#3 OIL PAINTINGS OR STILL LIVES A DAY?

[zip-zoom]

god what’s wrong with him.

[pryntery-moved]

Someone asked what Yusuke, Haru, and Makoto's living situation is like in the (meme) roommate au

... Yeah

(context: I made a P5R post-game roommates au and the room assignment is:

(though I changed Haru, Makoto, and Yusuke's location to near Ueno park)

Genuinely curious if anyone's interested in hearing more abt this au? It's eating my brain

[marcsburnerphone]

And they were roommates

(Captain John price x F!reader)

Summary: that captain wants somewhere more homely to settle down and when an offer like yours comes alight on Zillow he must take up on it.

Warnings: some awkward moments but nothing crazy.

part 1 - Part two!!! - part 3 - part 4

—————-

You indeed did not see John price the next morning but what you did see was a handwritten note stuck to the fridge beneath a magnet.

“Good morning, as I mentioned my job is demanding. I’m not sure how long I'll be gone for but I can estimate at least a month. If you need me, my phone number is below along with my check for this month's rent and the next. - John price”

You reach for the envelope that is attached behind the note and pull it open and what the fuck. You knew he had to have money but in what world would someone pay this much rent for a house with a roommate? You immediately grab your own checkbook and write him for the amount that’s overpaid, making a mental note to make sure you give it to him.

————

Weeks pass slowly and life goes on as it did before. The only difference is you're no longer struggling to make ends meet. So to celebrate your success you order that 6 foot canvas you’d been wanting for ages and a new oil paint.

When you got the notification that it had arrived, thank god for two day shipping, you squealed and ran to grab it before the mailman even walked away. He offered to help you as he watched you give it a bear hug and waddle it through your door yelling out a meek ‘no Thankyou’. You dragged it down the hallway and into the sunroom resting it up against the wall. Ripping the clear plastic film off of new canvases comes in third place to the best things in life.

Sitting in the sun that evening you stroke deep blue oil paints that try their best to replicate ocean waters, and white specks that wish they could induce the same feelings stars do.

You’ve been at this same painting for 3 weeks, coming home and straight to it. Now that it’s finally done it sits sunbathing till it dries. You still visit it and admire its larger than life beauty.

John’s been gone for 1 month and 3 weeks now and in that time some problems have arisen, 1. The faucet in the kitchen leaks and below it the pipe also leaks and the only plumber that’s willing to drive out to your house and inspect it says he won’t be available for another week which means the water bill will sky rocketing till then. And 2. you have no idea where the huge painting will go.

You walk around wondering where to place it. You thought maybe the living room, or even in your room but after testing both those places it still didn’t look right. You can only think of one other place which is the hallway to John’s room. Of course that spot is perfect, maybe he wouldn’t notice since he only spent one night here. You grabbed the drill and got to work mounting it immediately. Once all was said and done you gave it a once over, smiled, snapped a picture of it to send to your sister and walked away.

———

John arrived back exactly at the two month mark early in the AM. He opened the house door as quietly as possible and removed his boots by the door to avoid the creaking wood of the floor and continued sluggishly hauling his bag to his room. Being the man he is, he notices everything, those watchful eyes of his never miss a detail so he does indeed notice and take a second to admire the newly found painting hung in front of his bedroom door before unlocking it to set his stuff down.

After a much needed and appreciated shower he reads the clock at 7AM thinking he can sleep for a little, that is of course until he hears a knock at the door. Making his way down the hall he peeps through the window and sees a handyman?

“Good morning sir, how can I help you?” He says opening the door.

“Good morning, your wife called for a leaking pipe, told her I’d come by sometime today.” He looks down the hall towards your room and confirms the fact that you're definitely still very well asleep.

“My wife? Oh yes my wife, that lady I could’ve sworn I told her to cancel this appointment we actually got it all sorted out.” He lies like it's second nature.

“I actually charge a late cancellation fee that must be paid upfront.” He inquires slightly annoyed.

“How much?” John replies feeling sorry for this man that drove out here and is now being sent away.

“100$ flat.” John shuts the door and quickly fetches his wallet from the pocket of his cargo pants and returns with two bills one for the inconvenience and sends the man on his way.

Sleep can wait.

—————

You wake up to the sound of clanking in the kitchen and as a woman that technically lives alone in the middle of the forest you're terrified.

Grabbing the bat beside your bed still fully dressed in the least threatening attire, you tiptoe to the source of the noise and breathe out the strongest sigh of relief ever known to man.

“Jesus Christ John you scared me, what’re you doing?” You loudly admit startling him in return.

“Fixing this pipe that you called an overpriced handyman for.” You stare at him subconsciously admiring the way he looks, slightly disheveled, face screwed in concentration and strong hands twisting the wrench in his hand and let’s not mention the rise of his shirt.

“You okay?” He says removing himself from under the sink leaning back on his knees to stare up at you.

“Yeah, yes I’m so sorry, um so where did the handy man go?” He stands with a grunt and leans his back against the counter.

“On his merry way.” He replies, turning around to turn the faucet on checking if it leaks, then off to see if it still drips and as he expects, it does neither.

“How much do I owe you for the late cancellation fee?” That man has handled your plumbing issues before and you’ve definitely canceled late more than once.

“Technically you didn’t cancel on him, I did so don’t worry.” He says picking his tools up off the ground placing them messily into the tool box.

“Well Thank You.” You say awkwardly.

“Of course.” He smiles making the dimples beneath his beard awfully noticeable.

“Oh and by the way your rent is only two thousand five hundred a month.” You say walking to the kitchen drawer beside him and pulling out a check that’s already filled out and handing it to him.

“Utilities included?” He asks, grabbing the check written out for three thousand and also taking in notice that same scent that clung to those sheets you made his bed with weeks ago as you sweep by.

“Yeah I don’t mind paying more cause I mean look around, this place has my style written all over it which makes it feel more like mine than yours.” He looks baffled at your reasoning.

“I actually like the decorations, not sure I’d change a thing about it.” You laugh at what has to be a lie.

“I doubt it.” You chuckle and slightly blush at his kindness.

“No I'm serious, I especially love that painting in the hallway, where’d you get it?” You seem surprised at the mention of it and even more flattered at the compliment.

“I actually painted it.” He gives you a surprised look.

“See you’re even hand painting the art, please I can afford much more than twenty five hundred.” You act like you're considering it for a moment.

“As much as I’d appreciate it, I'm already grateful for what you pay.” You say truthfully.

“Also, welcome home.” You quip before turning around walking back towards your room to get ready for the day

—————

John’s been home for nearly two weeks now and he’s slightly growing on you and you on him. You co-exist in harmony most times. That doesn’t mean the two of you still don’t clash from time to time.

“Good morning.” He says scrambling eggs in a pan as you walk into the kitchen reaching in the cabinet for a coffee mug.

“Morning to you too.” You say groggily, setting your feet flat on the ground and placing the cup on the counter, reaching for the pot to pour some coffee.

“If I can just- oh I’m so sorry.” He says accidentally bumping into you making the coffee spill on the counter.

“Oh no don’t worry about it, I can just clean it.” You say turning around quickly to go grab paper towels and end up accidentally running into his chest.

He grabs your shoulders to hold you in place and let your brain catch up with the speed of events.

“We will learn to both be in the kitchen together someday.” You affirm with a laugh that makes you feel alive.

“Hey the first week this happened almost everyday. If anything this is a huge improvement.” He jokingly abides.

“True.” You say as he turns around handing you the kitchen towel to clean it up. He watches you with amused eyes and a smile that still hasn’t left either of your faces and for a second something alights in John something that scares him so bad he doesn’t hear a thing you’re saying.

“John, I said did you sleep well?” You speak a bit louder, snapping him out of it.

“Yeah darling sorry I’m just going to take this to my office. I've got some work to cover.” He says hurriedly plating his food and scurrying off.

“Okay well I’ll be heading to work soon.” He doesn’t even let you finish before closing the door leaving you to stand there a little stumped.

“So I’ll assume he didn’t sleep well.” You say to yourself before pouring another cup and heading to your room to get changed.

——————

Comments and reposts are appreciated <3

@beebeechaos

@ttsbaby01

@arminarlertssword

@quakeroaksguy

@waves-against-a-cliff

@depressed-but-make-it-cute

[comfortless]

In Our Angelhood

König x fem!reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. silly & odd strangers -> lovers au, loner/loner dynamic. canon divergent. mentions of physical and emotional abuse, violence, hurt + comfort, mentions of religion & religious imagery (Catholicism), light horror/unease, sexism (from a minor, non-canon character), reader and König are both in their 20s. virgin!König -> smut, unprotected piv.

notes: listen…. I was raised catholic but simply do not remember most of my life in the church. take this as a silly fairytale instead of simmering on the religion bits. <3 reader is implied to be a virgin too but we’re not harping on that who cares.

wc: 10k.

You haven’t had it easy, but seeing the angel wander into the cathedral with purple and yellow stains painting his cheeks, his throat, is safe harbor. Oil on canvas to burrow in like booklice. You like the way he takes the front pew, doesn’t hide himself despite the horror that’s been made of his face; tempts god by raising a hand up to press on the bruises, shivers from the pain. His brow pinches when his gaze drifts upwards, as if to think: You allowed this, look at it!

Most days, he doesn’t pay attention to the sermon, his hands consistently prod at his face or twitch someplace bedded down in the fleece lining of the pocket of his hoodie, always dark green or black. You’re not paying attention, either. You could fall into that absent stare easily, find yourself lost in whichever world bathed in static and hellfire that he’s dreaming up.

The Father is wary of him, no doubt. The man fidgets constantly in his place, toying with the unseen thing in his pocket whilst the priest prattles on about the Holy Mother and the blood of a son she watched led away to slaughter. The angel seems to only display intrigue when preaching shifts to mentions of the wrath of god, of sin, of Hell, as if he knows he’s bound for all of it. Heaven’s not spotless, either, full of cobwebs where God exonerates his wrath.

Sitting beside him is unheard of, the other parishioners stay away, whispering behind upheld palms that ‘there’s just something wrong with him’, but you choose to move from your pew to place yourself at his side, crossing the rows of curious gossips with careful strides as you approach his seat. The wooden bench creaks when he tenses, and you can feel his eyes dart to your form while you remain facing forward, but not a word is spoken during service nor after.

You make a habit of sitting next to him each time he wanders into the church with his fresh bruises. A few weeks of this and he comes back with a gash striped down from below his right eye to his jaw, an ugly maroon trail. He makes a point to sit on the opposite end of the bench that day, and you’re left to stew in the rejection that your attempts at providing your comfort and your friendship have failed.

“What happened to you?” Your voice comes out as a mere squeak, staring up at that horrid cut once the sermon has concluded. You’ve got him cornered between the floral dress cloaking you and the wooden bench brushing against the backs of his knees. It’s almost endearing how the sight of a woman speaking to him, caging him in like this makes him panic, his lips part and his eyes dart.

His chest heaves as a sigh leaves him once his head is angled away, eyes staring at the stained glass just over your shoulder.

“Accident.”

It’s said so simply that one wouldn’t believe it to be a lie if he were simply a voice, rather than a fully grown man cowering in your presence. For half a moment, you wonder his age before a response comes to mind. Assuredly he must be like you, mid-twenties and despondent, he comes here all alone, but you never see him around town. It dawns on you then, that the man probably still lives with his parents, maybe they force their fallen angel to attend church just to be rid of him for a few hours.

“Looks bad.” The response isn’t an insult, but you can hear the way his breath is hissed through his teeth, see the way his jaw tightens as though he took it as one.

“Es tut mer leid,” is all he says in reply.

You take a step back, keeping your eyes on him as you fold your arms behind your dress innocently. The other parishioners have long since fled by now, dusted off their sins like crumbs from their hands and passed the doors of the cathedral with sideways glances at the mismatched two still stood before the altar. You get the sense that maybe you’re the only sinner left in this place when König nervously meanders a step away, but when he walks several stunted strides away, stops to give you a glance over the shoulder, that weight rapidly disappears.

His expression shifts, somber and yearning for something that he can’t bring himself to say before he turns away and leaves you to mull in the disaster of your first conversation.

You begin to worry when he stops showing up for homilies, several weeks of sitting alone on their shared pew. Mass is no different, he remains a distant phantom. The cause for his accident could have very well been the cause for a life ended too soon and you worry yourself sick, shifting in your seat until the courage to ask if anyone knows his address is ripped from your tongue. The answer comes relatively easy, coupled with a flighty look from an older woman who claimed to have seen him seated in the front yard of some decaying home, shooting at a barrel with some gun you almost dare to wonder if he entirely, legally owned.

Despite your better judgement you find yourself staring blankly at his front door an hour later, clutching a brown, paper bag full of goodies from the local bakery for him. The muffled shouting from within keeps you from knocking, the voices of two men in some uproarious vocal war seeping out in whispers through layers of insulation and wall. You feel like a terrified animal, rooted in place as you try to make out the cause for such anger within. The dull thud of flesh meeting flesh pulls you back to reality in such a rapid fall, your knuckles wrap at the door immediately. It all falls silent inside, and a part of you is left fearing for your own safety there, as if those words and furious blows would be focused on you for even daring to bring this angelic stranger a slice of raspberry danish and a blue velvet cupcake.

The door swings open with the whine of hinges that likely have never been oiled, and König has never looked worse. His face looks sickly from bruising, the gash partially healed yet split from a fresh blow readily seeping blood against his thick fingers pressed to his cheek. Your chest fills with a rage you’ve never known and you feels your fingernails curl into the bag like claws, ready to push past this weathered angel and beat the Devil himself with your bare hands.

Instead, you smile at him.

“I brought you something.” You hold up the bag to him, and you’re grateful that he accepts it without asking why you bothered at all or how you even found this accursed pocket of Hell.

“Danke.”

He shifts a little in place as he opens the gift, and though he could not bring himself to smile, the way his larimar eyes seem to swim a little displays his gratitude where words fail him.

A part of you might even pay the smallest bit of gratitude to the fact that he doesn’t mention just went on inside there. Though your eyes search his with blatant curiosity, he turns away each time, allowing the words to remain unsaid. You don’t pry, it’s not your place. You know treading here was not your place either. Angels don’t haunt you like stalking predators, they haunt you with a call, a silent song. Fate seemed a ridiculous concept, but you’re drawn to his very presence as you have been since the moment you first laid eyes on him.

You know you’ve finally won his friendship when you find yourself across from him at a picnic table with a coffee he purchased for you in hand. It’s not how you would have ordered it, some overly sugary thing nearly spilling out with whipped cream and caramel, but it suits what you’re feeling. You ignore the taste, sated enough by a conversation that comes so easily between the two of you that you feel you’ve known him for far longer.

König is actually rather teasing and boastful when he isn’t being questioned about his appearance or what goes on in his family home. He tells you of his dream of becoming a recon sniper with ease, and how the Austrian military denied him despite how ‘perfekt’ he was for the role.

You listen intently as he carries the conversation forward, tells you about his rifle, right down to explaining the anatomy of such a thing.

“Scheisse, you don’t care.” He breathes a laugh too soft for a man his stature after he speaks, wiping away a bit of icing from his bottom lip with the knuckle of his index.

“Yes, I do!”

“Nein, nein, girls don’t play with guns.”

So, maybe he’s a little old fashioned and odd, but his voice is sweet like spiced honey, and you couldn’t fathom any place you would rather spend a gloomy afternoon than seated across from him.

“I bet I could be a better sniper than you,” you jest, taking a sip from your coffee with a little grin on your face when you note the slight furrow of his dark brows and the challenging flicker in his eyes.

His face softens as quickly as that surge of determination had come, taking to look you over with a newfound appreciation in his stare instead.

“I could teach you.”

You spend a moment explaining that you were simply kidding, and his eyes light up as a tinge of red seeps into the mottled colors of a sky in the midst of a storm across his pale cheeks. Like the first break of sun when the deafening rain finally falls to a calming drizzle.

“Shouldn’t you know how to protect yourself, though?” He asks, sheepishly turning his head away, focusing his gaze on fallen leaves instead of you. Extinguishing your own steadfast gaze is difficult, when you find yourself further captivated by the man in front of you. Everything about him is enigmatic; even the sparse glimpses into his life he’s offered to you leave more questions than answers.

“Maybe.” You shrug absently as you lower the styrofoam cup back to the table, hands curled around it.

He turns back to you then, slipping a hand into his pocket to fish out a butterfly knife, latch closed around the shiny handle. It’s the very same color of his eyes, barely a quiet blue, though the blade itself is wicked steel, expertly sharpened. You ogle it in your hands for a moment, flicking it open before he swiftly takes your wrist and firmly shakes his head.

“Careful,” he gruffs as he retrieves it, brushing over your fingertips as the blade is taken back into his large hand. He dutifully shows you how to twirl it, performing a series of little tricks without even having to look at the weapon in his hands. The blade’s dance is swift and graceful, not one cut sullies his fingers. His chest puffs in pride when he notices the way your eyes try to keep up with the steel, and the tricks become more elaborate.

“Can I try?”

“Nein… let me show you how to use it first. Bitte.”

With a nod, you find yourself being led away deeper into the park, leaves crunching under the toe of the man’s boots just in front of you. Assuredly, you shouldn’t be so trusting of a titan with a weapon, especially after hearing the violence going on within his own dwelling, yet you don’t question yourself. He fills lapses of silence with a soft hum, likely some song he knows from his homeland, it’s a pretty tune coming from him. The cadence of his voice is something that sets your mind at ease when he does speak— always a rasp with a nearly giddy lilt to it. It’s pretty.

The trail leads you both down to a fallen tree, the trunk is thick and deteriorating, bark springing up with succulent, golden folds of what he tells you to be laetiporus. König guides you down to your knees with a gentle press against the back of your neck, the large hand is shaking when his calloused fingers meet your flesh. He descends next to you and places the blade in your hands once more, guiding you with a patient nudges to your wrist. The base of the fungus is gingerly cut with each metered motion from you both, and eventually a large clump of it falls free right into the lap of your dress.

“Not the best for foraging, but…”

“I like it,” you chime with a smile, marveling at the little blade in your hand before your gaze settles to the cluster resting on your lap. “What do we do with this though?”

König shrugs, lifting the cluster of mushrooms to your face, clutching it as though it were a bouquet of flowers with a wolfish grin on his face.

“Eat it.”

“It’s dirty, you eat it.”

Those broad shoulders shrug again as he peels a bit of it off and shoves it between his lips, chewing the filthy things several times before swallowing it down. Your nose scrunches in feigned disgust, before a laugh leaves your lips at the crooked grin he gives you in answer.

“That’s so gross, König!”

It’s possible that he’s been yearning for someone’s focus to shift upon him like this, not in anger or disgust, but something far more gentle. He lets you keep his knife, and the rest of the afternoon is spent filled with comfortable conversation as you wander around the forest together. When the sun begins to set, you actually find yourself a bit disappointed that he doesn’t suggest a bout of stargazing or something more.

It’s all felt too natural to let go of so soon, and you’ve no idea when you’ll see him again. A seed of warmth takes root in your chest when he walks you back to your home. The friendship is something you’ve both needed it seems, because his smile doesn’t even falter when he leaves you at the door to retreat back to the horrible place that he calls home.

— ཐིཋྀ —

You’re sick the next Sunday. A small cold, nothing worthy of fretting too much over. Over the counter medicine does the trick to keep you somewhat comfortable as you lie back against the sofa, ample pillows and blankets surrounding you. There are chores begging for your attention: the dishes stacked in the sink, a laundry basket full to the brim, and you can’t recall when the last time that you vacuumed was. A few days of forgetting and these things overlap into a miserable, tedious pile.

You wish you weren’t so quick to call blame to one particular reason.

Spending time with the angel has left you carrying a weight you’re not certain you can continue to bare. In fact, your cold may have come from fearing for his safety. Whatever ghouls he keeps locked up in that house, tormenting him endlessly… it’s difficult to keep yourself together when you haven’t seen him in days. He could very well be dead. There’s some comfort in knowing that he knew how to protect himself; he had shown you, and his stature was undeniable evidence of such. It just doesn’t feel enough without the physical proof.

He allowed himself to be hurt anyway. It was strange. Some people were simply difficult to comprehend, and you didn’t even begin to know how to unravel the strange spool that’s rolled into your life now.

Especially not when realization hits and you come to terms with one simple fact: You miss König. His eyes, his strange interests, even the overly-sweet drink he purchased for you— you find yourself missing all of it; the light and the darkness. He knows where you live; he walked you home, and yet, he hasn’t stopped by. You imagine it must be that you merely misread the supposed closeness. It didn’t matter. König was just an acquaintance, after all.

You take your mind off of him by turning on the television, a hand rested over your aching head and the other thumbing at the remote in search for anything that could hold your attention longer than a few seconds. The town is small and the news is never interesting; a traffic jam on a road you’ve never traveled, a safe at the grocery store, the sorts of things that come as nothing more than a buzzing to fill the empty air. Focusing on a movie sounded far too tedious, too. Eventually you give up, turning the television off and tilting your head back to stare up at the ceiling, all white and empty.

The bell tolls again, it’s ringing far softer now from within the walls of your home, drawing your attention back to the woods— to König. Gentle chiming is a strange thing to remind you of the bloodied titan. It exudes a sense of peace, like the safety of church bells. You feel your conscious slipping, curled into yourself there as your eyes flutter shut.

Only, the calm is short lived. A knock comes only minutes later, the soft graze of knuckles against your door as though whoever lurks outside didn’t actually want to disturb you too terribly. After a fifth knock, you notice they’re not leaving. It was probably best to answer sooner rather than later so you might be left to your sulky slumber.

It takes a moment to gather your bearings and straighten yourself out enough for company. Your head is still aching terribly, brain fogged by the weight of your sickness. When the latch of the lock clicks and you haphazardly swing your door open, you’re met with the view of a broad chest covered in black.

“König?” You murmur, raising your head to look up at him. It’s not the sight of his face that you’re met with, only his eyes visible beneath the black fabric concealing him. The remains of an old t-shirt, and you had your doubts that whatever he had hidden beneath it could be any more intimidating than he looks now.

“Es tut mer leid,” he huffs, his voice a bit tight as he stares down at you, pupils slightly dilated and irises flicking from your face to the room just behind you. He looks a total contrast to you, unable to help the slight upturn of your lips from just the sight of him. Perhaps he had missed you, too. “Can I come in?”

Again, you should be apprehensive, but in the end you step aside and gesture for him to enter. He readily obliges, stepping past you as he ducks beneath the door frame and walks a bit stiffly to the center of the room.

“You alright?” You manage, shutting the door behind you and leaning against the wood. The flutter in your chest makes it difficult not to break into a more obvious smile— you’re happy he’s here, even in such a sorry state.

“Ja, just…” König pauses for a moment before taking to the sofa, seeming so much smaller than he truly is when he finally seats himself. “You know Lukas?”

Lukas, a parishioner. The man with the ever-present smirk on his face. You had seen him before, spoken to him in passing a time or two. He wasn’t particularly pleasant. You had even heard him join in with the others, commenting on König’s appearance— a bully and a gossip, no different from most of the others. The man couldn’t have been any younger than you or König, still, he had all of the maturity of a teenager.

“Yes?”

“They kicked me out because of him.”

You tilt your head, furrowing your brow in confusion. It wasn’t like the church to turn anyone away, especially not one who had been a part of the congregation for as long as König had. Your bewilderment spurs him to continue.

“At the cathedral.”

“I got that,” you hum out a bit hoarsely as you pad over to sit on the couch, opposite of him. The pitiful look he shoots you then, through the holes in his makeshift mask makes him look like little more than a pleading puppy, begging for comfort that he would never actually request. “It’s alright, König.”

“Nein… I will not get to see you as much.”

If König were not a grown man wearing an ominous veil over his face, you would almost dare to think he was pouting. It’s ridiculous, but it warms your heart that he cares; he enjoys the time spent with you just as much as you did. Perhaps more, if what you’ve gathered about him supplied any hints. He didn’t seem to have anyone at all— only you.

What the church won't tell you is that angels hurt sometimes, too. The Father will tell you that they're The Lord's army, just as impervious to bullets as they are to temptations. With an abundance of wings and eyes, they are such fragile things… how could they truly be invincible? Unlike the seraphim thriving in a heaven far beyond your reach, or the battered angel seated beside you, you won't deny yourself a reprieve or a request for comfort.

“We could just make our Sundays for us, yeah?” You don’t think to stop yourself when you extend the offer to him. The way his eyes seem to light up then is nothing short of a burning ember. Missing tedious sermons couldn’t be that sinful. God could turn the other cheek for now, you thought.

“I would like that.”

You hum in response, reaching for the little bottle of ibuprofen on the coffee table as that ache in your head begins to throb again. König’s eyes track you the entire time, shoulders slumping and eyes narrowing when he pieces it together.

“You don’t feel well..,” he says sternly, already rising to his feet to explore your home before a protest can even leave your lips. You hear the sounds of cabinets being flung open in the kitchen, the refrigerator flung open before he returns to kneel at your side with a glass of water. You weakly fumble with the lid of the bottle, offering him your thanks as he holds the cup out for you. Childproof lids are a pain, clicking incessantly rather than just opening when you need them to; each second feels like an hour passing as he stares at you like the strangest little creature he’s ever laid eyes on.

You feel your face warm in embarrassment when he sets the glass aside and pries the bottle from your hands, opening it up with ease before slipping two of the pills in your waiting palm. You down the medicine with a sip of water, nearly choking on it when he raises his hand to your forehead and gently presses against it to check your temperature.

“I’m fine, König,” you huff out, playfully batting at his hand. He remains insistent, not drawing away until you assume he’s convinced you aren’t feverish. “It’s just a cold.”

Your angel has never seemed sweeter than now, with worry painted clear in his blue eyes. He remains quiet, lost in thought for a moment before gently pressing you back against the couch with the press of his fingertips against your shoulder. The throw blanket is tucked over you in an instant. If the thought had occurred to you before, you imagined he would likely be rather clumsy when caring for another, and yet this all feels practiced. He’s told you he’s killed, in the military, yet you couldn’t imagine such gentle hands doing anything of the sort now as you curl up with a mumbled, “Thank you.”

“Sleep.”

You didn’t want him to leave. Impulsivity is enough of an excuse to take his hand, intertwine your fingers. He doesn’t pull away, not until your eyes close and sleep takes you once more. Only then does he leave your side and your home, locking the door behind him.

— ཐིཋྀ —

“Yeah… he said he saw a demon in there. All shadow.”

“Come on… that’s a lie. You know he was just scared!”

“I don’t know, man. I don’t think he would lie about something like that!”

You’re not trying to eavesdrop. It’s just that teenagers are never keen on keeping their voices down, at least not around here, it seemed. You’re already ten minutes late, having promised König you would meet him at the coffee shop at noon. You don’t have time to be standing around listening to children chittering about town myths. Especially not ones that make you feel so uneasy.

When you had heard them, they were always about the haunted church tucked far away from prying eyes, hidden somewhere in the forest circling the town. No one knew where it was for certain, but many claimed to have wandered there. None of those stories really held any weight; there were no pictures or other fragments of evidence, just voices. The only thing that made those tales seem believable was the bell. You had heard stories about it since you were a child. They ranged from seeing specters, to smelling perfume wafting about in the small graveyard supposedly next to it with no one else around, and even a strange one about finding a corpse there.

Seeing a demon was a new one.

You supposed that someone or something had to be ringing that bell at the odd hours during the day and throughout the night. It was never on time, always several minutes after the beginning of an hour had begun. The thought was a little eerie, and if you thought too hard about it— a little sad. Picturing some poor lost soul stuck there for an eternity, damned to ring a cursed bell only for no one to ever come. In retrospect, it really was no wonder why it reminded you just a bit of him; damned to haunt this town and return time and time again to his own personal Hell.

When the bell chimes again, the children take off towards the noise, leaving you alone on an empty street. Their shouts about how they were going to find that demon and chase it out echo until they’re too far away to make sense of the rest of the conversation.

Your heart feels a bit torn. It was best to leave things like that alone, but… the poor thing must have been lonely, lonely like him.

Maybe it’s a sign from God, as if to remind you of how you’re treading deeper into the dark with every passing Sunday.

You haven’t attended mass since you and König started hanging out. You consider that it’s your own guilt spurring you to fear this unknown thing lurking out in the woods, if it even existed at all. There was something about forsaking a religion you had grown up with for a man you had only just met that was both exciting and heartbreaking.

The walk to the coffee shop feels almost unbearable, your steps sluggish, yet the second you make it inside with the little bell chiming above your head you’re put at ease. König hadn’t taken your tardiness as initiative to leave. The man was tucked in the far corner of the shop, seated at a table too small with his own drink and yours before him.

“No hood today?” You ask as you approach, staring at his scarred face in reverie. The cut below his eye had mostly healed, and you don’t note any new bruising.

He shakes his head with a little smile, gesturing for you to take a seat— not across from him but at his side.

“Do you want me to wear it?” He asks once you’ve taken your seat.

“No, I like seeing you.”

König is handsome. The realization dawns on you, sharp and searing like a bolt of thunder when he flashes you a lazy smile, propping his elbow up on the table to rest his cheek against his open palm.

To quell your sudden embarrassment, calm the warmth pooling along your cheeks, you tell König about what you had heard on your way here. He listens in silence as you prattle on about the haunted church that no one has ever truly found, about the demon lurking in its depths. It sounds silly, even to your own ears as you recount the ridiculous myth you had heard in passing, but König looks a bit more rigid with each word you breathe out.

When you finish, he slowly shakes his head, eyes focused on the door as you take a sip of your coffee.

“You don’t really believe that,” he says.

“‘Course not. I just thought it was interesting...”

“Do you want to see it?”

You pause for a moment, considering the offer. Perhaps with König there you would feel safe, sate your curiosity and enjoy a little adventure as well. You still had the butterfly knife he had given to you, too. Your own little token of protection, and if that failed you would still have an angel at your side. Maybe he would teach you those intricate little dances on the trek there, hold your hand when you found yourself too afraid to brave whatever may come. If you couldn’t find the place at all then that would be nothing more than a nice memory to look back on.

“I think so.” The thought of feeling his warm hand in your own again is enough to spur you on. That feeling may have been more terrifying than any demon at all.

“We will go tonight then. I know where it is.”

“Oh… that soon?”

König gives your shoulder a playful, gentle nudge.

“Ja. I’ll take you.”

— ཐིཋྀ —

It’s not a date.

It’s a misadventure.

Still, you find yourself preparing for it as though it were a date. You bother with a stick of mascara and a bit of lip oil, a dress just slightly more revealing than the ones you wore to service. You tell yourself that you’re dressing up for the memory, not for the angel. That doesn’t stop you from ogling yourself in the mirror, tugging down your dress just a bit so it fits over your cleavage in a way that seems appealing.

You imagine the Holy Mother would probably chide you well if she were to step down from Heaven and see you now, tell you to remain chaste and pure until your wedding night. Oddly enough, it doesn’t tear you up with guilt— it only makes you giggle a bit as you lift the hem of your dress and twirl in place.

It isn’t a date, it’s the least romantic thing you could think of, but he’s coming to whisk you away into the night and it feels like one.

König, gentleman that he seems to be, doesn’t keep you waiting either. You both had settled on going right as the sun began to set after you had finished your coffee and informed him that you needed to finish a few chores and get ready before going on a night long endeavor. Just as the light outside began to turn to a pumpkin glow you hear the knock at the door. It’s louder than the last time he came by— he’s excited too, you can feel it without even gazing upon him.

You take your jacket, patting the pocket to ensure the knife is in its proper place before bounding toward the door, a skip in each step. Tonight would be special, sweet, and tender; it would be all of the things you had repressed since you first saw him.

As you turn the knob and pull it inward, the man hardly has the courtesy to hide his eagerness either. His face visibly flushes when he sees you, all dressed up just for him. You wished you could read his thoughts, have just one moment where you truly had some sort of telepathic ability as you once believed was possible when you were a child.

Graciously, as the two of you begin to venture out towards the woods, with you trying to match his lengthy strides as you walk side-by-side, you don’t need any telepathy.

“You are so pretty,” König mumbles, facing forward rather than looking directly at you. His voice is the quietest you had ever heard it now, barely above a whisper.

If you had the courage to kiss him right then, you would have reached for his scarred face and peppered a dozen over every mark, held him like that until his cheeks went up in flames.

“So are you,” you huff out instead.

Though he doesn’t outright call you a liar, something tells you that he doesn’t believe the words you’ve spoken. The angel falls silent, doesn’t turn to you and merely continues to lead you further out as the sky swells with a brilliant purple, the silhouette of a crescent moon peaking out from high up above. You would tell him a million times if it would make him believe you, then. He doesn’t fiddle with a concealed blade in his pocket around you, and together, he seems so much less lonesome and battered. You know that he’s comfortable with you; his discomfort stems from somewhere within, something you couldn’t reach to pry away from him.

You believe that you’re patient. You could bear anything he had to offer, good or bad; you would accept the burdens just as readily as the gifts— knives and the taste of sugar on your tongue.

The streets of the town aren’t as quiet tonight, and though there are no children with their silly stories idling about, you recognize the voice of a man a few meters off. When you look away from the tree line in the distance, your gaze settles on Lukas leaned up against the wall of the old antique shop. The place hadn’t been touched in ages, yet baubles and little porcelain dolls all covered in a generous layer of dust still lined the shelves in the window. His cell phone is propped between his shoulder and his cheek as he speaks, until his green eyes settle on König who halts in place at your side.

You know that your fantasy of a perfect evening is ruined the moment Lukas rushes a goodbye to whoever was on the receiving end of that call and slips his phone into the pocket of his coat.

“What’s going on here?”

The man is no demon, but he’s arrogant and cruel like one; he sounds enough like one when he laughs in your direction— looks enough like one when he makes a cupping motion before his chest as if to signify your breasts.

König doesn’t respond, but he steps in front of you, shielding you behind him as though you’re a little lamb in need of a snarling maw to keep you protected. You don’t need him to protect you, not truly. You aren’t a little girl, nor are you the one that shows their face covered in a mask of pain.

You’re finally getting a glimpse, a little look at what he must face every time he dares to cross paths with another person.

“We’re just taking a walk,” you say confidently, as you raise your hand to give König’s sleeve a little tug.

Let’s just go.

König doesn’t budge, unmoving like a gargoyle as he stares down at the smaller man before the both of you. His large hands clench at his sides and you see the flames of Hell flaring up in his blue eyes.

“Skipping mass to fuck the freak, is that right?” Lukas tuts with a roll of his eyes.

You’re amazed how Lukas displays not an ounce of fear— even you’re afraid. König wouldn’t hurt you, a part of you was certain, but the way he looked now was so unlike the passive, lost angel you had taken him to be. You take a step back, realizing that whatever comes to pass next is not something that you could stop even if you cling to König and plead for him to clear his mind and let this go.

They’re just words, despite the way they claw at your heart.

“Didn’t think you were such a slut.”

König is no longer much of an angel in your eyes when he leaps at the other man and lands a blow directly to his unsuspecting, smirking face. The sound is a loud, a horrible crack. It’s not like the soft thunder of sudden emotion, but one of a tooth being dislodged from the smaller man’s jaw. Lukas falls back, directly onto his backside against the hard sidewalk with a low groan of pain. His hands reach up to clutch at his face, bright blood trickling from his mouth like a stream.

It’s not enough. Not to König.

Your eyes squeeze shut the moment you hear another thud, and the third sends your running without so much as a thought in your head. The sounds of your own shallow breaths deafen the world around you, drowning out the violence taking place behind. You don’t consider where you’re headed, your eyes remain closed until the sounds of pavement against your soles dissipates and you’re left only with the thumps of your shoes hitting soil.

It’s dark when you stop to gather your bearings. The canopy of tree limbs, crooked and curved above you, blocking out any glimpse of even the moon. You can’t even see your hands when you hold them up in front of your face. When the adrenaline begins to subside, you feel foolish for running away— especially now that you find yourself horribly lost in an unfamiliar area. You turn back to look for the way that you had came, but see no lights from the town piercing through the dark.

You’re alone here, bathed in inky black, in perfect silence.

There are no footsteps chasing after you— König isn’t coming, not to save you. Not when you saw him for what he truly was, you imagined he read the accusation across your face when you ran away from him. It hurts you, too, to think of your lonely angel turned devil. How he saw the word ‘monster’ written in your eyes, wide with fear as you left him. You wondered if he could cry at all, if he was now.

You didn’t even care if Lukas was okay.

You doubted the man was even conscious anymore, lying limp in a puddle of his own blood. Whether he deserved it or not wasn’t for you to decide, but a part of you considers that he certainly did.

Trying to retrace the steps you took in flight proves futile, if anything you think you’ve only sunken further into the woods. Terribly lost and vulnerable, you reach for the knife in your pocket to try and regain some courage only to find it’s no longer there; you must have dropped it somewhere.

The walk feels aimless and fear creeps up on you from every small thing. A snap of a twig off in the distance sends you running once more despite the aching in your chest and limbs. The thought of being utterly helpless with no one in sight to lend their aid brings the sting of tears to your eyes.

Worst of all, however, is the bell.

Closer, it sounds dreadful. A haunting cacophony of noise roars above you, not far off. The bell is rung softly at first, a gentle pull of the rope held fast within it before it begins to grow more desperate, louder still. You swear you’ve turned in the opposite direction when you make it into a clearing, only to find yourself faced with the chapel of myth. The tower housing the dreadful bell is shrouded in shadow, and the damned thing actually has the courtesy to fall silent when you step past the last tufts of shrubbery to make it out into the open area.

The air feels colder here, suffocating almost, as though you’ve been doused in ice water. The silence is more dreadful than the pain emitted from Lukas’ bloody mouth, worse than the ringing of a bell or the droning of another dull sermon.

You don’t fall to pieces, but you do drop to your knees, sullying the ends of your dress with dirt as you stare up at the ominous, white building before you. No demons poke their heads from the windows, no whispering fills your ears from the graveyard mere paces away. It’s void and empty, and that feels somehow worse.

It would be a long night, but you knew wholeheartedly you were not going to find your way home without the sun to guide you. Catching a glimpse of your flesh in the dim light reveals a menagerie of small cuts and bruises, flesh marred from scraping tree limbs and slamming into broad trunks in the darkness.

There was no way that you were sleeping, despite the way you ached for rest. Even blinking made you feel vulnerable and exposed here. This was not an unholy place, but perhaps the most sacred you had ever lain eyes on. It was untouched and wild, even the descriptions of angels written in scripture seemed less so.

You find your footing for long enough to seat yourself at the side of the small building, your head rested against the wall as you draw your knees up to your chest. The sound of your own breath fills the silence in the air, but you don’t feel alone anymore. It’s paranoia and you know it, there’s no way such a humble place could be haunted. Still, the feeling of being watched causes your skin to prickle, and you long more than ever for König’s knife to be fitted between your fingers.

It’s when the sounds of footsteps draw near that you lose all composure. Somewhere off to your right, something was walking towards you— too quick and heavy to be a curious animal.

You rise to your feet in haste and go to the only place you can think of to find sanctuary— directly into the old church, slamming the heavy wooden door behind you. It’s empty inside, apart from an overturned desk and a few chairs you can make out from the dim light leaking through the window. Everything is bathed in dust and it smells nauseatingly sweet and sour, like cobwebs and musk, a combination that does little to set you at ease.

Though the room is small and empty, several doors and a small hallway are off to the back and you imagine the demon leering at you from one of them, just out of sight as you stumble to crouch behind the altar.

You don’t remember when last you prayed, and you don’t bother with it now, either. A prayer wouldn’t save you from whatever horrid thing come crawling out of the woods hunting for you. As if sensing your defeat, the door begins to creak open, the hinges whining as the godforsaken beast began to lumber inside, just as the bell strikes up again.

You swear you can hear the rapid beating of your heart above all other noise, and though you wish for nothing more than to squeeze your eyelids shut and bathe out the sight in nothing but dark, you can’t look away.

The demon is impossibly tall, shrouded entirely in shadow just as the children had said. Its eyes don’t glow and you can’t catch sight of fangs or claws, but it’s ominous enough as it slowly wanders inside, turning its head to look around the room— to look for you.

Your palm rests over your mouth to muffle your breathing, but to no avail. Panic swells within you, its grip tighter than any corset, any vise.

Until your eyes adjust to the dark figure properly. The damned thing is nothing but familiar, comforting even. No demon could ever make you feel as warm as an angel. Your vision fills with unshed tears, relief and regret overpowering any lingering dread.

The demon is not some screeching beast that clawed its way from Hell at all, only…

“König…” You breathe out quietly as you drop your hands to the wooden floor below you and slowly crawl forward. His shrouded head cocks in your direction, and if not for his stature it may have been even cute the way he rushes toward you; thundering steps as the angel no longer walks, but runs in your direction with his arms outstretched.

You lack the time to flinch back from the suddenness, because the moment he reaches you, you’re pulled into a pair of thick arms, shaking as they curl around you tightly. Your face presses into his chest as you circle your arms around his middle in turn.

“Let’s not do that again,” he rasps, pulling you somehow closer as his veiled chin rests against the top of you head. “I am sorry that I scared you… He just…”

“Stop apologizing,” you whisper as your fingers dig into the fabric of the dark hoodie. You didn’t want to hear another apology, not from him; English or German it mattered not, all that concerned you was the fact that the two of you were safe. Heaven and Hell all the same.

König sucks in a breath above you as he carefully pulls you to your feet. The bell and the darkness surrounding no longer brought you fear, only calm in such a protective hold.

He brings you back home, carrying your weight with ease as the forest disappears behind you. The hood over his face remains in place, and a part of you wonders why he even bothered to wear it at all. Perhaps not to scare you further if Lukas managed to open up that wound, or more likely so you wouldn’t have to see the face of a man so easily moved to violence at all.

König drops you off at the door without another word. The butterfly knife you had left behind someplace in the forest is slipped into your hand, the blue handle clasped shut. The weight no longer feels like that of a developing bond, but of parting.

The sting burrows into your heart instantly as he turns away from you. With his first step you find yourself grabbing at his arm, pulling him back with a desperation you had never known prior.

“Please stay,” you voice hoarsely, digging your fingernails into his sleeve. “We were supposed to… to spend tonight together.”

Not here, of course, but out there shivering in fear of the unknown. This doesn’t feel unfamiliar, you know what you’re doing when you offer to let a beast into your home, to lead him to your bedside and hold him throughout the night, and not a word of it slips out carrying the burdens of apprehension.

He turns toward you as his long fingers circle your wrist, thumb brushing against the back of your hand. If you could see his eyes now, you would find the creep of longing buried in a sea of blue.

“You want that?”

“Of course.”

Your bedroom seems even smaller with König inside of it, your bed even more so. The tumble beneath sheets is clumsy, and he has to bend his knees in a way that digs against your own flesh just to fit properly. The veil is cast off with only a muttered complaint in his mother tongue, something you could decipher without even knowing the words. You shush him with a kiss, sweet and gentle when his face is bared. A silent apology for your momentary fear, for your desperate sprint away, for making him wander into that cursed place to bring you home.

He reciprocates clumsily, all too eagerly searching beneath the sheet to grip at your waist as his tongue pries apart your lips. You break apart with a sigh, looking all the part of an adoring devotee as you melt against him, head tucked in the divide between his shoulder and the column of his neck.

“I thought you were afraid.” König sounds a bit dazed, fingers gently prodding against the fabric of your dress as his hand drifts lower to hold your hip. “I was worried.”

“I just don’t understand,” you answer in a soft murmur. “Why you…”

Your voice trails off as he pulls you closer again, his mouth pressed firmly against the crown of your head as he presses a kiss there. There’s a vulnerability to his touch, soft and tentative as his hand trails along your spine, resting just above your rear.

You could ask him anything now and you know that he would supply an answer, tell you any secret you would like to hear, but you don’t. In due time. Right now all that you craved was his closeness as you both drift off to sleep.

— ཐིཋྀ —

The haunted chapel is less so during the day. You haven’t heard the bell toll since last night, any lapse of conversation is filled with the chirping of birds or your own shy laughter each time you marvel up at the man seated next to you, his hand petting your hair, your cheek, anywhere he can touch. There’s nothing ominous about the place anymore, all filled with the bright colors from the stained glass windows as sunlight drifts through, painting the room of broken furniture and cobwebs with softness and warmth.

You’re lying on your back over a soft blanket you had thought to take along, the picnic basket König had pried from your hands on the walk here, once filled with pastries and fruit, now empty discarded at your side.

He tells you of why he stays in that house, deals with his father’s abuse— all for an ailing mother that’s never loved him, not as she should. König takes care of her, demonstrates love the best he knows how despite the absence of it during his childhood. You hadn’t asked, but he speaks more freely with each moment that’s passed since the kiss. It makes you somber, angry almost, that someone you saw such beauty in could be treated this way. You’re no savior, you can’t pull him free from it all, but to offer the angel a reprieve at all is enough. At least, to him.

He even assured you that Lukas, or ‘the arschloch’, was absolutely fine. A few loose teeth and a broken nose wouldn’t kill him, but maybe it would teach him to keep his gossiping mouth shut.

In turn, you tell him more about yourself. He kisses you after each description of hurt, cherishes you endlessly with that adoring gaze, gives you the cutest laugh in response to you telling him that in truth, you wouldn’t have cared if he had punched a hole straight through Lukas. You just hadn’t wanted him to get into trouble, to leave your side.

“You’re like an angel to me,” you murmur softly, your eyes closed as he lays next to you after the innumerable kisses you’ve shared this morning alone.

The words stifle him momentarily, and your eyelids open only to see the man staring back at you with a look of utter devotion. It’s torture for him, maybe, the way you supply him with every spoonful of sweetness he hadn’t tasted prior. He remains silent when his hand grazes the hem of your dress, and you nod to him in silent consent before the delicate fabric is swept up over your head and brought to rest on top of the basket forgotten.

Kisses are sweet like the coffee he gifts to you, but the ones he supplies now are far more urgent, warm like the steel of his knives after being caressed by rays of the sun for too long. It’s worship in a sense, the way he tastes the salt of your flesh from your neck to collarbone, and further to the space between your breasts. Your bra is pushed down, blue lace resting just below your sternum before your mind catches up to you.

“Should we..?” You ask, though it’s not the wrath of God that you fear, only that his clumsy kisses and bereft demeanor all signal that perhaps he didn’t have much, or any experience at all.

His pupils are dilated, eyes nearly black when he seizes the plush skin of your tit in a hand, the pad of his thumb brushing over your stiffened nipple.

“Ja… I want to..,” he mutters quietly, chin resting against your tummy as he gazes up at you. “Can I..?”

König looks cute like this— breathless and pleading, an unhinged sort of desire bared plainly in each word he breathes. Two decades and then some of never having this… and now you’re in his grasp, beneath the roof of this holy place.

“Yes,” you whisper to him, reaching lower to ghost your fingertips over his face, already flushing in color. He leans into your touch pressing a kiss to your palm before rearing back enough to slot his fingers along the hem of your white panties. His breath is almost ragged when he tugs them down enough, to reveal your soft mound and a grin creeps across his lips when he finds you already wet.

Your back arches when the back of his cold hand meets your core, petting you appreciatively there, pulling a shiver from you that only spurs him to carry on. The underwear is discarded in almost record time and the rip of the delicate lace tearing from your body echoes throughout the little chapel. A sulking protest nearly leaves your lips before a long finger is slipped into your slit. König probes at your entrance, gathering your slick onto his fingers with a soft groan that leaves you breathing shallowly. For all his inexperience, he’s eager; eager to prod at you until the digit finds that spongy, sweet spot that brings you to moan. His thumb toys with your clit with each mewl of encouragement spilling from your lips, gently flicking before circling over you until you’re tightening around his finger and soaking the blanket below.

“Are you close?,” he asks through a desperate pant, free hand pawing at the bulge in his trousers.

You shake your head weakly, thighs trembling as he thrusts his finger into you again. “Just feels good.”

That only spurs him to make you come, a second finger thrust into you so quickly you feel your mind go fuzzy. The sounds are obscene enough without the quickened pace of his hand. You’re teetering on the edge within mere moments, crying out his name only to be left entirely empty.

“Hah..” He gives you a little laugh when he realizes what he’s done, torn you away from a near perfect bliss. You stare at him dumbly, eyes half-lidded and lips parted as he deftly unbuckles his belt and pries his cock from his pants, flushed red and leaking headily. “I want to feel it…”

To his credit, he’s done well to prepare you for the girth of him, and you’re already too far gone to whine over the loss of relief. “Then feel it. Please.”

There’s no hesitation when he grinds his tip through the mess of slick painting your sex. When he finds that pressing himself against your clit wills you to grind your hips back against him he practically growls. He continues the motion several times before his patience entirely dissipates and the head of his thick cock is thrust into your entrance. König’s head drops against your chest at the sensation of your walls enveloping him, but he doesn’t growl or groan as you anticipated— he hisses, a gruff inhale of breath through gritted teeth.

You’ve fallen into rapture with the first thrust, filled entirely by the length and weight of his cock slowly spearing into you. He’s careful, forcing himself to continue languidly rather than taking you like you know he wished to, a starved man deprived for far, far too long.

König pulls back, grasping at your hips to tilt them upward, looking down at where your bodies connect. You know he’s in that dangerous state of pure euphoria, you feel it too as his cock twitches inside of you, tip hitting your cervix in a way that’s both nearly painful and causing you to leak further.

“You have.. an engel’s pussy,” he grits out.

It’s… embarrassing and ridiculous, his attempt at dirty talk, but despite your shame you pivot your hips forward, grinding against the mess you’re both making on the patch of dark hair above the heavy cock impaling you.

“König… please keep going.” Your voice a mere whine.

He obliges without a second wasted, pulling himself out to slam back into you. There’s no rhythm to his thrusts, not for a while, but each still manages to hit that spot inside of you that screams for his attention. König isn’t trying to be rough or selfish with you, keeping one hand grasping desperately to your hip as he plays with your clit with the other— pinching softly, deftly rolling his thumb over the sensitive bud; continuing his motions until you’re spasming beneath him, clutching him like a vise and weaving your fingers into his shirt to pull him down to you.

You moan into his mouth as he pushes his tongue past your lips, rolling it against your own in time with every rapidly faltering thrust. Your climax hits like a flash of blinding light with a mere circle of his thumb, accidentally in time with the head of his length brushing against that sweet spot. It’s not a hiss that König emits then, but a loud groan as you milk him entirely. He comes with you, cock throbbing as he stills entirely, every muscle in his body pulled taut as he floods your cunt with his seed. You hold him close to your breasts as his gasps soft, riding out the fleeting waves of pleasure until he wills himself to pull out and lie at your side.

“Mein Gott..,” he huffs, curling an arm over your waist. You giggle as you relax against him again, turning on your side to bury your face against his chest. Everything feels like the summer despite the chill outside, the winter doesn’t touch you here, nothing could. The stress of yesterdays melt away, the longing finally subsiding, too.

The world fades away there in that old church, cradling you both within its walls until the sun begins to set, golden light filtering into a hazy gray, before you both have to force yourselves to tear apart from the other and carry on home.

“Will you come by tomorrow?” You ask him quietly, as you stand at your doorstep, a hand lingering on the knob.

König nods, hugging you tightly from behind as he leans over to press a kiss to your cheek, another against your jaw as you smile sweetly at him.

“I will come every day, if you want me to.” He murmurs, drawing back just enough to search your expression for any signs of doubt, fear. You don’t feel either of those things, only love; as though being bonded to him like this is something hallow and sacred in its entirety. Nothing clandestine— you would run to the church right now with his hand in your own and make a mockery of all who have used their words to harm him if it would prove anything at all.

“I do want you to.”

He presses a kiss to your temple as he turns you around to face him, squeezing you a bit tighter when his hands find your hips. You kiss him in turn, leaving a trail of demure little kisses along the chest of his dark shirt.

In time, he wouldn’t have to leave at all. For now, the light the two of you share seems just enough.

[kpopaussieline]

𝔖𝔞𝔠𝔯𝔦𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔢𝔡 | 𝔒𝔫𝔢

A/N: I finally made a start! I sincerely hope you enjoy it <3 The biggest thank you to @un06 for helping me every step of the way.

Synopsis: You live in a village where girls are offered to the vampires that live in the woods that border the town. You're next. And you're in for a surprise.

Warnings: swearing and mild violence

Part one /

┆✯✡◔♱◔✡︎✯┆

It’s a beautiful day. The air is warm enough to heat your skin, but not too hot where it’s an effort to breathe. The scent of flowers and fresh-made goods is everywhere, accompanied by the sound of casual conversations and children’s laughter. The town centre is busy today. It seems almost the whole village is out enjoying the first day of summer– a welcome relief from the gloomy spring just gone.

It’s a beautiful day… and yet there’s tension in the air.

You know everybody can sense it. That they’d rather focus on their daily errands than the practice planned for tonight. Maybe they can ignore it. But you can’t dismiss the unease in your stomach as you near the town square. The flutter in your chest as you pass through, seeing the council workmen erect the post and pile logs for the bonfire.

You quicken your pace, your hold on the paper bag in your arms tightening like a vice.

***

Your skirt swishes around your ankles as you practically leap through the front door. You gently close it behind you and lean against it, taking a moment to breathe in the comforting scent of your grandmother’s house. You exhale slowly, shedding the bad feeling from outside and letting it melt away as you make your way down the hall toward the kitchen.

Not much has changed around here since you were little. The same faded leather couch and sturdy coffee table sit in front of the same roaring fire that you’d spent hours upon hours in front of playing and reading. The same elaborate tapestries and oil paintings are arranged neatly across the slightly-yellowed walls. The same stale smell of cigarettes lingers from when your grandfather was still alive.

A lot has stayed the same, except the photographs that used to flow through the house.

Back when you were young, you used to admire the pictures of your mother. Her life. From her as a toddler sitting on your grandfather’s lap, to her sitting by the river as a teenager, to her wedding photos with your father. Your grandparents wanted to remember all the little things. They wanted their daughter to as well. So they captured the memories of your mother and displayed them proudly around the home. Then, obviously, there were the family photos. Ones including you and your older sister, Emily. Your grandmother’s house had always been like a photo album; a gallery for your family’s memories.

Now, a lot of those photos are gone. Taken down, shoved into chests, replaced.

You walk into the kitchen and place the groceries on the counter, taking your time to unpack the ingredients. As you fill a pot with water, there are footsteps behind you and your grandmother appears.

“Where’s my greeting, hm?” The corners of her thin lips are turned up in that cheeky smile of hers. Your grandmother may be from a different generation, but her spirit has always been ahead of her time.

You look over your shoulder as you shut off the tap, mirroring her smile as you place the pot on the stove. “Sorry, Nanna. I thought I’d make a start on dinner, so you didn’t have to.”

Her smile widens, growing warmer. She comes up beside you and squeezes your arm affectionately. “Thank you, darling.”

You turn and start peeling vegetables. Your grandmother falls into line next to you and dices them, the two of you working together under comfortable silence.

***

It’s quiet at the dinner table, aside from the occasional sound of cutlery against a bowl. You’ve barely touched your stew. You’ve spent the past ten minutes swirling your spoon through it rather than actually eating. Your appetite is gone, the anxious knot in your stomach from earlier taking its place. You look at the dining room window, concealed behind the drapes. If they were open, you’d be able to see the town square. The podium where the mayor will give his speech. The soon-to-be-lit bonfire that will serve as a beacon. The thick post where a girl will be bound by midnight.

It's a scene you’ve witnessed only once in person, but is now engraved into your memory for good. Your parents had only taken you because you’d asked. You’d only asked because Ella Nuttal was the sacrifice that winter. The baker’s daughter, your friend. In hindsight, you wish you’d never gone. Even if it was to say goodbye. You’re sure her desperate cries for help will haunt the back of your mind until you’re nearing death and most of your memories are gone.

Your grandmother’s voice breaks through your reverie. “What’s wrong?”

You look at her, chewing your lip as the imprints of the images linger behind your eyes. “I don’t know… Something feels off.”

She sets down her spoon, the room so quiet you can hear the soft clink. “Always does these times of year.”

You shake your head. “I know. But it isn’t that. It’s more like...”

Understanding dawns on her features. “Intuition?”

You nod. “Yes.”

She exhales. A soft sigh. “Well then I don’t know what to tell you. God may have gifted some of us a sixth sense, but that doesn’t mean we always know what to do about it.”

The corners of your mouth turn down and you look down at your lukewarm stew. “I suppose you’re right.”

Your grandmother clucks her tongue, causing you to look back up at her. She offers you a small but reassuring smile. “Don’t stress, darling. There will be times when your mind tries to trick you. I was in the bank once, and I was standing near this gentleman. There was something a little odd about him. My gut was telling me to leave, that he was going to hold up the place. But then he simply did what he had to and left.”

Her anecdote makes you feel a bit better. Maybe you are getting worked up for nothing. Maybe it’s just that the night of the Offering has you on edge. You take a breath, consciously relaxing your spine and shoulders. You chuckle. “Thanks, Nanna. I needed that.”

She smiles again and picks up her spoon. “You’re welcome, dear.”

You wrap your fingers around the ornate silver spoon and take your first mouthful of dinner. As you thought, it’s lukewarm and the carrot and beef aren’t as tender, but it’s still delicious.

***

As you wash the final plate and place it on the draining rack, there’s a knock at the front door. You look over your shoulder, in the general direction of the noise.

“I’ll get it,” your grandmother calls from the living room. You hear the modest heels of her shoes move across the floorboards in a steady click, clack, click, clack rhythm.

You leave the kitchen, heading down the hall toward the stairs. Now that your chores are done for the night, you plan on settling in your room and reading for a bit. You reach the foot of the staircase just as your grandmother reaches the door. You begin climbing the steps as she turns the lock and opens it.

“Samuel, Raymond!” You can hear the smile in her voice and the corners of your mouth twitch in response. But you do wonder why Sam and Ray are here. You shake it off as you continue up the stairs and their voices fade into a string of muffled words in the background.

And then you falter.

You frown and strain your ears. You can just make out Ray’s voice. Impatient and harsh. You hear your grandmother’s voice. Small and surprised.

Your heart starts to pick up speed, goosebumps prickling your arms and neck. Your muscles tense and you grip the wooden railing so tight your knuckles hurt.

They’re here for you.

There’s a shout, followed by a crash and a shocked cry. Heavy footsteps approach the stairs and you run. Taking the steps two at a time while trying to stay light on your feet. You can’t let them hear you. Adrenalin courses through your veins as you dash into your grandmother’s room at the end of the hallway. You shut the door as quickly but quietly as you can. Your eyes dart around the dark room, desperately searching for a place to hide. They land on the dumbwaiter on the right wall. You climb into the tight box, curling in on yourself to fit. You close the small square door before reaching for the rope, tugging on it and lowering yourself out of sight.

Then you wait.

Even from here, tucked away inside the wall, you can hear Sam and Ray searching for you. Doors being thrown open, frustrated voices, furniture being moved around.

Your heart is beating powerfully in your chest. So hard you can almost feel it against your leg. You bury your face between your knees, body shaking almost violently. You try taking a deep breath but your chest is too tight.

There’s a muffled bang.

They’re here.

Your arms tighten around your legs and you bury your face further into your knees. You hold your breath, trying to hear what’s going on through the ringing in your ears.

“… don’t have time for this.”

“Relax. She’s gotta be in here somewhere.”

After a minute of rummaging, you hear the closet door slam. “Dammit!”

“Maybe she snuck downstairs,” Sam suggests.

“Wait a minute.”

Your heart skips a beat.

Ray’s footsteps come closer. Closer. They stop, just outside the dumbwaiter. You itch with the urge to run, feeling like you could jump out of your skin. But there’s nowhere to go. You’re trapped.

The hatch lifts, scraping against the edges of the square opening like fingernails on a chalkboard. You bite down on your lip until a metallic taste spreads into your mouth.

You remain silent, even after Ray spots you. He chuckles and grabs the rope, pulling it and slowly bringing you into view. He sneers, eyes raking over your quivering form. “There you are, princess.”

He seizes your arm and drags you out, the ledge digging painfully into your soft flesh before you fall to the floor. You wince, flipping onto your butt and scrambling backward.

Ray clucks his tongue before grabbing your ankle and pulling you back. “No, no, no. You’re not going anywhere, darlin’.”

Sam steps forward and grabs your arm. Ray takes hold of the other and they haul you upright. As they lug you down the hallway, your head is spinning, your vision is swimming and suddenly nothing feels real. A dull pain shoots up your ankle as it snags on one of the steps, but you barely notice.

The men lead you through the entryway and you finally see your grandmother. Unconscious. Sprawled on the floor beside the tipped-over side table, pieces of the broken vase scattered around her.

“Nanna!” you scream, tugging against the men’s grasp as you experience a rush of clarity. They hold you back and haul you past her limp form, out the front door. “No!” you cry, still fighting. Oh god, what if she’s dead? What if she’s dead?

Tears stain your cheeks as you desperately try to escape, but the men ignore your attempts, carting you toward the town square.

***

Your stomach drops when you arrive. It’s been years since you came to an Offering, and even then, it’s a completely different experience when you’re the one being offered.

The air carries a weighted kind of heat, and you can taste as well as smell the woodsmoke drifting from the fire and over the square. Majority of the village has gathered, surrounding the mayor’s podium and the post as they wait. The low hum of their chatter is like white noise.

“Out the way!” Ray yells over the chatter as he and Sam jostle their way through the crowd.

People exclaim and turn, complaints dying on their tongues as they lay eyes on you. Mouths agape and eyes wide, soft gasps escaping their lips as they whisper to the people next to them.

There’s a squeeze around your heart. This isn’t the first time you’ve been the talk of the town. Not the first time people have regarded you with sympathy and pity.

They say bad things come in threes. In that case, you should’ve known something else would happen. Just another thing to break your world apart. Well… This is number three. Maybe this is finally the end.

Who are you kidding? Of course it is. There’s not going to be anything after this. Once those vampires come for you, that’s it.

Sam and Ray drag you over to the post and slam you against it, your spine hitting the wood with a loud and painful thud that knocks the wind out of you for a few seconds. Sam brings your wrists behind you and ties them around the post. Then your ankles are bound and you’re trapped in place.

You almost feel numb. Your mind racing with so many fragmented thoughts that it’s difficult to put your finger on just one emotion.

You’re scared of being taken. Scared of the unknown. Scared of getting hurt. Scared of dying.

You’re worried about your grandmother.

But you’re also angry. Angry that the mayor chose you. Angry that life has thrown you yet another curveball. Angry that you were just beginning to move on from Emily and your parents and it was all for nothing.

You feel a prickle along your waterline and you bite down on the inside of your cheek.

The square goes quiet. A robust young man steps up to the podium. His oily hair catches the light of the moon and nearby flames. He smooths out his suit as he clears his throat. He adjusts the microphone and looks out at the crowd.

“Good evening, people of Riverfield.” He pauses. Glances down. Sighs. “I never know what to say on the night of the Offering. I can’t say welcome, or thank you for coming because being here is not a positive thing. It’s a goodbye. We are handing yet another young woman to the vampires that have prowled our woods for the past several decades.” Another pause. “When I took over this role from my father, I didn’t want to continue this practice. However, I came to realise that I wasn’t willing to risk the lives of the town just to test whether or not it was needed. So, as awful as it is, we are gathered here again. This time to say goodbye to Y/N.”

The mayor looks over at you, and you see the guilt in his eyes. And you want to believe him. Believe his seemingly genuine words and face. But almost anyone can act. And at the end of the day, he still chose you, and you’ll still be gone.  

“I’m sorry,” he continues. “I can’t say anything to make this better. But please know we will all miss you, and I hope that whatever comes next for you is painless and peaceful.”

He looks up at the clockface set in the wall of the church and a few other people follow his gaze.

6:53pm.

“We have seven minutes until they arrive,” the mayor calls. “Everybody please return to your homes and take care. Goodnight.”

And just like that, everyone starts to leave. Just file out of the square and leave you behind.

***

6:58pm.

You stare at the clock as you frantically attempt to fray the rope binding your wrists. Your arms hurt from moving up and down, and your wrists sting with splinters. But it feels like you’re getting somewhere.

“Come on, come on, come on,” you mutter, screwing up your features as you feel the rope going slack.

6:59pm.

It finally breaks and you pull your hands free. You bend down and untie your ankles, staggering forward and feeling the pins and needles shoot up your leg. You curse under your breath, looking around and trying to decide what to do. You can’t go home. You don’t know what the consequences would be for escaping; it’s never happened before. But you doubt it would be pleasant. You look over your shoulder at the road leading out of the village.

The church bell tolls, making you jolt as the heavy clang vibrates the atmosphere.

7:00pm.

Your heart speeds up as adrenalin floods back into your bloodstream. They’ll be here any second. You have no other choice. You turn and bolt for the road.

You wince, almost losing balance as you attempt to run with a dead leg. You recover, ignoring it. It will go away soon enough. You’ve got to get out of here.

You cut across the square– past the church, the community hall, the school. You keep your eyes locked on the road out, letting the adrenalin and your instincts guide you. As you get closer, your chest feels lighter. A sense of relief spreading over you at the thought that you’re going to be free.

Then a stab of pain shoots through your foot.

You cry out, lurching to the side and falling to the ground. You sit up, clutching your foot and looking down to see a shard of glass poking out. You look around and see a broken beer bottle lying in the grass nearby.

“Shit.”

You take a deep breath, bracing yourself, before yanking the glass out of the wound. You whimper a little, chucking it to the side.

“Where do you think you’re going, princess?”

You freeze as a man’s voice calls out to you. You force yourself to look up, heart in your throat.

Oh god.

Oh god, no.

You scramble to your feet, staring wide-eyed at the unfamiliar men standing at the edge of town square. And you don’t have time to think. You run for your life.

┆✯✡◔♱◔✡︎✯┆

To be continued...

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[xzaddyzanakinx]

Missed me? Pt 3

Stepdad!Anakin Skywalker x Femme Reader

18+ MDNI

Warnings: stepcest/inappropriate relationships, cheating, kissing, flashback, past minor injury, angry/kinda violent thoughts

Info: honestly ur mom is rlly good at psychological warfare

You ran with Chewie in tow, your lungs on fire as you attempted to get home as quickly as possible. You skid to a stop on the pavement outside your house, the scene unfolding before you hitting you hard. Your mom, stomping out to her car and slamming the door shut. Throwing it in reverse and peeling out of the driveway without even glancing your way. You could physically feel the air blowing past you as she sped off out of the neighborhood.

You walked inside, terrified you’d find a mess. But to your surprise everything was in its place. You unclipped Chewie’s leash and let her roam about inside the house until she found a cool spot on the floor.

You could hear Anakin still working in the garage, he’d turned on some music to keep him company. Maybe you overreacted? She probably didn’t think anything of it right? It’s innocent enough. Anakin is notorious for leaving grease and oil stains in places they should never be. Like the time you painted your palm shoe-polish black just from opening the fridge.

It was nothing. Right? Anakin would be in here upset and waiting for you if something had happened, so everything must be fine. You thought back to your earlier conversation with your mom and recalled how annoyed she seemed about that coding mishap.

Relief spread through you, she was extremely anal about her work. A perfectionist through and through, maybe she’d received word the damage was worse than she originally thought. That would definitely warrant nascar level driving in her eyes.

Even so, you felt the need to placate her when she returned. After a shower and a clean set of comfy clothes you set about cleaning the main floor of the house thoroughly. Scrubbing each surface clean, vacuuming, mopping windex-ing the windows. You even cleared out the leftovers and expired items from the fridge. Going so far as to jot down the items that needed replacing.

Trotting over to the cork board mounted on the wall of the short hall leading to the laundry room and the garage door. This was where everything of importance lived, bills, grocery lists, to-do lists, even a family calendar. Something in red ink had been added to the calendar for tomorrow and you nearly stabbed yourself with a push pin when you read it.

‘Date Night 6:00 @Marzettis’

Written in the ridiculously neat and proper cursive that only could’ve belonged to your mother. If you measured the PSI of your bite force right now, you were one hundred percent sure it would be enough to bite off your mother’s writing hand. Your jaw was clenched so tightly that you heard your molars squeak in protest.

Jabbing the list into the cork with the pushpin you let out a breath that you’d been holding long enough to make you alittle lightheaded.

Calm down. They’re married. Married people go on dates. Anakin can’t really reject his own wife can he? No. No he can’t. It’s okay.

You shook out your anger, resolving yourself to ignore the fact that your stomach was churning with nerves and your tongue burned with unspoken venom. There was still things to do. And doing things is good. Scrubbing every centimeter of the bathroom shower with such aggression that you permanently bent the bristles of your favorite scrub brush was definitely a healthy alternative to committing a felony.

Hours passed and Anakin finally returned from the garage sending the current vehicle he was working on back to its owner a full day early. It’s amazing what alittle midmorning pussy pick-me-up can do for a man.

It also probably helped that your tiny arms shaved off at least an hours work of dismantling parts of the engine that were in his way of retrieving the piece he actually needed to extract. Though he’d milk his coincidental success as the result of your passionate rekindling for all that it’s worth. It couldn’t hurt to test out that theory a few times could it?

“Whoa.” He snorted, seeing you to his left scrubbing the inside of the washing machine. “What the hell are you doing?”

You lifted your head a bit too fast and wacked it on the lip of the washer, immediately wincing and bringing a hand to rub the top of your head.

“Apparently I’m doing my damndest to give myself a concussion.” You joked, glancing over at him in his sweaty, greasy clothes.

“There’s this guy who has disgusting laundry, that occasionally leaves residue in the washer.” You dramatically explained.

“So I’m doing him a favor and saving him from an accidental repeat of the fancy hand-towel stain incident of 2020.” You grinned and watched as Anakin mirrored your expression.

“Lucky man.” He chuckled, coming over to give you a quick peck on the lips before rushing off to shower.

Dinner rolled around and you decided to order in, the local Chinese restaurant had the best egg rolls around, and that was just what you needed. You texted your mother to ask for her order and jotted yours and Anakin’s down on a scrap of paper.

~be home alittle late. Just get some Udon for me.~ She responded quickly.

Easy enough. You called in the order and it was delivered and delicious in around 30 minutes. You spread out the feast on the kitchen counter and laughed at Anakin practically drooling over the crab rangoons he was shoveling into his mouth.

“So whens she gonna be home?” He asked, not even bothering to cover his mouth despite chewing like his life depended on it.

“She just said late.” You shrugged, late could mean anything. 10 minutes, an hour; it’s a ridiculous measure of time that you’d always had trouble accepting.

“Well.” He clicked his tongue as he popped open a cold beer from the fridge. “Wanna watch a movie or something?”

“Oh actually, you know what he haven’t done in a while?” You grinned.

“Housewives?” He smirked.

“Yes sir. Take your pick.” You scooped up your take-out box and made a beeline for your favorite seat, the comfy and worn out recliner.

“I’m thinkin’ New Jersey.” He mused, kicking his feet up on the coffee table and searching for your guilty pleasure show.

There’s something comforting about watching someone else’s life like this. Honestly you found it… strangely calming to know that other people have more stressful lives than you. And of course it didn’t hurt that you really loved a bratty cat-fight. Scripted or not, it was undeniably as entertaining as a train wreck.

It would seem that your mother’s definition of ‘late’ was around 45 minutes, she walked in the door as chipper as ever. Doing wonders for your earlier worries; nothing seemed amiss to her.

She took in your comfortable nest of blankets in your recliner, Anakin’s lanky legs draped over the armrest of the couch with his head propped on a pillow. She was… assessing the scene and found no evidence of any foul deeds.

“It was a good idea for take out.” She said, tossing her items on the table. “I’ve missed these noodles.”

“Oh I know.” You agreed. “I saved an egg roll for you.”

“Thanks sweetie.” She said, flashing a blank stare and an empty smile over her shoulder that went unnoticed by the both of you.

“So Marzettis, is that alright for tomorrow?” She asked Anakin sitting on the couch near him with her food.

“That new Italian place?” He asked, his eyebrows pinched together. “That’s the one Obi took Satine to isn’t it?”

“Yeah it is,” she nodded, seemingly pleased he remembered. “They gushed about it so much I figured it was time we try it.”

“Alright, as long as there’s breadsticks I’m happy.” Anakin smiled.

Meanwhile you were boiling in your seat as you listened to their conversation. Just like in an old cartoon you swore the top of your head would screw itself off and rattle with white hot steam. Honestly, you wished it would. That might just be the only way to get rid of this pressure in your skull without *actually* combusting.

You suffered through their small talk and meaningless conversation about blah, blah and blah. Finally, the episode of Housewives ended and you made your quick egress to your room with a wave goodnight.

You lay awake in bed, planning your to-do list for the next day. You needed to keep yourself busy and entertained to avoid falling victim to the wallowing hole of self pity that is your mind’s way of ‘coping’ with your jealousy.

To-Do:

Wake up

Scream

Nap

Repeat

Perfect.

You woke up, unsure as to when you actually fell asleep; though arguably in a 73% better mood just from the simple fact that you could hear power tools being used in the garage. It was comforting. The noise used to bother you, irk you to the edge of insanity, because who in their right mind would wake up and use the loudest power tools known to man at 6:00am?

Anakin would.

Every time you woke up to the noise, it reminded you of your first kiss, what could be a better way to wake up? Except for maybe an actual kiss from him.

You had stomped from your room to the garage, having been woken up at 6:00am *on summer break* for the previous 4 days. You threw the door open and yelled for him, but he didn’t hear you. Between the loud grinding sound of metal on metal and the earbuds he had in, you had little choice but to pull something dramatic.

Spotting the extension cord you had unplugged it and relished in the momentary silence before hearing Anakin cursing and repeatedly flipping the switch. You stood and observed with a self-satisfied grin, crossing your arms and jutting out your hip as you waited for his small man brain to figure out what happened.

Karma wasn’t something you believed in until right then, because without even looking up he yanked on the extension cord and the hard plastic socket whipped your thigh leaving an almost immediate bruise.

“Fuck!” You yelled, clenching your fists and biting back a string of words so hellish you might’ve burst into flames if you screamed like you wanted to.

Anakin’s head shot up and he ripped out his earbuds, momentarily confused when he didn’t see the source of the very angry curse word. That was until you hissed as you poked at the tender bruise.

“Oh shit.” He mumbled, rounding the front end of the car to get to you. “Hey- hey sweetheart, what the hell are you doing down here? It’s awful early for you to be up.”

Oh that was it. That was not the thing to say to you right then. He could’ve called you a crybaby and you would’ve took it better than that innocent comment.

“Yeah? It’s awful early to be using whatever the fuck that thing is!” You grumbled, shaking his hand off your arm. “Do you seriously have to do that this early in the morning? Can’t you do something less… grating?!”

“Do you see any other vehicle here for me to work on?” He deadpanned.

“God you’re insufferable sometimes you know that?” You huffed, looking back down at your leg.

“Did you unplug that grinder I was using?” He asked accusingly.

“Yes I did.” You shot back. “It was getting on my fucking nerves Anakin.”

“Well shit- just let me-“ He sighed trying to pry your hands away from your thigh but you batted him away, swiping a droplet of blood across his wrist.

One of the sharp plastic corners had bit into your skin on impact and caused a teeny tiny nick. Though from the amount of blood trickling down your leg, one would automatically assume you had a proper slice of an injury.

“Baby c’mon just let me see? I’m sorry.” He said in a pained tone, you could tell he genuinely felt bad, even though this was mostly your fault.

“Don’t ‘baby’ me.” You had scoffed.

“Fine. My liege.” He grumbled sarcastically.

He approached with paper towels and crouched down to swat your hands away and dab gently at the wound, or rather, lack thereof. He attempted to hand you a paper towel to clean off your hand but you declined, anti-politely wiping off the blood onto his dirty work shirt.

“Are you serious right now?” He scowled.

“Are you almost done?” You countered, crossing your arms again.

“Yeah. It’s just a scratch. Turns out every inch of you is just as dramatic as your shit attitude.” He said, standing up, his height making you feel dwarfed.

“Yeah that’s what happens when-“ you started in an angry, belittling tone.

Though you were cut off and the world paused around you. You went stiff as he grabbed you by the shoulders and leaned down to kiss you. Before you even registered what was happening top-side, your body had already begun to relax in his arms. His big strong, work-worn hands pulling you into him while he slipped his tongue between your lips. Gliding lightly just behind your top row of teeth before you finally gave in and kissed him back.

Your eyes fluttered closed and you hummed know content when he released your waist to cradle your head with both hands, your own fisting his shirt as you kissed like your lives depended on it.

“Hey! You up?” Your mom knocked loudly on your door and broke the trance of the sweet memory. That 73%? Reduced to 32%.

“Yes.” You huffed and rolled out of bed, unlocking your door and letting her in.

“Great, I want to borrow a dress of yours is that okay?” She asked, heading to your closet before you could even respond.

No way. Absolutely no way. She was not wearing that.

“No. Pick something else.” You said sternly, taking the red summer dress and hanging it back up.

“What why?” She questioned.

“Because it has a hole in it.” You lied, “can’t have you going on your big date like that.”

“I didn’t see a hole.” She countered, going to grab it again.

“Trust me. There’s a hole.” And they’ll be another one: in the ground for her if she didn’t accept defeat on this.

“Fine.” She scoffed and drug out a few more options under your watchful eye.

“This one?” She asked.

“Yeah that one’s fine. It’ll look great.” You forced a smile and tracked her during her retreat down the hall.

As soon as she entered her room you slammed your own door shut and locked it again. You went straight to your closet and got the red dress, folding it and tucking it into the bottom of your sock drawer.

Was she intentionally trying to piss you off? No. She couldn’t have known. No one could’ve known other than you and Anakin. You had been so careful, going out of town for a date at the drive-in while your mom was away on a business trip. You’d worn that dress for Anakin and only Anakin, and you’d never worn it since that night, that first night.

In your state of confusion you didn’t notice the sound of Anakin’s garage noise die down.

Anakin had stopped for a coffee break and came inside, finding his wife at the kitchen counter. He gave her a quick smile and and poured some black coffee into a big thermos.

“Sugar? ‘Sugar’?” She asked sweetly, sliding the large sugar canister across the countertop to him.

“Uh, yeah.” He blinked slowly as if trying to rewind her words. “Yeah okay thanks.”

He shook his head and shrugged, raising his eyebrows in concentrated thought as he stirred the sugar into his coffee. The only person who has *ever* said that to him is you. That’s such a weird coincidence… what are the chances? It’s not like you call him ‘sugar’ any other time either. Only ever for the sake of making him smile when he fixes his coffee.

“Well. I’ll be out here then.” He said awkwardly, still very much miffed by the odd comment.

She ‘mhm’d’ in response, enjoying watching him slink back into the garage with his cheeks tinted in shame.

By the time 5:30 rolled around Anakin was in a nice button-up and dress pants, looking absolutely exquisite. That man really knew how to wear… anything, and nothing too. You had to ogle him from afar, watching his cute butt in those well-fit pants as he walked out the door following closely behind your mother. Who was wearing your dress.

You made a mental note to find an industrial shredder to take care of that ruined fabric when she returned it.

At Marzetti’s dinner was going well, much better than Anakin had expected to be honest. It was almost nice, in a weird way. The food was good, the atmosphere was pretty… he couldn’t help but be startled every now and again when he glanced over and didn’t see you across the table from him. You’d love this place, and damn he’d love to see you in it. He just knew the lighting would show off those sexy bedroom eyes you *swore* you never knew when you were making.

The biggest downside was that this place was alittle too expensive to be wasted on your mother. This kind of luxury should be reserved for his princess.

After an hour’s worth of awkward small talk and stupid conversational questions, Anakin got up to use the restroom.

When he returned he was shocked to say the least. The table had been cleared and all that remained was the check, and a thick manila envelope, he hesitantly picked it up and tucked it under his arm.

Fast walking to the front of the restaurant he quickly paid, despite the hostess’s request for him to return to his table because ‘payment is collected at your seat’. He fumbled with his car keys and clicked the lock button to quickly locate his black vintage Camaro… no dice.

He stood frozen in the middle of the parking lot, spinning slowly and spotting his parking spot… where the car *should* have been.

“That bitch took my fucking Camaro.” He whispered to himself, internally screaming at himself for being a responsible adult and having a spare set of keys safely stashed away.

He already had an idea of what was in that envelope, but now he didn’t even need to look at the title page. He just needed a goddamn pen.

Final Part

Tag-List:

@wickedtactics @tsugumiholic @kingdomhate

@burnthecheshirewitch@cherrylooney@star611

@tahliac11 @exquisit3corpse @jeldog @arzua10

@bby-imasociopath @depressed-kay

@aliciaasky @naty-1001 @mrsmikaelsxn

@illiethefairy @bunnylovesani @offthethir/wall

@slutforhayden @ausskywalker @angelsadmired

@slut4starwarssmut @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie

@starkiller419 @hearts4mitski4 @no1klet @lethargic

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@bobtheturmpetman29 @mortalheartache

@fallinlovewithevil @sythethecarrot

@joshfutturmansrighthand @chaoticantihero

@vadersslut @luvvfromme @anakinsbaee

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@angelsadmired @kaminokatie @anakin-pilled

@graveyard-stray

Let me know if you wanna be added/removed from the tag lists

[lokirulzart]

WILD WEST AU!!!!

You ever notice that when fools do a western AU, they cheap out on the horses or ignore them entirely??? WELL NOT HERE, FOLKS. ONLY THE HIGHEST QUALITY HORSE CONTENT. BECAUSE I LOVE Y’ALL AND ALSO HORSES.

Frank has a snooty Appaloosa because he’s fancy, but also appaloosas are reliable trail horses, so that means he can go bug collecting without worrying much. His insect collection is the envy of all the rich collectors in the whole county.

Wally ended up with a chestnut Arabian mare, because Wally is too small for a bigger horse and I just think it’s funny. HANG ON THERE, PARDNER!! SHE’S A WILD ONE!!! Luckily, Wally is usually unaware of his own horse acting up, and the mare ends up tiring herself out just because Wally simply doesn’t even notice her… he’s too busy spacing out. But he’s one of the best Bronco Busters around thanks to her!

Hunter/trapper/fur trader Barnaby has himself a lovely Shire mare with a sweet and patient disposition. She has no trouble carrying whatever Barnaby has hunted as well as big ol’ Barnaby himself… but he still feels bad about making her work, so he only ever hunts what he needs to in order to get by.

Julie and her mustang are BOTH wild. Julie had the chance to tame her, but instead she just fed off of her spirited energy and now the two of them just tear around being crazy together, getting into trouble, rolling in the dust… Julie wouldn’t have it any other way.

What better steed for a Pony Express postal worker than a sure footed mule?! Seriously, mules are the mountain goats of the equine world. Eddie’s mule might not be as fast of a sprinter as some horses, but this animal can trek over ANY terrain, ensuring that all of the mail gets delivered on time. They have yet to miss a single delivery.

(Snake oil) Salesman Howdy Pillar has a general store in town as WELL as a covered wagon to travel around, ensuring that everyone gets the best deals on their pork ‘n’ beans, biscuits, tobacco, and tonics. You want it? Howdy’s GOT it… and his team of 3 dapple gray Connemara ponies, and one brown one, will make sure that you can get it… also the tallest character having the smallest horses makes me giggle.

Poppy doesn’t have a rideable horse yet, which is perhaps for the best. She spends a lot of time at Howdy’s general store or riding in his wagon. She is his best customer. But she has recently come by a thoroughbred foal that she is now raising from a bottle. So perhaps one day very soon Poppy will have her own tall and elegant steed to carry her around… let’s just hope he’s not too fast for her.

Sally is a performer at the local saloon by night and helps out with cleaning during the day… she knows NOTHING about horses… but one night, after all the local drunks went home, a poor American Paint got left behind. Nobody came back to claim the animal, so Sally boards him at the local ranch and visits often. She hopes one day to learn how to ride him, but it’s slow going. She is, after all, a singer and actress first.

AND THEN HOME THE SALOON!! YOU DIDN’T THINK I’D FORGET HOME, DID YOU?? He has a small stable in the back and a second floor, where Wally lives! Wally gets to spend all his free time hanging out, meeting up with his friends, and drinking all the apple juice he wants! (Just don’t tell him it’s apple juice, he’ll get confused. He thinks he’s just drinking whiskey like everyone else. It’s easier this way.) Also Home is the only saloon that can kick out belligerent drunk people itself!

Also Bonus OCs, Luna O’Hare the bilingual cartographer (created by @m0stlygh0st) and Simon, my boy, the ranch hand! Luna has an Andalusian that she likes to dress up, braid it’s mane, and stick flowers in it-… as snacks for later. They’re also grazing buddies and Luna can often be found eating the horse feed because it’s so similar to rabbit food. Simon has a gelding Quarter Horse with golden retriever energy and not a single braincell to his name. Poor Simon… but at least his horse loves him.

YEEHAW!!!! 🤠

[ewanmitchellconnoisseur]

"𝑰𝒍𝒍𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏" - Osferth x Reader (Modern AU)

A/N: This takes place in the modern world! // divider @kithsune

Summary: You work at the local grocery store and often see Osferth who you've slowly developed a crush on. One night you see him in the place you never wanted him to.

Tw: None! (this time...😏😈)

Word Count: 3.2k

• Final Chapter →

For as long as you could remember you wanted more. More than the life you had, more money in your pocket, just...more. You weren't as lucky as most girls and didn't have even a quarter of the life they lived. You hated this town, it was as if it was still stuck in the past never advancing forward with the rest of the world.

Your dad died from a heart attack. Unknown to you and your family he had hidden money troubles. Ones that came knocking at your door once he died and demanded that you pay what he owed.

Your mother was already stretching herself thin with 3 jobs. Your siblings did odd jobs where they could while in school. At first, you did too but then your mother asked you to drop out and take on more. You were in your last semester of high school. You tried to argue but in the end, felt guilty so you did as she asked and left school.

Your town was a decent drive out from the city so there weren't many jobs to get around here. You were lucky when your friend's dad who owns the supermarket offered you a job. It was pretty easy you spent most of your time cashing people out and occasionally stocking the shelves.

Within your first week of working, you noticed a regular customer. You recognized him, he had graduated a 2 years before you but ended up staying in town and working in his uncle's auto repair store.

"Ello'?" You blinked quickly and looked in front of you. There he stood a basket in hand looking at you confused.

"So sorry. I was lost in thought." You take the basket and begin scanning his items. Feeling your cheeks flush from embarrassment.

"Ts alright. I do it all the time." He has a nervous smile on his face. That was something you noticed too. He was always so nervous and sweaty.

"How's your uncle doing?" You try to make small conversation while bagging his items.

"You mean how's your car doing?" He smirks at you. "My uncle's doing well. Your car is too, should be done tomorrow." A neighbor of yours had offered to give you their old car and since they owed your dad a favour before he passed he agreed to fix it up for you.

"Well, im glad they're both doing good." You place the bagged items on the counter. "Ten fifty." He hands you the money and you put it in the register. "Well...have a good day..." You glance at the name tag on his jumper. "Osferth." He immediately blushes.

"And you too..." You offer your name and he smiles. "That's a beautiful name...come round tomorrow for your car." He waves goodbye and pushes on the door that doesn't open before pushing open the right one and quickly walking out of the store.

The next day after your shift you walked over to the mechanic shop and awkwardly stood at the garage entrance looking around.

You spot Osferth walking back into the garage carrying something.

God, he looks so good...

He has the typical mechanic jumper but has it tied around his waist leaving his body on full display. What you can only assume is a mix oil and sweat stains on his white undershirt as well as his fingers and arms.

You walk over to where he is as he places the box in front of another mechanic who catches a glimpse of you and gives Osferth a look as you get closer. He turns around and smiles as he sees you. Osferth wipes his hands with a rag.

"Hey." He stops in front of you and all you can smell is a faint scent of his cologne and oil.

"Hi." You can feel your face heating up slightly and you fight the smile that wants to shine on your face.

"Your car's over here." He leads you over to the other side of the shop. The car looked way better than it did before. The paint job made it look almost brand new. "Wanna do a test drive?"

You look over at him and nod excitedly. He opens the door for you and hands you the keys before going around to the passenger side. He fixes his jumper so he's wearing it properly and doesn't dirty your car before getting in.

The test drive is quiet and a bit awkward but you can't help but smile the entire time. Although your mom will probably put more pressure and tasks on you since you'll be able to drive, this car still gives you freedom.

You pull back into the parking lot of the shop and Osferth gets out so he can get you the paperwork. When you sign them you can feel him staring at you and even see him open his mouth a few times as if he is going to say something but nothing comes out.

"Everything all good?" He takes a deep breath and just stares at you blinking slowly. "Osferth?"

"Yeah! Um... you're good to go...bye." He turns and walks back into the shop looking back a couple times while muttering to himself.

"Ok then..."

You stopped to get groceries on the way home and even drove by the park. The feeling of finally not having to take the bus anymore was overwhelming. For so long it felt as though nothing in your life was getting better, but for some reason this car made you feel as though a change was coming, and life could get better.

You carry the groceries inside the house and close the door with your foot.

'Leo? Noah?" You stand and wait by the door to hear any response. "LEO! NOAH!" You then hear the sounds of footsteps coming downstairs.

"Geez you don't have to yell." Noah walks over and grabs one of the bags.

"Yeah yeah. Pack these away I have to get ready for work." You hand the other bags to Leo and take off your shoes. "Is mom home?"

"Nope. She picked up another shift." You hear a bag open and peek around to see Noah already eating a bag of chips.

"Hey no! Those are for school." You walk over and grab the chips. "If you're hungry mom made spaghetti while you guys were at school." You put the chips away and head upstairs to your room. The only good thing about all of this was you had your own space since you were older while they had to share.

You take out your phone and scroll on social media for a while. You see videos and photos of girls from your school planning for prom and university. It saddens you a bit, to see your once friends now moving on with their life while you would be stuck here.

You wipe an escaped tear and fling your phone on your bed. As you stare at the ceiling there's a knock on the door.

"Come in." You sit up and see Noah walk in holding the bag of chips. "What is it?"

He closes the door behind him.

"When are you going to tell mom?" He gives you a look and you already know what he's talking about.

"Im not going to Noah." You stand up take the chips from him and sit back down on your bed eating a few.

"You can't keep doing this? Can't you get a normal second job?" He wipes his powdery fingers on one of the tapestries on your walls thinking you didn't notice.

"Listen. You swore you wouldn't bring this up." Noah walks over and sits next to you on the bed.

"I know...but it's not fair. You shouldn't have to do this for money?" You wrap your arm around his shoulders and bring him in. "Maybe Leo and I can get a job? That way you can quit." You chuckle.

"You two? A job? You can barely remember to clean your room." You give him a kiss on his temple. "It's fine Noah. By the end of summer, we can pay off Dad's loans. Then I'll quit. I promise."

Noah wraps his arms around you hugging you tightly.

"You guys are gross." You look up to see Leo by the door eating from a different bag of chips.

Fucking vultures I swear

"What did I say about the chips?!" You grab a pillow and fling it at him.

Leo picks up the pillow and tries to throw it at you but you use Noah as a shield. Noah grabs the pillow and hits you with it and Leo joins in both of them hitting you with pillows laughing.

Interrupting the moment your phone alarm goes off.

"Ok! Ok! You guys win! You can eat the chips!" They both stop and begin laughing at you. "Yeah yeah laugh it up."

You grab your phone and turn off the alarm.

"Ok, I have to get ready for work. Go do your homework." Noah and Leo get up and walk over to the door. Leo is going on about something from class thinking Noah is listening.

When you look up you see Noah looking at you with a sad expression. You give him a half smile knowing he's only worried.

"It's fine. Go." He closes the door behind him leaving you all alone in your room.

You walk over to your closet and pull out the suitcase in the corner.

"Alright...what heels should we wear today?"

(2 weeks later)

This is Stupid. This is Stupid. This is Stupid.

Osferth is pacing outside the grocery store unable to stand still as his brain tries to talk him out of doing this.

He's holding a gift bag, occasionally glancing back inside the bag and towards the store.

Just go in and hand it to her. Simple!

He looks through the window again and can see her smiling at a customer while cashing out their stuff.

Idiot! You should have asked her out when you gave her the car.

A couple looks at him like he's crazy as they walk inside the grocery store and glance back at the boy who hasn't stopped walking in circles.

"Osferth?" He stops and looks at the door. He sees you standing there looking at him. "You ok? My manager said there was a crazy person outside and I'm hoping she wasn't talking about you." You have a smile on your face that goes straight to his pants.

"I got this for you." He blurts out and holds the gift bag in your direction.

You walk over and take the gift bag. He watches as you smile at the different gifts inside. He wasn't sure what to get you but ultimately decided that you'd like some stuff for your new car.

So he got you a new keychain, some car fresheners, a steering wheel cover in your favourite colour and a fuzzy heart to hang on your mirror.

"Osferth..this is so sweet. Thank you." You walk over and give him a hug that he wasn't expecting. It feels good to him to have his arms wrapped around you. He's sad when you try to break the hug.

Now is your chance!

He lets you lean back but keeps his arms around your waist.

"I was wondering..." He watches your face as he searches for the words. "It's my birthday this Saturday my friends are hosting a party. I was wondering if you'd come." He speaks quickly, and you almost struggle to understand what he's saying. "That's only if you'd like to come! I mean you don't have to! But if you did I would-"

"Osferth." You cover his mouth. "I'd love to go to your bir-."

"I don't want you to come as a friend though!" He shocks himself with how he cut you off. "I like you. Like...really like you. I have for a while. I wanted to ask you out a while ago but...I was too scared."

You listen to him while fighting a smile off your face.

"So I'd like you to come but...as my date..." He waits and watches for a response. His eyes widen as you lean up towards him and kiss him on his cheek.

"Yes. I'd love to be your date." Osferth picked you up and spun you excitedly while kissing your cheek.

The moment was ruined by your manager coming out to tell you to get back to work. You said a quick goodbye and went inside and back to your register. As you look out the window you see Osferth celebrating before leaving.

Osferth POV - (Friday Night 12am)

I finish getting dressed before heading downstairs.

"Finally, took ya long enough." Finan heavily pats me on the back while Sihtric and Uhtred walk over. "You ready kid?"

"Are you going to tell me where we're going?" They all look at each other with a mischievous smile.

"Absolutely not." Uhtred grabs his jacket before opening the door. "That would ruin the surprise. Come on."

The four of us head out to the car. They blindfold me before we get in.

"Don't worry you're gonna have fun. If not...we will." Sihtric pinches my cheek and I blindly swat his hand away.

A couple minutes later the car is stopped and they unbuckle me.

"Im gonna fall!" Uhtred and Sihtric hold my arms while leading me. I can hear music and instantly assume it's a club. "Are we at a club?"

"Something like that," Finan says. "Alright. Unblind him, boys."

The blind comes off and I blink a couple times to clear my vision. I look up at the building and see the neon sign.

"Viva?" I read the sign.

Where have I heard that before?

My eyes widen as I realize where we are and I turn to run but im quickly grabbed by Uhtred.

"Don't be boring kid! It's only a strip club!" Finan helps to drag me towards the door.

"NO! Im not going in there!"

When you mix someone like me, who has only had sex twice in their life, with a room full of quarter-dressed ladies. You tend to have a reaction that people will notice considering it will look like there is something in your pants.

"This is a bad idea!" They all laugh as they finally push me through the doors.

"I think it's a great one." Sihtric wraps his arm around me. "Oh come on kid. It won't be that bad. If you don't like it after an hour you can go sit in the car."

"Don't you mean we will leave if I don't like it?" They all look at each other.

"No, I was correct the first time." They all show their ID before walking in fully.

Osferth eyes widen as he gets a view of the stage. A red-haired girl is up there dancing and he can't help but stare and for some reason, he feels wrong for doing so. He quickly looks to the floor.

"You're meant to look, kid! Don't be such a prude!" Uhtred smacks the back of my head.

We take a seat at a table. Girls come by and take orders for drinks.

"Im not being a prude, I just..." I stop and stare at the girl walking on stage for a moment. My eyes are fixated on her as I blink a couple times.

"What is it, kid?" They all look where I am. "Oh. You like that one?"

It's her...

I watch as she dances. I hide my face but not my view. Every now and then im not sure if it really is here but then I see that smile. I look around and see all the men looking at her and my heart breaks.

When her set finishes I turn back to the boys and stare into my drink for a while. They don't say anything but I can feel their gazes on me.

"I'll be right back." I walk over to the bar. "Excuse me?" The girl walks over and smiles. "Who was the girl that just performed?"

"She goes by Candy."

"Is there a way I could talk to her?" The girl smiles already being able to tell that I've probably never been at a strip club before. She reaches for a clipboard and looks at it.

"Actually she'll be leaving now. That was her last set. Sorry. But she works again next week on Thursday." I nod my head and walk back over to the table.

"What is it?" Finan leans over.

"I knew her. That girl..."

"Oh..." he takes a sip from his drink. "You should go talk to her."

"I can't. She's finished her shift. Probably getting ready to leave right now." I reach for the shot they poured me earlier and down it despite the burn.

"Look. Don't ask how I know this but..." Finan leans in closer. "Around the back, red door. Thats where they leave." I look over at him and he nods.

I quickly get up and head out the door not caring to get a stamp from the bouncer.

"Your set was so good!" one of the girls came by and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "I told you you'd become more confident quickly."

"I was so nerouvs to try that trick you taught me." She smiles before walking away.

You count the cash you made today before wrapping a rubber band around it and putting it in your purse.

$823...not bad for a Friday.

You zip up your jacket and finish cleaning up your station before heading for the door.

"Bye girls!" the girls in the room yell bye back before you walk out. You step outside and begin walking towards your car.

"Wait." You stop in your tracks once you hear his voice. Your breathing quickens as panic is evident on your face. "Turn around."

You slowly turn around and see him leaning against the wall.

"O-..Osferth? Wh...what are you doing here?" He walks over to you.

"Why do you work here?" His tone is harsh.

"I don't see why thats any of your business." You're immediately defensive. How can you not be?

You didn't want to work here either. But this was a fast way to make back the money your father owed. You remember when Noah found out. He had gone into your room without permission and found a card sitting on your desk for the club. Curious, he went online and searched up the name and found out through Google what it was and what the job meant.

You remember how upset he was when he asked you. Although he doesn't fully understand what it is you do he knew enough that it wasn't something he wanted you doing.

"Why do you work here?" He repeats his question.

"It's not by choice. It's by need. I need the money." You begin walking over to your car feeling mortified. He had seen you dancing half-naked on the stage. The boy you had liked for so long just saw you stripping!

"Stop." You walk faster. "Stop!" You run to your car and get in closing and locking the doors behind you. He comes up to your door and tries to open it. "Get out of the car. Please!"

You fumble with the keys as you try to get it in the ignition.

"Please open the door. Don't go." He continues to try and open the door.

You finally start the car and Osferth backs up as you drive away. Wiping the tears from your face.

A/N: This was supposed to be a Valentine's special that I never finished in time. But I wanted to get it done so I could focus on my Mitchell Estates series!

The next one should be out next week!

Please let me know what you think and if you wish to be on my Ewan Mitchell Taglist!

Gen Taglist: @thought--bubble, @valeskafics

[lxvemaze]

彡dahlias and devotion

pairing' photographer!taemin x painter!reader

genre' fluff

warnings' takes place sometime before cellphones and digital cameras (landlines and film cameras are used, don't ask why me why bc idk, it was just the vibes), taemin is a bit of an oddball as per usual, reader matches his freak

wc' 3k

a/n' this thought just came to me and it was too cute to put down :3 my mom has been really into floristry my whole life, and always gets my dad dahlias for their anniversary bc she says they represent eternal love<3 so thank u mom for giving me the inspiration to actually write a fic

You watched with a smile as you saw the puff of cold air escape your mouth as you breathed out, rubbing your hands together to warm them while you sat on your painting chair. The cold autumn weather had given you a stroke of inspiration, prompting you to grab your paints and rush out onto your balcony to paint the warm-toned leaves against the cool-toned sky. You lived on the fifth floor of a shabby apartment complex. It was certainly nothing to brag about, what with the heating/cooling system being broken, and despite the fact that you’ve been calling him every other day to come up for the past three weeks, your landlord still hadn’t been up to check on your broken bathroom sink. but it was home.

The smell of turpentine mixing with the oil paints on your palette always caused your nose to curl, and as brush met canvas, as quickly as the inspiration had burst into your mind, it faded out. You were sat staring blankly at your canvas in the crisp October air, goosebumps starting to painfully form on your arms and legs. You groaned and rubbed the tense spot between your eyebrows, this wasn’t the first time you’d had a sudden flash of inspiration that left you just as quickly as it came, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Usually when this happened, you would go for a walk to calm your mind. As much as you loved it, you oftentimes got frustrated easily when it came to painting. Painting was your one and only love in the world, and as you walked through the city streets while the sun set through the autumn leaves, casting beautiful shadows on the street, it was easy to see why you loved to paint. Painting offered you a way to express how you felt without needing to say anything. You never were very good with your words, especially when it came to describing things that you loved. So being able to paint the beautiful trees, flowers, and people that you came across was imperative to showing others how you felt.

Your feet were on autopilot, taking you to a secluded pretty little park by the river. You hadn’t been here in months, you’re not really sure why you had ended up here, but something caught your eye as you walked the overgrown cobblestone path. Even though it was late in October and the first snow of the year was surely almost here, a small patch of Dahlias had bloomed by one of the big oak trees just off the path.

You carefully stepped towards the patch of flowers, careful not to tread on the surrounding vegetation, and kneeled down to peer at the flora. Under any normal circumstance, these flowers shouldn’t have been blooming that late in the year, especially not with the cold wave that had taken over the city.

You were about to stand up and leave the curiosity behind before you saw a quick flash of light and heard the shutter of a camera. You quickly turned around to see a man standing a few paces to your right on the cobblestone path. You stood up, shock clearly evident on your face as the man's content smile slipped off his face and he raised his hands up to show you that he meant no harm.

“I’m sorry, that was just a really beautiful scene.”

“...I’m sorry?”

His arms dropped to his sides as he bobbed up and down on the balls of his feet, “I mean, just the way you were looking at the flowers. I don’t blame you, I was shocked to see them, too. Dahlias don’t usually bloom this late in the year.”

“No…they don’t.” You agreed as the man approached the patch of flora, making sure to keep a respectful distance between yourself and him. He peered down at the flowers, raising his camera up to his face before taking a shot of the flowers by themselves.

“You a big flower person?” He asked as he shifted to the other side of the flowers, snapping a picture from the different angle.

“I don’t know much about them, but I like to paint them.”

“You paint? That’s amazing. I’ve always wanted to learn to paint.” He let out an almost wistful sigh as he stood back up, taking a few paces back and taking another picture. You observed the photographer as he took several pictures from differing angles, adjusting the lens on his camera between pictures.

“Do you know much about flowers?”

“Ah, I guess so. A friend of mine has a column in the local paper about flowers, so he’ll send me out to get pictures for him. I’ve definitely learned a thing or two from it.”

You and the man looked in silence at the patch of flowers, the bright orange of the flower standing out in stark contrast to the gray-green grass and the cool brown of the oak tree.

“Hey…I don’t mean to sound too forward, but do you think you could get me one of the photos you took of the Dahlias?”

He looked thrown off for a second before breaking into a giddy grin, “Of course! Are you going to paint it? That’s so cool! You don’t have to pay me for it or anything, even! Are you going to paint it? Did I just assume that? I could be a horrible photographer for all you know, though. I’m not saying I am! But you know, you never know.”

He cut his rambling short as he saw the clearly perplexed look on your face. He took half a step back, his hands nervously playing with the straps of his camera as he waited for your response. You didn’t quite know what to think of the odd photographer, but something about his awkward demeanor and sweet energy told you that you could trust him to not murder you. Was that potentially a mistake? Of course. But for the sake of art, you were willing to risk it

“I was definitely planning on painting it. How about I give you my number? You can call me when you’re done developing the pictures and thenI’ll give you my address so you can come drop it off.”

The man broke out into the same giddy grin as before and fumbled around in the pockets of his khaki trench coat for a moment before producing a notepad and pen, eagerly pushing them into your hands. You quickly jotted down your number on the first empty page and handed it back to the man who smiled at your writing for a moment before shoving the notepad and pen back into his pocket.

You gave the man a quick smile before turning back onto the cobblestone path and making your way back to your apartment building.

“Hey, wait! I didn’t catch your name!” You turned around at the man’s voice to see him still standing by the patch of Dahlias, fiddling with his camera straps again. You called out your name to him, and heard him quietly repeat it back to himself. “That’s beautiful! I’m Taemin, Lee Taemin!”

“I’ll talk to you soon, Taemin.” You parted with those words and left him grinning at your retreating form.

Nearly a week had passed, and you were starting to think that you weren’t going to hear from Taemin. You’d spend over a dozen hours of the past week just staring at the blank canvas that lived on your easel. You’d gone on several walks to different parts of the city, but your mind always wandered to that patch of Dahlias and that strange photographer. You were laying on the old, tattered red couch in your living room, staring blankly at your old paintings on the wall, wishing and waiting for inspiration to strike when you heard the phone ring.

You immediately sprang from your sofa and ran over to the phone that hung on the wall, tearing the receiver from its hook and practically spitting out a rushed, “Hello? Who is this?” You could’ve cried of happiness when you heard Taemin’s voice on the other end telling you that he had finally gotten around to developing the photos. You quickly gave him your address and told him to come over as soon as he could. After he assured you that he would be over in less than an hour, you made your way back over to your sofa and plopped back down, throwing up your fists in victory.

Forty-five minutes later, you heard a knock on your door, and you quickly rushed to look through the peephole. After seeing a slightly out-of-breath Taemin, you quickly took the chain off and turned the deadbolt and wrenched open the door, causing Taemin to jump back in shock, clearly not expecting such an enthusiastic welcome. You invited him in and watched as he took in his surroundings.

Your apartment was nothing special; it was small, a little cramped, and definitely had what some might call a “maximalist vibe”. There were piles of reference books and old masters’ biographies scattered around, several blank canvases on the floor leaning against the walls, and Taemin would have guessed that there was nearly a hundred paintings of all sizes and mediums either hanging or pinned to the wall. There were so many pieces of art on the wall, he could hardly see the dark blue that your apartment was painted in. He turned to see you standing by your small white fridge, smiling expectantly up at him. 

“Oh! I have the picture.” He quickly opened the brown cross-body satchel that he carried, and from the depths, retrieved a small white envelope containing what you hoped would be the solution to your crippling artist block. You excitedly snatched the envelope from his glove-adorned hands and carefully tore the envelope open. You carefully extracted the small picture from the white envelope, and your jaw nearly hit the floor once you observed what was actually on the small film. You hadn’t expected much if you were being completely honest, but you never in your wildest dreams would have expected Taemin to have produced something as beautiful as the picture you held in your hands.

The way that the warm light from the setting sun hit the dew on the vibrant orange flowers struck you in such a way, you were completely awestruck. You looked up to see Taemin quietly observing your reaction, a slightly concerned look on his face as he saw the expression you were making.

“Is it okay?”

The question somehow made your jaw drop even more. Your eyes fluttering from the photographer back down to the picture and back up to him again, you continued to gawk at him in shock as you struggled to find the words to describe how you felt.

“I…It is…Usable.” You mentally face-palmed at your own words as you saw Taemin’s expression fall slightly as he nodded.

“I mean! Come back in a couple weeks!. So you can see the painting and get your picture back. Is that okay?”

A slightly put-out Taemin agreed, and you quickly ushered him out of your house so you could start immediately.

Over the next weeks, you were practically glued to your easel. From that one singular picture, you’d managed to produce over a dozen paintings, and although they were all beautiful in your mind, none of them felt right. The frustration in you was nearly ready to bubble over and you stared at the picture. You tried different mediums, different brush techniques, different canvas sizes, but nothing felt right. You leaned onto the two back legs on your chair and closed your eyes, letting yourself breath for a moment and letting your mind wander. 

You started thinking about when you first saw that patch of Dahlias…The surprise you felt when you saw the bright orange petals against the dull October grass…You thought about when Taemin first took the pictures, all the different angles he had tried to get the perfect picture…The concentration in his brown eyes as he brought the camera up to his face…The way he brushed his hair out of his eyes when he leaned over the flowers…The way his hands looked at his fiddled with the lens…The way he pursed his plump lips when he knew he didn’t get the right shot…

You slammed your chair back down onto all four legs as soon as you realized just how far your mind had wandered. He’d been on your mind more than usual. Lee Taemin. The odd, handsome photographer. You found yourself hoping every day to get a phone call from him, or for him to show up at your door. You often found yourself thinking of the cool tones of his dark brown hair that contrasted with the warm brown of his eyes…You shook your head as if to clear those thoughts from your mind and picked back up your paintbrush. Don’t think. Just paint.

And paint, you did.

The next day, you heard a knock on your door as you were curled up in the corner of your sofa, blanket around your shoulders, staring in bewilderment at your own creation. You didn’t know what you had been thinking when you painted that, because you weren’t thinking at all. You just did it. You slowly got up from your spot on the sofa, stretching your sore limbs out as you stood and walked over to the door. You almost audibly gasped as you saw none other than Lee Taemin standing patiently outside your door. You took one quick look at your painting before tossing the blanket that had been around your shoulders over the easel. You took a second to compose yourself before nervously opening your apartment door to a smiling Taemin.

“You told me to come back in a few days, so here I am!”

“Uhh…Yeah…Come in.” You stood to the side to let Taemin in, silently praying that he for some reason had no interest in seeing your finished product and just wanted his picture back. You closed the door and turned around to see Taemin smiling expectantly at you, arms behind his back, standing ever-so-politely in your living room. 

“Um…Here’s your picture back!” You quickly grabbed the picture from the small table by your easel and thrusted it into his hands, internally begging him to just turn around and leave so you never had to look him in the eyes ever again.

He slowly put the picture in his pocket, keeping confused eye contact with you, “Can I…See the painting?”

You silently cursed him and his beautiful big brown eyes, finding it hard to out-right deny him. You fumbled with your words, practically twiddling your thumbs as you deliberately avoided looking at his increasingly confused expression.

“Okay well…” You sighed in defeat, finally looking up from the ground back to his face, “Just don’t…Immediately run out once you see it?”

He gave you a concerned look, but nodded nevertheless. You took a deep breath and slowly removed the blanket from the easel. You avoided looking at his face, expecting him to voice his protests as soon as he processed what he was seeing.

“That’s…So beautiful.”

Your eyes snapped up to Taemin who was looking in awe at the intricate oil painting. What you saw as something you had made in a dazed, tired- maybe a little bit enamored- stupor, Taemin saw the most beautiful work of devotion he’d ever seen. It was an intricate oil on canvas portrait of Taemin himself, adorned in brightly colored Dahlias of all shapes and sizes, every one of which was more detailed than the last and shaded to perfection. The actual portrait was painted in such a way that beautifully contrasted against the Dahlias, the cool of Taemin’s hair and skin juxtaposed to the warm oranges and reds used to paint the flowers and eyes left Taemin absolutely breathless.

“You actually like it? You don’t think it’s like…Weird?” Taemin tore his eyes away from the canvas to see you looking at him in what could only be described as shame. He was flabbergasted for a moment, unable to decipher exactly how or why you could have possibly thought he wouldn’t like what he thought was surely the most beautiful work of art he’d ever laid eyes on.

“How could I not like it? I’ve never felt so…Loved. In my entire life.”

Your eyes made their way to Taemin’s, trying to see any hint of deception, any hint of disgust, anything that would tell you that he was lying to you, even if just to spare your feelings. But there was nothing but warmth in his brown eyes. Nothing but love.

“Do you think I could keep it? The painting?”

“Of course.” You breathed out, neither you nor Taemin breaking eye contact. He took a step forward and gently took your paint-stained hands into his soft ones. Your name fell from his lips as he brushed his thumbs over your knuckles. One of his hands dropped from yours and he reached into his coat pocket to grab something.

“I’ve carried this in my pocket since I first developed those photos.”

You looked down at what he was referring to, and your mouth fell open as you saw the first photo that he took on that day all those weeks back, the picture of you kneeling over the Dahlias.

“You’ve been on my mind every second of every day since that day in October. I was too nervous to say, but after seeing this…I finally feel the courage to say it-”

You cut Taemin off by throwing your arms around his neck. You couldn’t find the words to describe the joy you felt, the relief you felt, the love you felt. But the knowledge that Taemin felt the same more than made up for your lack of words.

[luveline]

jade, happy new year! id love to request a cute little lunalovegood!reader with sirius. maybe he catches r painting something for him or making him a necklace or something crafty like that

thank you!! sorry this request took some time, I hope you like it | fem!reader ♥︎ 1k

You aren't usually so secretive about your artwork. You aren't especially forward with it either, but when Sirius asks to see what you're working on, whether it be a thumbnail in your sketchbook or the rendering of a huge canvas, you oblige him with one of your funny smiles. 

This one is a different story, evidently. You won't let him see it, citing that it doesn't look perfect yet. 

"My darling," he says, seriously and joking at once, "when has that ever mattered?" To you, between us. 

You tap your nose and duck in for a kiss. Afterward he realises he's been duped, distracted by your bright and shiny lip gloss, your sparkling irises full of promise. He doesn't see the painting for weeks, looking up in the living room to watch your back move as he always does and finding you've closed the door. 

He sits on the sofa with his guitar some nights plucking away at the strings, and other nights he sort of just lies there. He knows how important hobbies are, doesn't deny you your earthly pleasures, but he misses the days where you'd allow him your company. He'd sit on the floor of your small studio for hours if you'd let him, he misses you that much. 

He comes home one night a little earlier than usual, guitar case heavy on his spine, a bag of food shopping in hand. He's gonna make something nice, and he's gonna pry you away from your painting with a crowbar if necessary, and he's going to be honest. I love you and support you but I can't keep on missing you like this, sweet thing. I know your paintings are important to you but I am too, and I need you to make more time for me. 

He has it rehearsed. 

You're humming in the studio (which had been his office, and still houses the majority of his instruments), head bobbing every so slightly. Your hair glows in the afternoon sun, your skin shines. Your shoulders — Sirius swallows. Everytime he sees the back of you he wants to envelope you in a steel-armed hug. To dip his face into the curve of your neck, to breathe in the spritz of your dainty perfume, to fill his hands with your soft abdomen. 

You've left the door open, and when you move to the left to put down your palette on the brown desk he'd gotten for you specifically for moments like this when you need more hands and he's not around, he can see the entirety of your canvas, corner to corner, each lick of oil paint muddied and slick. 

He knows this painting is almost done. There's no first coat of sepia to be seen, no sketchy lines, only full-fleshed shapes and colours. 

It's a painting of him. He admits to thinking he's handsome, but you've made him beautiful. You've painted him in one of his better moments, a real smile playing on otherwise smirking lips, his face 3/4ths  eyelashes thick and pointed leftward, off the canvas. He would guess that he's looking at you. He's never looked at anyone else like that. 

It has emotion like a flood welling inside him, creeping slowly up and up from the core of his aching stomach to his lips. He can't stop himself. 

"Sweetheart," he says, clearing his throat as subtly as he can, "my girl. Why didn't you tell me?"

You're predictable even now, you don't jump in startled shock, or try to close the door between you. You finish squeezing out a blob of cadmium yellow paint and wipe the mouth of the bottle against your palette, paint covered fingers screwing on the cap with a slow precision. He loves the way you move, is enchanted as you lay down the tube of paint and meet his eyes. 

"It's a surprise, Siri. If I tell you, that makes it not a surprise." You smile at him, lifting your chin, and Sirius has no choice but to use the word adorable. You look adorable, eyes shiny and smile soft. "Surprise, sweetheart." 

"It's your best work," he says honestly. 

"I know." You take up your paintbrush, dip it into the small blob of yellow, and bend to start painting again. 

He remembers what he'd wanted to talk to you about and slides his guitar case carefully off of his back, hand extended as he approaches you, placing his warm palm against the small of your back. 

His lips part, the beginning of his speech on the end of his tongue, when you bounce backward and smile. 

"Done," you say. 

He squints at the bottom of the canvas, where you've signed your name over his painted heart. It's an astute place to put it. 

"How much paint do you have on you, my darling?" he asks. 

You flare your lashes and peel out of the cream, paint-dappled apron you'd been wearing. You pour a little of white spirit in your hands to his displeasure and wipe them together, drying the resulting oil on your apron. He wonders how you've survived this long, and wants to harp about spontaneous combustion, but you're weaving your arms around his waist with a heaving sigh, your pert smile, your lovely nose, rubbing into his front indulgently. 

He sighs, satisfied, and kisses your forehead. His arms settle around you familiarly, forearm straight across your shoulders. In his head, he swears he can feel the knot there from your hunched painting stature. He promises to investigate later. 

"I'm so glad you like it," you say. 

"I haven't told you I like it," Sirius says quietly, eyes closed in the bliss of being near you. 

"Oh, sorry," you mumble, not too sorry after all, "just thought, from the hug…" 

You're thinking correctly. Of course you'd read him like that. You don't need words to know how he's feeling, you never have. 

"I love it. Your talent never fails to impress me," he says. 

You peel away from his chest, take his clean face into your sullied palms, and cradle him like water in your hands, heels touching under his chin. Your fingertips dance over his stubble, and you meet his eyes and beam. 

"I love when you make that face," you say. 

He looks exactly like the painting. Stupidly in love. 

[ominouspuff]

hello!!! :DD seeing your tags on the Rex piece made me immediately (and very) curious; would you feel comfortable talking a bit about your process? *___* that piece is stunning (I love that petals are your art signature :)!)

You mentioned it took some time, was it because of the composition or the colouring? Anything specific you had to learn as you went (for the piece?)

Does it fit within the ‘RepGar armour AU’, or were you thinking of a specific Rex feel (especially as it’s the companion to Cody’s rain piece)?

Were you listening to something while illustrating?

and bonus question!!! Possibly not art related :3 does Rex ever met Corrie!Fives??? *___*

Feel free to answer one, some or none of those questions! Love your art (and AUs!) best vibes!!!

Hi @lesquatrechevrons !! Your tags often make my day, so this seems very fitting. I’d be happy to answer questions! (Hoho thank you for noticing — it is indeed a predilection; I love most drifting particle effects quite a lot.) ;)

You mentioned it took some time, was it because of the composition or the colouring? Anything specific you had to learn as you went (for the piece?)

Ooof. The rendering itself, without question. It is difficult to explain, but usually my rendering is a bit more blur effect with up to three colors, with very little painstaking detail work. In the piece you reference, by contrast, almost every part of Rex has been rendered by use of a pencil-tool and very fine blurring. In most of my pieces I will only have a few layers for base colors and lighting, and then quite a lot of layers for accents to the piece or detail work. For this one, almost all of my layers were several coats of ‘paint’ layered on top of each other, like a classical acrylic or oil painting, as I went back to adjust lighting for each part at least twice with a completely new application of color.

Does it fit within the ‘RepGar armour AU’, or were you thinking of a specific Rex feel (especially as it’s the companion to Cody’s rain piece)?

Good question! Like Cody’s companion piece, it was separate from that AU, supposed to be a character-study view with themes inspired by this song and SW canon. The theme of falling leaves, golden petals, and the symbolism of comparing them to the lives of warriors striving and falling and striving overtop each other with weary feet and doomed by the narrative/reduced to being seen as inconsequential (especially given all the golden leaves/petals are identical) seemed appropriate for Rex in particular to be meditating on. The piece would only fit within the AU by accident, because they don’t directly contradict each other so they’re technically compatible.

Were you listening to something while illustrating?

I very often do (I am incredibly vibe-focused whilst in creative mode) but usually it’s just the background-type music, very vibey and mood-setting. This time it was the above song, for sure, but also Space Man by Eurielle and Tokyo Rain by Marcus Warner.

and bonus question!!! Possibly not art related :3 does Rex ever met Corrie!Fives??? *___*

Hoho — a very fun question, and one I’m still working on in the written fic for the RepGA AU. They do meet, and it is a mess, but like everything in that AU I try to focus on there being a point to the pain, and there will definitely be a happy ending. There is conflict surrounding how both of them have changed since they last met, including what they’ve since heard about the other.

As I’ve mentioned in pieces here and there, Fives ends up on Fox’s side of an altercation between the Republic itself and a revolutionary group (essentially the Rebellion, but jumpstarted by a Rogue Marshall Commander CC-1010 and all the resources he has been collecting to do precisely this for the latter duration of his command on Coruscant). This would all be well and good, but the GAR is still serving the Republic. So Rex and Fives, among others, find themselves on opposite sides of some battlefields — and both with very understandable reasons for being there, which is much more difficult to reconcile.

Thanks so much for asking! I’m delighted you like the piece, and I’m always down to talk art-techniques if you want to. Also, feel free to ask if you’re curious about anything more. For the AU fic I will not give too many spoilers as a rule, so you can ask but I might not answer some questions yet.

[imagineee-123]

⟡₊⊹Introduction Post⊹₊⟡

Hello! I never do posts like this on any of my socials even though I mean to, so I'm gonna finally give this a shot! This might be really long Imao

About my blog:

This blog is currently mostly about my practices as a newer hellenic polytheist and a Hades devotee. But I also post about visual kei and whatever else on this account. (Although I am thinking about separating this content to different blogs)

About me:

I'm Imagineee, but you can call me Lucian (Lu-see-in) or Ciel. Or even Luci for short. My pronouns are he/they! I turned 17 this summer.

I'm on the aroace spectrum (demiromantic and demisexual) as well as being pansexual and a gender non-conforming transmasc. I don't really identify as anything specific when it comes to gender, but I'm definitely not a girl! (Don't she/her me... Pls. ╥﹏╥)

I'm really into vkei and, as stated earlier, a newer hellenic polytheist. I've only been practicing for about a year (when I have the energy), so I still have a lot to learn.

My interests/hobbies:

visual kei and j-fashion

reading up about bandmen I like

Japanese music

music in general

anime

Genshin Impact*

Project Sekai*

Honkai: Star Rail

Twisted Wonderland*

Wuthering Waves

Stardew Valley

art and painting

vocaloid

photography

storing things in my memory boxes

Howl's Moving Castle (book and movie)

collecting manga/figures of things I like

reading about dieties and others' practices

going to graveyards

watching YouTube

(* means I've lost a lot of interest over time but still enjoy these things)

Favorite vkei bands:

It's so hard to pick... I think Plastic Tree, Ninth in Pluto, Fukuro, and Madmans Esprit are some of my favorites.

Favorite music (not vkei):

I listen to pretty much everything. But some of my favorite musicians/groups outside of vkei are Eve, Re:nG, takayan, Gesu No Kiwami Otome, Linkin Park, kikuo, MCR, Cage the Elephant, and Eyedress. I have too many favorites, but it's so hard to cut down because I listen to such a variety of music, and I love it all. Ahhhh

Favorite song atm:

Likes:

Rain

The beach

Fire

Graveyards

The moon

Sweets

Hades ofc

Sleeping in

Renaissance oil paintings

Bees

Crows (birds in general tbh)

Laying in the grass

Other:

My MBTI is INFP-T. My star sign is leo. I use emoticons sometimes. I use :3 and >:3 unironically whenever I'm really happy or excited about something. I own four budgies and two dogs. I also have PTSD and really bad social anxiety. I really want to go to Japan and see a vkei band live one day.

݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ And that is (finally) my intro! I hope we can be friends! ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁

[litnerdwrites]

Day three already? Time sure does fly. I feel like the last two were pretty emotionally heavy, so have something fluffy for now. I loved TOTF btw, so let me know what y'all thought of it, if you read it, or if it's on your tbr! It definitely gave me a new appreciation for Envy. @princeofsinweek

Day 3: Evy/Games and Riddles

Present - Envy X Wife!Reader

WC:1,676

TW: Mention of sex but no smut.

Envy, I have been taken. If you ever want to seem alive again, come to The Malice Isles at Midnight.  Just kidding!  I’m alive. But do come and find me, okay?  Start by looking above for something precious to us. Good luck Hubby! Love ya <3 - xo xo A

Envy read the note through twice, brows twitching, before crumpling the note in his hand. He’d been searching for his wife from the moment he’d returned from House Greed, only to find that none of his demons had any inkling as to where she was, and all that was left in his office was a faux ransom note. His heart still hadn’t stopped racing from the moment he saw it lodged into his office chair with an arrow, and he’d read the first two lines and almost ordered Alexi to prepare for war. 

Leaving the note on his desk, envy huffed and stalked out of the door, heading towards their shared chambers. He stalks right to the bed, and examines an oil painting hanging above the headboard. It was of the two of them, dancing at the last Feast of the Wolf. The memory of Adalyn’s hunter green gown gliding across the marble floors of House Pride still set Envy’s heart stuttering. Peeking out from one of the corners was another slip of paper. Envy rolled his eyes at how predictable his little pet was, as he unfolded the paper. 

I can already feel you rolling your eyes at me. Was it really that easy? Stupid question, I know. But let’s pretend it wasn’t, yeah? Perfect! You’re the best, hubby!  Your next clue will be somewhere important. A place that no other dares to approach without permission. Aside from me, of course. I love lounging around there, especially when you give me ‘the look’ look when you tell me to get off. You know, the one that lets me know you’re about to punish me? I love that look! I hope to see it again soon. Love you! <3 - Kisses, A

Envy resists the urge to roll his eyes, especially given that this particular clue had taken him a moment or two to decipher. With some quick transversa magic, he found himself in the throne room of his House of Sin. He examined the seat carefully, this time not seeing the clue right away. Upon a closer examination, he found it tucked into the cushion of his seat. 

Well done Hubby, I knew you could find it! Did I hide it well this time, or was it still too easy for you? Either way, the next clue should be a bit more tricky.  It’s in a room with a maiden, cold and alone. Be careful when getting this one, love. I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself. It’d make me sad if you did. <3 - Best of luck, A

The last bit of the note somehow warmed Envy’s icy heart more than his pet already had. He had to admit, she was somewhat adorable. He began thinking over where the next clue might be. The first thought that came to mind was Vittoria, being so cold, and living alone at House Vengeance. He banished that thought as soon as it arrived. His love wouldn’t do that to him. That, he knew for certain. 

Perhaps Adalyn meant it in a more literal sense? Maiden, and a warning to not get hurt? The Iron maiden perhaps? In their new Iron exhibition? 

Envy was gone again, this time heading towards the iron maiden, and throwing it open. A tiny slip of parchment fell out, and he practically lunged for it. After spending a week at Greed's House, helping deal with some renegade witches, and while he couldn’t tell if he found this game of her’s to be infuriating or entertaining, he knew he was ready to find her, and had a long, long, list of things he’d do to her when he did. 

I bet this one took a bit longer to find, didn’t it? I dare say that I’m getting good at this, right Hubby? And don’t give me that look that I know you’re giving the note! I am getting better at it! Well, the last one will be the trickiest, so be prepared! Muahahaha!  Well, this is your final clue, so rejoice. I’m waiting for you at my favorite place. Can’t wait to see you! Hugs! <3 - Forever yours, A

Envy grinned, and immediately took off, spreading his wings and shooting through the doors of a nearby balcony. He soared high above his house of sin, heading towards one of the large gardens. He lands right in the center of a hedge maze. Retracting his wings, he doesn’t bother to hide the wicked expression on his face as he looks around. His Adalyn loved coming here, to the center of the maze, sometimes to explore, and sometimes to read. Even in his court, there were few who could find their way through the enchanted maze, especially given its ever changing nature, so, while he’d never admit it to his brother, it filled him with pride that his wife did so on a regular basis. 

Envy circled the clearing in the center like a predator, searching for signs of his wife. Only for the hunger that painted his face a moment before to falter, as he realizes that she isn’t there.

Envy frown, giving the surrounding area one last once over, making sure he didn’t miss something. There wasn’t.

I bet this one took a bit longer to find, didn’t it? I dare say that I’m getting good at this, right Hubby? And don’t give me that look that I know you’re giving the note! I am getting better at it! Well, the last one will be the trickiest, so be prepared! Muahahaha!  Well, this is your final clue, so rejoice. I’m waiting for you at my favorite place. Can’t wait to see you! Hugs! <3 - Forever yours, A

Her favorite place… If not the maze, where she spent most of her time… then where? 

The throne room? He was just there. 

That cafe on The Shifting Isles? Maybe. 

House Sloth? She knows he’d probably declare war on his brother if he were there. 

I’m waiting for you at my favorite place. Can’t wait to see you! Hugs! 

Envy’s eyes widen as he finally realizes. 

I’m waiting for you at my favorite place. Can’t wait to see you! Hugs!   Hugs! 

Envy grins, taking off again, this time heading to their receiving room. The antechamber of their room had undergone renovations just a few months back, but there was only one thing Adalyn had insisted on. Envy had rolled his eyes at the time, but over the past year, he learned just how much Adalyn adored the edition.

He quickly uses magic to get there, only to freeze in the doorway. 

Adalyn lounges amongst hunter green silks, clad in a silver slip that hugged every curve, stopping mid thigh, with a scandalous little slit in the side. Her eyes twinkle as her gaze moves from the book in her hand to the doorway, and she gives a little grin. 

The little vixen gives a wide smile, stretching her legs along the daybed. The one she had insisted on, claiming that a large one would be the perfect place for ‘hugs and cuddles’. 

Sometimes Envy forgets how much she loves simpler things, like cuddling, as much as sex and dates. Sometimes, even more than sex and dates. 

“Enjoying yourself?” Envy asks.

“Very much, my love. And you? Did you enjoy yourself?” 

“I spent the last hour running all over the place, searching for my wife, when all I wanted was to fuck her into next week, after being away for so long,” Envy retorts, coming to sit on the edge of the daybed. 

Adalyn grins, putting the book away. 

“Well, your wife was lonely without you, and decided to teach a lesson about leaving her for so long,” she tugs at her bottom lip with her teeth, pouting up at him. 

“My mistake, pet. Your husband is sure to think twice before he leaves you alone for so long again,” 

“As he should,” she nods, “And as a reward for being so agreeable, I shall give you your gift now,” 

“Gift?” Envy cocks a brow. 

Adalyn grins, taking out a wrapped box and handing it to him. Envy unwraps it, pausing every now and then to glance at Adalyn, clocking the cheeky grin on her face. Once he sees what’s inside, however, he drops the wrapping. 

Envy holds up the frame, examining the oil painting closely, taking in every detail. There he stood, in one of the most lavish, hunter green suits he’d ever worn, accented with silver, his hands gripping Adalyn’s tightly. Her own gown was silver, but was bejeweled with thousands, if not millions, of tiny crystals, with hunter green flowers and appliques. The ribbon connecting them was black, with a wolf’s face pattern on it, and he remembered how she had painstakingly spent months embroidering it herself.

“This is-” 

“Happy anniversary,” Adalyn smiles. “I wanted there to be a special way for me to give this to you, and I know how much you love games, so I figured it would be perfect,” 

Envy places the painting down, before pulling her in by the hips. He presses a deep kiss to her lips, keeping his arms wrapped around her in a loving embrace. Adalyn let out a surprised humph, but otherwise leaned into it, even as Envy gently pushed her down onto the bed. While he wasn’t gentle often, this gift warmed his heart. He had every intention of thanking his wife for it, the best way he knew how. 

“It is perfect. Allow me show my appreciation for it, and for you, my love, in a way that will make you feel as warm as I do,” 

Adalyn smiled and nodded, cheeks flushed.

“Then show me,” 

That was all Envy needed.

[theskylarkin]

KHOC Week Day 3 - Dream

(I'm mixing up the order of the prompts just a bit for the sake of narrative-building.)

What is something they dream about?

Word Count: 1468

In Relai’s opinion, the only good thing about living in San Fransokyo was finally getting her own bedroom.

No longer would Relai be woken up in the middle of the night when her twin clambered down the creaky ladder of their old bunk bed to get a glass of water. She’d never have to put up with Mariss’ nonsensical insistance that they divide their shared room equally ever again; no matter how much she’d tried to keep her various art projects on “her side” there had always seemed to be some clutter that spilled over the imaginary boundary and earned the ire of her twin. Now Relai was finally free to just leave her stuff wherever, or at least until Aunt Anima or Uncle Mundi made her clean her room.

When the four of them had moved into the house in San Fransokyo, the walls of Relai’s bedroom were already painted a sterile white just a few shades lighter than the cream carpet. The munny her aunt and uncle had on hand was only enough to buy the property; they wouldn’t have any real furniture for a few months. So Relai rolled out the old sleeping bag Aunt Anima found in a secondhand store in the middle of the room and set down the knapsack carrying her only worldly possessions left before flopping onto the floor and staring up at the ceiling.

She’d wanted a room of her own for ages, but not like this.

Relai reached into the knapsack and pulled out the only piece of home she’d managed to grab before the family was forced to evacuate: a box of fancy oil pastels her mother had given her for her eleventh birthday. She’d stared at it longingly every time she passed it in the shop window and even though Mom would always scoff at the price, there it was wrapped in red paper on the dining table next to Mariss’ gift. Holding it then felt like a dream come true, holding it now only reminded her of all that she’d lost.

Clutching the box to her chest, Relai nearly started to cry again as a sense of overwhelming nothingness washed over her. You don’t belong here, the walls closing in around her seemed to say.

This wasn’t home. This would never be home.

In the months that followed, Relai was plagued with nightmares about the fall of Radiant Garden. Almost every night, the chaotic memories replayed themselves endlessly: the sky darkening as the hordes of shadow creatures descended upon the castle town, the cobblestone streets splitting apart with an almighty crack as the ground shook, the screams of the people around her suddenly cutting off as the land underneath their feet collapsed or the monsters caught up with them.

The resulting lack of sleep didn’t make it any easier for Relai to get used to the new school Aunt Anima had enrolled the twins in. San Fransokyo was a world with far more advanced technology than that of Radiant Garden; Mariss had a theory that this clear technological superiority was a result of the world’s inhabitants never discovering the existence of magic. Whatever the reason, the San Fransokyo schools placed much more focus on math and science, neither of which were Relai’s strong suit. It was difficult to explain to her new teachers that she hadn’t learned everything she was supposed to already know at her current grade level without revealing that she wasn’t from this world.

Mariss, on the other hand, acclimated to the new curriculum with enviable ease. (Relai chalked it up to them being a huge nerd, but it still stung to see the ease at which her twin was doing with school and getting to know their new classmates.) However, they were just as beset by nightmares of their frantic flight from Radiant Garden as she was. One night, Relai woke up to find Mariss curled up beside her on the floor, wrapped up in their own sleeping bag and shaking uncontrollably. “Bad dreams?” she asked groggily and Mariss nodded. “Yeah, me too. What did you see?”

Mariss’ nightmares were similar to her own, but strayed further from what had actually happened that day. Sometimes they saw their missing parents, reaching out to pull them to safety only to turn into the shadows with yellow eyes and sharp claws. Other times either her, Aunt Anima, or Uncle Mundi tripped as they were fleeing and were swallowed up by the darkness before they could hit the ground. Then one time they all made it to the hangar only for the gummi ship that had brought them to safety taking off without them.

Once Mariss finally felt brave enough to return to their own room, Relai tried unsuccessfully to get back to sleep. Finally giving up, she stood up to turn on the lights and was briefly blinded by the bright blankness of her empty room, as boring as a clean sheet of paper.

Wait…

With a burst of manic creative energy, Relai reached for her coveted box of oil pastels, marched over to the closest wall, and started to recreate her home.

She drew the plants and flowers of Uncle Mundi’s little backyard garden, followed by the sprawling gardens in front of the castle that he’d been in charge of before his retirement, wearing down every single green pastel to almost nothing. She drew the cascading waterfalls of the fountain plaza, smudging them with her fingers until the pink, purple, and blue hues matched the walls of water when the sunlight hit them just right. (Relai absentmindedly wiped her hands on her pajamas, staining them with various shades of purple.) She even drew the castle at the center of the world and its chaotic array of towers sticking out at every angle.

By the time Mariss arrived to wake her up for school, Relai’s mural had expanded to cover half of one wall. Her twin opened the door, saw the mess of color, and immediately turned and ran down the stairs. “Aunt Anima! Uncle Mundi! Relai’s drawing on the walls!” she could hear Mariss tattling from the kitchen.

Unexpectedly, Relai’s aunt and uncle seemed more impressed by her handiwork than upset, to Mariss’ apparent annoyance. “Well, I did say I’d let the two of you pick any color you wanted for your rooms,” Aunt Anima remarked dryly. “This is lovely, Relai, but this much oil pastel is never going to dry. It’ll smear into an awful mess and ruin the carpet.”

“Don’t worry, we can paint over it later,” Uncle Mundi suggested. “It’d be a shame to lose such a beautiful rendition of Radiant Garden. It’s like we never left!”

“I wanted to make sure I always remember home like it used to be,” Relai said in a small voice, barely suppressing a sniffle. “Before Mom, Dad, and Sophia disappeared and everything went wrong.”

“Oh, honey,” Aunt Anima sighed as she pulled Relai into a tight hug. As Relai fought back tears, she saw Mariss look away in embarrassment before backing out into the hallway.

“I know you miss them, we all do.” Relai felt Uncle Mundi place a hand on her shoulder. “But your parents… and your cousin would want you to keep moving forward. And as long as you keep those memories in your heart, there will always be a part of them and Radiant Garden that lives on.”

True to his word, Uncle Mundi started to put munny aside for Relai’s paints as soon as his first paycheck for his new job came through. Within a year, Relai had a real bed in her bedroom where she could see her wall-length mural of Radiant Garden every time she fell asleep.

Now when she dreamed of home, she envisioned a world where the darkness had never taken hold. A world where her family and friends were alive and well. A world where she didn’t have to hide who she was because of some stupid World Order.

A world where she felt like she belonged.

Relai didn’t know if Mariss dreamed of Radiant Garden anymore. They seemed more concerned with trying to fit in with their new friends nowadays, something Relai just couldn’t understand. Neither of them would ever truly be a part of this world, so why even bother to try?

Funnily enough, Relai’s good dreams were still causing trouble for her in school. She would zone out in the middle of class while daydreaming about her perfect world, only snapping back to reality when the bell rang. One day, the school guidance counselor called her up to his office and warned her that her future was in serious jeopardy if her grades didn’t improve.

But Relai didn’t care; her dreams so were much more interesting than her current reality anyway.

@khoc-week

[partiallypearl]

waited on every careless word

a/n: hi hello 👋🏾 everyone blame @jasipereo and @malrie for this <3 they reminded me of my slight obsession with liper who are emotional cheaters. so uh. here’s a fic as a result. tw for emotional cheating lol

She knows it’s not rational. Her jealousy that is. Technically, Leo isn’t doing anything wrong. But for the millennia that Calypso has lived, she has never had a partner with a friend like this.

Leo and Piper are just that. LeoandPiper. A duo, of sorts. It’s been hard, since Jason’s death, with Leo and her drifting further and further apart, and him splitting his time between the Waystation and Tahlequah, and she barely sees him anymore.

These days, her focus is on concert band.

And if that includes a saxophone player named Odie, who looks remarkably like Odysseus, she never says anything to Leo about it.

But nonetheless, Leo’s still her boyfriend. Maybe. Honestly she isn’t fully sure, but when they have their fourth fight of the month over Iris Message, she realizes she needs to clarify a few things.

“What is she to you?” Calypso asks, and she watches as Leo’s brow furrows.

“She’s my best friend.”

“Best friends don’t call you to change their oil in another state.” She fires back and Leo rolls his eyes. “I’m a mechanic.”

“In training.” He doesn’t speak and she barrels forward. “You spend all week at the Waystation with Josephine and Emmie and Georgina, you haven’t been to a single one of my band concerts and then you spend all your free time with either Festus or her.”

“She needs me Cal. She just lost the love of her life,” Leo interjects and Calypso rolls her eyes.

“Oh sure, she needs you. What about me? Your girlfriend?”

Leo shakes his head. “I’m trying to be there for you as well. But I can only do so much.”

Calypso scoffs, pulling her jean jacket around her shoulders tighter. “You do everything for Piper. She calls, you go. She fucking stubs her toe on a rock, you sense a disturbance in the force. God, it’s like you’re in love with her!”

Silence. Dead silence that Calypso had never heard, not even when she was trapped on Ogygia, with only her thoughts and the wind spirits to accompany her - the occasional demigod dropping in every hundred years or so.

“She’s my person.” Leo says after a long moment, looking at Calypso with the harshest look he’s ever given her.

“You don’t need to understand it, but you need to respect it. She’s the reason I’m still here. She kept me sane in the Wilderness school, she kept me and Jason safe so many times. Look. I promised her I’d be there for her. I’m not going back on my word.”

And it’s then that Calypso remembers how headstrong he is. How he made an oath on the River Styx for her, despite knowing the danger it would pose.

If he did that for Calypso, a girl he barely knew, what would he do for Piper? His best friend. His person, as he had so eloquently put it.

She sighs. “Fine.” She looks down at her hands, at her green and white nails. The small spirals painted onto them feel like her mind, twisting and spinning around with no aim.

“I have a game on Friday. The band is playing.” She says quietly, looking back at Leo. His face is emotionless, but she can practically feel the annoyance radiating off of him.

“I’ll try and come.”

It’s not a promise. Barely even a response.

[lalasworld2x]

Shredder Imagine 👊👊

Doing His Makeup/Skin Care

Shredder has a lot of free time when he’s not meditating, tending to the Foot, at meetings, or training Karai. Of course he has many other responsibilities, as all adults and super villains do, but he does have plenty of time to relax. After meeting you, his free time was filled with a few other activities..

One of which being beauty and skin care-?!

• it usually takes a lot of convincing to get him in the mood to participate in these activities. While he does enjoy spending time with you (which he’s already very gruff about showing affection), he feels silly playing with makeup and skin care and oils and creams and such..

• if you ever painted his nails, it could only be shades of grey, or just straight black. He would probably wipe or scratch it off throughout the day, especially if an employee asks about it. But usually employees don’t question Shredder about his personal life, and for good reason too…

• Even if you yourself aren’t a skin care specialist, you would still do a butt ton of research for different products and such, just so you could spend more precious time with Oroku

• Sometimes you two would stay up late and just sit in the bathroom, face masks drying, hair pinned back, chatting. You were quite literally the only one that ever got to see this side of Shredder, not even Karai was this close with him.

• Speaking of Karai, ever since you came into their lives, she was able to sort of bond with Shredder a bit more. She had a much better bond with you though <3

• If Shredder ever got tipsy, or dare I say.. drunk, enough, he might let you do his makeup. He’s loosened up a little and doesn’t have to worry about being seen. He also appreciates that you don’t care about his facial scars.

• he would never let you go full out crazy, like anything goth or drag. But some lip stick and mascara and eyeshadow won’t kill him, as long as he trusts you and the both of you are enjoying yourselves.

• if the makeup ever accidentally got left on over night, Shredder would absolutely wake up earlier than you to wash it all off before you could see it. Does he set extra alarm clocks or something when you’re not watching??

• By the way, whenever you and Shredder get to have alone time like this, all of the Foot Clan is notified not to disturb Oroku ever, unless the Turtles or Splinter are literally at his front door step. Absolutely nobody is allowed to catch a glimpse of him like this except for you.

• He’s also set clear boundaries with you to keep these personal stories between you, him, and sometimes Karai. This is more about family time - The Foot and your friends don’t need to know about the Shredder’s personal life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hope this didn’t cringe anyone out too much, and hopefully I didn’t stray too far away from his actual character. ✌️

Feedback is appreciated /nf

Sleep well, dudes 💪😴