#((Im not dead just preoccupied

[tanicus-caesareth]

guarana drama, damage control

[im-still-watching-anime]

i have to read every new chapter of bsd twice because without fail i spend the first read through too distracted hoping for akutagawa to process any of it

[vendriin]

The Autopsy

- Guilllermo del Toro’s Cabinet of Curiosities (2022)

[orcelito]

Ykno, I think this is my first ITNL reread since things got... really bad for me

I've gotten to the parts I was working on during All Of That, and it's kind of distracting... 10 through 13 especially was......... rough.

I'm always gonna be remembering what my life was when I read these chapters, huh? It's just never gonna go away.

[headlessbutnothopeless]

((So many people are drawing Spamton NEO in the style of Starscream - TFA and TFP - and I can't not laugh at it.

Guessing a person's drawing inspirations is always fun, but what I'm finding here is too close to be a coincidence so I just smirk knowingly.

Edit: also porn. I can't believe how horny people are for the garbage man. The things I've seen. *shudders*))

[noctylumi]

[mercless]

🔪 ive been trying to decide whether the du couteau family owns a ballet or gymnastic company in modern, and if there are any unsavoury connections with the criminal world...

[wasch-lappen]

I wish at this point people would just tell me they hate my opinion because I'm tired of a conversation just completely stopping dead in its tracks and after some time continuing as if I hadn't said anything.

What is it??? What did I do wrong this time?? You can tell me, I am used to doing stupid shit all the time!!!!!

And people dont understand why I assume I'm annoying to everyone and it would be no different to them if I just disappeared

[markiemelon]

hiii, can you do something with jaemin? like a college friends to lovers?

breakfast

genre. fluff, crack 🍞

pairings. jaemin x gn!reader

falling asleep at your friend!jaemin’s place wasn’t your intention.. yet, there you were, knocked out on the couch. you eventually woke up, disoriented and sore, while the smell of burnt toast polluted the air. on the other side of the open room, jaemin stood behind the kitchen counter, preoccupied with scraping char off the bread slices. he perked his head up once he heard you rustling around. “oh. you’re up.”

“what time is it?” you yawned, reaching for your phone, only to find it cold and dead.

“it’s like 10 or something—” his tone was casual, and it threw you off.

“jaemin!” you jumped to your feet. “i had a class at 9!” you continued, “i told you to wake me up if i ever fell asleep here again!” you ran to the bathroom, looking for the toothbrush jaemin got you last time.

his expression became one of shame, like a child being scolded by his mother. “i know, but you just looked so peaceful…”

this isn’t the first time this has happened. more often than not, jaemin invites you to hang out after class.. so you usually find yourself leaving with him to walk to his apartment… you just can’t get enough of him.

once you get there, you hope for a productive afternoon, maybe crank out some assignments. but instead, you end up talking to him all night. you’ll eventually glance at the ungodly hour on the clock, and think, "just 5 more minutes. i'll get going in 5 minutes." 5 minutes turns into 5 hours... and next thing you know, the sun is up, you've slept through all your alarms, and you're grabbing your things to rush out.

“i need to go home-” you pat your hands around the couch, looking for your purse, tossing around the blankets and pillows jaemin put on you while you were asleep.

“wait.” he interjected. “when’s your next class?”

“at 1… but i still have to go home and get dressed...” you sighed, slumping onto the stool at the kitchen island.

“you still have plenty of time to eat breakfast...” jaemin said, nudging over a plate of toast that was grilled to the point of no return.

“jaemin…” you laughed. “im not eating that.” you eyed the dish, and a chill went down your spine. “i’ll just have some cereal.” you helped yourself to his cabinets in a search for a more edible alternative.

sitting across from jaemin at the table, you crunched on your cereal while he picked at his burnt toast… his pride wouldn’t let him throw it out. “so do you wanna come over again later?” he waited for you to chew your food before you replied.

“jaemin, be for real.” you set down your spoon. “i can’t keep coming over on weekdays. i lose track of time and fall asleep.. i can’t keep doing that.”

“why not?” he said, mouth full. “why can’t you fall asleep here?”

“i don’t have my stuff here! no skincare, no clothes…” you counted a finger for each point you listed. “and by the time i wake up, im late, and i still have to go home and get ready...”

“well then.. why not just bring stuff to stay the night.” he cleared his throat. “pack your clothes and skincare and whatever… plus, you already have a toothbrush here.”

“do you want me to stay or something?” you took a sip of juice, eyes peeking over the cup.

“i just like having you around...” he picked at the toast some more, but had yet to actually taste it.

you thought for a moment. “yeah sure.” you shrugged, ignoring the way he just made your heart flutter.

“wait really?” he looked up from his plate.

“i mean… i guess it’s not a problem as long as i bring stuff to stay.” you said, getting up from your seat to go wash your bowl in the sink. jaemin followed right behind you and draped his arms over your shoulders, pulling your back into his chest. “then can you bring stuff to stay longer than 1 night?”

jaemin has always been a pretty affectionate friend, so you didn’t think much of the hug… “maybe i could stay until the weekend..”

“just until the weekend?” he squeezed you a little tighter.

but was he always this clingy?

“na jaemin, when did you get so clingy?”

“well these days, i…” he stopped himself.

“these days, you...?” you hummed, tugging on his arms that were still embracing you, urging for him to finish his sentence. you began swaying side to side ever so slightly. “let’s just stay like this for a minute.” he cooed, catching on to your rhythm, rocking in the silence. he really gave the best hugs. after a moment, he disrupted the stillness of the room. “move in with me.”

hearing him say that so bluntly made your heart drop. flustered, you turned around to face him, his arms now resting on your back. “all of a sudden?” you laughed.

“mm.” he nodded his head to agree, looking at you so endearingly. he gradually inched his face closer to yours, and you didn’t mind.

“jaemin.”

“yeah?” he answered, just inches away.

“are you trying to kiss me right now?” you teased, as your gaze wandered from his eyes to his lips.

“are you gonna let me?” he teased back. you couldn’t hold back your smile, and he basically took that as confirmation.

he didn’t have to lean in much more before his lips were touching yours. your eyes fluttered as his hands gently met your cheeks, even tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“what are we doing?” you whispered in between breaths.

“just enjoy it.” he reassured you.

and for some reason, his words really put you at ease. in that moment, you couldn’t help but enjoy it. you reconnected your lips, and let yourself fall more in love with your best friend than you already were.

his smile forced him out of the kiss. “so does this mean we can have breakfast together every morning?”

you scoffed at his remark. “maybe if you learn how to cook first…”

@lovesuhng thanks so much for the request!!!! such a cute idea. hope you like it!!! (reqs always open)

[writersdrug]

The Good Friend

Chapter 1. A New Hobby

Summary: Johnny regularly checks up on Ghost after he sustained a bullet to the hip on their most recent deployment. It's already too late for him to escape, once he sees what's kept his beloved lieutenant so occupied over the past few days.

Warnings: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, kidnapping, implied violence, restraining, psychotic behavior, blood, forced to help in kidnapping, obsessive behavior. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO THESE TOPICS. By clicking "Keep Reading" you are consenting to be responsible for the media you consume.

A/N: The people have spoken

Simon on medical leave: a disaster and a headache for the rest of the 141.

There's a daily text along the lines of "Let me know when we get shipped out next." It never mattered how many times Price responded with "You're not joining us for a while. Find a hobby, Simon." He was persistent in coming back to work as soon as possible - shattered hip be damned.

Price had given Soap the job of checking up on the poor brute. "Maybe he misses the usual company." He'd say. "Go see 'im, check in with the muppet."

Soap was a good friend, but there was only so much grumbling he could stomach from Simon. Those "check-ins" would turn into a pity party, with Simon saying "I should be out there, helpin' you lot. Only wastin' away in 'ere. Losin' my head." And it was true - every time Johnny visited, there was an open can of beer on the coffee table, or a glass of whiskey in his hand. The bottle of prescription, opioid pain killers on the kitchen table. Some ill-advised coping mechanism within arm's reach.

It hurt Johnny to see it, it really did. He cared about Simon, missed him, would do anything to get his beloved L.T. back on the team. But he knew the man needed rest and recovery, despite how much it was sending Simon into a spiral. Johnny offered to help clean up his place, but Simon angrily denied the offer. "Don't need a bloody caretaker." He spat.

Just tryin' to be a good friend, Soap wanted to say, but instead he answered with a slam of Simon's front door and a hushed "feckin' bastard."

Johnny was tired of it. When the fuck was this medical leave supposed to end? Apparently, in two weeks ("thank the feckin' lord") -

But, Soap soon discovered, Simon had requested more time off.

Price stated he'd said something about "still not feeling right", which immediately had Soap confused. That old bawbag would've been back in the game the second the bullet was out of his hip, if it wasn't for regulations. It festered in the back of his mind all day: why would Simon do that? What could possibly hold his attention more than the task force? More than Johnny?

There was only one way to find out.

Soap stands in front of Simon's door, knocking loudly against the dark wood. An unexpected visit, which Simon might be frustrated by - but Soap is dying to see what's got his lieutenant so preoccupied. Hopefully, he hasn't fallen into a pit of depression, choosing to drink himself to death, rather than come back to the team.

However, after just a few moments of standing on his porch, Simon answers it rather quickly. And he looks happy. Delighted, even.

"'Bout time, Johnny." Simon says, stepping aside to let him in. "Was wondering if you got lost."

"Was wonderin' if you'd gone crazy." Soap banters back, kicking the door shut behind him. "Cap said ye want more time?"

Simon chuckled quietly, locking the deadbolt behind Soap. He shoves his hands - gloved hands - into his sweatshirt pocket. "Took his advice. Found a hobby."

"Lemme guess: knittin' me a Christmas sweater?"

"You fuckin' wish."

It's good. It makes Soap sigh with relief (internally), seeing Simon in such good spirits. He tosses the pack of blems onto the coffee table and follows Simon into the kitchen. The smell of rubbing alcohol hits him before he sees the counter; bandages, gauze, bloody gauze, hydrogen peroxide, and an open suture kit.

He stops in the doorway to the kitchen, his teeth bared in a wince. "Shite, Ghost- ye reopen tha' bullet wound?" he says, lifting up one of the bloodied pieces of gauze.

"Hm?" Simon turns to face him, then looks at what he's holding. "Oh- nah, I'm fine. Luvie here bumped her head."

Johnny looks up, confused, following Simon's back with his eyes as he makes his way into the dining room - his mind goes blank when he sees the poor, bloodied thing, tied to one of the chairs.

You're staring back at him, hair messed and blood dried against a nasty gash on your forehead. Fabric is stuffed into your mouth, with a strip of duct tape securing it around your head. Your eyes light up with hope as they take Johnny in; you're heaving, poor thing, breaths more like whines as you fight through the delirium of your concussion. Your right ankle is swollen and a nasty shade of purple. Blood all over the chair, your thighs, and now, Johnny finally notices, Simon's hands.

"Dinged 'erself pretty good on my bookcase." Simon says, too calmly, his broad frame standing behind the chair you're strapped into. "Slippery lil' thing, she is."

Simon rips the duct tape off - your voice immediately fills the room, echoing inside Soap's head with your begging and pleading, please please please get me out of here, please help me, he kidnapped me, he's a monster, please-

Johnny has to look away - there's too much noise, too much going on - his eyes trail down the dark hall and into Simon's bedroom. The bookshelf is toppled over, volumes strewn about the floor, a lamp shattered on the ground and casting an eerie angle of light through the room. He hears the sound of his own blood pumping, his chest and throat feel tight, mind racing a million miles a second. Did his LT do this? His Simon?

"Johnny."

He turns back to you. The duct tape is back in place, and now you're weakly thrashing about as much as you can - which really isn't much. Ghost is staring at Soap, one of his hands wrapped around your shoulder, knuckles white with how hard he's gripping you; which is most likely what's making you cry so much.

"Need ya to help stitch 'er up." Simon says, his eyes cold. It's an order. "'Fore she bleeds out on us."

Johnny feels like he's going to vomit. He needs to stop thinking, to stop shaking, and do something. His lieutenant's kidnapped a bloody civilian, for Christ's sake. Why? And what the fuck did he do to her?

"Won't let me touch 'er. Hard to stitch the wound when she's throwin' a fit - damn near stabbed 'er in the eye. I'll hold 'er while you do th' job."

Johnny finally inhales after holding his breath for so long. He stumbles backwards into the kitchen, remembering where the front door is, thinking he should have been in his car and on the phone with the police by now. If he does, though, Simon will be gone forever. Locked up in prison, far away from Soap. How can he save this? How can he save you, and him? "Simon, ye- ye can't be serious, mate-"

"If you walk out tha' fuckin' door I'll kill 'er before you reach it."

That ruffles your feathers. You're whimpering again, screaming against the gag - at him? At Ghost? He freezes where he stands, trying to remember his training. Act first, think later. Do what keeps the most people alive in the moment. That's what Simon had taught him. The same man who was threatening to kill you, ironically, based on what Soap decided to do.

"Get the sutures off the counter." Simon ordered, apparently sensing Soap's inner turmoil. He knows Johnny wouldn't leave you there, not after the threat.

He couldn't.

Soap exhaled heavily through his teeth, forcing his muscles to move. He snatched the suture kit off the counter and stormed back into the living room. He heard Ghost hum in approval as he slapped it down on the table.

"You do it." he said, his voice low and full with grit. "Ye stitch 'er up, I'll help ye take her to the hospital. We come back n' clean up-"

"Shut the fuck up-" Simon growled out to Soap, gripping your chin in his large hand and yanking your head back against his abdomen. "Get to work. Don't let 'er die on me, now."

Die. Die. You had a concussion and a headwound, but you weren't dying - still, he knew that wasn't what Ghost meant. If Soap didn't help, you would die, one way or another. He had to think of this differently, for the time being. He was helping you. He'd take this little by little - first, patch you up. Figure out what the fuck to do with you later; also, how to keep this from ruining Simon's career, because he couldn't leave the task force. Soap wouldn't let that happen.

So, he took the needle and sutures in his hand, and knelt on the floor, between your restrained legs. Ignored the way you screamed and thrashed, only held still by Ghost's meaty paws. Didn't focus on Ghost's satisfied grin. He was doing this to save your life, you'd understand that later. He was doing this to save Simon's career.

Like a good friend.

Next ->

Taglist: @a-sadmilky

Ghost photo credit to @chatskaja

[emmeraude]

when i look at you

— k. ayato.

synopsis: they say drunk thoughts are sober thoughts. ayato, intoxicated by the alcohol from the earlier party, finally takes the courage to confess that to him, you are more than a political partner. to him, this marriage is more than an arranged proposal. why can’t you see how fervently he attempts to make this marriage work? why won't you ever look his way? when did the walls of your relationship become too steep to climb up? how did you two end up taking the longer, rockier road of your relationship?

w.c: 4,866 oops

additional tags: female reader, arranged marriage, pining sort of? definitely slow burn, and drunk ayato bc i headcanon him as one who is clingy when drunk 😋

notes: its sooo so hard to format the centered ones 😭 if its not properly centered on your device im sorry to you and to ur family 😭🙏 lol. cross posted in both ao3 and tumblr. enjoy!

I loved you even in my ignorance.

I loved you when I didn’t even know.

I just love you.

i.

  “Never will I ever fall for you. Remember that. This marriage is solely for strengthening the political alliances of our families,” you remembered Ayato’s first words on the night of your consummation all too well.

  Under the iron facade of a picture-perfect political marriage, you know of the things yet unseen behind the curtains. It was far from ideal, seeing how neither of you had let the walls surrounding you crumble even the slightest. The emotions you have tried to keep hidden never once slipped into the seeping fragmented cracks of your oh-so-perfect marriage.

  When you were betrothed, you two were often the talk of the town—the main gossip among the nobles in Inazuma. It was a given, knowing that both of you were from prominent clans with reputable names. Ayato, the Yashiro commissioner, head of the Kamisato clan, and you, the cold-blooded lady of the Sangonomiya clan, the iron protector of Watatsumi Island. Such a perfect pair was not one to escape the tattletale mouths of those nobles that piqued their curiosity about you two.

  For the many years you were betrothed to the esteemed Kamisato Ayato, a bond between the two of you was yet to be established. It was a given, of course. It was arranged, after all. 

  Yet, often, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe you were both too distant. Too preoccupied at the thought of this marriage being nothing but political to engage in friendly conversations, too estranged to even feign a sense of camaraderie. You pondered because the two of you silently had a mutual understanding that this political marriage of yours would be a civil one, right? So, why does your relationship seem too far from being civil? It was as if you two were nothing but mere strangers.

  Such questions were raised, but of course, you never once mustered the courage to ask your husband any of them. You were too immersed in trying to mask your emotions, thinking this might have been what your husband preferred after all—a quiet, emotionless wife who seemed to be as good as dead. And so, when he attempts to draw closer to you, you avoid it like a plague. You feel disturbed being with him, and you notice that his being around is much of a distraction to you while you are busy guarding your heart. Yet whenever you were about to succumb to your hopeless yearning, you are reminded of his words on your first night.

  “Never will I fall for you. Remember that.”

  So when he became a tad bit affectionate, you deliberately pushed him away—out of shock and confusion, to say the least. Only he can stir your emotions all at once, although, of course, he was never aware. He must never know, or so you think.

  ”Wife,” Ayato calls, opening the door and walking straight to your room, each step causing the floor to creak a little.

  “You’re home,” you acknowledge his presence, although not at once did you bat an eye. He sighs at your indifference, which is nothing new over the years of your marriage. You were indifferent, dismissive, and cold. He was busy, detached, and always nowhere to be seen. Apart from the necessary appearances to represent your clan in public, you two can only be seen together at night, quietly in your bed chambers, when the day is about to end.

  “Wife,” he calls you again as he heads toward the side of the bed to greet you with a kiss on the cheek. Trying to conceal both the shock and embarrassment from his sudden actions, you immediately pull away, a slight frown visible on your face.

  “We have already practiced before how to act when other people are around. There’s no need to do that here, not when only the two of us are present. What are you doing?” Your brow raises upon asking the question. You place your book on your lap to face him, although you refuse to look him in the eye.

  “Must I have a reason to give my wife a kiss of greeting upon my arrival?” This time, it was Ayato raising his brow as if questioning why you asked so.

  “No, I just find it unbecoming of you,” you reply coldly, dismissing him entirely before you put your book on the side table.

  “Then, I will do this from now on before we part and do our daily chores, if you would let me,” he replies, and you feel a tinge of hesitation present as he utters those words to you.

  “Ayato, stop toying me. I will retire for the night,” you hiss, turning your back from him as you lie down on the opposite side of the bed.

  “You won’t ask what prompted my sudden change of behavior?” He asks, and never once did you catch the hurt in his voice that night.

  “I don’t want to know,” you murmur, covering your face with the blanket as you tuck yourself in. “Good night,” you add before heading to slumber.

  Among all the nights you have spent with him, this was one of the coldest ones yet. Too solemn, too quiet to bear, too agonizing to never be able to utter the words you wanted to say to him.

    ii.  

  Ayato hardly ever slept that night.

  He kept on pondering where it all went wrong. Perhaps he was too harsh during the first years of your marriage, too busy to attend to his wife. Maybe he, too, was as cold as you were.

  He remembers the words of Yae Miko days ago when he was about to head home.

  “For someone as esteemed as you are, you can be quite foolish, no?” The Guuji emphasized, leaving Ayato confused about what she might be on. What is she up to?

  “Your wife,” she paused, “might have been able to find a more suitable partner had you not been arranged with her.”

  I am the most eligible husband candidate in Inazuma. That sly fox is mistaken. He thought.

  Those words have never left his mind ever since. It must have been one of the reasons why he had a sudden change of heart. If he thinks he is the most eligible husband, he must show it. What has he been doing all these years?

  Believing that the marriage was merely political, Ayato tried his best to remain as distant from you as possible—no monkey business, no attachments are allowed. He ensured that all your small talks would only be about the clan and other political opinions he wanted to hear from you. He was the first to draw the line between the two of you, yet why does he feel hurt seeing how distant you two have become for the past years? Rather than becoming closer, you seemed to have grown farther apart. The lines he drew became a full-fledged wall of boundaries as you two drifted away from each other. That was not what he wanted.

  It may be too late to make amends. The damage may have scarred the relationship even before it started. Ayato recalls the first day he saw you, with his face the same as ever, a practiced smile etched on his lips, the smile never once reaching his eyes as he utters the words he never meant to say. He faced several hurdles on the day of your marriage, several assassination attempts and a never-ending interrogation from the nobles who wanted to acquire the power of the Kamisato Clan by forcing their daughters onto him even on the day of his wedding ceremony. It left such distaste in his mouth, seeing how the power-hungry nobles were ever so aggressive and disrespectful. He must have thought back then that maybe you were like them too, hence why he said those words to you with such contempt.

  I will never fall for her? Celestia, such an absurd thing to say when my wife is as lovely as could be despite the exuding coldness she gives off, he thinks. Now, he is determined to make this relationship work. He promised himself that despite this being political, he would treat you well. He will give you gifts, spoil you rotten, and perhaps become good allies. However, he has been so preoccupied with work that he has forgotten his wife waiting for him at home. It’s been years, he thought. Such a douchebag I am... He hopes it’s not yet too late to woo you, and he will do everything he can to make those high walls of yours crumble to ashes completely. If he has a face fancied by many, he might ought to put it to good use, right?

  However, there was one thing he overlooked. He never noticed it back then, and realization only hits him right now when he eats breakfast with you after many weeks of not eating together. 

  Not once did you look him in the eye. 

  Figuratively and literally, he supposed. Was it always this way?

  “Wife,” he calls you to get your attention and see whether you’ll look at him. Unsurprisingly, you did not, which caused something in his heart to twinge. Must you be so cold? 

  “What?”

  “Can I have an ounce of your attention?” he asks, his tableware clinking more as he anticipates your undivided attention.

  “I’m listening. What is it?” Much to his dismay, you still did not look at him, too focused on the meal in front of you as you ate quietly.

  “No. I want you to look at me,” he says, meaning it literally and figuratively.

  “Not now, my lord, for I am still eating. Even so, I am all ears. Just what, pray tell, do you want to speak about?”

  Ayato sighed defeatedly; even a frown was seen upon hearing you call him “my lord.” He shakes his head, not wanting to be as forward as he was earlier, and decides not to speak anymore, for he thinks it might cause you to push him away even further. He wipes his mouth using the table napkin before him as he finishes his meal. He looks at you once more, noticing a lingering sauce on the side of your lips. Instinctively, he leans to you and wipes them off, startling you. This prompts you to finally, finally look at him. A smirk forms on his lips upon seeing how flustered you look.

  “Y-you could have just told me… I can wipe it off myself,” you stammer, a blush creeping down your cheeks. Despite your attempts to hide it, his actions obviously affected you.

  “I know. I just want to do it for you,” Ayato says, triumphant at the sight of you blushing because of him. He wants to speak more, perhaps to tease you, but he chose to stay still when he heard nothing from your end.

  Silence envelops the room after that. You do not know how to respond to his gestures right now. You are having a hard time deciphering what he wants. Did he purposefully do that because he was paying attention to you? Or is he perhaps touch starved? You quickly brush off these thoughts, thinking they are far from sensible. It’s merely foolish thinking. You believe that the great Kamisato Ayato is far from being like that.

  Ayato sighs again, and you swear it was the fourth time he did so during your breakfast. He must have despised the idea of sharing meals with me, you thought to yourself. He continues to look at you, and even without direct eye contact, you know, you feel him staring at you as if he wants to say something.

  “I just want to tell you in advance that there will be another social gathering hosted by the Hiiragi clan for all of the nobles in Inazuma,” Ayato speaks once more, trying to divert another topic in hopes of hearing your voice again.

  “When will it be held?” You ask, and he rejoices upon hearing how lovely your voice sounds in his ears.

  “Three months from now, I suppose,” he replies, his tone calm despite feeling slightly giddy.

  Was there a reason why he said it to you so early? Does he want you to prepare meticulously for the party? What does he want? Oh, Celestia. Your husband is so hard to figure out. It makes you think that perhaps you may have known nothing about him at all, which was understandable since the two of you barely strike up any conversations that are not work-related. Still, it left a bad taste in your mouth, knowing you two were estranged from one another despite being married for years.

  Ayato, on the other hand, realizes he has come to love you far more than he could ever admit. He would like to ask himself when and how the love started to bloom in his heart, yet he could never pinpoint an exact moment. Was it when he first saw how beautiful you looked on your wedding day? Or was it when he witnessed how you gracefully wield your sword, infused with the faintest touch of electro—a skill that might be unmatched even by the Shogun herself? Was it when he saw you having tea with his dear sister, Ayaka, smiling fondly at her while your pleasant laughter filled the room? He does not know. One thing he learned is that it steadily grew. Patiently, ardently, crushingly so, without him ever knowing. And when he understood it, it had grown too big to ignore. Too overwhelming to hide, so much that oftentimes it seeps into the cracks in his guarded heart whenever you two are together.

  He started giving you gifts more frequently than before and started writing letters regarding what he has been up to at work. However, the letters do not get reciprocated, much to his dismay. Perhaps you were so stunned at his gradual changes that you find it hard to keep your usual composed, distant facade, seeing how much he has changed over the past few months. But he understands. He decided to give you all the time you need until you finally respond to him—both to his letters and his feelings. Ayato realized he loved you in the past oh so silently. Perhaps too silent—too hushed for you to ever have known, ever to feel. Slowly, he has learned to love more freely and vocally, even in his simple ways. He has yet to say it, sure, but he wishes his love becomes more piercing and loud for you to know, for you to feel.

iii.

  Months passed, and the much-awaited social gathering for the nobles to be hosted by the Hiiragi clan finally arrived. While the servants helped you prepare for the said party, you heard a knock on the door, with smiling Ayato entering. He pause for a moment before walking towards you, reveling as he looks at the beauty in front of him.

  “Dear wife, you look dazzling as ever,” your husband marvels, eyeing you from head to toe with his lips a bit open.

  “Enough of your bluffing, Ayato. Such a sweet liar you are,” a small chuckle escapes your lips, leaving your husband feeling delighted at the sight as he rushes over to you to take a closer look at your appearance. He gently takes your hand, leaving a light peck on your knuckles.

  “Not once did I ever lie to you. You look beautiful,” Ayato looks at you, full of adoration in his eyes. Once you also looked at him, you immediately avoided staring at him for far too long, afraid his beauty might as well entrance you. For while he utters his praises of how beautiful you look, you can’t help but revel his face when you stare at him. He, too, seems as if the gods carved him carefully. Beautiful, crushingly so. He was the epitome of majestic.

  The last three months went by like a hurricane. Never once did you imagine you would little by little open your heart to the man before you. For the last few months, you have seen him actively reaching out to you more than before. Still, your heart was guarded, albeit not much more than it was in the past. You see, your relationship progresses to something more than plain civility. The two of you formed a sense of kinship as you got to know more about one another.

  Once the party started, you two stuck around each other for a while, then parted ways shortly thereafter to mingle with several nobles separately. It was almost past ten, and having not noticed the time, you searched for Ayato, who was nowhere to be seen. You turn and find Thoma, who is guarding you at the corner. You asked him if he knew your husband’s whereabouts, to which he responded that he was in the other room drinking with the noblemen. You thanked him and asked him to head there with him.

  As you open the door, you see your husband sitting with the nobles, holding a cup. There was something different about him, though. You notice his eyes are close to squinting as you walk towards them. You greeted the noblemen shortly and focused your attention on Ayato, who looked like he drank a little alcohol upon seeing the presence of redness on his ear.

  “Ayato, goodness…” you mumble to yourself. It was unlikely for him to look drunk like this.

  “The wine tastes a bit sweet, so he must have drunk a lot, milady,” Thoma says, and you realize that Ayato likes sweets, which must have been why he drank a lot without knowing that the wine was strong. Ayato opens his eyes, a stern look he tries to make. This prompts you to giggle a bit, seeing how your husband never once softens his look even while being intoxicated.

  The ride home was ever so silent. Ayato stares at you piercingly, and you, left not knowing what to do, avoid his gaze as always. After a few while, however, you decide to ask how he is feeling.

  “Are you okay?” You ask out of concern since he seemed to be spacing out, which was so unlikely of him.

  “I am. My head just feels dizzy,” he murmurs.

  “That’s the consequence of drinking a lot,” you teased him, and even though you weren’t looking at him, you felt as though he was rolling his eyes. My, look at that sass, you thought.

  “It’s not my fault that the wine is sweet. It almost tastes that of boba tea,” Ayato counters.

  “You could have just asked for another sweet beverage similar to boba, Ayato,” you argued once more, obviously amused at his replies.

  “I cannot decline the eager requests of the noblemen who surrounded me,” he sighs.

  “Must you drink a lot, then?” You raise your eyebrow.

  “Heavens, wife. Please stop scolding me. Never did I know I could never win an argument with you,” he sighs again, earning yet another hearty laugh from you in response to what he says. Ah, music to my ears, Ayato thought.

  “Alright, alright. I’ll shut up,” you resign in defeat, although your laugh has still yet subsided.

  You arrived at the estate shortly after. With the help of Thoma, you hand-in-hand carried your husband to your private chambers. You thank your retainer as he quietly exits.

  You prepare a damp towel with a basin filled with water to wash your husband, then carefully undo the kumihimo and try to remove all the layers of his ever-so-thick clothing slowly. He stirs a bit, opening his eyes as he witnesses you caring for him. He sits up, helping you remove his clothes so that he can now wear his night kimono. Now that his upper body was bare and free from any clothes, you wiped his arms, then his chest, and lastly, his neck. 

  “I can do this on my own…” he murmurs, which seems to be grumbling in your ears.

  “I doubt. Someone as pampered as you?” You snorted.

  “Oh, come on. Stop attacking me when I’m in such a weak-minded state,” he scoffs, and now you clearly can no longer hide the amusement because of his actions.

  You merely chuckle lightly, a sight he revels the most. Abruptly, he pulls you closer to him, head feeling a bit hazy as he takes in your scent. He wraps his arms around you, his body leaning towards yours as your back touches the headboard of your bed.

  “Ayato?” You gently tap his cheeks, causing him to lean closer to your touch.

  He was silent for a while, with his breath steady and slow, and when you have come to conclude that he perhaps might have fallen asleep, he speaks, making you jolt a bit in surprise.

  “Why…” Ayato mumbles to his breath, his head nuzzling to your neck upon sighing with exasperation. Albeit confused, you strive to console him by patting him gently, trying to understand that he must have been far more intoxicated because of the drinks he had earlier.

  “Why won’t you look at me?” He says, as if pleading with you to take even just one glance, to take a chance with him.

  “Pardon?” You pause for a moment.

  “Look at me,” you feel a thread of desperation laced in his voice so soft that it might have threatened your senses, altering your resolve as you try to remain composed.

  “I am looking at you now, Ayato,” you answer, facing him to prove your point. However, your eyes never once gazed at his, even now. Try as you may, you can never find a solid explanation of his actions. Upon saying those words, you made an effort to sound as calm as possible, as if trying to soothe your husband, who seemed to be... sulking...?

  “No, you know that’s not what I meant,” he groans, causing you to be a bit taken aback. Oh, seeing him frowning and grumbling, such a sight of him you have never witnessed your whole life. Not until now, that is. What in the world did Ayato drink for him to become this sluggish and vulnerable?

  “What, then?” You pause for a while, confusion now clearly etched on your face as you look at him.

  “Why must you be so cruel? If only you could see how much I devote myself to this marriage. How I’m devoted to... to you…” His voice was somewhat cracked, making it seem as if it was what keeping him up late at night for the past few days.

  His words left you bewildered. You blink your eyes a couple of times, feeling your cheeks warming upon realizing what he meant. Oh. You choose to shut your mouth, because the best option you can think about right now is avoiding confrontation. To avoid talking. And you know that’s what you’re good at. 

  “See? You won’t even respond to me right now…” he purposefully laced his voice with sulking, knowing how it works on you all too well.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say, Ayato,” you admit, sighing as you think that maybe you cannot avoid things forever.

  “Your normal response when someone confesses to you should either be a rejection or acceptance, or even an ounce of gratitude will do, my darling wife. Don’t you know that?” Ayato coos. Despite the hint of teasing in his voice, there was also gentleness in it, as if making sure to be patient with whatever response you may give.

  “And why is my drunk husband lecturing me about this? For a drunk person, you sure are chatty, no?” You attempt to tease him, which, in return, he merely snorts. He was silent for a while afterwards, and then he spoke again.

  “Because I want to know how you feel about me, too…”

  You were quiet once more, again taken aback by his straightforwardness. You have known Ayato to be a no-nonsense type of person. He does not like it when people beat around the bush. Despite him being known as a cunning charmer who has the power to entice people with his mere words, he makes sure that his words never lack substance. He especially lets you know his likes and dislikes, and you thought to yourself once that his straightforwardness was what you liked the most, in contrast to you, who have learned to conceal everything even from your husband. 

  “Ayato, if I may be honest with you… I was ready to live as though I was dead in the first months of our marriage. It was so lonely, you know?” you say to him, which alarmed him as he faced you with a frown.

  “Wife…”

  “I made my walls too high because I was scared that when you see a fracture of my vulnerability, you might look away and throw me. And knowing that there are a lot of people coveting the position as your wife, I was restless, Ayato, because I know I am replaceable, and you are not,” you paused a bit, feeling something heavy blocked in your throat as you struggle to speak without breaking down. He was about to protest what you said when you stopped him and continued talking.

  “A-and why do you think I was that scared? It was because I loved you too, idiot, from the start. I loved you secretly and learned to keep this feeling of mine. Do you know how terrified I am upon imagining you looking at me with disgust if ever you find it out? You uttered in our first meeting that I should never expect any love from you!” Your voice broke a bit as tears finally fell. Ayato promptly cups your face to wipe away the tears cascading down your face.

  “Shh… I’m so sorry, my love. I’m so sorry. I want to make it up to you. I will make sure I can. Please let me. I love you…” Ayato murmurs as he gently rubs your back, all while hugging you. Your soft sniffles are heard across the room, and it pains him to hear those from you. He likes it when you speak; he likes to listen to your voice, which he thinks was a rarity back then. However, never did he imagine he would come to hear your cries because of him, and it broke his heart, too. He looks up, staring at your face, and kisses your tears away. He kisses your forehead, then nuzzles to your neck as the two of you finally drifted to sleep afterwards with you cradled in his arms.

    As soon you feel the sun’s glaring light, you gently open your eyes. You see your husband at your side with you two facing each other, and immediately, embarrassment fills up your thoughts upon recalling how much you cried to him last night. Embarrassing! I hope he was too drunk to remember what I said last night! 

  Your wishes were unheard, however, as he stirs awake shortly after you do. Ayato opens his eyes, immediately searching yours the moment he does so. The first thing he did was to plant a soft kiss on your forehead, a grin plastering his lips upon seeing your red face. He shakes his head while touching your face as if reading your mind.

  “If you think I have forgotten our conversations last night, you are wrong, my darling wife. I shall embed it in my mind for the rest of my life.”

  “Shut up,” you roll your eyes in return, earning a heartfelt laugh from him. He will always ever be glad to see a new side of you.

  “I know you love me,” he teases more, the smile on his face never once faded. He kisses your forehead first, then your cheeks, then finally, your lips. Despite being a bit starstruck, you still spoke to him to keep up with your bantering.

  “Fair reminder that it was you who confessed first, dear husband. You love me, too,” you retorted, feeling snug at your comeback as you smirked at him.

  “Oh, no one can deny that. I love you, and I yearn for you most ardently, my lovely wife.”

  This time, you are sure the two of you will now walk the path at the same pace. No more secrets you need to conceal, no more running away despite things getting overwhelming. Lastly, no more looking down in hopes of avoiding his gaze. You know you can now erase the lines you ridiculously drew at the start of your marriage. You are now well rested, knowing the high walls you two built to protect yourselves are crumbling slowly but surely, steadily, and beautifully. 

  Ayato is at peace, too, knowing how you finally learned to look at him. Moreso at the fact that you looked at him now oh so lovingly. And as such, the two of you are now finally listening to the beat of your hearts both of you stubbornly tried to avoid.

istg posting in tumblr is hard 😭 this is my first time here lmaooo salute to all writers here omg. i hope all ayato stans (me) are having a feast at the surge of ayato fics here in tumblr we r blessed 🔥

[sukunastoy]

Im not dead yet, just preoccupied.

A WIP I’ve slowly been doing. ✨

[moonchildstyles]

oleander

oleander part one: nothing could draw y/n in the way harry could

wordcount: 11.7k+

cw: this leans into some darker themes including a description of a dead body, mentions of a parent who has passed away, some panic attack descriptions, and just in general some doom and gloom vibes! but I promise this is a love story im just doing something diferent!

—————

(Y/N)'s eyes followed the immaculately dressed figure floating through the shop. Barred from getting closer with the counter in front of her, she could only watch as he made his way through the small apothecary. He never glanced in her direction, though she doubted he was unaware of her eyes on him. 

Dried herbs hung around his head like a dreary halo, the muted tones falling in line with the rich brown of his hair. He was tall enough that he just barely grazed the line of lavender sprigs strung up and dehydrating above his head. His coat was of a deep green velvet, tailored to show off the broad of his shoulders and strength of his arms. The matching cravat around his neck stood out starkly against the white shirt under his grey waistcoat, his skin appearing almost as pale as the starchy collar standing stiff against his throat. She wished that he would turn around for just a second; she wanted to see his eyes. Were they really as dark as she remembered, or had the town's gossip altered her memory? 

As if hearing her thoughts, he quickly picked his head up and made to turn and match her gaze. She urgently dropped her eyes to her hands, pretending as if she had been preoccupied the whole time by the bundles of sage she was meant to be tying. Now her wishes turned to that of hoping he didn't catch her staring. She was sure he got enough of that as is when he bothered to venture down to their small village; he didn't need any more when he was simply trying to shop. 

Forcing herself to keep her eyes down, (Y/N) tried to forget the Count's presence (was he even a Count? She wasn't sure, but that was what she had heard the women at church calling him, and no one seemed to object). She hoped he couldn't hear the sound of her heart as easily as she could, the beats pounding through her ears just from the fact she knew he was traipsing around her father's shop. Casting her gaze out the small window situated by the collection counter, she tried to see past the thick fog that had gathered that morning and done little to dissipate through the hours. If not for the fact she had lived here all her life, she would have had problems navigating through the mist. She wondered how someone like the Count fared under these conditions. He barely left that castle of his, how did he or his footmen know where they were going this time of year?

Granting herself a single peek in his direction, she saw he had gone back to shopping. He moved so silently, she wondered how he was able to cross the apothecary so vastly without a single footstep being heard. She watched as he brought bundles of herbs to his nose, taking in the heady scent. He always did this, she noticed. He always looked around until he found the strongest smelling bundles. 

Truthfully, to (Y/N), all the bundles smelled the same. She couldn't notice if one sprig of lavender smelled richer than another, but maybe he knew something she didn't. It wouldn't surprise her if he spent his young years studying herbs and reading books about all of the healing plants, or whatever it was that young gentlemen did in their formative years.

Though it was a hard task to pull her eyes away from him, (Y/N) made the effort to do so. Her father really would be upset if she didn't tie up all these bundles before sundown; he barely liked her working at the apothecary as is, he didn't need any other reason to boot her from the counter.

With her eyes trained on her fingers and the clumsy bows she was tying out of twine, (Y/N) practically jumped out of her skin when she caught movement from the corner of her eye. Pale hands dropped bundles of herbs on the counter, just barely in her line of sight. Her breathing stuck in her throat when she whipped her head up, finding the Count looking at her with his dark eyes. 

She hadn't misremembered, it appeared. His eyes really were almost black, just barely tinted a forest green on the edges—if the forest in question was being spotted in the pitch of night, only a sliver of the moon and stars above allowing any distinction.

Her heart jumped in her throat, running faster than it had any reason to when their eyes met. She forced herself to swallow it down.

"I'm sorry, sir," she muttered, unable to pull her gaze away from his even if she instinctively wanted to look anywhere else. "Did you find all you were looking for?" 

"I did, yes." His voice was a lulling rumble, rounded and heady as if the goal was to lure her nearer. If not for the table separating them, she would have fallen for it.

Offering a quiet smile, she gave him a polite nod. 

No other words were exchange, as per usual for his visits. The Count wasn't much for conversation and idle chatter like the rest of the village. Instead, she could feel him watching her as she counted up his herbs and the price of each bundle. 

He was buying the same ones he always did: winter savory (he switched to chamomile when out of season), tobacco, and lavender. 

The buds together created a confusing scent, adding to the mishmash of what the apothecary already was. She couldn't imagine how he would put these three together in any space of that castle, the mixture too aggressive. 

Though she tried her best to concentrate on only the herbs, (Y/N) was too aware of the static of his presence. She wondered what he thought when he came down to the village, what he thought when he interacted with people like her. He was always so stoic. He never gave anything away, though that didn't stop the village gossip from running wild about him.

Swallowing around her dry throat, heartbeat bubbling against her ribs, she matched his gaze. The pricing for his bounty came out on buzzing lips, "Sixteen shillings please, sir." 

He didn't bat an eyelash at the price despite it being the biggest single purchase her father's apothecary would see until the next time he ventured down. Instead, he looked at her with his dark eyes and a tic in his jaw. He was unbearably handsome, made of cut edges and smooth planes, but he always looked at her as if he were angry and working to bury it down. She could never figure out why or what exactly made his nostrils flare or his jaw tight when he spoke to her, but she hoped she wasn't the only one he reacted to like this. 

His hands moved quickly, pulling out a small pouch of tinkling coins before he plucked out the exact amount for her. For a moment, she could see bank notes tucked inside the pouch as well. While she wasn't surprised that someone like him would have that kind of wealth, she had never seen it before with her own eyes. 

Passing off the change to her, his pale fingers grazed her open palm. Goosebumps immediately raised across her skin, his touch feeling as if he had been standing in the dawn's dew for hours, allowing the chill to cling to his skin and leach away all hope for warmth. The graze was quick, barely a heartbeat long, but she swore she could feel the lingering touch for moments after. Maybe he really did have a hard time navigating the village when the fog was this thick, having traveled in winding routes and wrong turns for so long he still hadn't been able to heat up even after spending time in the shop. 

Flicking her gaze up to his on instinct, she saw he was looking at the swatches of skin exposed from her dress, eyeing the goosebumps he had plucked up on accident. 

(Y/N) cleared her throat, nothing more than a reminder to herself to keep professional and not to gawk at the man. She placed the change in the small cup underneath the collection counter before reaching for his herbs of choice. A length of twine was used to tie up his product, ensuring he didn't lose anything on his way back home. 

"Thank you," he muttered once she passed them back, their skin no longer grazing this time. 

"Have a pleasant journey back home," she chirped, her voice decidedly pleasant against the bubbling she was feeling inside, "Stay warm." 

The Count didn't give any kind of reaction to her before he was leaving the shop in a flourish. Taking advantage of the window at her disposal, she watched as he ventured out into the fog. The mist mingled around him, making him appear as if he were a ghost—one with the Earth-bound clouds. She was only vaguely aware of the way her body heat ticked up some now that he had left. 

Though she could hear the sound of footsteps descending the stairs that led up to their home a floor above, (Y/N)'s head was outside the shop and away from her father. She didn't turn even when she could tell he had made it to the landing. He was used to it by now, she knew. Her head was always miles away as far as he was concerned—thinking too big for the village with daydreams that were only going to hurt her in the long run. 

The air around her shifted, telling her that her father was just behind her, likely watching to see what had caught her attention this time. 

"Is that Harry?" he grumbled, spitting out the name while dismissing the faux-title since they were alone. 

Her father didn't much like the Count—Harry, as he bitterly spat out. (Y/N) was never sure what precisely had set off her father's distaste for the man, just knowing that he thought Harry to be something of a boogeyman against the village. He didn't even go to church, her father regularly complained. What kind of man was he if he couldn't even bother to trudge down from his palace to spend some time with God, even if it was in the presence of commoners? 

(Y/N) never really minded. Though she'd never tell her father, church was boring. She couldn't blame Harry—the Count, whatever she was supposed to call him—for skipping out. Especially with the peeks at the castle she could garner if she trekked through the woods far enough. She wouldn't want to leave that place for anything. 

Nonetheless, (Y/N) answered with a soft, "Yes." Her eyes were still locked on the form of him she could barely make out through the mist. 

A grunt of disapproval left her father's lips. She didn't have to look at him to know that he had his arms crossed over his chest. "Are you okay?" 

It was when he settled a hand on her shoulder that she snapped out of her staring. 

"Yes, I'm well," she answered as placidly as possible when she turned to face him. She didn't want to show just how affected she was by the Count. Her father would do more than just grunt and disapprove if he knew just how drawn to the man as she was. 

He peered through the window, his eyes surely finding the one dark figure filtering through the fog. His brows slanted into harsh slashes over his eyes. "From now on, I want you to find me when he comes in, and I will take over. I do not want him talking with you." 

Her fingertips buzzed at the new instructions, matching the kickstart to her heartbeats. As much as she heard her father's concerns, and had listened in to all the of the stories and webs spun about this man, those did little to deter her interest in Harry or quell the bubbling in her chest every time she saw him step inside the apothecary. 

"I can handle him, father," she countered, trying to sound as uninterested as possible while attempting to hold her ground, "We barely talk when he comes in, anyway." 

The creases between his brows only deepened when he matched her gaze. "I do not want you becoming one of his victims, (Y/N)."

Her lips thinned at his words. "All of those stories are rubbish, father, you know that," she pressed, her words lighthearted despite the argument she was wagering by not immediately giving in, "Since when have we started listening to what Mary and Ethel have to say?" 

He didn't break any, even when she knew she was making a valid point to him. Gossip was prohibited according to the Bible, and yet he was citing stories she had heard the worst of gossipers weave?

There was no real reason for anyone to believe that Harry had anything to do with what had been going on just outside of the village, he was just easy to pin it on seeing as no one really knew him. She doubted any of them—including Ethel and Mary—could actually believe that he was the one behind the bodies that had been found in the woods, and the disappearances that had been added to the murder count. 

From what she'd heard, all signs pointed to animal attacks—wolves, or bears, or anything viscous. Though her stomach curdled at the thought, she couldn't see the Count being the one to rip out commoner's throats, to leave them crumpled in the brush with blood sinking into the earth. All of it was gossip and evil rumors that had not even a shred of truth inside.

"Still," her father stated, countering her argument, "There's something wrong with him, (Y/N)." 

Wrong was very far from threatening as far as she was concerned, especially when it came to Harry. Though, this most likely wasn't the time to share that opinion. She would keep her thoughts about him to herself, her own small secret against the rest of the village.

Harry didn't scare her like he did the rest of them, but they didn't need to know that. 

"Okay," she relented with a quiet nod, turning back to the collection cup so she could pass off the earnings to her father. "I will come grab you next time." 

(Y/N) wasn't sure if it was the additional shillings added to the cup or her pleasant agreement that had her father's features relaxing with a small smile on his lips, but she wasn't going to object.

Besides, she wasn't going to actually follow through on her promise. Harry was her favorite customer, even if she wouldn't admit it out loud. Her father would have to try harder to steer her clear of Harry.

—————

(Y/N) struggled with the strap of her shopping baskets, one hanging from her shoulder over her back with another dangling from her hand. They were stocked full and heavy, filled with everything her father requested that morning before she was sent off. She hadn't even realized how late she was running with her errands, how many items she had picked up and how heavy her bags were becoming until the sun had already gone down and her shoulder ached with the amount she had packed in. 

With the season's change, the sky was almost pitch by the time she made it to the edge of the village, the air chilled and crisp. Her father was going to have her head for making it back so late, but what could he have expected, really? He was the one that wrote the list, knowing half of the items were only available in the neighboring village. 

She hummed as she followed the path, giving herself some company and filling the silence. She hated being out this late—the dark scared her more than it probably should at her age. 

Her steps slowed as the bag hanging from her shoulder once again began to shift. No matter how hard she tried, it wouldn't stay put. She attempted to adjust the strap once more as she cautiously stepped over the path. 

With her attention placed elsewhere, she didn't notice the man in her way until she bumped directly into him. 

Her heart started in her chest, rattling against her ribs. She jumped back, whipping her head up with wide eyes. Before her stood the familiar dark-haired figure she had seen just a week prior, pursuing through the apothecary. 

Harry's cut features were pinched with a furrowed brow, his dark eyes trained on her. He was pale like a ghost compared to his dark clothing that blended in with the rest of the night. He reached out to steady her, baskets and all, when she tottered on the low heel of her boot. 

His touch singed her like snowflakes as he grasped at her bare arms. 

"H-Harry," she gasped, his name falling from her lips before she had a chance to collect her bearings. Her skin warmed when her brain caught up with herself; she'd never called him by his name before—or called to him at all now that she thought about it. "I am so s-sorry." 

What exactly she was apologizing for—using his name so brashly or running right into him—she wasn't sure, but she could cover for both, she figured. 

"It is alright," he murmured to her, his hands lingering on her biceps, "I didn't mean to frighten you. Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine, thank you," she asserted, "I wasn't looking where I was going. It has been a long day." 

Tipping his head, as if her word wasn't enough, Harry looked her over before dropping his hands from her arms and taking a calculated step back.  

"I'm sure it was," he said to her, his voice still a low whisper, "Is what why you are out so late?" 

(Y/N) eased into the conversation, despite knowing it was more than a little inappropriate to be alone with a man this late into the evening. She was flattered the Count wanted to speak to her at all, honestly. He always seemed so eager to flee from the apothecary and the rest of the village during his visits. In her dreamland, she liked to think that he actually enjoyed seeing her, this run-in being his opportunity to speak to her without all of the prying eyes trained on him. 

"Yes," she sighed, shifting the small basket on her aching wrist to the other, "I had to do the shopping today, and my father always requests things he knows I have to search all over for, so I've been busy since I woke up." 

Harry hummed at her words, his dark eyes seemingly lighting up with amusement at her trivial complaint. He eyed the heavy bags she was carrying before he met her eyes once more. "Would it be alright if I accompany you back home? It's too dark for a lady like yourself to be walking alone."

Biting back a smile, (Y/N) felt her blood warm under her skin. Someone of his status would know a lady when he looked at one, and (Y/N) definitely wasn't. He had to be teasing her. 

"I'm no lady," she explained, though she didn't sound that convincing under her smile, "But, I think I would really enjoy some company. Thank you." 

(Y/N) was well aware of what it would look like to be walked home by Harry at this time of night, alone on the path and unchaperoned. It would have been bad enough with any man, but seeing as this was the Count, she could only imagine the kinds of rumors Mary and Ethel would spin. The fluttering in her heart urged her to ignore those worries, though; Harry most likely knew better about societal standards than she, given their stations, and he had enough rumors swirling about him that he wouldn't want to add to if he could help it. If he wasn't worried, then she wouldn't either. 

"Lead the way," he said, smiling at her with dazzlingly perfect teeth. 

"Its not too far," she started, peering down the path to see the late night tavern still boiling with people and the small homes that decorated the mouth to the village. "It's just down that way," she told him, nodding her head in the direction they were to take. 

Before she went too far, she adjusted her grocery-laden baskets once more, barely holding back a wince at the weight on her shoulder. 

Harry still seemingly noticed even if she had tried to be discreet. He didn't immediately follow her steps back home. "Let me carry those for you. They can't be too comfortable after such a long day." 

While she was sure it was good form to decline his offer, feign strength she didn't have and continue on without complaint, she wasn't going to pass up on the offer to relieve the stress on her shoulder. 

"I would really appreciate that, actually," she sighed, shifting the basket off her shoulder in a haste, "Thank you." 

"No need to thank me," he answered simply, a pleasant lightness to his features as he took the strap from her hands. He slung it over his own shoulder with an ease (Y/N) could only dream to have. He didn't stop there, taking the smaller one from her wrist as well. 

She was free to roll her joints and feel circulation return to all limbs, more than gracious for her impromptu partner for the night. 

"You said it was this way, yes?" he prompted, starting down the path towards the edge of town where both the apothecary was as well as the flat above it where she and her father resided. 

"That way," (Y/N) affirmed with a smile, falling into step beside him as they started off through town. 

A careful silence fell between them, full of opportunities that twinkled like stars. This was her chance to know him, bask in his presence, learn who she had only gazed at from afar. Though every time she looked at him from the corner of her eye, she felt her throat dry. He was even more gorgeous under moonlight. 

"You know," he started first, unbraiding the silence, "I don't think I've ever seen you come out from behind that counter. I was starting to think you never left; like you were some kind of spirit attached with manning an apothecary at all hours." 

A bubbling peal of laughter felt from (Y/N)'s lips, her hands a fumbling bundle at her waist. "It feels that way, sometimes," she smiled, "But I promise I do have more hobbies than only drying herbs and counting coin." 

"And what might those be?" the Count pressed, looking down at her. In the low light, (Y/N) expected his eyes to look impossibly dark, more like coal than even in the daylight, but she found that ring of green to show more prominently now under the moon. 

"Um," she floundered, tearing her eyes away from his when she felt goosebumps raise over her skin and her heart bounce against her lungs, "I-I like to tend to our garden—for the shop." 

"I didn't know grow everything yourself. That must keep you rather busy." 

(Y/N) shrugged, "It can, depending on the season. But, I've figured it out through the years, and made it easier on me."

"You grow everything for your shop, then?" Coming up to a fork in the path, Harry paused, waiting for (Y/N) to take the first step in the right direction before he followed. 

"Most of it," she mused, an immediate list of their inventory coming to mind, "There's still a few things that I have to scavenge for, but I've become rather good at that as well."

"I don't doubt that," Harry smiled, the curl audible in his voice, "Was it your idea then to start the shop? Fill it with all the things you could grow?" 

"Oh, no," she declined, a furrow appearing in her brow, "My father and mother started the apothecary when my sister and I were still babies." 

"I don't think I've met your sister or mother," Harry shared, casting his gaze towards her once more, refractions of green shimmering in his irises.

While (Y/N) dreaded the subject, she couldn't exactly complain since she had been the one to bring them both up. Truthfully, it wasn't hard to talk about any more, it was harder to field the reactions of those around her when she shared the story. It was never easy to quell retroactive grief. 

"My sister married and moved to the country almost two years ago," she started easy, keeping her gaze forward, "My mother passed away when I was a child." 

When the Count didn't immediately answer, (Y/N) peeked up to find him looking at her differently than before. She didn't find pity swimming through his eyes, only sympathy. He looked at her like he knew her pain. 

"It is a hard thing, losing family," he murmured, shifting his gaze towards the sky, "But, it can only grow easier as time goes on." 

Tracing her eyes over his profile, through the immaculate stone-like chisel of his features and unblemished skin, she swore she could spot the same fine lines by his eyes and slight crease between his brows that she and her sister had sustained since their mother passed. 

She swallowed, hoping her next line of questioning didn't breach too far. "Have you lost family before?" 

"I have," he smiled, though it didn't completely reach those fine lines by his eyes, "It was a long time ago. It's funny how after a while, you can forget what it was like before." 

Though (Y/N) loved her mother dearly and cherished those memories she had with her, she had been without her for longer than she had been with her. She knew what Harry was talking about, exactly. Missing her mother was just a part of her now, and it wasn't anything she tired to push away or get over. She grew around the grief and held onto her mother in that space. 

"Exactly," she agreed, relieved to not be trying to quell someone else's grief and pity for her, "I've remembered her for longer than I actually knew her, but it does not upset me any more." 

"Good," Harry cemented, "She wouldn't want you to be bothered by her memory." 

Looking ahead, the town square was approaching with the town's tavern still full despite the late hour. That was the one place that could be bustling at any time of night, any day of the week. (Y/N) hoped no one would peer through the windows and catch her late night stroll. 

"I apologize for speaking so morbidly," (Y/N) laughed, though she didn't exactly feel guilty to be learning that much more about Harry, "Since you know more about me, I would like to know more about you." 

"I'm sure we could arrange that," he smiled that dazzling smile, "What would you like to know?" 

"I don't think I've ever seen you out in the village before, except for when you do your shopping," (Y/N) mused, hoping to learn a little bit more about what he did up in that castle of his. 

She watched as he shrugged, still completely unbothered by the weight of her shopping. "I come out every once in a while," he prattled, "But I suppose we never have run into each other until now. What a shame." 

Her blood warmed at his final comment. He really must be teasing her, trying to pull those shy reactions from her. 

Before she had a chance to say much in response, the rowdy tavern only a few meters ahead burst open with sloppy patrons spilling onto the street. The men were undoubtedly drunk as was apparent in the slurring of their shouts and the stumbling of their feet. Everything was too loud for the quiet of the night, including the calls coming from inside the bar, urging the few that had escaped to come back inside. The night couldn't already be over, it was still early, those beckoning voices said. 

Maybe it was the dark of the night, the fact she had never been around anyone drunk enough to slur their words, or the stark sound of it all, but (Y/N) startled at the disturbance. She almost jumped out of her skin, her feet stumbling with her heels digging into the crumbling sidewalk. She could hear a gasp falling from her throat though she couldn't remember making the noise herself. 

Before she had time to recover, Harry had swiftly tugged her to his other side. She was now covered by his body with her other side sandwiched with the walls of the other buildings lining the street. From where the drunken men stood, she doubted they would be able to accurately spot her given her new cover.

"Thank you," she murmured, her thrumming heart beginning to slow finally. 

When he didn't respond, she looked up to find him shooting daggers towards the men that were being pulled back into the tavern. His sharp jaw was clenched shut with his eyes narrowed in their direction. 

"Harry?" she sounded, breaking him from whatever he had running through his head. 

He whipped his head to face her once more, blinking with a flutter of curling lashes. 

"Yes, sorry," he finally responded, "My apologies, I would have pulled you away sooner had I seen them coming." 

"It's alright," she tried to soothe, giving him a small smile, "The shop is just up there, I think I can survive a little while longer." 

He cast his gaze over her form for just a beat longer, his shoulder relaxing some by the time he met her eyes again. "I'll make sure of it," Harry teased, cracking a smile at her. 

They shared those final paces in silence, (Y/N) feeling rather proud of herself and a bit giddy to have had him at her side for this long, his attention on her. By the time the dark apothecary topped with the small flat came into view, she almost wished they would round the block once more. She still had more she wanted to ask him. 

"It has been a pleasure, Ms. (Y/N)," he bowed to her, carefully pulling her shopping baskets from his shoulder and wrist, "I hope I will see you again soon—maybe we'll run into each other like this more often." 

"Maybe," she smiled, taking the bags from him, "Thank you for escorting me home, and helping with my baskets." 

"It's my pleasure," he repeated once more, the green in his eyes flashing with amusement, "Have a good night." 

Inching towards the door, (Y/N) gave him a nod. "Good night, Harry." 

A soft lipped smile on his marble-perfect face was the last thing (Y/N) saw before she was stepping inside the apothecary. The bell above the door tinkled, alerting her father who would no doubt still be awake upstairs.

"(Y/N)? Is that you?" he called down the stairs, the creak of his favorite rocking chair sounding as he stood. 

"Yes, sorry!" she answered, bracing herself to trek up the steep stairs to the flat with her body weighed down with all of the groceries. "I didn't mean to take so long." 

"I don't like you staying out so late after the sun goes down," her father chided her, pulling the bags from her form and taking them towards the tiny kitchen, "There's no telling what could be waiting in the dark." 

(Y/N) kept her mouth shut as her father went off on his complaints. She didn't mention Harry once.

—————

Dressed in her favorite nightgown with her hair braided back with the same twine she tied her herbs with, (Y/N) peered once more out her window, finding the same black cat that had been out there since she readied for bed still sitting in the garden. 

Her moon-yellow eyes were bright in the dark as she stalked and played with the bugs that threatened the state of (Y/N)'s herb garden. She had never seen the cat before, but she was tempted to convince her father to let her bring the creature inside. She would be a good pet, (Y/N) decided. 

Laying back against her pillows, only dim candle light allowing her to see her ceiling, (Y/N) cast her mind back to the hours earlier. Her day had been terribly uneventful, but had ended in heart-fluttering territory. 

Though she realized, thinking back to the conversation she had indulged in on her walk home, she never caught why Harry was out so late by himself, anyway.

—————

Grey clouds crowded the sky as (Y/N) carefully stepped over the vining brush at her feet. The hem of her dress snagged once or twice on some of the thorny bushes and the rough bark covering unearthed roots. Acres of towering trees formed a canopy above her head, barely letting any of the limited light through. She had her eyes on the ground as she tried to scope out those few herbs she wasn't able to cultivate at the home garden. The basket at her hip was already teeming with a good handful of different bundles, but she still needed to find some winter savory.

More than once, her mind wandered as she trekked through the trees. It had been a week since she had last seen Harry, and yet he was still the one thing that floated through her mind whenever she drifted to her daydreams. She could still see the line of his profile, backlit by the cloudy moonlight. In her dreams, she had the courage to reach out and trace over the line, grazing the bridge of his nose and the dip of his cupid's bow. He grew more and more gorgeous every time she revisited her memories. 

She was already known to have her head in the clouds, dreams too big for the village to contain, but she definitely floated upwards more and more since seeing Harry. 

A small smile worked its way onto her lips the longer she wafted through her reverie. (Y/N) liked to think that if she had acted on that impulse—dragging her fingertip along the planes of his features—that he would have cracked a smile, showing off the thumbed dimples and dazzling teeth. Maybe, he would have even looked at her, wrapped an arm around her waist and dragged her to his chest before dipping her in the middle of the street. He could kiss her then, the moment romantic and brazen and—

(Y/N) stopped in her tracks the second she saw the dead body on the forest floor. 

If not for the pallor of her skin, she could have assumed this woman had fallen asleep peacefully among the brush. She looked to be around (Y/N)'s age, unbound hair spilling around her head. Her eyes were closed with her features set in a serene scene and arms crossed over her chest. Her palms were pressed flat over her collarbones, the same way those in coffins were laid to rest six feet under. The pose reminded her of her mother.

Though all of that tranquility went to hell when she saw her throat. 

While the woman had been laid to rest with utmost respect, that didn't take away from the fact her throat was ripped open. (Y/N) swore her own esophagus grew sore and tight while looking at the women. The skin had been slashed out of the way by something sharp and angry, revealing frayed sinew and torn muscle. The raw red hue stood out starkly against the snowy pallor her skin had taken on. Something had attacked her, taking out her throat and leaving her to die right where she lay. 

The most unsettling part, (Y/N) realized the longer she stood there, was that there was no blood. Where she expected to see a crimson crust forming around the wood or a puddle haloing the woman's form, there was nothing. Her wound didn't even look that gruesome, truly. It was clinically clean instead, as if a healer had already cared for her and planned on bandaging the tear before letting her head home. She had been bled completely dry, leaving her with rubbery skin, thin veins, and a clean white dress. 

She had heard about these incidences—people going missing only to turn up later dead—but she never pictured it was like this. To her, everything sounded as if wanderers were attacked in the woods are lost through the elements. Never once through her forages in the area had she ever met the face of someone whose life was taken so decidedly.

(Y/N) wanted to scream, she wanted to cry and panic and run. But, she just stood there. 

Time was stuck as she saw the woman with long red hair, unblemished skin, and a fine gown. 

All at once, the severity of the situation flooded back to her. 

Her sore throat was split open with a loud scream, blood-curdling and eye-watering. She dropped her basket to the floor, returning the herbs to where she had plucked them, before she sprinted towards home. Her dress caught on the thorns of the brush, her feet stumbling over the unearthed roots. None of the obstacles slowed her. She tugged her dress free with every pump of her legs, keeping herself steady with nothing other than the will of adrenaline and fear pushing he along. 

She didn't realize she had been crying until she saw the edge of the village in sight, her cheeks burning with her hands going numb. A man she recognized as one of her father's friends was out in his garden, cultivating the family vegetables when he looked up to see her, concern striking his features. 

"(Y/N)," the man called out, his voice echoing over the space.

Stumbling in her tracks, she fought to keep herself steady. Instinctively, she wanted to keep running until she made it back to her bedroom with her safety intact. She knew she couldn't do that, though. She had to tell someone about the woman, find her family and lay her to rest properly. 

Find who had hurt her. 

"Th-There—She's—Dead," (Y/N) panted, floundering around her jumbled mind. She couldn't find a single coherent thought in her head. 

The man's thick brows only furrowed as he cautiously approached her. "Dead?" he pressed, making himself appear smaller as if she were the creature to be cowering from for survival. 

Hearing someone else say the word had another round of sobs wracking through her body. "Sh—The girl—She's dead. In the woods, there's been another." 

Horror took the man's features. Blood drained from his face, leaving him shades paler than just moments before. 

"Another?" he asked, "Like the others?" 

"I-I think so," she stuttered, moments away from crumbling to the ground. She couldn't be sure if the state this young woman had been in was what the rest of the others had gone through. She hope it wasn't.

A curse was uttered under his breath before he shouted towards his home. He called for his wife, a woman (Y/N) vaguely knew from church. It only took a moment for a woman to stick her head out of the doorway, her features screwing up in worry the second she saw (Y/N)'s blubbering form.

She was only vaguely aware of the man explaining to his wife what (Y/N) had shared, and that he was going to get the others together to recover the body and care for her. His wife needed to take care of her, inform her father of what (Y/N) had seen today. 

Time moved impossibly slow while racing through each second simultaneously. At some point, she checked out, shock setting in as she came to terms with everything she had seen. By the time she returned, she had been deposited on the stoop of the church, a knitted blanket around her shoulders. Shivers wracked down her spine though she could feel herself breaking into a thin sweat. Many of the women of the village had swarmed around her, including Mary and Ethel. Feet away, her father was speaking with the vicar of the church. 

"Drink this, dear," Mary said, shoving a warm mug of something in her hands. 

(Y/N) made no move to follow her given directly, loosely gripping the cup in her palms. Her gaze was barely focused, tears still running down her cheeks, as she absently stared at the cobblestone under her boots. 

Every time she blinked, she saw the bloodless wound on the woman. Her thin, lavender eyelids masking unseeing eyes. Her thin fingers, the pale skin barely covering the bones underneath. The sections of her neck that were frayed and ripped, matching that of the hem of her dress. 

Murmurs arose once more around her. (Y/N) had no doubt there was already speculation about who could have done this—who would have killed someone in such a way that an onlooker end up as traumatized as the dead. A part of her brain pinged, knowing that Mary and Ethel would no doubt be peering accusingly at the castle in the distance, their accusations known without a single word leaving their lips. 

Now more than ever, having seen a body, (Y/N) had no doubt that Harry had nothing to do with these disappearances. 

No human could do what she saw in the woods. 

—————

"Let me grab my coat, and John and I will escort you back home." 

(Y/N) did her best to school her features, regulate her reaction before reaching a gentle hand on Margret's shoulder to keep her from ascending the stairs. 

"Oh, no," (Y/N) declined, canting her head with a soft smile, "You've already been too kind tonight. I can make it on my own—home's barely a block away." 

Margret chewed her lip between her teeth, looking over her shoulder to where her parents were standing by the hearth. So many eyes were on them and their interaction. 

"Really, Marg," (Y/N) tried again, "My father and I appreciate everyone's kindness enough, I would hate to put you out even more and make you go out in a storm like this." 

"But," Margret started, "I don't want to leave you alone. The storm is bad enough without everything that... happened." 

Almost two weeks had passed since (Y/N)'s run-in in the woods, and yet the village's paranoia was at an all-time high. Her father had been at her side near constant since he had finished speaking with the vicar, promising her that he wouldn't let that happen again—finding something so gruesome, as well as a silent promise that she wouldn't become the gruesome sight. He had been shaken by her reaction, telling the vicar that he had never seen her so vulnerable, on the edge of hysterics. 

Any herb they couldn't grow in the garden would now be out of stock until he himself could forage through the woods, but she would never be tasked with going by herself. Otherwise, he was going to be at her side as often as he could be, ensuring she was never alone. If he couldn't be there, then he had pooled together a batch of close family friends who would be willing to stand in for him. She would never be by herself, never vulnerable to another fright. 

(Y/N) was losing her mind. 

Everyone walked on eggshells around her, having seen her breakdown in real time. They heeded her father's request as if law, never allowing her even a second of alone time if not in the safety of her bedroom. Even her time in the garden had been reduced to a field trip for every young woman who was tasked to be at her side, chattering about the most lighthearted of subjects.

While in a few ways, (Y/N) couldn't blame her father, she selfishly didn't really care. She needed her freedom, even if that freedom came in the form of a short walk to her home by herself. 

"I promise I will be alright," (Y/N) tried to soothe her friend, offering her beaming smile to Margret's parents and brother as well. "Thank you all for dinner, please don't let me add to the burden by making you all escort me home in a storm. I would never forgive myself if any of you fell ill." 

It was Margret's mother that seemed to waver from (Y/N)'s reasoning. She most likely didn't want her children out in the rain, either. (Y/N) wasn't the only one in the village that needed to be protected from whatever lived in the woods. 

Peering over her shoulder, Margret searched for her parents blessing that came in the form of a small dip of her father's chin. 

"I will come visit you in the morning, then," Margret cemented, "to make sure you're alright." 

"I look forward to it," (Y/N) chirped, bringing her friend in for a small hug before inching towards the front door. She gave her beaming smile to the rest of the family. "Thank you again," she said, "Dinner was wonderful. I'll have to steal the recipe sometime, Mrs. Wayfield." 

"I'll send it with Margret in the morning, dear," she said, her smile tight, "Get home safe. Don't linger longer than you have to." 

"Absolutely," (Y/N) promised, pulling the hood of her purple cloak over her head. 

Final goodbyes were shared before (Y/N) stepped outside, the raging storm that had been rattling the roof of the home now whipping against her form.

As much as the wind stung her eyes and the rain chilled her skin, she reveled in the experience. She was alone, finally. 

Despite what Mrs. Wayfield said, she definitely lingered longer than she needed to, allowing the rain to soak her cloak and begin to seep through her dress. She had never been one to steep in the rain or bask in storms, but that was going to be changing tonight. 

The direct walk home was decidedly short, taking less than a block's worth of steps to take her there, but she was going to make it as long as possible. She might even take the scenic route, stepping through the center of town for no reason at all other than she wanted to. 

Heavy droplets of rain weighed down her cloak the longer she took outside, the wind whipping the hem around her in waves. Taking her time, she ambled over the cobblestones of the town square, ignoring the drops that slipped over her warm cheeks. 

Suddenly, the storm changed once she reached the center of town. 

Before, it had been nothing but rain and wind, the kind of storm that would put her to sleep in a matter of minutes. Something shifted in a matter of moments, taking the wind and amping it up into swirling chills. A crack of lightning lit up the sky, making shadowy ghosts of all the buildings and turning the trees into bony hands reaching towards the heavens. Thunder rattled the Earth a moment later. The large drops of rain quickly became a heavy downpour, slicking down her form until her clothing was stuck to her body and her eyes were struggling to blink through the droplets. Every time she peeked through slitted eyes, the sheets slammed down thick enough she could barely see through it.

The scenic route no longer seemed fun now that she was out here. She should have just gone home like she promised. 

(Y/N) had to step carefully over the cobblestones, not trusting the grip of her boots over the cracks. She wished she could sprint though the barrage, but she would no doubt lose her footing and smash her face into the rocky ground if she did. 

Instead, she kept her head down and tried to navigate back home through the rain, lacking sight. She kept her pace as steady as possible, giving all her focus to the task of making it home, though she was vaguely aware of a familiar panic growing in her chest. 

As much as she had wanted to be alone, take time by herself and live in the village without her father's word being law, she still saw the gruesome body every time she closed her eyes. (Y/N) had nightmares of that moment she had come across the young woman, though this time she blinked her eyes open when (Y/N) grew close enough before snatching at her foot. A shaky breath expanded (Y/N)'s lungs at the childish fear that something could even be following behind her at the moment. She would have no idea if there was; every sound was drowned out by the pouring rain, her sight impaired by the water running over her eyes and the heavy sheets acting like a fog over the village. 

Unable to resist the urge, (Y/N) whipped her head around, trying to catch the monster in the act of following her. Unsurprisingly, no one was there. 

She was alone, just as she had wished. 

Spinning around, the village was completely vacant. No one knew she was out here. No one would even know if she had been snatched like that young woman. Not until she was found again.

That flare of panic in her chest rose again, clogging her throat and thickening her head. 

She needed to get out of here. Being alone wasn't worth this. She should have just taken up Margret and John on their offer and gone straight to her room. She could have found her alone time on another day. 

Picking the first direction in front of her, (Y/N) stormed through. This had to take her home, right? She had lived in this flat almost all of her life, she wouldn't forget where it was. 

Until, of course, (Y/N) noticed she had taken the complete wrong direction, heading towards the opposite end of the village. A strike of lightning lit up the grey sky, showing off the vague shadow of the towering castle in the distance. 

The Count's home. She had to turn around; she was no where close to the apothecary. 

This time, when (Y/N) spun around, trying to find a direction to head through her woolen throat and mounting panic, she couldn't decide. What if she went the wrong way again? What if she ended up back in the town center? 

What if she died out here? 

The morbid turn of her thoughts took her breath away. 

She was stunned in place, unable to make any move in any direction. 

Suddenly, a hand settled on her shoulder, stilling her shaking form. 

"(Y/N)? What are you doing out here?" 

(Y/N) stumbled, turning around to face to familiar voice speaking right behind her. 

There, backlit by another round of lightning and thunder, was Harry. 

His hair was almost black under the rain, near soaked despite having barely been out in the elements for longer than a few moments. His velvet jacket grew darker with every drop absorbed into the thick fabric. He pale skin was a beacon in the gloom. 

"H-Harry?" 

"You can't stay out here, (Y/N). You're going to fall ill, or worse," he told her, concern dripping from his tone the same way the rain clumped through the length of her lashes. 

When she gave her body permission to do so, she wasn't sure, but in a heartbeat she was clinging to his form. He was her safety in the middle of his storm, keeping her from falling victim to the most morbid of her thoughts. It was beyond improper, but she didn't care as she dug her fingers into his waistcoat. He couldn't leave her here.

"I-I was trying to go home," she whined, her voice fragile under the weight of everything. "I think I'm l-lost." 

She felt pathetic to utter something so silly given she knew this town like the back of her hand, but it was a truth. 

Harry lingered in front of her for a moment, seemingly assessing her before he sprung into action. 

"That's alright," he murmured, speaking as if she were an injured animal, "Let me take you home. I think I remember the way. Is that okay? I have my carriage over there." 

He pointed behind himself, where another slice of lightning revealed a black, boxy carriage led by regal white horses. She could see the vague form of someone sitting in the coach box. 

When she didn't immediately answer, he wrapped a tentative arm around her form. "Let me get you home, (Y/N)." 

She gave an absent nod, willing to let him take her anywhere—anything was better than this, she decided. He bundled her against him as he took her to the side of the carriage, sacrificing an arm holding her middle to open the door. He helped heave her inside, getting her in as quickly as possible.

"Thank you," she peeped when she settled on the bench seat. She kept her eyes on him as he waited a moment, relaying to the driver the new destination.

Her body shook with unstoppable tremors as Harry climbed in after her, her soaked clothing ruining the red velvet under her. She would have to apologize to him later.

It was here, in the dry of his carriage, that (Y/N) realized she was sobbing with rivers of hot tears pouring down her cheeks. It wasn't just the chill of the rain that had her feeling as if she couldn't breathe, she realized. In the safety of the cover, wracking sobs kept her from properly filling her lungs, her inhales way too short to be safe. 

The carriage spun around her despite the way (Y/N) tried to focus on her hands on her lap. This wasn't good, she knew. 

"(Y/N)," she heard, the voice firm and commanding, "Look at me, darling." 

Absently, she pulled her head up to face Harry. 

He was inches away from her. (Y/N) could make out the the shattered shards of green around his black pupils. The strong line of his nose and pillow lips were right there. 

Harry was dazzling. Breathtaking. 

Unfortunately, breathtaking was the last thing she needed right then. 

Before she knew any better, (Y/N)'s lashes fluttered as her eyes fell closed on their own accord, her breathing stunted in her lungs. The last thing she was aware of was Harry's panicked call of her name before she spilled over the velvet seat as she lost consciousness. 

—————

When (Y/N) finally cracked her eyes open, her limbs felt impossibly heavy as if she had rocks tied to each end as she sunk to the bottom of the ocean. Her bleary sight took it's time clearing, allowing heartbeats to pass before the blurry streaks around her came into focus. 

She was in an immaculate bedroom, she realized. Her body was cushioned by luxurious velvet, dyed a deep crimson. The mattress underneath was plush and inviting, urging her to sink deeper and deeper into the dreamy bedding and warmth it offered. A length of fur ran across the end of the bed, tickling her bare ankles as she stretched. 

Sitting up where she had been nestled atop the bed, more and more of her head came to her. The bed was even more opulent that she thought. Four posters shot up from around the frame, holding curtains made of delicate black lace. Her hands ached just looking at it, thinking about how long it would take to make something so beautiful, even with the help of one of those sewing machines. More furs and velvet decorated the large space; everything honing in on the darker spectrum of colors. Here and there, pops of gold thread appeared like minute rays of sunlight. At the bedside was a bouquet of cut flowers, all in rich violet hues and smelling sweet enough to draw her in like a butterfly. And she almost did, sticking her nose into the tall stalk of trumpet shaped flowers until she realized what kind they were and jerked back. 

Foxglove, she recognized them to be. Poisonous. 

Around the stalk were wisteria blooms and plumes of baby's breath. The wisteria was another set of flowers that were gorgeous to look at, but deadly in the end. 

Pulling away with a stiff back, she set her bare feet on the ground. Now that she was free from the flowers, the woody scent of winter savory and spike of tobacco in the background were the prominent aromas taking her attention. Looking around her, her cloak was dry, laid on the end of her borrowed bed alone with her boots set up in a neat row by her feet. 

This place was extravagant. A fairytale daydream, perfect for her head-in-the-clouds mindset. 

This had to be a castle. No random hut could have something this indulgent.

There was only one castle she knew of. 

Memories came back to (Y/N) in pieces. 

The storm. She had left the Wayfields' home, telling them she would head straight home despite knowing she was lying. She had wanted some time alone, away from her father's overprotective gaze. But the storm was too much. She had pathetically lost her way and panicked, remembering the woman she had found in the woods. 

Then, there was the gleaming black carriage. The ghostly pale face of the Count who offered to take her home, get her out of the rain and into safety before he would be on his way. She remembered him helping her into the carriage, telling the coachman that they needed to drop her back at the apothecary. Her emotions had fluctuated to opposite ends of the spectrum: extreme panic under the sheets of rain to the deep relief she felt at seeing a familiar face who could help her. 

The last few things she could remember was the guilt she felt at ruining the luxe seating in the Count's carriage before looking up to see him facing her directly with his breathtaking features. That was all that had been left before she tumbled back and lost consciousness. 

This was no doubt the Count's home. There had been times she had wondered what kind of interior a building as magnificent as this one would have, but she had never thought of something this indulgent. 

Though, despite her admirations, she couldn't stay here. 

She was never supposed to take even the long walk home, let alone travel all the way to the gargantuan home that the most notorious member of the village resided in. (Naming him as a member of their village was a stretch, but the easiest way for (Y/N) to think at the moment). There was no telling how long she had been out, but her father was going to kill her even if it was ten seconds. 

Despite the ache in her bones and the stiff fabric of her ill dried dress, she forced her boots back on, the laces pulled into clumsy bows. Her cloak was grabbed in a haste before she started towards the door. She didn't know what she was going to do, but she needed to get back home as soon as she could.

Swinging open the heavy door, (Y/N) swayed on her feet, stopping in her tracks when she saw who was on the other side. 

Propped against the opposing wall, between more cut flowers and immaculate paintings, was the Count himself. 

He was at attention within a second, but (Y/N) had caught the way he had been slumped against the wall, his shoulders a sullen slope. In an instant, he had crossed the grand hall to meet her at her door, his hands reaching out towards her. His eyes looked darker than ever, only light shatters of deep green apparent in his iris. His usually flawless hair was left in disarray. Somewhere, he had shed his coat and cravat, leaving the billowed sleeves of his shirt and grey waistcoat the only articles on his torso. Even the neckline of his white shirt had been left loose, a stretch of creamy skin on display. 

"Are you okay?" he breathed out, his gaze immediately tripping down her form before she had a chance to answer, "I-I tried to make sure you hadn't injured your head, or-or worse when you fell faint, but I couldn't be positive." 

Her lashes fluttered in a blink as she startled over his concern. She had never seen him so discomposed, his demeanor world's away from calm. 

"I-I'm alright," she breathed, finding her tongue in her dry mouth, "You brought me to your home?" She could vaguely remember him ordering the coachman to take her home, back to the flat above the apothecary. 

He wet his lips, his eyes searching through hers as he collected his words. "When you fell faint," he started, "I was not sure if you would have been alone if I took you home. I was worried; I decided to take you back here, so I could keep an eye on you. That's all, I swear it." 

She was sure he knew just as well as she that being alone like this—unchaperoned, neither of them dressed as they typically should be, no one aware of her whereabouts—was more inappropriate than a single moonlight stroll through town. This could ruin both of them if anyone found out; (Y/N) would be deemed unbecoming for marriage, and the small amount of reputation Harry had would be buried six feet under. 

Throughout all, (Y/N) still found her skin warming, seeing how genuinely he spoke of her and his worry of her well-being. Other than her cloak and boots, she could tell none of her clothing had been tampered with. He had done nothing more than keep an eye on her. 

"Thank you," she swallowed, nodding her head as she allowed a small smile to curl her lips. She felt a bit desperate then, hoping he knew how deep her gratitude went. "Truly, thank you. I-I don't know what happened to me, it was scary." 

"I'm sure it was," he murmured, the tight set to his features loosening the longer she stood in one piece before him. "I am glad I found you when I did." 

"How long has it been?" she asked, noticing not a single window that could give away the time of day. She wasn't even sure if it was still night time.

He deflated some at her words. "A few hours, I think" he shared, dropping his gaze as if realizing just now how long he had been her self-appointed guardian, "The storm finally ended not too long ago. You were exhausted, (Y/N)." 

She had never heard her name wrapped in his voice before. Looking at him now, she was back in that carriage with her lungs stunted and mind only on him. She swore she could see his eyes lightening before her gaze, more and more green coming to the surface like a murky pond under sunlight. The panicked urge she had to race home slowly melted out of her. 

"I'm not surprised," she agreed, finally breaking her gaze from his for no other reason than to allow her breath to come back. She cast her eyes around the opulent space, taking in the priceless art around her, the glossy flooring and detailed decor. "This is your home?" 

"For as long as I can remember," he smiled, pride straightening his shoulders as he followed her line of sight, "It's my sanctuary. If you'd like, I can have the kitchen make something for you and I can give you a tour of the grounds in the meantime." 

Instantly, she wanted to accept. She wanted to see what kind of creations a place like this could make in the kitchen. She wanted to know where he had found such gorgeous, but deadly plantlife. She wanted to know if any of her daydreams had been right about this place. 

Unfortunately, there was that niggling worry that popped back up in the back of her mind. 

"As much as I would love to, I can't," she reluctantly let out, "I have to go home. My father... he's probably rallying the village as we speak, trying to find me before he loses his mind." 

Harry's expression fell, losing that pride over her praise. Nonetheless, he gave her a relenting nod. "I understand," he said, cracking a small smile, "I have had you hidden away for long enough, I suppose. I'll have my staff ready my carriage, and I'll have you home by dawn."

"Thank you," she said earnestly once more, "Really, Harry. I fear where I would be if you hadn't come across me." 

"I do as well," he shared, his voice low as if sharing a secret with her. 

This time, (Y/N) didn't wipe the smile from her lips as she looked up at him. Another shade of green seemingly appeared in his gaze. 

—————

"You're not coming with me?" (Y/N) asked, poking her head out of the door of the coach when Harry didn't immediately follow after her. The first rays of sunlight were beginning to crest the horizon, giving away just how long she had been far from home, though that didn't stop her from stalling. 

"Unfortunately," he said, keeping his feet planted on the ground outside the carriage. He looked up at her from where he stood, holding the door open as he spoke to her. "I have business to attend to very soon; I wouldn't have time to arrange everything if I escorted you this morning. I hope you'll accept my apologies, anyway." 

Though she was disappointed she would lose out on time with him, she couldn't blame him. He must be a busy man if he had this place to call home and a full staff to take care of it. He didn't have time to chauffeur her around the village, even if that was what she wanted. He didn't even have a chance to tell her where he had found the flowers for his bouquets. 

"I suppose I'll forgive you this time," she said, a sly smile on her lips that had Harry's own lips blooming, "But next time, I won't be so lenient." 

"I appreciate your grace, my lady," he played along, offering her that dazzling smile and dimpled cheeks. "I promise to see you soon. I feel like I'll need to visit the apothecary sooner rather than later." 

(Y/N) could take that promise. "I will make sure we stay stocked, then." 

"Until next time," Harry said, inching away from the carriage with reluctant steps deeper into the shadows.

"Until next time." 

With that, Harry closed the door to the coach, relaying the destination to the driver. 

With her hands in her lap and heart bubbling in her chest, (Y/N) allowed her cheeks to split with her smile. Definitely better than any kind of daydream her cloudy head had come up with.

—————

As soon as she approached the church, (Y/N) was grateful for the instructions she had given to the coachmen to drop her at the edge of the village, leaving her to be the only one who had seen the carriage at all. As she had suspected, her father really had rallied every able body in the town. She could only imagine she had caught them right before they started combing the woods and terrorizing the neighboring villages until they found her. 

It was Margret who had seen her first, breaking down into tears with a bursting sob before she was running towards (Y/N).

"Where have you been?!" she screamed, collapsing around (Y/N) in a steely hug, "I—We—Everyone thought you were—" 

Margret didn't have to finish her words for (Y/N) to know what had been on the village's mind. 

Before she had a chance to do anything more than reciprocate the hug and draw a breath, her father was barreling over. "(Y/N)!" he shouted, a mix of relief and anger tinting his tone. She doubted he even knew how to feel in that moment. 

"I'm sorry, Margret," (Y/N) muttered, offering a consoling smile before pulling away from her hug. The Wayfields stepped forward to collect their daughter while (Y/N) went towards her father, already dreading the lecture she would receive. "Father, I—" 

The air was stolen from her lungs the second he scooped her into a tight hug. "My daughter," he murmured into her hair, nestling her against his chest, "I thought the worst." 

"I'm sorry," she whispered, aware of the eyes watching their embrace. 

"What happened?" he asked, pulling away to face her with watery eyes and warm cheeks, "Why didn't you stay with Margret and her family? They said you went through the storm alone, promising to come back home." 

(Y/N) felt immense floods of guilt bubble through her system. This wasn't the welcome home she had thought she'd garner. 

"I hadn't meant to frighten anyone," she started, hoping the rest of the village overheard, "I only wanted a minute alone, but I was planning on coming home right away. But, the storm was so heavy, and I scared myself. I was disoriented and ended up a village over. I stayed in their church for the night, until it was safe to come home." 

The lie slipped off her tongue like water, the story planned from her time in the carriage. Her guilt only worsened knowing she was deceiving her father, but she didn't want anyone to know where she had spent the night. Despite the impropriety of the whole thing situation Harry, she didn't want Mary and Ethel chattering to her father that the Count was trying to steal away his daughter and flay her before dropping her in the forest. 

She didn't want Harry to be dragged into this. 

His features tightened at her words, but she could see as he ultimately accepted them. "Okay," he relented before flexing his arms around her in a pulsing hug, "Never again, (Y/N). Do you hear me?" 

"I hear you," she promised, holding him back just as tightly. 

Over his shoulder, she could see the gleaming of a black carriage ascending the trail towards the large castle in the distance.

—————

oleander, if consumed, can slow the heart and cause death within hours.

ahhhhhh! super super super different for myself ngl! I changed a couple of ideas I had just bc I started scaring myself but thank you so much for reading! im so happy im finally putting out a halloween fic! so sorry for any mistakes and if theres any ideas or thoughts please send them in!

[pedroshotwifey]

Christmas Countdown Day 6 - Javi P.

Take It

Pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader

Word count: 908

Tags/Warnings: No use of y/n, (could be seen as) dub/noncon, rough piv sex, like really fucking rough, overstimulation (f), daddy/papi kink, aftercare implied but up for interpretation, stuff im forgetting, pussy slapping, kinda dead dove, when I say they nasty I mean they nasty

Summary: The one where Javi fucks your lights out

A/N:⚠PLEASE READ⚠ Alright, y'all. This one can be interpreted a few different ways. It obviously jumps right into the smut, so there is nothing to tell you what kind of relationship Javi has with the reader, or how they got into this situation. That being said, this can be seen as something that Javi and the reader talked out beforehand (maybe they have a safeword), or it could be seen as dub/noncon. The choice is yours as there is nothing in this fic to hint that either of those are what's happening. Thank you for reading <3

***

“Javi, please!” 

You sob as he rocks into your sensitive and overused cunt. Through the tears in your eyes, you glance at the digital clock on the nightstand next to the bed. If the time is right, that means that Javi has had his dick buried in your pussy for about an hour now. 

You have no idea how he does it, how he can bring himself to the edge so many times only to repeatedly deny himself. How he forces you to stay still until he backs off the edge and is able to keep going. How he, somehow, manages to get you to fall apart over and over again while he does so. 

You lost count of your orgasms after four; at that point, they had started to mesh. Everything had, really. 

“Shhh,” Javi says, continuing to pound into you. “You can take it, hermosa.”

He has you face down, ass in the air. One of his hands is wrapped in your hair, and the other on your waist, both working to pull you back to him to meet his thrusts. Your hands are just as useless as your arms at this point, scrambling to find something to hold onto without success. 

Your cries and pleas are accompanied by Javi’s grunts and heavy breathing, which mixes together with a wet slapping sound that echoes around the bedroom. The atmosphere is humid and thick with the smell of sex, making your mind even more hazy.

Your body is acting on its own at this point, completely detached from your brain. You faintly register a coil tightening in your abdomen, pulling tighter and tighter until it snaps.

You cry out as your orgasm wracks your entire body, your cunt convulsing around Javi’s still-hard dick. He grits his teeth and shoves himself even harder into you, slamming into your cervix and making you jolt forward.

He stills but holds you close, his cock nestled deep inside you as you ride out your orgasm and he regains composure. He loosens his grip on your hair slightly as he leans in and showers you with praise.

Good girl, that’s good.

There you go, come all over my cock.

So perfect, bebita, take me so good, make Papi feel so good.

Once you deflate against the mattress, he resumes his movements, slowly picking up his pace again until he’s pummeling into you and tears are streaming down your ruddy cheeks. 

Your skin is tacky where it meets with Javier’s pelvis, the moisture there accentuating the steady slaps and making the contact sting more with every powerful thrust.

You barely register him telling you he’s almost finished, another something about you being good for him. If not for the constant reassurance, you wouldn’t believe that you could keep this up.

“…one more for me..” he’s saying in a far away place. One more. Just one more.

You’re too preoccupied with that thought, repeating it over and over in your scrambled mind, to realize that he’s moved one of his hands. You scream when he makes contact with your clit, a sharp slap that lights nerves across your entire body. 

He slaps in quick succession, the resulting sting making your hips buck backward as you try to get away from it. Each time you do so, you impale yourself further on Javi’s dick, and he moans loudly, whereas it causes you a light pain, it spurs him on.

Every nerve feels like it's on fire and you swear you’re going to black out by the black that swirls into your vision. You hear yourself begging, pleading for him to be done, and then a strangled cry as you come around him again. 

You’re completely fucked out, your body limp and your ears ringing. Your eyelids drop closed and you have no control of what comes out of your mouth, which isn’t much but a few wet and whiny breaths. 

You think Javi is saying something again, but the harder you try to listen, the less you hear. Just a soft grumble coming somewhere from far away.

Half a dozen more thrusts, and suddenly Javi’s pace is messy and uneven. His grunts grow deeper and his breaths more aggressive. you feel yourself being lifted up onto your knees, Javi’s arms being wrapped around you, and his head resting on your shoulder as he groans. 

You frantically grasp at his forearms for purchase as he finally stills inside to let his cum paint your walls. His cock throbs and pulses inside of you, making you whimper with even the slightest movement. 

When he’s done and his cum is spilling down from around his cock and down your thighs, he waits a few minutes, just catching his breath, and then he pulls out. He does it slowly, but even so, your body immediately falls limply onto the mattress without his support. 

He tuts from behind you smooths your messy hair down, a gentle touch after using you so recklessly. You’ve stopped crying, your breaths evening out slightly. Every cell of your body is exhausted. Completely spent. When your eyelids drift closed again you don’t bother to stop them. 

“I’ll be right back, Hermosa,” Javi says as he gets up and pulls on his tight jeans. There’s a sudden smokeyness to the air that tells you he’s already lit a cigarette. He pets your head one more time before exiting the room, but by then you’re already asleep. 

***

I would appreciate some input on this one because I am actually working on a dark!Javi series right now. Don't feel like you have to, but if you enjoyed this dynamic, please let me know! Thank you for reading either way! <3

Biggest, fattest thank you to @mandoalorian for hosting this challenge!

Link to prompt list

No tag list just in case

[lcandothisallday]

Concept: anything that involves with jealous Jeremy maybe he’s playing basketball at the gym and notices a guy or two trying to talk to you

hehe😋🤭

Jeremy (WMCJ) x f!reader

“dude! focus!” kamal exclaimed, aggressively passing jeremy the ball which just promptly hit him in the chest before falling straight to the ground.

currently jeremy was too preoccupied staring in the direction where you stood near the work out equipment, talking to a guy who just wouldn’t leave you alone.

“why the fuck isn’t she telling him to fuck off?” he muttered under his breath. usually, when your work schedule aligned with jeremy’s, the both of you would go to the gym together. he would either go to play basketball or train someone, while you try to sneak in a workout—even if you were dead tired from work. except this time, you really didn’t want to go and he insisted, saying it was a good opportunity for the both of you to get out of the house.

when he saw you laugh at something the guy said, he immediately stormed off to assert his dominance. when you noticed him approaching, you couldn’t help the knowing smirk making its way on your face.

“hey baby,” he hummed, pretending to be nonchalant as he wrapped his arm around your waist and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “you done your workout?”

“yeah im ready to go home if you are,” you smile, looking up at him with the stupidest love drunk look. the guy caught on and looked between the two of you with a shocked expression.

“ain’t no way your fine ass is dating the weird detox drink guy!” he exclaimed. Jeremy furrowed his brows and looked at the man. “i’ll have you know they’re actually very good for your gut health—”

“Jeremy c’mon!” you laugh, tugging at his hand. “no need to take up anymore time here,” you smirk, pulling him along. “good bye jerry!”

you walk out of the gym with jeremy trailing behind you. just as you’re about to hop into his car, he traps you against it. “wanna tell me why you were all giggly in there with mr. jerry?” he asked, his brows raised.

you lick your lips as you wrap your arms around his neck. “i did that on purpose to rile you up,” you state matter of factly. “one because you’re cute as fuck when you’re jealous and two—because it’s my day off of work and you dragged me to the gym instead of using the day to test out how many rounds we can go,” you hum, your fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck.

hearing you say that had his cheeks flaring up with heat. “ohhhh…i didn’t know it was like that…” he trailed off quietly.

“hmm—it’s like that…so can we please leave?” you ask, looking up at him seductively through your lashes.

“baby are you gaslighting me?”

“aren’t i always?”

[pandoraroid]

The Pack Wedding 💥💥💥💗💥

reaction rambles bc yes

please keep in mind this is meant to be lighthearted i love these men with all my heart n life n soul

THIS IS 43 MINUTES IM SO SCARED WHY CANT I PRESS THE VIDEO this is too much nervousness for seven in the morning im dead

DAVEEEYYYYY HIIIIIII GMORNING MWAAAA

"it's the pack everything's gonna go crazy." bro it's the SHAW pack what does that say about you hm 🤔 /j i love you david 

"reception's gonna be a solstice party on steriods" I SNORTED SO DAMN LOUD 😭

now should be a good time to say that part of the reason why i like redacted so much is because it's so funny and lines like that do it for me every single time.

"i love you angel so very much" BOOGSH 💥 im so in love with you david shaw 

i think bro's in love with us guys idk 

"beautiful... you.." NO YOU 🫵 david we are not doing this back in forth in the morning JUST ACCEPT IT

he's triggering my cuteness/love aggression SO FUCKING SAPPY I LUV U MWAH

"you fucking menace c'mere" HIS LAUGH OMFG GOOD FUCKINH MORNINGGGG

IS ASHER NEXT PLEASE TELL ME HE'S NEXT 

MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN

"oh fuck it's the day" me just this morning

"asher breathe we're good you've been training for this your whole life" ELABORATE???? id love to know how exactly youve been training for this asher

"it's our wedding day. holy shit it's our wedding day. i'm gonna be a husband." KILLL MEEE RIGHT NOW I CAN HEAR HIM SMILEEE OMFG WEAR THAT SHIT WITH PRIDE ASHER

"i've always been husband material look at what we're working with" KILL ME RIGHT NOW /pos baabe smacking him though HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

id kiss you for the rest of my life asher

laughing against/while kissing THIS MAN WANTS ME DEAD

"say how much time do we have before we meet everybody in the lobby" LET THEM FUCKING WAIT

MILO AND SAM???? OH MY GOD???? (should go without fucking saying but... drive safe..... please...)

in my head: sam is driving. david's shotgun. ash & milo are in the back. just because. >> BRO I WAS RIGHT????

darlin driving in another car with the other mates??? that... isnt what i think it is.... is it......

david sounds so tired of their bs HAHAHA "rounded out with a little traditional opinion from them of all people" DARLIN FIGHT BACK

"hey we're fun too, right?" ASHER PLEASE

"well let's see: we've got a grouchy grandpa drivin us-" 

"hey." 

"at least he didn't call you cowboy." BRO

"now don't you start." 

"and we got the grumpy alpha."

"i'm not grumpy. just preoccupied."

"right. right." bros didnt even try to sound convinced

"we're fun." 

"asher. we spent your bachelor party playing destiny 2." 

"and smash!" 

"oh my mistake."

this entire conversation. peak.

"i dont even wanna imagine what chaos those four are getting up to piled in one vehicle." OH WOULDNT YOU LIKE TO SAM 

DEAD ASS SILENCE I LOVE IT i cant fycking breathe this is too funny.

in my head, they were definitely arguing over directions. or darlin's driving, or making fun of the other car.

wait darlin what

"or you'll likely end up staring down the maw of my own beautiful mate-" SAMUEL COLLINS

"oh move it mr. wedding day" WHY DOES THAT SOUND SO GOOD

"and fix your hair."

"it's suppose to look like this!"

"are you trying to look like you got married in a wind tunnel?" BRO NOT ON HIS WEDDING DAY 💀

sam encouraging milo omgomg

"you talk more than anyone i know. and i know asher." AHAHHAHAHAHAHA

"is my tie on straight?" 

"is it ever?" is the one wearing it straight /jjjj

david helping him with his tie someone kill me right now

GABE'S CHILI RECIPE WHAT

"why did you pick me?" OH SHIT

i seriously just listened and payed attention to their conversation so no thoughts head empty only them

"what really mattered in a beta was having a person that was the other side of your coin."

"i picked you because you were the one person i trusted more than anyone else. you made me feel safe at a time more than i couldve explained. you were everything i wasnt. where i was distant you were outgoing. where i was rough you were warm. where i was analytical you were intuitive. you're the other side of my coin. you always have been. so it never mattered to me what anyone else thought of what i needed in a beta because they didnt know me. i did. you did. and i needed the person that was right for me not for anybody else."

i couldve typed out everything david said but THIS!!!! I WAS SOBBING!!!! THEY ARE THE OTHER SIDE OF OTHER'S COIN NEVER FORGET THAT!!!!!!!! their vows to each other fr

this is wrecking me THEY LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH

"you're too hard on yourself too."

"well we had to have something in common other than destiny and smash bros, right?" the range of friendship everyone 

THEYRE HOLDING BACK TEARS IN THIS ONE TRUST ME 

my heart felt so heavy in this WHY

"i think you're the best fucking beta i could have ever asked for. i think you're the besy friend i could have ever asked for. i deserved most of the time."

aaaanndd got heavier 😁

GROUP HUG GROUP HUG GROUP HUG GROUP HUG GROUP HUG GROUP HUG GROUP HUG GROUP HUG GROUP HUG

"i just feel bad that i'm going to be up there looking this good y'know people are going to get confused on whose wedding day it really is." EAT EM UP SWEETHEART (i meant milo but them too ofc)

"do we get a step stool for behind the podium?" HAHSHAHAHAHHA THE CONCERN IN HIS VOICE HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA

"i love you milo"

"i love you too asshole" CRYING 

"thank you for doing this milo"

"i got you. always." ALWAYS.

CEREMONY CEREMONY CEREMONY CEREMONY CEREMONY CEREMONY CEREMONY CEREMONY CEREMONY 

"when i was asked by my friends to officiate their unions, i only had one question for them: how much does it pay?" ASKING THE REAL QUESTIONS

im really listening on this part so head empty.

oohh asher (i think it's asher) laughing through baabe's vows IS SO SWEET I LOVE YOU AND I ALWAYS WILL

OH DAVID GETTING CHOKED UP ON ANGEL'S VOWS KILL ME

"you're the best part of me. and i'll spend the rest of our lives showing that i'm worthy of that." oh david shaw you dont even have to try

"i now pronounce you all married the-the pairs of you to each other not all together" OH THEY ARE NEVER GOING TO LET HIM LIVE THAT DOWN

THE KISSES OMMMGGGKFHEKHEJSS 

CONGRATULATIONS ANGEL & DAVID

CONGRATUALTIONS BABE & ASHER MWAAAAAAAAHH TO ALL OF YOUUU