wanted to be involved in your life and your 'journey-to-recovery' made your heart skipped an extra beat. "I promise you, from now on, I will always be by your side, only when you want me to."

You lifted your hand up to touch his cheeks, your palm cold to the touch on his warm face. You swore you saw him blushed for a mere second. "Of course I would want you to be by my side Zayne." And he gave you a comforting smile. The man then slowly inched down, eyes looking between your eyes and lips. When you tilt your head upwards, he took it as your consent and you both shared the first kiss.

RAFAYEL

"Do you want that?" Rafayel asked you, index finger pointed right at a banana boat plushie. Two 'flavours' to be picked from, one with the usual chocolate, vanilla and strawberry theme while the other has a caramel, vanilla and banana theme. You were about to pick for the latter but the man standing beside you was quicker in calling out shots. "I think the original one would fit you better. The colour theme just looks more harmonious than the other."

You watched as he picked up the dart and aimed it towards the target. He pulled his wrist back and with a flick, the dart landed onto the target's bullseye. The stall owner did not look a bit amused, probably thinking that he could scam Rafayel enough money for a meal. Walking over to the banana boat plushie, the guy took it down and handed it to Rafayel over the counter. "Thanks." You smiled, hugging the plushie when he gave it to you.

"Where is my hug?" Rafayel looked betrayed, the signature pout of his surfacing. "I was the one who scored you Mr.Babana here." Yes, he called it Babana. Smiling, you went over to him, arms opened wide and you hugged him, your head settling right into his chest. He smelled of grapefruit and white wood, with a splash of peach as the base. You thought he only used one perfume for all types of events as he has voiced his dislike for strong smelling scents but you were clearly wrong. Musky smelling ones for when he attends interviews, fresh smelling ones for when he attends events, and sweet smelling ones are only reserved for his outings with you.

His chin was propped right above the top of your head, and he smells fresh shampoo. You nagging him about how sakura composites are good for the hair recently is enough for him to know what shampoo you are currently using. To Rafayel, you are not that hard to decipher. In fact, you may be one of the most uncomplicated character he had ever met in his life. Your genuine emotions and expressions a direct reflection to your conscience and that is exactly why he likes you.

"Thank you for the Mr.Babana." You chuckled, pulling away from the hug but his arms remained on your shoulder, he would have opted to hold your waist but he wanted to make sure that you would not be uncomfortable in this situation.

"My pleasure of course." He mimicked your smile and this time, the both of you took a step back from each other and then walked down the path together. The cobblestones beneath your shoe reflecting the lights from the parade, painting them in all sorts of colours that offers more variety than a rainbow. "Y/n, I have to travel abroad tomorrow to attend one of my exhibitions. So, I was wondering once I am back from my business trip, would you like to go out with me again?"

Him informing you about the business trip made you hesitant to answer him. Not because you did not want to go out on a date with him again. You just did not want to be alone. Not when you had just lost a friend to a wanderer. All of the smiles you had presented today are genuine, but deep down, you were worried your remorse would eat you up and ruin the whole date for today. The last thing you want is for Rafayel to be on the receiving end for your breakdowns.

"I am waiting for a yes." You jolted at how close he is to your face, you could practically feel his breath against your skin. He smirked, taking a step back to give you some breathing space, hands tucked into the pockets of his black jeans. The young man today adorned a fitted black tshirt with a pair of jeans, pairing over it is a jean jacket. Simple outfit but definitely looks amazing on him.

"Y...yeah, of course we can Rafayel." You looked down, nervously trying to calm your hyped heartbeats. With that, the date between you two came to an end, with Rafayel fetching you home safely and making sure you got into your home before he drove off.

┊ ┊ ┊ ˚✧

Rafayel had left for his business trip for the past two days. And for the past two days, it can only be described as hellish for you. Jerking yourself off of your bed, you sat straight, eyes widened as cold sweat trickled down the back of your neck. Yet another nightmare, the same one every night. With the sight of Tara laying on the traylike bed in the morgue, awaiting for you to identify her. She was as pale as the walls surrounding her, her body laid rigid, and her eyes closed. It almost seemed like she was asleep but you knew right then and there, she would not be able to open her eyes anymore.

She had a wound the size of a bullet in between her eyebrows. They called it a fatality spot as anything that is sharp enough to penetrate that area and passing the skull would be guaranteed an instant death. Just like what Tara had gone through. The wound however, according to autopsy, was inflicted by something biological, so bullets are out of the question and the only answer you could think of is the act of a berserk wanderer. You kept trying to blink, assuming that if you blinked hard enough, Tara would be able to rise again and everything would be back to how it was like. But, that's not the case most of the time.

Instead of accepting her death, you chose to deny it. Ironic, your identification process of Tara in the morgue is validated but you yourself chose to not accept the reality of her death. You even refused to go to her funeral the day after tomorrow, claiming to yourself that it would only make you hate yourself more than anything else. You were not there when it happened as you were sent onto another mission, a much tougher one that involves civillians. So, Tara was assigned this mission, just to deal with a bunch of wanderers. Or so you heard, but her wound says otherwise. Whatever wanderer she had been dealing with is certainly way beyond what she could handle.

The date between you and Rafayel took place the day after her funeral so the wounds of your grief still remained fresh. With that stated analogy, the first few days of your denial marks the start of your wounds, freshly cut opened, breaking off the surface of the skin barrier but still not deep enough to leave a scar. Now you are in phase two, where blood starts seeping through the wound as it has broken through the skin barrier, cutting deeper. This is where the nightmares become more and more revolting, more and more realistic that you have a hard time differentiating between your trance and reality.

You buried your face into Mr.Babana and you cried like there is no tomorrow. You had to get it out somehow, and the best way you could think of is to cry yourself to sleep again and pray hard so that you would not have a continuation of the nauseating nightmare. When you opened your eyes again, you were met with the warmth of the sunlight peeking in through your window. Sunlight in general, is known to promote energy boosting for one's body but right now, it only did the opposite for you.

Your phone rang, drowning out the sounds of your ugly cries. Shimmying towards you bedside, you held up your phone and you saw the contact name 'Your Favourite Fishie'. You specifically recalled that you had saved his name under Rafayel, but when did it got changed? Maybe it was during that time when he was playing on your phone while his was charging and he seized the opportunity to change his name into something so ridiculous like this. You sniffled, trying to calm your breathing the best possible and you answered the call. "Hello." You croaked out. Shit.

"Hey, y/n. Did I happen to wake you up?" His voice came through the other side of the call. He sounded borderline concern.

"No, you didn't don't worry. I woke up to use the washroom." You spoke, if he were to be in front of you right now, he would be nagging you to speak up but thank goodness your phone has a good microphone to pick up your small volume. "How is your exhibition going?"

"Boooring." You can tell he was rolling his eyes to the back of his head. "That's why I am already on my way back. I will arrive in probably half an hour. So would you like to have dinner with me tonight?"

Contemplating, you knew that if you were to meet him in 30 minutes, your puffy face would lead to a telltale sign that you had just cried. Then, you assumed that Rafayel would be disappointed with you. You see, Rafayel had never been the type to submit towards pressure, instead, he is a notorious rebel towards it. It is like he has something personal against stress. With your current status, you immediately felt like you are not worthy to be spending your time with him. Let alone having to have a huge crush on him. What makes you think that he would like you back if he found out about your current state of distress? He would definitely not want to deal with such an issue.

"Actually, today I am not free. I have stuffs to do." You gnawed onto your lip.

Pouting, the purple haired man crossed his legs nonchalantly, sitting himself comfortably in his luxurious car as Thomas drove it. "Like what stuffs?"

You panicked, eyes watery and you sniffled. "I have to go to the doctors. I am having a flu and I don't want to infect you."

Rafayel heard that sniffle of yours and he immediately replied. "Oh, alright. Then you rest well okay? There will always be some other day that I can bring you out for a nice dinner so you owe me that alright?"

"Yeah okay." And the call ended with him saying 'bye and take care'. Hanging up the phone, your lips quivered, chills ran down your spine as you started hesitating about whether you should still stay in contact with Rafayel. You could not possibly land him to be your boyfriend, where did the confidence come from? "I am just not worth it." Your cries then came back.

The next hour went by and you were laying in your bed the whole time, no will to move, no appetite, no will to even meet anyone. You just wanted to succumb to your loneliness, the sound of the fan is the only voice you can hear. The only company you have for now. You had just calmed down from your break down, your eyes full on puffy now and you are experiencing after-cries hiccups. Your mind had a constant voice, reminding you of just how useless you are not only at your job, but also your incapability to keep your emotions in check. Feeling overwhelmed, you curled into a ball and just allow the tears to flow.

The door to your room creaked open but it did not faze you. You were too caught up with the voices in your head but Rafayel's voice made you covered your ears. You are delusional now, great. Until a hand touched your shoulder then you snapped your head towards the source, met with purplish-blue eyes that were filled with utmost concern for you. "Hey, hey what happened?" He climbed onto your bed and sat right in front of you, his large hands cupping your small face, his thumb drew over your cheeks, dismissing your tears. "Why are you crying y/n? Did someone hurt you?"

Your silence marks the end of his questioning and he pulled you into his chest. His solid torso cushioning your head as he laid down with you in his arms, on top of him. "Shh, it's alright." Rafayel held you close to him. "I know things have been tough for you."

"We should stop meeting." Your desolating suggestion made him pulled back in shock, his eyes scanning your face for any smiles or hints of it being a joke but he did not find any at all. "I like you Rafayel, and I think this is not healthy for you."

"Who are you? The moral police? Who are you to determine what is healthy or not for me?" His eyebrows are furrowed in frustration. "Even if you want to push me away, you can't because I am in love with you y/n. I am so madly in love with you that I kept thinking about you everyday, everything that I see reminds me of you, every artwork that I inspect at the exhibition only related to you. So, you can't push me away, no matter how hard you try."

"But, whatever I am experiencing now, it makes me think I am not worth---" His finger silenced you, pressing it against your lips to ask you to shut up politely.

"Do not speak for me y/n. As much as I like to hear your voice, I do not want to hear such unflattering ideas from your pretty head okay?" He ran his hand down the sides of your cheek, his gaze loving. "I want you to know that, I will never let you cry alone, ever again. Do not worry about me being stressed out or anything about you not being able to be in control of your emotions. I am sure I can handle anything when it comes to you, for I had waited a long time for someone like you y/n. Annnnd I will not let something as simple as you going through a period of depression push me away. So, why don't you do me a favour and tell me what is going on in that pretty head of yours?"

His confession surely warmed your heart, with you staring at him in disbelief. You know he had always been showing signs of him being interested in you, but you never thought you would be able to catch sight of him being empathetic towards you. Your sobs came again, this time much more stronger and you leaned into him, spending the day telling him about everything that you had went through and ended up sleeping next to him. Rafayel propped himself up on his elbow and he watched your features, puffy and reddish but you did not lack your beauty amidst all of the chaos you have to go through. He leaned down to press a kiss to your lips, a promise to you that he would stay with you forever.

This is the end of this one-shot and sorry my lovelies, this will not be getting an extra episode or anything. It shall only be ending here :,)

P.S: These are part and parcel of my actual experiences, hence I do not downplay or look down on anyone who are struggling with mental illness. As I know it is very tough to get over it. The part where Rafayel had spoken to reader, where he would be by his side blah blah, was actually what my boyfriend told me when I was having a terrible panic attack. So please my girlies, do not settle for the bare minimum and lower your standards for a guy/gurl who could not be better for you. Because you all deserve happiness oki.

[slashersidewhore]

Slashers! S/O seeing them maskless for the first time

Slashers x gn!reader

Including Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees, Thomas Hewitt, Vincent Sinclair,

Requested: yes

Warnings: mentions of killing, beefy murder boyfriends, sprinkle of angst, that cute shit

Michael Myers

I think seeing him without a mask would take awhile, he’s not one to reveal much about himself

It would probably just be out of the blue as well

You’d be chilling on the couch, reading or going on your phone or something

Although you never really heard him approach you’d feel his… presence

Glancing up and caught off guard by the fact you’re looking at skin, not an emotionless face of blank white

Probably drop whatever you’re holding from the shock of it

Michael has a large scar across his eye, (and depending on which timeline this is in, maybe also burns)

I see him as someone who isn’t self conscious of looks, despite the mask wearing

The mask is a representation to how he feels in a way, blank, I mean we all know he’s not unattractive by any scale

He wouldn’t say anything either, just stand there staring at you waiting

If this OG Myers, your silence is irksome

If this is RZ Myers, your silence is indicating he’s made the wrong move

Either way both versions are somewhat comforted when you slide off the cushions to make your way over

Warm palms gently caress the sides of his face

Don’t think he’s gonna close his eyes and lean into your hand all cutesy though, no way

He’s just staring, expressionless, into your eyes

Maybe he serves a classic head tilt

Kinda like silently asking, “what do you think”

Of course you’d just smile and lean in for a kiss

It’s slightly one sided but that’s okay, you love your brick wall

Jason Voorhees

Honestly, it was probably an accident

Like he gets some kind of injury, or something similar in the facial region

So naturally when he’s finished with his… “work”, he goes to fix it up

And in order to do that, he removes his safeguard

Jason knows he was seen differently as a kid because of his deformity, the mask is his safety net, a way to look at his reflection without becoming sick

So when it’s perched on the bathroom counter top, and you come waltzing in, let’s just say he imagined this differently

Never wanted to see you without the hockey mask

Even to kiss, he would just place the plastic to your skin

But now it’s just…

It’s really awkward

I’m not even gonna lie

Y’all just standing there, eyes wide staring at one another, you could hear a pin drop

He lunges for the mask but is stopped by a hand clutching his own

You probably didn’t even mean to do it, your body just reacted naturally

Now Jason can’t meet your eyes, he’s staring at the ground in shame

Not wanting to push any boundaries and touch his face, you just tug on the hand in your grasp

Slowly but surely, he meets your eyes

He looks, very comfortable, like lord take me now level uncomfortable

He expects disgust in your eyes, and is caught off guard by the stars twinkling in them

His entire body relaxes

He shoulders drop, his hand clasps with yours finally

And the two of you continue to gaze at one another

Although this time, instead of it being awkward, it’s love

Thomas Hewitt

I’d imagine if Tommy trusts you, at some point he’d let you take it off

It would probably be after a long day, everyone is tired

Especially Thomas

He’d been working in the Texas heat for hours, and no matter how tough this man is, we all need a break eventually

You’re sat in your shared bedroom, on the bed, something keeping you occupied

In strolls the man himself

He’s clearly exhausted, even showered still smelling of the usual sweaty musk

Taking a seat on the mattress beside you, his hair is partially over his face as he angles it to you

The silence is peaceful, even with his usual heavy breathing

Your hands gently caress his leather covered cheeks, leaning in to press a kiss to the bare skin of his forehead

As you go to pull away, ready to turn in for sleep, a much larger hand lands on one of your own

Big, wide, and a dark blue eyes watch your expression shift as his hand guides yours to the straps at the back of his mask

Now, Tommy didn’t sleep with his mask on

That’s a safety hazard

But, he only ever took it off once it was dark in the room, and always put it on before you woke up

The current apprehension in his eyes was melting away as you gradually began to smile

And Tommy just loved seeing you smile

Unbuckling the tough straps, you were quick to lay the now unnecessary item somewhere beside the two of you

Hoyt must be one dumb son of a bitch if he’s calling the face before you ugly

He has no nose, more than a few scars you’ve heard about before scattered across his delicate skin

You can practically hear his heart beating out of his chest

In attempts to quell them, you grin, pressing a soft kiss to his chapped lips

Although this only makes it beat faster

Vincent Sinclair

Bo’s fault

Like 99.99%

Vincent isn’t shy, he’s just reserved, let’s be clear

But that doesn’t mean he feels completely confident in himself, especially when it comes to you

So imagine one day you’re just trying to find Vincent

And instead of silence you’re beginning to hear shouting, specifically Bo’s shouting, echoing down the hall

Then a sharp clank of something breaking

This only quickened your pace until you were standing in the kitchen as well

Vincent was kneeling over his once whole mask, now split down the middle

“Bo can you give us a minute”

You didn’t bother to pull your eyes from the man on the floor, placing a soft hand on his back as you heard footsteps leave the rom

Long, dark hair covered his features, body slouched in a way that couldn’t be comfortable

He never wanted you to see him like this

He knew he wasn’t blessed with visual beauty

He just didn’t want you to inevitability leave when you discovered what he always hid away

But your hand was firm on his back, careful yet making sure you he knew you were there

“Vincent, do you want me to leave?”

Honestly yes

He probably does want you to leave

Get this over with and let him realize he’s alone again

But for some reason he slowly shakes his head no

The palm on his back moves past his hair, cradling his disfigured jaw

You don’t jump from the odd texture of the scarring, nor the bumps and ridges

It anchors him enough to face you, prepared for anything

Although he wasn’t prepared for the little smile on your face

Or the way you shuffled closer so you could place a gentle, chaste kiss to his scarring

Requests are open!

[charnelhouse]

press the gas and ride

gif by @riley-keoughs pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader (nicknamed Dolly) word count: 2.4k+ summary: comfort in a car warnings: hurt/comfort. smut. angst. A/N: this takes place a month after teacups, but no need to read. tlou ep 3 spoilers. this is really just trash smut. Joel Miller Masterlist

She watched Joel's expression buckle as he read the letter. His brow furrowed, the muscle in his jaw tensing. She looked away, suddenly feeling intrusive. She'd never come here with Joel. His trips to Bill were semi-frequent, but this was the first time he’d brought her. Of course, he hadn't expected this. He hadn't thought they'd be walking into a dead house. 

The fresh air through the open front door bullied the stench of rotten meat and vegetables. The dinner on the table buzzed with flies. There were starched, ironed napkins folded in triangles with lovely patterns of woodland creatures. She traced the tiny squirrel sewed into the fabric before studying the label on the wine bottle. She was intent on busying herself. She wanted to give Joel space, but he'd been more paranoid than usual since the attack a month ago. 

I don't want you out of my sight.

She hadn't stopped aching. Brutal. Horrible. She'd slaughtered two people, and her mind continued to spin with the memories of it. She was unable to remove the taste of blood from her tongue. She could not unhear the shuddering death rattle or unfeel the way the man beneath her had wriggled and then spasmed like an electrocuted rodent.  

Joel had also seemingly lost his cool that night. After he'd tucked her into bed, she'd heard him smashing up the first floor. In the morning, he'd refused to let her see what he had done and when she fell apart again (in the safety of their QZ apartment), Joel wouldn't have it.

He'd crouched so they could be eye-level, large hand cupping the back of her skull. "They got what they deserved. Nothin' more than that."

He was right, but teaching her head to stop was easier said than done. 

She scanned the dining room before settling on the mahogany cabinet full of delicate china. When she noticed the powder blue and white teacups, she winced. She couldn't escape it. Everything triggered her. She needed to learn to grow up and out of her pain because it wouldn't serve her and certainly not Joel. He bulldozed through everything, and she had to follow suit. 

Joel cleared his throat. He had stopped reading and was staring out the window, far away. She intended to bring him back to shore. 

"They have a car?" she asked, and Joel's eyes swept toward her. Inscrutable. 

"Yeah." He scraped a hand over his mouth. "Yeah."

***

Joel guided her to a guest room, instructing her to clean up and be ready in an hour.

He'd found her a box of women's clothes that she happily dug through. The very idea of new outfits felt celebratory- even if they smelled a bit stale.

The musty fabric reminded her of her grandmother's closets. She'd used to hide behind the wool coats and leather shoes, toes snug in the sea-green carpet. She'd get light-headed on mothballs. 

Her family was gone. A long time gone.

She supposed Joel was the only person who really gave a shit about her well-being. If she died, he’d have the memory of her, at least. She wouldn’t be dust.

After she showered, she yanked on a sundress and sneakers. Joel would undoubtedly say something, but she was past caring. She stared at herself in the mirror, petting the floral-print bodice. She twisted side to side, the breeze from the open window licking between her legs and under her arms. 

She thought of Bill and Frank in the next room and abruptly stopped. Morbid. Strange to be so fine rummaging through a house when two dead men were feet away. Their window was open, too, and she wondered if the sweet brush of cool air had cradled them into the next life. She stepped forward, pressing her ear against the wood. She listened, tapping her fingertips over the wallpaper. 

Silence. She tapped again. Waiting.

"What are you doing?"

She whirled around to find Joel standing in the doorway with a towel around his waist. He'd combed his wet hair back, but a single strand boyishly drifted over his forehead. The scars across his torso gleamed white under the naked afternoon sun.

"Nothing." She shifted her weight, the dress swishing with her. 

He frowned as he scrutinized her outfit. "You can't wear that."

"Because?"

"Because you can't do shit in a dress that short," he replied flatly. 

She put her hands on her hips. "Can I just wear this today? It's-fuck-it's the prettiest thing I've worn since-since I don't know." She averted her eyes, feeling childish at her reasoning.

Because I want to be beautiful for once. I want to look beautiful for you and not covered in grime, blood, and jeans, two sizes too big. 

The expression on Joel's face flickered between irritated and puzzled. She thought he might stride across the room and tear it off her. 

Once in a while, he'd give her shit about things like this-pecking at her for enjoying luxuries that didn't exist anymore. He'd call her a spoiled brat when he really wanted to tick her off. Instinctively, she knew he was doing it, so she'd snap at him, deal him back with a rough hand. 

He always won and she assumed he’d win here, as well.

She expected him to say no, but he took a breath instead. Running his hand across his chest, he massaged an old bullet wound hidden in the sparse hair before turning back into the hall. White flag. 

Then, his voice pitched so low it grazed the floor. "Fine."

***

The letter must have softened him. Repeatedly punched him until he was a tender, pliant piece of meat. He hadn't even twitched when she snatched two guns too massive for her off the basement wall or smuggled a box of wine into the car.

His hands scraped over the steering wheel when he slid into the front seat. He stared blankly at the dash and then the manicured driveway. The grass was just beginning to creep away from the lawn, encroaching onto the asphalt. 

She wasn't sure how to deal with this. He usually seemed to take death in stride. His grief was like a chalky, oversized pill, but he swallowed it nonetheless. He'd made it clear that he didn't even like Bill yet...

"I'm sorry," she offered.

"Take your feet off the dash," he ordered stiffly.

She scowled but did as she was told, figuring she didn't need to push Joel Miller’s buttons again today. She settled into her seat, hands prim in her lap as she waited for him to begin driving.

He didn't. 

He continued to sit silently, seemingly unable to turn the car on. The hand around the steering wheel tightened, his scabbed knuckles flexing and paling beneath the windshield. His nostrils flared, and she suddenly knew:

He was going to crack. He was going to burst down the middle, and he needed her. 

Abruptly, she crawled over the console, gripping him by the lapels of his button-up to balance her weight. The fresh clothes looked good on him-the plaid green shirt fit his broad frame like a glove. She nearly toppled into the door before he grasped her wrist roughly. “What are you-"

"Shh," she murmured, straddling his lap. He stared at her. 

Joel wore his grief in the creases of his face. His pain. His anger. He was beautiful to her. Sexy in a way that couldn't be understood. Older, too. Older than any man she'd ever had before, but it wasn't like she'd had that many men, to begin with. 

"I'm here," she whispered, her thighs squeezing around his own. His mouth parted, exhaling. 

She wondered what undercurrents ran beneath his skin-his armor. What did he think about? How did he see her? 

She lifted herself onto her knees, and Joel's hands automatically seized her hips. Unbuttoning his jeans, she tugged the zipper down, and his eyes found hers. Good. Coyly, she licked her palm before gripping his half-hard cock. She stroked him slow, glancing down to watch the blush-red head disappear in the circle of her fist. He shuddered, hips lifting a few inches off the leather seat. 

She intended to be fast about this. Pleasurable consolation was a language she knew Joel understood. 

“I’m going to fuck you,” she said and he shivered under her touch. He remained silent as the grave though his eyes never left hers. Perhaps, he was struck dumb by her forwardness.

She clutched his shoulder as she braced herself before sinking down and guiding him into the heat of her cunt. She'd worn the sun dress for a reason. 

Joel made a gritty, strangled noise as she took him to the hilt, lowering herself until his thighs were flush with her ass. The band of his jeans grazed her skin, the metal of the zipper catching flesh. His nostrils flared as she tightened, walls spasming because he was always a little too big. 

Wordlessly, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, forcing his face against her chest. He sighed deeply as she rocked forward, his fingers biting into her waist. It could hardly be called a fuck, just her grinding down and him pushing his cock upward until he couldn't claim another centimeter. 

She cradled the back of his skull, rooting her nose around his damp hair that smelled like clover and a scent she recalled from before - something generic and artificial like Irish Spring. 

Finding leverage was proving difficult, but she did her best. She rose up, keeping him halfway inside her before sliding down. Repeat. In her defense, she’d never fucked anyone in a car before.

One of her hands snuck out the open window to grasp the top of the car. It was dusty, and she had this ridiculous worry that maybe someone would crawl into the garage and bite her hand. She ripped it back to cup the side of Joel's face instead. His mouth twitched, his lids heavy like he was drunk and dazed. He didn't even care she had smeared old car dust into his beard. He'd have to shower again. She would, too, and she wanted to laugh at the strange coincidence of paving new roads in their relationship through hot showers. After all, he'd wrenched her away from a panic attack in that house outside Boston. He'd held her in the shower, mouth brushing her ear.

"You did a hell of a job."

"You did so fuckin' well, sweetheart."

She swelled from the memory of Joel's praise. She wanted to pay him back.

"I've got you," she murmured against his temple, nails tracing a line across his scalp through his thick damp grays. "I've got you, Joel."

He nodded-or she thought he did. His gestures were always so vague. Sometimes he'd hold her down and fuck her brains out while telling her how much he wanted to kill her for being stupid and acting recklessly. It would then always end with him possessively clutching her body to his.

You send mixed signals, Joel. 

What?

You said you wanted to kill me, and now you won't let me go.

I never said that. 

She felt him twitch inside her, his mouth dragging across her clavicle before he abruptly shoved the top of her dress down and latched to her nipple. He sucked it, tongue darting over the nub and causing her pussy to clench around his length.

"Sweetheart," he mumbled. 

"I know," she said. 

Their grief sat between them - a weight strung about their ankles, dragging them down to the deepest parts of whatever was left. She knew blips of his pain as he knew hers. He comforted her in the ways he understood, not necessarily with words but with actions. She could do that for him now, remind him that he had her.

She rolled her hips, and he groaned, his breath puffing against her sternum. She snagged him tighter and dug her grip into his skin like she was holding fast to a rock in a riptide. The car was so small, the steering wheel bumping against her lower back, and you could hear everything.

The rustle of fabric. The squelch of her sex and slap of skin. 

Finally, Joel planted his feet and began to drive up into her. Short, fast strokes that hit just right. It almost hurt. It gave her a belly ache, but everything else fell away. The car filled with his low, subdued grunts and her whimpers. 

He secured his arms around her waist, one hand sneaking to the base of her scalp to embed his thumb into the muscle beneath her ear. They were tangled in such a way that it would have looked like anything - they could be devouring each other, feasting on the other's throats as they fucked fast and sad.

Somewhere along the way, Joel tilted his head and demanded her mouth.

He kissed her fiercely, tongue hot and aggressive as it wrestled with hers. Exploring. "Baby," he sighed against her slippery teeth. "Fuck."

Joel, her man of few words, but just the right ones. She still didn't call him anything but his name. Nothing else fit him.

"Shit," she gasped as he delivered a harsh thrust. Stay with me. Stay focused.

Her climax paraded around her belly, kicking up dirt and shouting out toward a faceless crowd. It was turning in circles, unable to find the finish line. He was screwing her tectonic plate deep, but the friction wasn't enough for her to get off. It didn't matter. This was about him. Not her. 

He gripped her hip and shoved her down before spearing up, grinding in slow, determined circles. He left her mouth to find her throat, sucking methodically at her pulse. 

It didn't take too long after that. He grumbled something into her jaw (maybe, Dolly) before his hips stuttered beneath her. She felt him fill her, warmth blooming outward. She'd have to deal with that, but for now, she worshiped him. He lifted his face, flushed from exertion - golden, bright, and devastating as his dark eyes searched hers.

“You’re good,” she praised, pressing her lips to his chin.

When she crawled off his lap, she was sticky between her legs. He huffed, tugging at the edge of her dress as if trying to hide her modesty. 

No one's around here, Joel.

No one. It's you, and it's me. It's us. 

She was sore as fuck, like she'd been smacked in the crotch. Her orgasm was lost somewhere, hanging by a few threads, but she didn't want it. Instead, she craved the longing-the lingering frustration of her missed pleasure. She brushed her hair out of her face and smoothed her dress.

"That was-"

She was hauled back over to him. Their brows bumped, noses jamming together before Joel kissed her hard. When he finally pulled away, he asked, "You feel safe with me?"

"What kind of question-

"You feel safe with me?" he urged, hands seizing her cheeks. She wondered if it had something to do with what had happened at that house a month ago. The teacup house. Or was this because of what had been written in that letter beyond Bill and Frank's goodbyes?

She felt that if she probed, he would splinter. It wasn't her business. She told him the truth. 

Smiling, she placed her hand over his. "Yes," she assured him. "I always feel safe with you."

Joel took a breath, nodding once, before pulling away. He stabbed the keys into the ignition, twisting them north, and the car rumbled to life.

When they left the garage, she watched the walls creep over him again. 

[eyesxxyou]

i need more gladiator miguel that was SO GOOD OMG

I gotcha cuz I've definitely got more ideas

💾 gladiator!Miguel x reader

❝ warnings ❞ sex, lots of sex, a little angst at the end

Gladiator!Miguel who you soon after hired to be a bodyguard for you to keep him close. He’s a good man, a strong one, and talented with a sword. You’d want no one else protecting you.

Gladiator!Miguel who is in attendance with you everywhere. In your bed chambers, in your bath house. So many opportunities with you alone, so many times he’s gotten to fuck you without any eyes nearby to catch the two of you in the act. You’re so good at tempting him, with sultry eyes and gently parted lips as you stand in the buttermilk waters of your bath and coax him closer.

You end up leaning against the edge of the bath with one leg over his shoulder and the other between his legs as he shoves his cock in and out of your pretty, tight hole. He claims it as his own, that unused entrance of yours as tight as a vice around him, and you let him because you want to be his so desperately.

“Fuck– Miguel! Please…right there.” You whimper as he pounds you in and leaves you trembling. You always get so hot looking at him, a big, hairy many like himself, testosterone so obviously pumping hard through his veins. You need him all the time.

Gladiator!Miguel who attempts to teach you how to wrestle upon your request. You do it in your palace garden where the grass and dirt would serve as a cushion for your many falls and defeats. And though you genuinely wanted to learn the art form of fighting, the two of you with your hands all over each other meant it wasn't long before you were face down in the flowers and Miguel was on top of you.

It was risky to do it in the garden where anyone could come through and see Miguel on top of you and your robes shoved up your waist. His hands pinned your wrists to the Earth and he fucked you with such vigor that anyone coming by would have mistaked it for an unwilling assault upon your body.

You had to keep quiet, even as he spread your ass so he could watch the way his fat cock disappeared inside you, even as he forced you to fuck yourself on him. “Take what you need, mi corazón.” He murmured in your ear, drunk off your soft body as his large hands grasped at your exposed flesh.

Gladiator!Miguel who needs his prince/princess to cum first always. You’re pampered, spoiled. You deserve to go first to ensure you’re properly satisfied by the end of it. It’s not like it’s a difficult task and the payoff is always so satisfying as he watches you make a mess of yourself, quivering with satisfaction beneath him as he fucks you into oblivion.

Gladiator!Miguel who genuinely teaches you how to swordfight. He thinks it’s a good skill to have. In the case that you are ever alone, you must be able to defend yourself. Besides you being next in line for the throne, you’re pretty, and there are many people in this world who’d like to take advantage of you.

Gladiator!Miguel who teaches you a whole plethora of things, how to fight, how to hunt, how to tie knots, etc. With each skill you’re taught, the more you feel yourself falling for him and him falling for you. In another world, the two of you could be together. In another world, a relationship like yours would be okay but you were expected to marry nobility and he was a simple gladiator.

[kaeyas-beloved]

before i could tell you

Character: Wriothesley

— he died never knowing your greatest secret

CW: afab!gn!reader (they/them), ANGST, hurt/no comfort, pregnancy, death (Wriothesley), Fontaine Act 4 spoilers

val’s no sympathy november masterlist

happy birthday Wriothesley... <3

The clock in the Chief Justice's office never ticked as loudly as it did now. What once served as pleasant background noise was presently a gut-wrenching reminder that you're currently in the realm of reality and not some dream world. However, you still futilely fight against it... simply because it’s all you can and want to do.

"Quit... quit joking around, it's not funny." Neuvillette takes a deep breath through his nose, subtlety glancing at the other faces in the room. The traveler from afar can’t bring themselves to raise their head, Clorinde stands deep in thought and Paimon floats beside her companion, sniffling softly. All of them can’t bring themselves to face you, each harboring their own regret.

As the embodiment of justice, Neuvillette rarely jokes, especially with concerns to another’s life. You knew this well, and yet you still repeat that same plea to him, hoping you’ll get a different answer than just silence. “Don’t joke like that Neuvillette… he’s fine… Wriothesley’s okay… he’s at home isn’t he? Like he said he’d be?”

You’re holding yourself like it’s the last defense you have at not splitting at the seams, and Fontaine’s Iudex wants desperately to deliver a different verdict that what the world has decided. Words the Warden spoke to him one evening over a hot pot of tea echo in his mind as he looks at your fragile form.

“You’ll keep them safe for me, won’t you Neuvillette? Life as Warden has its twists and turns, you never know what might happen down here. Ah, but of course you know this, don’t you?” He followed with a carefree laugh, and he could easily lie about being unaware of the ticking time bomb he sat above if he wanted to.

He feels as if he’s failed the man in keeping that promise. You physically may be safe, but your heart is going through hell and back in that moment and there wasn’t anything he could do. He could only watch on as the world around you buzzed, everything suddenly a trigger made to launch your senses into a state of overload. The light pouring through the window is too bright, everyone’s presence is too suffocating, your chest tightens and your stomach feels like it’s tearing itself apart and you just might be sick right then and there if you didn’t take a breath.

The embrace you had on yourself tightens, and as a form of comfort you imagine the familiar heat of your husband hugging you from behind, his large frame encompassing and the only thing you ever needed to feel better at times like these. For just a moment you’re able to feel him hold you, tuck his head into your shoulder and telling you that everything will be alright as he keeps you afloat.

He can’t though, not anymore, and instead it’s Paimon who tries to console you through words and the champion duelist who steadies you when your legs threaten to give out. “It’s okay, Wriothesley would want you to stay happy right? He’d want you to keep living even though he’s not here with you…”

Your gaze slowly lifts to the pink fairy, a shaky breath forcing itself past your lips, “it’s not okay Paimon… he didn’t know… I didn’t get to tell him…”

Your quiet admission not only confused her but the others as well, “Paimon doesn’t understand, you didn’t get to tell him what exactly?”

Neuvillette suddenly speaks, his eyes scanning over you. Anyone who knew him could see the underlying shock in his irises, unprepared to face this new revelation, “you’re with child, aren’t you?” The pieces click in his mind and anyone that was paying attention would notice the beginning of a heavy downpour starting right outside.

Softly nodding, fat tears began to slide down your cheeks, voice breaking as you continue, “I was going to tell him today, after he got off work. He promised he’d make it home tonight. Oh that Wriothesley… stupid, stupid Wriothesley…”

“Tell me how what happened, please. In full detail,” your request is met by hesitant silence, Clorinde finally being the one to speak up. You didn’t think it possible, but somehow everything just got worse and worse.

He was splashed with Primordial Sea Water closing the gates in the Fortress of Meropide. There is no body to bury. There’s no way to say a final goodbye. The Iudex watches a fresh wave of tears line your eyes, your blank stare as you process everything his cue to proceed with what hehe had in mind.

Standing from his seat, he walks up to you and lifts your trembling hands, placing something cool in your palm. Looking down, you’re surprised to see the necklace you’d gifted Wriothesley a few years ago, the one he refused to take off because it, according to him, “feels nice against my heart. Like a piece of you is always with me.”

“This was… in the pile of clothes left behind. I believe it to be something returned back to you,” he said, patting your hand once before brushing past you. Out of your view the male waved the others out of the room, just to give you a few moments to yourself.

When the door closed was the same second the dam broke, sobs of a heartbreaking calibre echoing in the quiet room. There was only one thought that circled in your mind: he’s gone, and he’s not coming back. No more waking up to his gruff voice in the morning, hair tossed in all different directions. You’ll never feel his calloused hands caress your cheeks, his voice low and only meant for you as he tells you he’s the luckiest man in the world to have you as his spouse and how he can’t wait for what the future would bring you both.

No more gushing to one another about how you’ll spoil your children as much as you can, daydreaming about what the little ones could look like, only to cuddle close and ready to fall asleep with the promise that no matter what you’d love them regardless.

“We’re getting our biggest dream to come true Wriothesley… I’m telling you now, so come back and love them liked you promised dammit. I can’t do this without you.”

Tag list: (both regular and event exclusive): @spoopy-fish-writes // @that-enby-alien // @xenuuu // @kaeyaloml // @mariposa666haruka // @quackquackmfs // @kunikuzushiii // @genshin-impact-writings // @ventisweetheart // @lordbugs // @leena-shi // @ari-the-wr1ter // @xiaos-wife // @milkwithspiceyicecubes // @stygianoir // @francisnyx

+

@kaiserkisser // @multipleshadesofblue // @moloteco-real // @kithewanderingme // @scaramood // @ii-lily2 // @esuz // @kochothehoe // @cindywasneverhere

[inuyassa]

HELLO!!! Can i make a Luffy x F!reader (not dating YET but mutual pining) request where the reader gets injured during a fight but hides it from the crew because the victory party started, (and because after everything Luffy has been through recently the reader doesn't want him to worry) BUT she goes down half way through the party?

What is Luffy's reaction??

Angst to comfort ig?? does that make sense???

THANK.

OMG YOU KNOW I LOVE ME SOME ANGST!!!!!!! I hope this is what you were thinking/hoping!!

Luffy x F!Reader

Request

Angst/Comfort

Warnings: Mentions of Death, Blood, and Implied Injury. Some mature language.

Wake Up...

She gripped the edge of the bathroom sink as she placed another round of antiseptic on the wound.  It was a fresh laceration, bright red and still bleeding.  She had only received it a day ago while the crew was ashore and attacked by a local gang.  The fight was short lived, but she still took quite a few hits, and when one came at her with a knife…

It would be so simple to just go to Chopper and ask to be patched up, but by the time everyone made their way back to the ship, the party was underway.  Drinks and food and music, complements of Zoro, Sanji, and Brook respectively.  It was one of the first times since reuniting that the crew was able to celebrate a win together.  Luffy was overjoyed, his smile was back after so much pain…how could she ruin that by making him worry?

After another painful round of wound cleaner, she made her way back onto the deck.  Brook was jamming away on his violin while Sanji pined after Robin and Nami with plates of sweets and mugs of tea.  Zoro laughed through a half drunk bottle of sake while Luffy devoured a full serving of meat on the bone. The sounds of laughter once again filled the deck of the Thousand Sunny.  She smiled, her eyes growing heavy.  She braced herself against the nearby pillar and tried to stop the world from spinning. 

“Hey kiddo, you doing okay?” Franky walked up beside her, he had been making his way to the spread of food when he saw her loose balance.  She looked up at him, his smile faded when he saw how pale she looked, her skin glistening with a thin layer of sweat.  “Woah, buddy, you don’t look too good,” he said, putting a large, strong hand on your shoulder.  “You need me to get Chopper?”

She grinned, feeling the world swallow her up.  “Hey, Franky,” she began.  “Don’t let me hit my head okay?” Her legs buckled beneath her and she fell.  Franky lunged forward to catch her, easing her onto the ground.  “Kid? Kid! Hey, we need help over here!”

Franky’s voice cut through the jovial music, causing Brook to freeze and the rest of the crew to look towards him.  When Luffy saw her on the ground, he rushed over, leaving his half eaten meat behind.  Chopper followed closely behind, grabbing his bag from off the bench.  The rest of the crew shot over, hovering as she lay in Franky’s arms.  Her breath was short and shaky, her brow furrowed in pain.  Luffy looked her over with panic, that’s when he noticed the blood soaking into her shirt.  She was hurt.  He faltered backwards several steps before he fell to his knees, his heart beating loud and fast in his ears, his eyes full of fear.  Zoro noticed his Captain and knelt down in front of him.  “Luffy, you’ve got to stay with us okay?”

“Blood…” Luffy said, his voice hoarse and soft.  “She’s bleeding…”

Zoro grabbed his shoulders.  He might be the future Pirate King, but right now, he was that same little kid who just lost his brother.  “Look at me Luffy,” Zoro said, his voice stern but comforting.  “This is not like then, this is now.  She’s going to be fine.  You won’t lose her, understand?”  That’s when Zoro noticed the tears welling up in Luffy’s eyes.  He stared blankly ahead, his face locked.  “Blood…” he breathed.  “So much blood…”

“We need to get her inside,” Chopper said.  “She’s responsive but in a lot of pain.”  Franky nodded and stood up, slowly cradling her tense body in his arms.  She let out a pained yell as he did, and Luffy’s breath caught in his throat.  He stood up, shoving Zoro out of the way and running towards her.  He was tackled by Usopp who pinned the manic Luffy down.  “Calm down Luffy,” he yelled.  “You won’t be any help to her the way you are now.”

Luffy clawed at the ground, his fists filling with grass and dirt, he yelled for Usopp to get off him.  “I’m your captain,” he screamed, his voice raw.  “You do as I say and get the hell off me!”

A large, leather clad shoe pinned Luffy’s head to the ground.  Sanji stood above him, his eyes filled with rage and worry.  “You need to calm down Luffy,” he sneered.  “This isn’t helping anyone, especially not her!” 

Luffy fought against the pressure, but with his arms bound by Usopp, he wasn’t going anywhere.  His breath became fast and heavy, his body slowly losing the will to fight them off anymore.  Hot tears streamed from his eyes and he sobbed.  He let our months of repressed worry and fear.  Pain he thought he was over all came rushing back into him like a flood he couldn’t control…

***

“You gave us all quite a scare,” Chopper lectured her as he changed her bandages.  It had been two days since she collapsed at the party, and in that short amount of time, Chopper’s treatment had all but healed her.  “You’ll have a nasty scar, but other than that, your wound looks really good!”

She smiled, caressing the small doctor’s cheek.  “Looks like I owe you my life yet again Doctor.” Chopper began to blush, assuring her that her compliments could not fool him, and that she was a liar.  She laughed.  “Is Luffy around?  I haven’t seen him since I woke up.”

Chopper paused.  “He hasn’t really talked much to anyone on board.  He just sits at the helm and looks out at the sea…we’re all sort of worried about him.”

She sighed, looking out the small window at the ocean.  In an attempt to save Luffy the pain of seeing her hurt, she ended up making the situation much worse…

*** 

Luffy sat cross-legged, letting the sea breeze run its invisible fingers through his hair, his hat dangling around his neck.  The sun was getting ready to set, that would mean three days since he last saw her…

”Is this seat taken?”  Luffy’s head shot around to see her standing behind him, a small blanket wrapped around her.  His heart dropped to his stomach.  She looked so tired…

She must have taken his silence as a response and lowered herself down next to him.  His eyes never left her, afraid that if he so much as blinked she would disappear forever. “You don’t need to blame yourself, you know,” she began.  “I hid it from everyone.  I didn’t want to make you worry.  I guess that plan sort of backfired though huh?”

Luffy still only stared at her…”You were bleeding,” he began.  “And then you collapsed…just like he did.”

She looked at him.  “Luffy…”

“I thought you weren’t going to wake up too…”

Before he could say anything else she threw her arms around him, pulling him into her arms.  Luffy held onto her tight, burrowing his face in between her neck and shoulder.  She felt his body shake with silent sobs.  “I’m right here,” she whispered.  “I’m right here.  I’m not going anywhere I promise…”

[spacesodaa]

I stumbled across your albedo avalanche fic and fell in love with your writing! I saw your requests were open and wondered if you would be happy to write one with aventurine and afab reader with a shot of angst? Perhaps they are working together and his love gets hurt?

Thank you so much for your works, BTW! ❤️❤️

Aww tysm!! I really appreciate you liked my writing 🥹 I had a lot of fun writing this, hope you like this as much as I do!

Aventurine x Reader - Back To You

Characters: Aventurine, Reader (afab)

Summary: Aventurine makes a risky move during a trade with some bandits and you get hurt in the process.

Warnings: blood, angst, hurt/comfort

A/N: not proofread lmao

Aventurine watched in horror as you dove in front of him, catching the dart in his stead. He had calculated that provoking his possible business partners coult result in violence, but apparently he was horrible at math because never in a million years would he have expected you to take the shot for him. Not because he didn't think you would be apathetic to dire situations, but because he didn't think he was worth the trouble.

That was a reoccurring theme in your relationship, you have always had to remind him he was worth every effort you put in, even though his convictions were hard to break.

Aventurine deftly caught you before you could hit the rocky floor of the cave. It had been a risky move to meet the group of men in an isolated place like this, but again he had failed to take into account you had insisted to go with him and it wouldn't have been just his sorry ass to end in trouble.

The men grinned at him, seemingly satisfied with the result of their actions.

"This serves as your warning. You better lower your head sigonian trash" one of them said, before they all turned their backs on him and exited the cave. Another one of the men stopped right in front of the entrance and flashed him a toothy smile, waving. He pressed a button, causing a large rumble to erupt from right above the entrance. A cascade of rocks descended loudly, blocking the only exit.

Aventurine sat there stunned. It was clear to him now, that their intent was never really to negotiate, but to hurt him. Either directly or indirectly. If only he had insisted to go alone, you wouldn't have been in his arms progressively going limp. Only god knew what the hell was in the dart you had been shot with, so he quickly pulled it out from your belly, leaving an unhealthy purplish entry wound.

He shifted you in his grip and lowered to the ground with you. He sincerely hoped his phone would work in such a remote place. He fished it from his pocket, quickly typing the password, only to realize the rocks blocked whatever flimsy signal could reach this remote place. There were in fact, no bars in the signal indicator.

"Damn it" he muttered.

"Kakavasha..." He almost jumped out of his own skin at the sound of your voice. Aventurine brought you closer to his chest, your forehead burned against the exposed skin of his neck.

"Yes?" He hesitantly answered.

"It's not your fault" always straight to the point you were, piercing through the ungodly amount of walls he had built and reading past the facade.

"You shouldn't have jumped in front of me" Aventurine replied "what if that was a real gun and not a dart one?"

"And let you...get poisoned...?" Your words were starting to get lower, your gaze struggling to focus on anything.

"Yes! I provoked them! I miscalculated everything!" You could feel his hands shake as he held you.

"So...you must...pay the price...yeah no" you smiled bitterly, although your lips felt numb.

"It should have been my life in the gamble, not yours" he said in a defeated tone "I don't deserve you throwing yours away for me" the last part was muttered, but you heard it nonetheless.

"But you do...and the choice...is mine" you tried to say it as determined as you could muster. If the world was going to shit you would throw it away to save him in a matter of seconds. No questions asked.

The blonde man couldn't utter another word, just as you couldn't convince him to have some self worth, he couldn't convince you to give up on him. You were ride or die and he couldn't change that, maybe that was for the best. You had enough love to love him for himself too.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck and held onto you for dear life, as if it could cure you and you could keep rising next to him in the morning. What would he do if he lost you? He would lose everything once again, because as much as he didn't want to admit it to others, you were his everything.

He was scared, terrified you would draw your last breath any minute now. You didn't seem to be in pain, but you did look miserable. Your breaths were shallow and your skin was burning and covered in sweat as your body shook slightly.

Aventurine could only hope someone would notice you were gone - who would even notice a sigonian was missing? Maybe Topaz? - and come looking for you. At least he had had the good sense to leave your meeting location with Topaz.

He waited and waited, watching you slip away as the time passed. You had long lost consciousness and he could barely feel your shallow breaths against his neck.

"Please don't go..." He pleaded, eyes burning.

Your body felt numb, with a weird fuzziness in the background. It was similar to those old cathodic tube screens when no signal was available. A new type of 'annoying' you wished you hadn't learned existed.

With a bit of effort you managed to open your eyes and you were met with an unfamiliar room, dimly lit. It had white walls and some cabinets against the wall in front of you. To your left was a window with blinds obscured but you could see some light spill through the cracks. On the same side, right next to the bed were an IV bag (that you quickly realized was stuck in your arm) and a bunch of monitors beeping along with your heartbeat. Finally your eyes landed to your right, where Aventurine sat on a chair. He was leaning on the mattress of the bed you were on, head on his arms, hair completely disheveled shooting in every direction. Contrary to what one would expect from being in such a position, he was fast asleep. Even when you scooted a bit to sit up he didn't move an inch, which would have been normal if you were to be at home, but the room liked like one from a private hospital. To be this heavily asleep he must have been exhausted.

You reached your hand and gently smoothed over the rebellious locks, before switching to bushing your fingers through them as delicately as you could as to not wake him.

This was a rare sight, making you equal parts upset that you had caused it and in awe at the display of vulnerability. Most of the time he was wide awake before you so this was one of the few times you were able to watch him sleep.

The door opened slowly, revealing Topaz poking her head in. You smiled, waved at her followed by a quick gesture to keep quiet then pointing to your sleeping boyfriend.

She nodded and fully entered the room, closing the door behind her right after.

"How are you feeling?" She whispered once she was standing at your left, eyeing curiously Aventurine.

"Weird. Fuzzy?" You attempted, keeping your voice low. Which wasn't that hard because your throat was dry as hell so you couldn't talk as loud even if you tried.

"Yeah, we were told to expect something like this. The poison they used on you progressively numbs the body. We were lucky you were still breathing when I finally got to you two" she explained.

"I remember the dart. What happened after?" You asked, still petting Aventurine's hair.

"I don't know the details, but I found you two stuck in a cave and Aventurine was clutching onto you for dear life" Topaz said "I don't think I've ever seen him that terrified.

You frowned, knowing what you did, it was not hard to deduce his line of thought. He had lost so much and he had almost lost you.

If you hadn't jumped in front of him, it would have been him in your conditions and you couldn't bear the thought of that either.

"What did you guys end up doing with those 'clients'?"

"You mean the ones you two were meeting?" You hummed in response "I have no idea, Aven dealt with them a few days ago"

"Wait- a few days ago? How long have I been aslep??"

"About a week. I have never seen him leave this room more than a few minutes" she pointed to the man, who was still blissfully unaware. No wonder he was sleeping like a log.

Suddenly her phone started ringing and both of you cringed at the loud sound. Topaz quickly answered it and bolted out of the room.

The loud ringtone seemed to have been enough to disturb your boyfriend's sleep, as he let out a raspy groan in protest. You brushed his bangs away from his face and that got his attention. His head shot up, meeting your soft gaze and endearing smile.

"Y/n?" He asked, as if he couldn't believe you were there.

"Yes baby, I came back to you" he barely let you finish speaking before he bolted out of the chair to engulf you into an emotionally charged hug, a hand behind your shoulders and the other buried in your hair at the base of your neck.

"...I thought I had lost you for good" he muttered shakily "you wouldn't wake up..."

"I'm sorry to have worried you so much" you frowned, the conflictint feelings coming back full force.

"But you're going to do it again, aren't you?" He said it in a tone that was half amused and half utterly exasperated.

"Without a second thought. As much as you refuse to believe it, to me you're the world" you replied, gently prying him away from you to look at his face. You cupped his cheeks and watched intently as if you were trying to commit every detail to memory. Aventurine was simply lost in your eyes as you did, thinking of how a few hours ago he had thought he would never see them again.

You pressed a kiss to his lips, which he welcomed readily.

"Baby, you are so pale" you said, worried.

"Am I?" He cocked his head slightly "I haven't slept a wink aside from before" he chuckled, but it sounded tired. Now that he knew you were going to be okay the exhaustion was starting to take over once again.

"Why don't you cuddle with me? You can sleep and hold onto me, I won't go anywere" you smiled softly at him as you pulled him down onto the mattress with you. It didn't really take that much coaxing and soon he had his face buried into your plump chest as he held you from your middle.

"I love you" he muttered before falling asleep.

"I love you too"

[a-boca-do-inferno]

SFW ALPHABET (caesar x human!reader) [request]

warnings: angst, fluff, swearing

words: 3.4k

notes: damn this took me forever cause i was rly feeling it jdfkj anyways i hope you enjoy!

Affection; how affectionate is he?

Caesar is possibly the most affectionate among his peers without a doubt, yet he still would seem somehow “colder” by human standards—mostly because of the different ways apes show any type of affection at all. Being a leader is a big part of who he is, after all, and ever so often that means putting aside personal preferences to be fair for everyone and on top of that, you are human. The ape king has to maintain a certain level of diplomacy when you two are in public as to not stir up unpleasant situations within the colony, a large part of them orchestrated by the likes of Koba, of course.

“He’s trouble.” That’s what Caesar signs to you one time, whilst you both watch over the sleeping apes from his home. The frown on his features is there; unchanging. “Gotta be careful. Fair.”

And you can’t blame him for that. Still, among what it all means for him to show any preference towards you in the public eye, being alone in your place or his is another matter entirely. The king is very touchy, always making sure to wrap a protective arm around your belly while you’re doing some task he couldn’t care less about at that moment. His thick fingers brush your midriff idly, his face nuzzling into your shoulder to get his fill of you for the day; almost like you’re a drug and it’s time for his fix. The element of taboo because of your different species, such a hard pill he has to swallow every day, in that specific position only serves to fuel his desire for you on astronomical levels. He’s completely, helplessly addicted to you.

Best friend; what would he be like as a best friend?

Caesar’s got one of those personalities where it doesn’t matter the relationship he has to you, there’s this unshakeable sense of understanding and security he transpires naturally, along with his obvious need to protect you at all costs, which is arguably shaped by his past experiences with the death of loved ones. Have you ever heard of the term “mom friend”? That is the ape king, all the way. His overprotectiveness might feel overwhelming sometimes, that’s true, but his good intentions are so painfully clear, you simply can’t bring yourself to stay mad at him for long. Not when he tries to win you over with gifts and whatnots; bringing you food when he’s out hunting, handcrafting those flower crowns you love so much, even going as far as confessing his feelings to you through a formal apology, pulling you softly by your elbow after you had supper so you can talk in private.

“How… are you?” Caesar will rasp, his green eyes sweet like honey when directed at you, and that look is all you need to know he’s silently recognizing he was a bit too much earlier—as usual. You cave immediately many times, because there’s no safer place in the world than his furry self holding you tightly, securely, as you fall asleep in his nest.

Cuddles; does he like to cuddle?

Absolutely yes! It’s his favourite time of the day. After so much work with the council, trying to figure out strategies to make apes’ resources last for the whole winter, there’s nothing else Caesar would rather be doing than laying down with you and pressing his body close to yours, cherishing your natural heat. He can’t get enough of your softness, hugging you tight almost like you’re his own personal plushie, his nose rubbing against your neck as he inhales your scent, enjoying every second to the fullest.

“Clingy”, you purr every time, to which the king only huffs, burying his face into the crook of your shoulder even further.

Domestic; does he want to settle down? how is he at cooking and cleaning?

Caesar is very responsible with chores in general, so his home is always neat. He’s definitely a domestic man, preferring the comfort of his own place rather than staying out too much—he loves his community too, of course, yet he’s got a quiet and more tranquil personality—so that’s why he’s invested in caring for his turf. As for cooking, the most he can do is human food, which isn’t so accessible nowadays, but Caesar can hold his ground making an improvised stew when it’s cold.

Also, another one of his favourite times of the day is when you two are in silence at home, just appreciating each other’s company after supper while you groom him in bed. It’s something he’s grateful for; he never asked for it, yet you decided you wanted to socialise and become closer to him through his culture, ape culture, and the king gladly let you do the deed.

Ending; if he had to break up with his mate, how would he do it?

Quite transparently—would casually ask you to join him alone for a serious conversation and lay all cards on the table. Caesar is very mindful with his words and how he says them, watching his tone, his expression, careful not to hurt you more than the absolute necessary. Ultimately, if he ever had to break up with you, it probably wouldn’t have anything to do with lack of sentiment from his part, but rather the impracticality of having a relationship with a human while being an ape—the king, no less. All his decisions are inevitably rational, always in favour of the greater good and in order to maintain harmony in the colony. Even at the expense of his own happiness, no matter how much it would hurt him, and so he’d definitely find the best way to tell it like it is whilst also being the most gentle he could manage.

Fiancé; how does he feel about commitment?

Caesar’s a marriage kinda guy, yep. Being brought up with humans undeniably influenced the way he sees relationships in general and to be honest, he never really felt like his way of approaching the topic fit with the way apes do it, although he’s not talked about it out loud to anyone. Primate culture revolves around utility of a mate and it’s often not monogamous per se, albeit there are some known jealous apes in the group—him included, despite never admitting it to himself either. The usual dynamic is simply a no-no for him, especially with you. He wants it all: the wife, the children, the pets. All he’s entitled to.

Gentle; how gentle is he, both physically and emotionally?

Caesar can be a tough cookie, we all know that. Of course, that is due to the fact he’s the leader and with his responsibilities, among them lie the aching need to appear strong all the time—however, when in your presence, all of that just melts away. You cause him to feel comfortable and safe to be soft and he indulges in that foreign feeling of vulnerability more often than not, allowing himself to relax and let his guard down, if only for brief moments. Physically, it may come as no surprise that the king is ripped. Not sure if it’s genetics or what, but he’s very strong and you feel his strength in all its glory when Caesar is pushing you down against your nest at night. Heh.

Hugs; does he like hugs? what are his hugs like?

Not the biggest hugger in general. The king is cuddly, yes, but on his own terms, on very specific times—when you’re both alone. Normally, Caesar prefers to keep any public displays of affection at a minimum, which isn’t to say he won’t hug you back if you come to hold him; he just won’t initiate it himself. He’s a bulky ape, and so being held by him feels quite literally like being snuggled into a bear hug, your face smashed against his furry, firm chest, his thick arms enveloping you and heating you up almost instantly.

I love you; how fast does he say the L-word?

He says it back immediately after you mention it, as it ignites a memory long lost in his brain. A moment when he was a child and Will silently cooed it into his ear, trying to soothe him after he got worked up and attacked the neighbour that one time. 

“(y/n) loves… Caesar.” He repeats, his voice raspy, green eyes watching you intently as he tilts his head, processing your words and slowly understanding what they truly mean. You nod with a faint smile and he hoots, bringing your foreheads together. “Caesar loves… (y/n).”

Jealousy; how jealous does he get?

Caesar’s unsurprisingly very possessive. He does try to keep it in check for your sake, most of the time, but also because he is a pacifist at heart—though no amount of peace inside the king would ever make him turn the other way whenever his gaze falls on you with another male a little too close. The scowl is inevitable and his nostrils flare, something deep in his gut burning, eating away at his stomach. Anger.

“(y/n)”, he calls—orders, his tone authoritative, his look and signing sharp, such a rare sight from him when talking to you. 

And with the slight huff at your direction, you already know what’s going on and make no fuss about it, politely excusing yourself and leaving the male’s side, approaching Caesar obediently. He stands tall in front of you, still frowning, and puts your body behind his, hissing at the stranger from a distance, his fangs showing in a threatening manner. Nothing much to happen from there, besides everyone around getting the message and dutifully going about their way, preferably away from you.

Kisses; what are his kisses like?

Shy and rough. Caesar does know humans kiss to show their love toward one another, after seeing it happen so much between Will and his girlfriend—but he has a silent insecurity concerning your different anatomies, since your lips are so distinct from his own, so much smoother and smaller, which prompts him to feel too self-conscious and overly alert at the possibility to hurting you with his fangs on accident. He does love receiving your kisses, though, even more so than giving them, readily sheltering himself in your arms as you run a hand through his furry head and pepper him with affection all over his face. His quiet grunts are enough to tell you the king’s not getting out of your embrace anytime soon, if he can help it.

Little ones; how is he around children?

Caesar’s got a naturally soothing presence, even around the most feisty baby apes. He’s overprotective of the little ones too, although not scolding them too roughly as he’s learned this approach was hardly ever effective with Blue Eyes when the prince was younger. His relationship to the young often revolves around his wise counselling—whether they asked for it or not, the kiddos just have to deal with papa Caesar going on and on about some life lesson when they just want to go out and play up in the trees already.

Morning; how are mornings spent with him?

Caesar’s an early bird, so he’s always up first. He’s got a habit of watching you as you sleep, revelling in the sound of your soft and steady breath, his green eyes observing attentively as your chest rises and falls. His routine is what keeps him grounded, and so he grabs some breakfast for you both and gently wakes you to accompany him in the meal before he’s off to his duties in the colony. Sometimes you two chat, other times you eat in silence and meet again at lunch, in the communal spot all the apes gather around. 

Night; how are nights spent with him?

Quietly—again, no surprise there. When Caesar’s not feeling too sexy, it’s often because the king’s very tired, so he refrains from talking a lot and simply enjoys your comforting presence. On good days he will talk about something funny that happened while hunting, and on bad days, his complaints will concern some dispute raised by troublemakers like Koba and his followers. You try your best to soothe his nerves in those moments, reassuring him of the trust the apes have in him not to fall for anyone’s opposition to his guidance, which he’s grateful for, too. It’s nice for him to feel like someone, you, will follow him no matter what. Gives him a sense of security he desperately needs.

Open; when would he start revealing things about himself?

You’d have to ask a lot at first, and not even with the promise of getting straight answers every time you do, despite your best efforts. Caesar’s obviously not an open book and even when he does talk about himself, more so about his old life with humans, you usually have to jump through hoots to interpret his philosophical riddles on your own—sometimes you even think he’s fucking with you on purpose, but you don’t mention it, not wanting to fight for such a small thing. Still, you are the only one who could ever question him as much as you do and not get completely ignored, anyway. He’s got a soft spot for you.

Patience; how easily angered is he?

Not very easily. Caesar’s got his head in the right place mostly—he only ever gets angry when it’s something serious concerning his family directly (you, Blue Eyes, Cornelius) and since he’s always silently making sure that you’re all cared for, it is indeed a rare sight to see him irritated. He does get mildly annoyed whenever you’re teasing him about his jealousy, yet it’s nothing compared to how he behaves when he’s feeling really possessive, as stated before.

Quizzes; how much would he remember about you?

A good amount, actually. Caesar will randomly mention some small detail about you that you didn’t even remember telling him in the first place; some things he says are even just his own conclusions he draws from little pieces of information you provide here and there, and they’re usually pretty accurate, which never fails to amaze you. It only serves to show how intelligent the ape king truly is.

Remember; what is his favourite moment in your relationship?

Possibly the first time Caesar understands you like him—more than a platonic feeling. At that point, though you two had become very close, there had always been this little voice inside saying that it couldn’t be really possible, not even in his wildest dreams. Whatever would you have seen in him, an ape? Sure, it was obvious you’d much rather be around him than any other male in the colony, and sure, you mentioned time and time again how glad you were for his presence as you knew apes had their shortcomings with humanity, and he insisted on integrating you into their world at the best of his ability, regardless. Yet the king never once considered those words anything more than you just being your sweet self. Clueless ass.

“I see it.” Maurice commented one night, signing toward your figure a few rocks down. Caesar eyed his friend slightly puzzled, waiting for him to finish his thought, and the ginger grunted, “how (y/n) looks at Caesar.” He points at the ape king’s chest. 

And Caesar could only scoff, huffing and shaking his head, his hands gesturing rapidly, “Maurice… confused.” His deep voice mocks, to which the orangutan merely shrugged, a hint of amusement in his gaze.

And Maurice was right, as he often was.

Security; how protective is he?

Homeboy’s a bit paranoid, not gonna lie. But can you blame him? Being constantly in a state of war with other humans lurking around, trying to harm his colony and his family, along with the petty quarrels between the apes themselves, surely take its toll on the ape king’s state of mind. Your fights about the topic are very frequent because of that, precisely—whenever Caesar’s more stressed than usual, he’ll give you shit for going out hunting with Blue Eyes or Rocket, no matter how much he trusts them to protect you. In his mind, you’re only safe around him and him only. That’s something you’re both still working on.

Try; how much effort would he put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?

Caesar is a very caring mate and likes to flaunt it a bit. He would put his best into quick getaways from the hustle of the colony, making sure to plan something special just for the two of you next to the river, arranging a meal with your favourite fruit on display. He is also be very thoughtful with gifts, getting something personalised just for you like the head accessories you like to wear occasionally. The king is very reliable and diligent, always doing his part to maintain the relationship and keep things running smoothly, it’s just part of his leading nature to sort of take control over things. 

Ugly; what would be some bad habits of his?

Heavy is the head that wears the crown and with Caesar, apart from the responsibilities he’s got to live with, there’s also the never leaving stubbornness. The king has a sense of arrogance and a feeling of superiority that’s honestly not unexpected for someone in his position—he’s only ape, after all. A lot of arguments happen because of his inflexibility, and they usually concern colony affairs that sometimes you two disagree with, which causes a bit of tension when the power dynamics come into play in your relationship. If he’s the king and you’re his mate, then what does that make you, when you’re not even “publicly” acknowledged as such? It’s a tricky question that even Caesar can’t quite answer whenever you ask. 

Vanity; how concerned is Caesar with his looks?

His vanity arises when you two start your relationship officially. Caesar’s not so much concerned with how he looks, but rather how you perceive him, if he’s attractive to you given your different species and anatomy, and that is as far as it will go. He’s got more important matters to attend to than caring about how others—beside you—see him, either physically or otherwise. 

Whole; would he feel incomplete without you?

Yeah. Caesar’s a big softie inside and he feels something for you that is not even comparable to how he felt with Cornelia before—it’s so much more intense and consuming. It’s like you’ve become his very oxygen. Without you everything else seems so dull, colourless, lifeless. Even your silence is different from everybody else’s, the way you blink, the way you shift slightly in your spot beside him. When he can’t smell you around, it’s like the king unconsciously knows he’s too far away from home, and it almost feels unsafe for him to dare exist in that condition. And Caesar doesn’t even think much about it, there’s simply this… strangeness whenever you’re not there. This emptiness. A sense of nothingness that silently terrifies him when he does think of it for more than a second.

Xtra; a random headcanon for him.

Caesar’s a serious guy, it’s his default, but he just loves making you laugh. He’s often finding ways to goof around in his own manner, which only makes it funnier and more endearing to you, seeing this enormous, grumpy ape trying to make jokes for the sole purpose of seeing you smile. He’ll do it anywhere, anytime, with anything he can find close; holding up blueberries to his eyes’ level and making ridiculous faces, hooting and acting like some random goofy monkey, scratching his sides and screeching, sometimes even going as far as joking about giving you his “banana” later on.

You chuckle softly at his antics, bringing him closer into a gentle hug that he gladly accepts, letting out faint hoots at your familiar touch. “You’re so silly.” You murmur between laughs, and the ape king can’t get enough of that sound. It’s music to his ears.

Yuck; what are some things he wouldn’t like, either in general or in a mate?

Recklessness is the way to make Caesar lose it. He can’t help it, he’s got the fatherly and overly responsible thing going on all the time. That’s something he also has to come to terms with when being around you—he’s not sure if it’s human behaviour or if he’s just too much of an uptight ape himself, but you’re someone who seems to like toying with his patience like no one else does. He feels like he’s being tested, at times.

Zzz; what is a sleep habit of his?

Caesar’s a simple guy. He typically sleeps either on his side or on his back and prefers cuddling you from behind, no matter the position he’s in. The king may also occasionally grunt or make other soft sounds in his sleep, but they are generally not loud enough to wake you in his arms.