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Gaebomon’s Cottage by Kenza Morvan

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to be a small kitten in the pines 🌲

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Source: spongecake_thescottishfold

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Art by Brecormark

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Pixel Art by Dmitry Dudko

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Summer sketches by Daria Zarankina

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Pixel Art by Tommi Laurila

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Art by Natcha Ngamtweerat

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Art by Brecormark

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Art by Brecormark

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His big wet eyes and loser boy personality have captivated me (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x GN!Reader)

Summary: you see Ghost's big beautiful calf eyes and you HAVE to say something. also he calls u love because he’s British and it’s cute IDC

inspired by something @suimon said because of course it is

The warmth of the cafe was a welcome reprieve from the biting winter cold outside, and you dusted the snow off of your clothes and hair as you made your way to the counter, not bothering to take off your scarf or light jacket.

You exchanged a polite greeting with the cashier and ordered your favorite hot drink, along with a pastry that caught your eye. Might as well, right? After you had missed your bus home, you deserved a little treat for having to walk in the cold instead!

The wait was blessedly short despite how crowded the small building was, and you grabbed your drink and snack with a quiet 'thank you' before looking around and searching for a seat. A lot of people had the same idea as you, it seemed, because every table and chair in the place seemed to be occupied. It was nowhere near nice enough for anyone to want to go outside to enjoy their food and drinks, so the small cafe was packed.

Well, almost packed.

There was one place left to sit; on a plush chair near a coffee table. A prime spot, if not for the man who was in the chair directly across from it. He was dressed all in black, with nearly every square inch of his skin covered. He was wearing a balaclava, with the bottom rolled up just enough to expose his lips and allow him to take sips of his tea. Not too unusual considering the weather, but still a little off-putting. No one had wanted to occupy the seat closest to him. You could guess why. He was massive, with biceps that were probably bigger than your head, and he didn't exactly seem the most approachable. Still, this was a public place. If he didn't want anyone to sit by him, he should have taken his tea home.

You cleared your throat as you stood in front of him, and he looked up.

"Mind if I sit?" You asked with a slightly anxious smile. The man grunted and shrugged his shoulders before replying.

"Nah, s'fine." He said, his accented voice rough. He gestured for you to approach, and you did, setting your drink and snack on the coffee table before settling in.

"Thanks, I didn't want to go back out in all of that just yet. My hands were starting to get numb…" You chuckled awkwardly, and the man hummed, taking in the sight of your snow-covered boots and rosy cheeks, but he didn't say anything else.

You saw that as your cue to stop talking, and you took a big bite of your pastry.

But then you noticed his eyes. They were...gorgeous, for lack of a better word. Observant and soulful, a warm brown color that looked like honey when the light hit his face. You inhaled quietly, your own eyes widening as you took in the sight. You absolutely had to say something. He wouldn’t get mad if you complimented him, right? He couldn’t just walk around looking so stunning and not expect anyone to mention it!

—————

You weren’t the worst person to be stuck sitting by, he supposed. Not one of those fuckers that wouldn’t stop trying to start a conversation with him despite his one-word responses and clear disinterest. The worst thing in the world for Simon was getting stuck near someone chatty, and you were blissfully quiet, which was all he could have asked for, really.

Not to mention, you were pretty easy on the eyes. A hot tea and a good view was just what he needed to get him through the rest of the day.

He could tell you were thinking about something as you ate your pastry, your eyes trained on the floor and your foot tapping rhythmically the entire time you enjoyed the snack. You were probably just anxious though. He wasn’t exactly the most approachable person, he’d be the first to admit it, but he really did hope he wasn’t making you too uncomfortable. He didn’t particularly enjoy scaring people- provided those people weren’t out to kill him or his friends, anyway.

“Hey, I…um. C-Can I just- say something real quick?” You asked. Your cheeks were still red, but it definitely wasn’t from the cold now.

Despite himself, Simon laughed. Or, well- he snorted really quietly and exhaled out of his nose. His lips twitched upward, and he glanced over at you.

“Don’t need my permission, love, but sure. Go on.”

“Right. Sorry, it’s just-“ You got even more fidgety, and you couldn’t seem to look directly at him while you spoke. It was like he was the sun, and you were trying not to blind yourself.

“I wanted to tell you…your eyes are beautiful.” You finally looked at him then, and your expression was so open and sincere that he knew you meant every word you’d just said.

Simon couldn’t help but be a bit shocked. His physical features had been commented on before, sure, but not like this. You didn’t seem like you were trying to get into his pants- hell, you didn’t even seem to be flirting with him. It was like you simply had to let him know.

“…What.” He said before he had time to formulate a proper response.

Damn it, Simon.

“Your eyes. They’re just really nice, and- i’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have said-“

“No, no! It’s…”

More than okay? Incredibly flattering? The nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me? Making me want to kiss you on the mouth?

“…Fine.”

Damn it, Simon!

Despite his lackluster response, you looked relieved, a smile gracing your features.

“Oh, good…I was worried i’d made you uncomfortable, or…” Simon shook his head, immediately shutting down that train of thought as soon as it started.

“Not at all, love. You just…caught me off guard for a second. Can’t say anyone’s ever called any part of me ‘beautiful,’ much less my eyes.” He said, trying to ease your nerves. To his amusement, you looked scandalized, as if it was a travesty that you had been the first.

“No one? Really?”

“Really. S’ppose you’ll have to make up for it by tellin’ me again how pretty I am, eh?” He tested the waters by nudging you lightly, and you laughed.

God, he’d do anything to hear that laugh again.

“Humble in spite of your beauty, I see.” You teased back. Your demeanor became more relaxed then, and you leaned back in your chair a bit.

“Of course. Can't let myself get a big head, can I?"

Simon really liked you. You were a sweet little thing, polite, too- and he started to lose track of time as the two of you spoke. You were really listening to him, enjoying the conversation and not just waiting for your turn to talk, and he found himself talking a lot more than normal as a result. It was then that he noticed you glancing out the window, noticing how dark it was getting outside.

"...Shit. I didn't mean to stay for this long, I-I gotta get home." You muttered, clearly more than a little hesitant.

"I'll walk you." Simon offered right away. He couldn't help but feel protective, not wanting anything to happen to you during your walk home. He knew no one would dare to fuck with you if he was around, and he told you as much.

"Are you sure? I wouldn't want you to go out of your way, or-"

"No, no...it'd be no trouble at all. S' the least I can do for keeping you all this time. You'd probably be back by now if it weren't for me." He insisted, standing up and gesturing for you to do the same. He had made up his mind, and he knew you realized that as well, an affectionate chuckle escaping your lips.

"Well...true, but it was worth it. And it's not like I didn't enjoy talking to you. I'd love it if you walked me home."

He had to fight the urge to pump his fist in victory. Instead, he guided you to the door and held it open for you.

"Cold?" He asked, watching you shiver as the winter air hit your skin.

"Y-Yeah...I didn't think I'd have to spend so long outside today, but I missed the bus and I had to walk home..."

Without a word, Simon unzipped his coat and draped it over your shoulders, the warmth immediately transferring to you as you looked up at him with an adorably confused expression on your face. He gave you a look that said 'don't you dare try and give that back to me,' which you seemed to understand.

You smiled up at him and put your arms through the holes, quickly zipping it up and crossing your arms as you walked. You thanked him, and he was grateful for the balaclava covering his face, because he was definitely going red right about now.

The walk to your building was much too short for his liking, and it seemed you shared that sentiment based on the way you frowned as you stared at the door.

"Well, um...thanks for letting me use your jacket, but-" You went to unzip it, but he placed his hand over yours before you could.

"Hold onto it for a while, yeah? You can return it next time we see each other." He said with a wink. Your eyes lit up and you giggled. He gave himself a mental pat on the back.

Damn, that was smooth. Good on you, Si.

"When should we..?" You began.

"Don't worry about the details right now, love. You can next me later an' we'll work it all out."

"I don't have your number..."

"Sure you do. check the jacket pockets."

You did so, and your eyebrows shot up in surprise when you pulled out a scrap of paper with his name and number already written down. While you were staring at it with disbelief, Simon took that as his cue to slip away.

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🌸🌿🪴🌹Well, I’ve started a little slow burn for Gardener König! 🌹🌿🪴🌸

Unsure whether I’ll keep going with it, it’s very much going to be a side piece to my current WIPs but we shall see…

A snippet below 👇

“Can I help you?” A soft, nervous voice, spoken with a heavy accent - German, perhaps? - came from behind Esme’s shoulder. She whirled around, feeling embarrassed. The voice had come from a man, probably around her age. He was huge. Esme was only five foot two, but this man towered over her, well over a foot taller, and with huge, broad shoulders and thick muscular arms, almost bursting from the shop’s uniform polo-shirt he wore. Despite his size, he looked sheepish and a little afraid. He also looked handsome, not just because of his muscles, but his piercing blue eyes, and dark hair which was cropped close on the sides, but flopped into his face a little at his forehead.

“I um…” Esme hesitated, wondering how honest to be; she didn’t want to sound like a fool, but at the same time, this man surely would have some answers for her. “I’ve just bought my first house, got my first garden and… Well, I haven’t got a clue what I’m doing. How hard is it to kill a lavender plant?” She smiled as the man huffed a soft little laugh at her question.

“That depends. They are quite low maintenance, if you’ve got sunlight and soil that drains well, and is not too acidic,” he smiled, as if in reassurance.

“There’s definitely sunlight,” she said, her brow furrowing a little in concentration. “How would I know if the soil drains well? Or isn’t acidic?”

“What kind of plants are there at the moment? That might help work it out.”

“None,” Esme rolled her eyes, “it was all fake grass and paving slabs, but I’ve ripped it all out and dug down to actual soil again.”

“You did this yourself?” The man’s eyes briefly roamed over Esme’s body. She was short, yes, but plump, too, and didn’t exactly look the type for hard manual labour.

“Couldn’t afford to pay for someone else to do it,” she shrugged. “Most exercise I’ve done in years, I was aching in places I didn’t know I could ache!” Esme grinned, and saw the man’s cheeks go ever so slightly pink as he grinned back.

“Impressive.” He glanced around nervously, before pulling a little card out of his pocket. “I am not supposed to advertise at work, but if you need anything else, I do landscaping and things when I am not working here. If you would like, I could come and help you make a plan, free of charge. You would only need to pay if you want me to labour for you, or for materials.”

Esme read the card. It was simple, a little Austrian flag in the corner and the words “König - Gardens fit for a King” followed by a phone number. She smiled.

“Is König your name, or…?”

“It is a nickname, but everybody calls me it. When I first came to England my colleagues used to call me the King of Austria, and it stuck,” he shrugged and gave Esme a shy little smile. “Of course, you do not have to call, but if it would help…” he trailed off, nervously.

“Thanks König, I think I might. For now, maybe I’ll just have some herbs in pots to grow on the windowsill,” she grinned. “Until you’ve assessed the garden and given me your expert opinions, anyway.”

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Art by Brecormark 

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Found your alien konig.... I need more. This IS a threat 🔫🔫

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HEY!!!???! let’s have a civil discussion!!! i have more right here!!! don’t worry………… alien!könig is right here… well… he is examining u... such a strange creature! also this is SO late. i am so sorry but here u go! he's a little awkward... he did not pass his "how to act like a human 101" classes please forgive him.

rules were set in place for situations like this.

rules that are now abandoned by him, judging from how he’s now on his knees, sitting on his heels in front of the one who sleeps on the large bed meant for him, you.

he had offered it after seeing how tired you were, your muscles on the verge of going limp and verbal responses slowing. he watches you sleep, convincing himself that it’s to keep an eye on you for his safety.

as for you, it’s nearing midnight, and you’re completely unconscious in a desolate cabin with a man you don’t know. 

he applauds your lack of tact. his too. humans are godforsaken creatures, yet he recalls learning that they can cause just as much damage as gods can. 

(he knows it because he still feels his arm burning where you touched him earlier.) 

he extends his arm slowly, fingers targeting your face. are you as soft as you look, or did being around you already loosen up a screw of his?

gently, he pokes at your cheek. his breathing stops, held in to not risk the possibility of waking you up. you are as soft as you look. the pad of his index finger slowly slides up to your cheekbone, then back down to the side of your cheek, feeling the hollow part. it’s a small caress, simple and deliberate, uncharacteristically delicate for hands that itched to bludgeon a few faces two days ago.

könig sears the feeling of your skin against his into memory, and now he’s not sure what to do with you anymore.

originally, he was going to return you to wherever you came from. a populated city, a town, a neighborhood—anywhere that wasn’t in the middle of the woods where you were clearly lost. hungry. pitiful. but decisions change, and now, he’s fully tempted to carry you to his ship and examine you there instead.

he battles his urges to let his hand fall flat on your cheek or even your head, to feel the entirety of his palm and fingers meshing with your atoms. he resorts to two fingers, gliding them over your temple. however, the battle ends short – traces of defeat lingering in how it turns into his entire hand starting to run over your head, like he’s petting you. he lets his hand mold with the curve of your skull in each brush, the warm base of his pinky going over the cold shell of your ear.

the touch remains soft as the tip of his finger impulsively points into your cheek, and he pushes slightly – beginning to poke it repeatedly – making you stir awake. but he can’t back away, can’t cower, can’t even find it in himself to blink. your eyes slowly open, still drooping with exhaustion. his eyes search yours for consciousness, only finding stars and constellations inside – something resembling cassiopeia.

(is that where the stars have decided to run off to after your humans polluted the skies?)

it’s weird, really. he’s otherworldly himself, yet he’s never felt anything so strange. his eyes are wide and studying you like a galactic map, incapable of turning away. 

you start to sit up.

he hastily retracts his hand and shoots up to his feet when he watches you fully wake up, his ears catching the acceleration of your heartbeat as you rouse from your sleep, your hand gently wiping where he touched you. he sees the heat focusing on your cheeks.

“what—what are you doing?” you ask, seeming entirely flustered at the way this titan was caressing you like an animal. “were you petting me?”

and… he doesn’t object to it, just silently nodding while continuing to stare directly into your eyes.

“i’m sorry.” he apologizes, his weakly-fisted up hands wobbly – feeling as though they might detach from his wrists if they don’t touch you again. 

könig wishes he had just stayed up in the stars, because you stare at him funnily, and now it’s clear to him that you’ve corrupted him. his hand burns with his arm now, itchy and tingling. warmth clouds his cheeks when unexpectedly you scoot over on the bed and open the blanket, pointing at the empty space beside you with your chin. inviting him.

“did you… want to sleep here?”

“...okay.”

he stays watching you even when under the blanket now, lying beside you.

he doesn’t need to sleep, has never needed to – it’s more of a hobby to pass time when he’s bored. but if that’s what it takes to be able to observe you closer like this, he’ll take it. and who knows? you might have an ulterior motive with him. he needs to watch you to be sure of his safety.

“you’re soft,” he utters randomly, making your eyes lazily flutter open at him. confused. “and warm.”

“...are you cold?” you whisper, slipping your open hand to him. “you can hold my hand.”

after perusing your palm for a moment, he takes it, telling himself that if you do plan on doing something… it would be easier to stop you if he already has a hold on you.

the second your fingers fold into his colder ones, he learns what a black hole truly is. every fiber of his being leans to you, his molecules ache like they’re all being stretched thin, and he knows he can’t escape your pull now. or perhaps this is the birth of a star; the nebulae inside his chest throbs and squeezes tight, collapsing and sent ablaze all at once.

when he returns the gentle grasp, moves to intertwine his fingers with yours, it causes an interstellar collapse inside his chest. no longer tightly packed. the sensation is nothing short of cataclysmic—rather than a birth, it’s a supernova.

sleep comes easy for you, and he follows suit, knowing that he was cosmically destined for this. for you.