#Earth wait a little more to die

[tearlessrain]

I think of all the approximate categories of animal, fish are unbeatable in terms of how much it would suck ass to be one. you’re basically the most edible creature on god’s earth and literally everything else wants in on that. like yeah everything eats everything but at least if you’re a bird that lives in the sky you mainly just have to worry about being eaten by other things that are in the sky, but fish? other fish are only the beginning of your problems. not only does everything in the ocean that’s bigger than you want to eat you, so do most things on land given half a chance. there are things in the sky that evolved specifically to come all the way down just to eat you. and you don’t even have arms to punch any of them with you just kinda have to sit there going :o as you’re carried away into the beyond. you have no limbs at all, in fact, so if you ever leave the water you can’t even get back to it like, if something that’s not supposed to be in the water gets in the water it can at least try to swim to shore and get out, but fish are just like “guess I’ll die.” pour one out for fish. they did not ask for this.

[strwbrymlkshake]

Why can't I be satisfied with everything? It needs to be perfect to me and I can't accept anything otherwise :(

[dolldefiler]

[I lost the ask, but 🐈‍⬛ anon asked for this. Ah, also I'm trying out queuing.]

C/W: Degradation, knifeplay

“Get in here,” I say, dragging you into an empty classroom. “Mrs Withers tore into me today because of you. You have one fucking job—to do my homework—and you failed. I swear once I'm done with you, you'll be so broken you can't even remember your own name.”

I pause. I hear footsteps in the distance and before you can think twice, I've slammed you into a wall, one hand on your neck, another clamped over your mouth. You're too stunned to make a sound and I wait quietly for them to pass. I'm panting. The exhilaration of what I'm about to do to you makes my heart race.

From my back pocket I pull a long, sinister knife and press it against you.

Your eyes are frozen on mine. God, the power I have over you is intoxicating. My hand still clamped over your mouth, I press the cold, hard steel of the knife against your soft, pathetic flesh, drawing a thin line of blood.

“I’m going to beat the shit out of you. I’m going to make you cry. I’m going to turn you into a complete fucking loner in this school, and once I’ve done that, I’ll even turn your beloved teachers against you. I’m going to make your life hell on earth until you’re nothing and nobody. And even then I’ll keep going.”

I raise my hand from your lips just to relish your fear. My fingers wander across your face before I decide to grip a fistful of hair and tilt your head back on the wall. With your neck so exposed and my body towering over yours, you look so weak. So small. So utterly pathetic.

“Aww, are you scared? Are you going to—” I pause. Flushed cheeks. You’re biting your lips. You’re not trembling, you’re squirming. Fuck. You’re not scared.

You’re turned on.

And shockingly, I’m not disgusted. I’m intrigued. Fascinated. I want… more.

“You’re wet, aren’t you? Your silly, pathetic, nerdy pussy’s drooling because I’m pressing a knife to your neck and threatening you.” Cold words that stop your squirming. I can almost feel your stomach drop at being so ruthlessly exposed. “Don’t tell me you fucking wanted this?” I ask, laughing over your weak protests.

“Oh, you’re not wet? You’re not turned on by being a sick perv? Let’s make a deal. I’m going to do something and if you shudder, bite your lips or if your hands reach for your pussy, I win. If I lose, if I’m wrong about this, I’ll let you off for today’s incident. In fact, I’ll never pick on you again. If I’m right… Well…” I take my knife off your neck and press the tip of it against your collarbone. “I’ll own your pathetic body until the day you die.” I raise your chin with the tip of my knife. 

“Mhm? Well? What do you say to that?”

You’re breathing heavy, ragged breaths. Your chest’s heaving but you give me a slight nod and press your hands behind your back. Cute.

“So you’re telling me… you don’t mind if I do this?” I trail the end of my knife down from your chin to the top of your chest, slow, swaying movements as I run the fingers of my free hand through your hair, making a pretty little mess of you. Your eyes are so wide. You shake your head slightly and mumble out your denial.

The tip of the knife travels down your body and I slide my knee in between your legs, not quite touching your pussy. But I can feel its heat. God, I already know you’re in heat. I already know you need my cock inside you. But you don’t deserve that. Not yet.

I’m holding the knife straight at you, its tip digging into your belly. I can see the need to bite your lip, bite something, do anything, to relieve this feeling building up inside you. I could take you right here and you wouldn’t complain a single bit. But I don’t just want to fuck you. I want to break you. I’m going to own you.

“How are you feeling, loser?” I whisper in a breathy voice. “You don’t want me to finger your pretty little pussy, do you? You don’t want me to pin you down and rape you right here, do you? Of course not. You’re the perfect, responsible golden girl. The sensible kid with her head screwed on straight. You’d never want this. You’re just a victim.”

Your eyes close. You shudder briefly before snapping back. 

I grin but I don’t point it out. The knife lowers, as do I. I’m between your legs right now and there’s only a skirt and a flimsy pair of panties that separate my face from your sloppy little fuckhole. Your hands are gripping the ends of your skirt tightly, your best attempt at protecting your dignity. Protecting the truth.

But you’re just a silly little slut that doesn’t even realise she was born to be controlled. For all your studying, you could never figure out that you just need a strong bully to take control of your body and show you your place.

“Take your hands off your skirt.” You don’t hear me through your pounding head. “Take your hands off your skirt,” I repeat, and this time you shake your head. You’re biting your lip and your face is so very red. I grin lazily. My knife flicks down and you shriek.

There is no blood. I pull apart the flaps of the now-ruined skirt and stare at you. You struggle but sharp words and prods of my knife along your thigh keep you in your place.

“God, you’re so fucking wet. I can see your pussy leak and drool all the way down your thighs. You’re so fucking turned on.” I can feel myself getting hard at your pathetic, cowardly body and hate myself for it.

Wordlessly, I press the face of the knife against your navel, and with slender fingers reach out and brush your pussy. Even through the fabric of your panties, my fingers are soaked. I’m leaning in. My tongue’s so close to you. Your legs are spread apart for me, your hands balled into pale fists.

But I stop before I touch you.

“You bit your lips by the way,” I say, finally acknowledging her loss. “And you shuddered. And when you held your skirt down, I’m counting that towards you reaching for your pussy. Not that it matters.”

“I won. Now tell me who owns you,” I say, cruelly smiling at you as I stand up and begin to pull my cock out. “Tell me who you belong to until the day you die.”

[earthtooz]

x : LOVIN' YOU RIGHT :*+ﾟ all of me i'm offering, show you what devotion is !

in which: reo keeps chasing after you because the one thing he knows how to do is love you right.

warnings: 2.2k words, FLUFF, gn!reader, reo is an athlete, post-argument fic inspired by jungkook's 'seven' mv, mentions of food, pet names used by reader and reo, reo is a little bit of a flirt and a lot in love and pathetic bc that's how we like our men!

a/n: I LOVE REO

“what are you doing here?” 

reo looks at the direction of your voice, eyes widening in surprise upon seeing you. there are grocery bags in your hands, you’re wearing the sweater you always wear when running errands, and you’re looking at him like he’s a fly that’s invaded your home, annoyance and exasperation seeping right off you. despite it, his heart flutters alive and reo feels like he can finally breathe after the few days you spent ignoring him. 

“y/n!” he exclaims, a smile making its way onto his face. “hi baby, i’ve missed you!”

just as he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead, you swerve aside smoothly, causing the purple-haired’s smile to drop.

“y/n? what was that for?” you don’t answer him, instead slipping past his figure to stand in front of your door, perhaps pressing a little too close for it to be normal, but reo keeps quiet about it. “at least let me help you with your groceries, you can’t unlock a door with both hands-”

“don’t.” you command, struggling with getting your keys out. “why are you here?” 

“wh-what do you mean? i haven’t seen you in three days and i missed you so i came to visit,” he pouts. “did you not miss me?” 

your eye twitches. “i’m still mad at you,” you finally unlock your door, pushing it open and closing it before reo could come in. 

however, that plan is much easier said than done because your boyfriend has better reflexes and is considerably faster than you, so he jams his shoe in between the doorway before you could close it. he makes no move to push it open though. 

“i’m sorry!” he calls out guiltily and he hopes his words reach you through the thin space. “you know i am, i didn’t mean to upset you, and i came to talk it out and make it up to you!”

you peek through the gap, looking reo in the eye. “as much as i appreciate your apology reo, there’s no point in letting you in, i need to go run some errands soon so why don’t you leave and come back later when we can talk.”

“then can i come with you?”

“why? you’re just going to be bored following me around.”

“i’d follow you to the ends of the earth if you allowed me.” 

the silence is deafening, utterly suffocating as reo awaits for a response. he has never wanted to kick down a door so badly in his life because if you spend another millisecond not speaking to him then he might lose his mind, he’d rather die than have you shut him out. 

thankfully, you open up the gap just a little more, allowing him to see more of you, but you don’t meet his eye, looking to the side bashfully instead. “fine, but i’m still mad at you, so don’t get any ideas.”

heaven is on his side, reo decides as he fails miserably at hiding his smile.

“you wait outside though, i’ll be out in a bit.”

“wait, can’t i help you put your groceries away?”

“you don’t even know how to do it properly.”

“i’ll learn for you.”

“another time.”

reo retracts his foot and you close the door with a gentle click, the sight of you being replaced with a wooden plank souring his mood significantly. better than you slamming the door in his face, he supposes, but nevertheless, the purple-haired sighs, moping in front of your door like it was his birthright. 

he only broods for a few minutes maximum because soon enough, he’s reunited with you, trailing behind you like a second shadow as you both make your way through your neighbourhood. the excitement that reo feels practically tangible, leaving a trail of undying devotion, powered by the love he feels for you.

the walk is quiet, filled by sounds of passing cars, birds chirping, and people strolling by that stare a little too long at the purple-haired, either subtly admiring him or wondering why he seemed so familiar. you’re acutely aware of the stares and how strange the sight must be to them. world-class soccer player and multimillionaire trailing behind a nobody as if it was just another day, how unfathomable. 

you wonder if reo gets tired of it.

“what are you doing today?” your boyfriend asks, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“i need to drop by the bank first of all, then i have some things to return, and then i need to buy some new headphones because mine broke.”

“oh, good to know!”

“reo, i swear, don’t even get the idea about paying for any of it. use your credit card today and i will personally-”

“-okay, okay!” he jokes, defensively putting up his hands. “i won’t.”

“promise?”

“promise.”

you narrow your eyes at him in suspicion, very clearly not believing him before continuing your journey. you know your boyfriend better than anyone and if it’s one thing he’s stubborn with, it’s never letting you pay, but you’re determined and reo is plotting the many ways to break his promise. 

the first method is dropped in front of him like a divine gift, which took shape through a flower stall in front of the mall you planned on going to. reo is a man of taking his chances whenever he sees it. grabbing your hand to stop you from walking any further, reo doesn’t explain his intentions as he wordlessly drags you to the quaint store that had set itself up. 

“reo, no-”

“-this one, please,” reo demands as he hands the bouquet of his choice to the store owner, keeping you in a tight grip before you could run away. 

“reo!”

“that’ll be 7700 yen.”

“that’s too much! reo, stop it! i told you you couldn’t use your credit card today!”

from his pocket, reo fishes out a crisp ‘10000’ bill, dropping it on the platter for cash before speed walking away with the bouquet. “thank you very much, no need for change!”

the protests of the store attendant fades in the background and reo turns to you with a boyish smile, pushing the bouquet into your arms as if you hadn’t witnessed everything that just happened. 

“reo,” you murmur, resolve crumbling as the beautiful arrangement shines up at you and it doesn’t help that your (very charming) boyfriend is looking at you with a pleading look in his eyes, practically begging for you to accept. “i told you not to buy anything-”

“-with my card! you never said anything about cash.” 

“that’s not the point- oh my goodness,” you pinch the bridge of your nose whilst shaking your head, but you quickly admit defeat when a small giggle slips through your lips. 

glancing back up at him, there’s scorn in your eyes but it’s easily contrasted by the gentle smile that dances along your lips. reo feels a warmth spread in his chest, as if he had swallowed the sun and made itself home beside his heart, the same one that begins to race at the sight of you laughing. he is so pathetically devoted to you that it makes him stupid, but he’d buy all the flowers in the world if it will make you smile at him like this. 

“you’re so silly, reo,” taking the bouquet from his relaxed grip, you hug it close to your chest. “thank you though, i love them.”

“i love you,” slips past his lips before he can think.

“ever the smoothtalker, aren’t you?”

you walk away without another word, causing reo to chase after you. “wait, why aren’t you saying it back?”

“still mad.”

reo shuts his mouth, complaints dying on his tongue as he continues following you through the mall. slowly but surely, you make your way through your list of things to do, with the world-class athlete silently losing his mind more and more with each second that you weren’t giving him attention. he needs to plot more ways that would break your resolve, and fast.

his opportunity comes up when the two of you pass by a bakery that catches your eye, your gaze to lingering a little too long on the display of baked goods for reo not to notice. without a second thought, he drags you in with him, your immediate complaints falling on deaf ears. 

“i don’t want anything!” you hiss, trying to keep loyal your stubbornness despite the enchanting smell of baked goods wafting through the air.

“too bad, either you tell me what you want or i’m buying out the whole store,” reo promises, eyes alight with determination.

“i want to go home.”

“aren’t you hungry?”

“there’s food at home, i don’t want to waste any unnecessary money.” 

“it’s not wasting if it’s spent on you, though,” he reasons before ordering the baked goods that he knows you will like, and once again, paying for it with cash. 

“if you’re trying to get me to forgive you by spending your money then forget it,” you mutter, ripping your hand out of his grasp before walking out of the store.

“y/n-” reo begins, cutting himself off as he waits impatiently for his order to get finished packing; not that it takes long before he leaves the store with a branded paper bag in hand, filled with perhaps multiple boxes of baked goods as dashes out to the entrance, prepared to chase after you.

except he doesn’t need to, because you’re standing outside patiently waiting for him, the bouquet of flowers still snug in your arms. its beauty could never compare to yours, reo thinks offhandedly as he approaches you like a magnet. 

“i thought me walking out would deter you,” you murmur, eyeing the bag in his hand. “should’ve known that it wouldn’t work.” 

reo grins, partly out of adoration, mostly because he’s just glad you didn’t actually leave him behind, not that you ever would or could do such a thing. 

“you treat me too well, don’t you think?” you hug the flowers closer to your chest. 

“what? where did that come from?” 

you shrug, not meeting his eyes. “i don’t know, you’re just too good for me sometimes. aren’t you tired?”

a crack resonates through his heart, causing a few pieces to crumble and shatter on the ground. “how could you ever think that?” he says in a panic. “do i need to give you more flowers? i need to call to make you an arrangement soon, i’m so inconsiderate! we can go out next week, i’ll clear my sche-”

two hands are placed of either side of his face and the words die on reo’s tongue. you look at him with a look of fondness that almost makes him cry and fall to his knees. “-i’m sorry, i don’t know where that came from. i just think i got really lucky having someone like you in my life.” 

reo wants to say that its reverse, that he’s the one who landed in a pot of fortune and came out with someone as kind and beautiful as you, but he’ll find the words some other day because he wants to kiss you, badly. 

finally, you say, “thank you love, i appreciate your gifts.” 

he beams and falls harder in love than he already was.

by the time the two of you arrive at your apartment, the sun is beginning to dip belong the horizon and you hold a lot more goods than anticipated, your boyfriend being the one to blame for most of them.

“are you gonna call someone to drive you home?” you ask, stopping in front of your door.

reo frowns, “i guess i could do that.” 

he makes no move for his phone and his pout is a strong indication of what he truly wants. you’ve always been good at reading reo but you’ve never been good at resisting his wishes, so it’s with a faked sigh that you give in.

“fine,” you hold out your hand for him to take and he very happily complies, beaming with a hope so bright that it blinds you. “want to stay the night?”

he almost drops to one knee but doesn’t get the time to because you’re unlocking your door. this time, you’re leaving it open and reo storms in like its his birth right (which it could be. he thinks he was put on this earth to love you and being welcomed in to your apartment might as well be another declaration of love.)

its refreshing to be in your space once more, to bathe in your presence and be welcomed in instead of shut out. as much as you may scorn him, reo’s only place in the universe is beside you, and he’ll take whatever you give so long as it’s you he gets to see at the end of the day.

“reo!” you call out from the kitchen, disrupting his thoughts. “should we have some of those cakes you bought earlier?”

“yeah, i’m coming!” shouts reo, happy, content, and grateful that you will let him love you, because he’s the only one that could do it right.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I know we're all focused on Satyr/Faun König but that bull comment... I'm quite partial to minotaur's and whats better than a darling who isn't from the area. Oh yes she's innocent of the crimes against König because she was not raised there.

Some foreign little creature just running blind in a maze trying to see where there might be a way out. It's been days after all and the screaming has gotten quieter and she wonders if she's the last one left alive. He takes his time eating his meals... this can be stretched out for such a long time as she hides herself in a dead end just a short rest... the darling is so tired unaware of the horrifyingly silent steps moving closer to her little haven. It's just her left now.

@kit-williams I've wanted to write for Minotaur!König for ages!

Minotaur!König x Ariadne!Reader Word count: 5 k oneshot Tags/warnings: Sexual tension, threats of violence and rape, implied cannibalism, power imbalance, moral ambiguity. Predator/prey dynamic, Beauty and the Beast elements, Ancient Greek religion & lore. 18+ MDNI A/N: The Minotaur in this story is not an actual hybrid. Reader is Hecate’s initiate. Merry Christmas y'all! <3

EDIT: PART 2 HERE

The screams are the worst part.

They echo through the Labyrinth while you wait and wait and wait.

Even the very stones seem to cry and wail as you place your hope on Theseus who descended to this hell along with you and the human cattle. Seven young men and seven unwed women, meant to satisfy a beast...

And judging by the screams alone, it sounds like the monster is satisfied. It sounds like it's having a ball.

Fourteen lives have been lost, their blood swallowed by the earth as if Hades himself is drinking the crimson of Athenian youth in His feast. The flesh is the beast’s to devour: an underworld demon born of tainted lust.

Half bull, half man, you always thought the stories were only tales told by the fire to scare children. Turns out that the stories, for once, are true. There's something even worse in this maze, something cursed and foul... Hecate herself would shiver if She were here, in the womb of the earth, witnessing what you’re witnessing now.

You don’t actually see the Bull of Crete cut or hack or slash anyone, and you can only imagine what the monster does to the bloody, gutted corpses of the young. The only thing you see are the hollow, dark walls carved out of soil, sand, and clay, the intestine-like route dug deep into the earth. And you don't have to see the massacre: the screams tell you enough. The silence that follows betrays even more.

Your only light is flickering, waning: the candle will hardly last an hour. If the hero from Athens won’t arrive soon, you will have to leave this place. 

And oh, how you want to leave… You were a fool to follow him here. Blinded by love and hope, you thought Theseus of Athens would be your way out of Crete, but it’s clear that the only thing the young hero is capable of loving is fame. The only time his eyes turned to yours was when you said you might be able to help him with a small bundle of yarn.

Red as the setting sun or spilling blood, the thin woollen string is your only way out now. It’s ironic how a heap of twine is the only thing that can help you out of this hellhole, but the Fates always did possess a cruel sense of humour. Your silly daydreams might’ve cost your life, and even if you’re sworn to the dark goddess, you would rather die anywhere but here. In the darkness, all alone, with nothing but eyeless worms to keep company to your decaying bones.

The sudden draft from the outside world is warm but threatens to blow out your candle. It’s a sign from Apollo: if you don’t leave now, you’re dead. Theseus has to manage without you because you’re not dying in this underworld prison because of some man’s stupid lust for fame.

There's only deafening silence in the maze as you scurry up, taking support from the wall as your sight darkens for a moment. You rose too soon: you can’t even remember the last time you ate. And it appears that even the sun god has abandoned you because there's a faint echo of steps in the tunnel, and they don’t belong to a man. They’re too thick, unduly heavy, and it’s not a pair of sandals that are thumping against the soil.

So, Theseus is dead...

So much for the legend, the myth, the demigod.

Heart thumping in your chest and in the hollow of your throat, it threatens to drown the sound of approaching footsteps. They’re all dead, the people who descended here with you. The only thing you are right now is prey. You're being hunted; whether the Minotaur knows you're here or not, you know you're being hunted. You can feel it in your gut.

You cover the candle with one hand, hoping that the flickering light doesn’t reach around the bend. The falling thump of the footsteps stops, and you still your breath, hoping that the beast would turn around and search the other way.

You hear it sniffing behind the wall. It's trying to catch your scent in the air, the smell of dread and terror, sweat so thick it must reach his nostrils and make them flare with lust. Your heart is thundering in your chest, and the tunnel is so quiet that that you’re certain the creature will hear that, too. (Your heart always betrays you.)

And your luck is cursed.

The beast shifts. 

You can’t see him yet, but you can hear it: the scraping sound underneath his feet as he aligns himself anew, choosing the path that leads straight down to you.

“Hecate save me,” you whisper into the air that seems to grow denser as he approaches, loud thumps of feet now accompanied by metal grating against clay. 

“Hear me, flame-bearing guide... Darkness, protect me…”

He’s dragging bronze against the wall, announcing that he’s carrying a weapon with him, the strength of a bull apparently not satisfying enough if he wants to break your bones with metal.

Don’t blow out the candle... 

If you blow it out, you’ll die.

It’s a clear message, a knowing voice in your head that says it. It’s not young, it’s not old: just knowing. Alert. Wise beyond ages. 

So you still your breath and wait.

Shadows fill the curve of the tunnel just before he emerges: thick like thunder, a darkness so deep that even the name of the twilight goddess escapes your tongue. 

And he’s big. Bigger than the bulls you used to dance with, bigger than kings, or heroes, bigger than even Theseus, the man you thought was a myth walking. His head is enormous, bigger than the rest of him, awkward and rough like it’s not quite part of him even though he’s supposed to be half ox. 

The gigantic, horned figure stops when it sees you. Vast shoulders tense; the fat, double-edged sword falls to his side when he settles to loom between you and your only way to escape this place. You’re oddly thankful that the horrible screeching stopped, but then you notice that his blade is drenched in blood: actually, his torso, thighs, even the buckskin loincloth – the only garment this monster has chosen to wear – is spattered with red dots. 

The bronze tip drips with crimson, and the earth drinks it all. Hades is never satisfied: this beast is never full. Everyone who was sent down here is dead: everyone else has met their doom except you. You wonder if your mother would cry if she heard her only daughter died because she fell in love with a fool.

“I killed your hero,” the walls of hell boom. 

His voice is thick like tar, dark and foul like it’s the God of Earth himself speaking.

The flame in your hand quivers from fear, and you slowly remove your palm, the tiny candle illuminating the beast with warm homely yellow, making the prominent muscles of his chest even bigger. 

He’s carved like the statues in Athens, only, this giant is far hairier than the painted marble heroes of the city. The hair on his chest is thick and wild; it shoots down his abdomen and disappears underneath the loincloth, spreads over his inner thighs, even covers his shins in dark mats. He looks like a wild man, a beast indeed: sweaty, filthy and thick. But you never knew a beast like him could talk…

“A coward, that one,” he snarls, the voice reverberating oddly like it’s a human man speaking from under a wooden mask or inside a clay jug.

And you believe every word he says.

Theseus was strong and able-bodied, but he had built his strength just to show it off. This man’s body speaks of pure, ripe survival.

A hulking shadow with shoulders that barely fit the tunnels of the Labyrinth, with palms nearly twice the size of yours, he’s the myth walking instead of the hero whose blood now adorns that dull bronze blade. The Minotaur who survived his father’s wrath, his mother’s absence, these bleak surroundings, and all the heroes sent down to get his head… His weapon isn’t even sharp anymore, and still, he managed to cut through the sacrificial humans like butter. And what a horrific death it must’ve been to be hacked to pieces by a dull blade.

Is it evil of you to hope that the death of your “hero” wasn’t a quick one…?

Theseus was a fool and a coward, rotten to the core, but you saw all of that too late. He never cared about the human sacrifices or the king’s wrath; he never cared about digging into Pasiphae’s sorrow. He only cared about getting his face depicted on a pot or having his deeds played out in amphitheatres, his name uttered in song, accompanied by harp and flute.

“I know.”  

Your voice gets sucked into the earth: it doesn’t echo from the walls like his. It’s thin, damp, and frail, just like everything else meant to walk under the sun instead of stand buried under the earth.

But the beast before you tilts its head a little. It’s curious. 

Why would you say that? 

Why don’t you cry from hearing the news...? Why don’t you howl out your hero’s name and beg the gods to heed your grief? Why don’t you run away from a monster?

The candlelight is puny and weak, but it’s bright enough to bring out the eyes of an animal. You draw breath in the dampness of the earth when you finally see it: the bull’s head is devoid of eyes, and yet, the beast still has them. Blue as the summer sky, stern as the death grip of winter just before spring.

There’s nothing but ripped shreds of skin where the eyes should be, and instead of looking at you from the sides, they’re greeting you from the front. The horns are sturdy, but otherwise, the colossal head is a bit skewed... Thick patches of fur sticking out as if it was years and years old, and then – you realize it’s not his head; it’s only an illusion. 

There’s a man under there. A full, grown man who’s made himself a terrible helmet out of a bull’s carcass. 

“You’re a man,” you say out loud, earning yourself another shift of the colossal head.

“...What?”

The muffled echo confirms it: he’s speaking from inside the bull, moving only slightly to get a better look at you. 

“You’re not a monster. You’re just a man.”

His eyes are wild but intelligent; they pierce you from inside the inanimate shield. The large chest heaves, his ribs flare like sails as he draws air through what must be the foul stench of a long-dead animal.

He takes a step, and you shrink, almost dropping your candle and the roll of red yarn.

“You think talking will save you, female?”

He speaks like a man, walks like a man, but his moves are an animal’s. Shoulders slightly hunched like he’s a bull about to attack, you recognize the way his muscles quiver from the times when you used to do bull leaping. You don’t dance with Rhea’s oxen anymore: your tasks at Hecate’s temple are more suitable and less wild for a maiden your age. Back when you were younger and more agile, you used to jump from the back of one bull to the next, clouds of dust swirling around you as you showed your prowess to the priests.

But you can’t charm this ox by dancing. This one can’t be tricked or fooled: he will pierce you with those horns or his brazen sword if you take even a step.

“I can get you out of here,” you wet your lips, noticing that the blue eyes shoot straight to your mouth when you do that. “I know the way out.”

“What makes you think I want out,” he says, so tight and tense that you fear he’s either about to leap at your throat or plunge his sword into your chest.

And you should be concerned about your own safety, not about his sensibilities – if he even has such things – but hearing this beast man’s reply is like drinking bile. 

Why would anyone want to stay here?

You don’t know if he eats human flesh; you don’t know if he had to in order to survive. Everyone knows why his father threw him down here, but no one knows he’s not half the things the people above say he is. And if half of it isn’t true, what other lies have been told about the Minotaur? 

Even most prisoners see the sun, yet this man has been deprived of that, too. He’s been robbed of mother’s love, of father’s mercy, of friends and foes, of mentors and guides. He’s been robbed of life, of stars, of fires and summer skies, of women’s giggles, of fistfights with fellow men. Of songs and plays, of festivals and games, of bull dances, and maidens that leap…

“Have you ever been up there…? On the surface?”

You turn your voice into soft water on pebbles, a soothing pour of persuasion and goodwill. His pecs contract, strong abs under thin hair and body fat bunch like you’re about to hit him there. You take a step, and now it’s his turn to shun away. It’s only half an inch, but he actually moves away from you. 

“I can take you there,” you offer gently. “Have you ever seen the sun…?”

It’s like talking to a starved predator, trying to entice them to follow you with a fresh steak in hand, hoping that the fanged mouth won’t take more than was promised if it decides to accept the offering.

And the beast accepts. 

“As a boy,” he grunts, a tad more softly. 

Those eyes are fixed on you, reminding you of horses when they’re slightly afraid. The glint of white and blue behind the carcass is fiercely alive, quite unlike the hollow, disinterested stare of the Athenian hero who was only interested in himself.

But this beast is interested. Oh, the Bull Man of Crete is wildly, fiercely curious about you. 

“You’ll take me to the sun,” he repeats, an affirmation rather than a question.

“Yes. To the surface. I promise.”

He moves. Like an animal who learned long ago to drive others into the corner so that he wouldn’t get forced there himself, he’s primal, sensual in the way that oracles in a trance are sensual.

Approaching you in silence that’s almost eerie, the hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end by the time he’s only an arm’s length away. Why announce his coming earlier if he can move so quietly?

“You’ll lead me to my father.” 

His gaze bores into you, and not even the warm draft from the tunnels can prevent you from shivering. He’s distrustful, and it’s no wonder. It must be odd that some girl with a candle and a bundle of yarn is suddenly waiting for him around the bend, and doesn’t even flee. He’s a behemoth, but he’s not stupid. A stupid man would not have been able to survive, let alone thrive in this place.

And why should he trust you? Who is he supposed to trust in this maze when every person he has seen has either run away from him or tried to kill him? His father will slaughter him if he ever escapes the Labyrinth, so what else is a priestess in his kingdom but a squealing mouse, trying to feed him lies and then guide him to the surface and into a forest of spears? 

“No,” you shake your head slowly. “No, I promise I know the way. There will be no soldiers–”

You shut your mouth just before a huge palm closes around your throat. 

Gods, but he moves fast when he wants to… 

The candle and the yarn drop the instant his hand seizes your neck, strong fingers nearly meeting at the back as he squeezes your windpipe ever so slowly.

And he’s so close now. The carcass reeks of death, but the man underneath stinks of plain human sweat. His musk is a peculiar mix of blood, earth and soil, something both stale and invigorating, the thin sheen of sweat and dirt covering his muscles making him look like a common builder. It’s strange that the bull’s head hasn’t yet decayed in this place, that the man doesn’t reek of bodies and bones that must be scattered around like debris further down the tunnels. 

Another thing that’s strange is that he doesn’t seem to want to simply silence you.

He also wants to touch you.

A wide thumb strokes the underside of your jaw as he studies you. It slides down the column of your throat, the blue eyes gleaming with fascination when you swallow against him.

He drinks in the sight of you: the lips that part with fear, the frail collarbones that breathe against the side of his palm. The promising crevice between your breasts, the enticing softness of your teats. 

You can hear his breath grow heavy under ox skin and bone, the rugged, vicious helmet he has chosen to wear. What lies under, you can only imagine, wherein he has little left to the imagination when taking in the curve of your breasts, your nipples rising to peaks under the thin white linen only temple virgins use. 

Seeing your reaction to his touch makes him growl -- he actually growls like an animal, a deep, low rumble of approval rising up his throat when he sees how different your body is from his. How supple and cushy it is, soft and plump like a peach, covered only barely as if to tease a best like him. You wonder if he ever took pleasure in the maidens sent here by the king… If he ever thrust the sword between his legs into their weak bodies before giving them the mercy of his actual blade. Would he even know what to do with a woman, having lived here for so long?

“Please,” you whisper, bringing his eyes back to yours, the ice in them now liquid sapphire of pure want. 

Gods… You need to bring his attention back to your offer of help before he sees it more compelling to just stay here and play with his new, plump little mouse. Virgin or not, you wouldn’t survive a mating with this man. 

“I swear on Hecate’s torch that it’s not a trap. You have my word: I’m a priestess soon to be.”

He’s entranced. Hypnotized by your lips. You lick them to confirm your fears true: the man grunts with pleasure, out of instinct, absentmindedly like an animal who reacts to the sight of a fat, meaty bone. 

Oh, he might not know what to do with a woman… But he would try his best to find out. 

“Priestess…?” He rasps.

“It’s a holy woman,” you explain. “I serve the Goddess of the Crossroads.”

He snorts, either because he’s not impressed or because he’s downright amused by your vocation. The eyes, warmer, more demanding now, are far from the eyes of a bewildered beast.

“Little female of the crossroads... You will take me to the king. And then, I will kill him.”

He puts weight into his words, tries to make you understand. 

He wants you to guide him to his father. 

To the King who claims his son is half bull, to the husband who claims his wife was adulterous with an ox. To the King who demands tribute as virgins so that he can send them down to hell. The dark goddess screams justice, but you're at a horrible stalemate.

The gods will curse you for this… They will smite you with a bolt of lightning or drown you next time you cross the great sea if they see you’ve helped this half-beast escape. If you guide him to Minos, you’re a participant in kingslaying, and the gods never forget things like that.

“He’s your father and the king of Crete,” you whisper in fear. “The gods will strike you down–”

“Gods?” He spits. “I piss on the gods. I fuck their corpses and leave them to rot.”

You almost choke on the blasphemy levelled at you. The shadows creep closer, the stare behind the black fur is dark and amused, burning with the crooked wrath of a thousand years. 

“Perhaps I’ll fuck you too.”

It’s unnerving that you don’t find the threat wholly unappealing.

If anything, your eyes drift down to the hairs of his chest, to the two big muscles that resemble the work of the best sculptors in Athens. 

“Are you a virgin, female of the crossroads?”

His eyes search for your response: they want to see your fear and disgust. You swallow again, arduously against his hand, both caressing and testing you. 

The beast leans forward, as if weighing if he could somehow insult the gods by pillaging you. The rough hair of his chest meets the white cloth, it brushes against your nipples as he bends down to have a good sniff of you.

“You smell like a virgin,” he growls.

The hand leaves your throat, only to travel down your sternum. He grabs your breast nonchalantly, a little too roughly, the hot palm closing around the teat and squeezing it like it’s a toy. When you don’t react, he squeezes it again, this time hard enough to coax a whimper out of you.

“Sound like a virgin…”

Without warning, the hand dives straight between your legs next, palm forcing its way through your thighs and curving to cup your sex, moulding around it with barbaric thirst.

“Feel like a virgin, too.”

It’s thick, hot, and heavy, how he simply tries you through your dress. Fingers testing your folds, he’s clearly enjoying the subtle wetness he finds down there. You can hear another hitched grunt pushing up his throat, rugged and whiny this time, a broken groan that dissipates because of how dry his throat is. 

No man has ever dared to lay his hands on you... Many have wanted, but none have tried. Even drunkards and fools respect women who belong to the dark goddess.

But he doesn’t care about the wrath of Hecate. He doesn’t give a shit about the gods. He simply takes what he wants, what falls into his lap. The fifteenth offering, but he doesn’t seem to be interested in devouring your flesh. 

How easily he could simply yank that loincloth aside and drag your dress up. Force his cock into your tight, wet heat without uttering a word. You doubt that he would even take the trouble of laying you down on the ground for taking... Beasts rut when they want to: this man could fuck you against this wall if his loins demanded so, guttural groans being the last thing you hear before the candle goes out. 

You don’t know if you have to spread your legs for him before this is over, but you reckon you will do even that if it means you’ll see the sun again. You’ll endure every thick thrust, and gods be cursed, you wouldn’t even be solely disgusted if this half-animal chose to breed you... As shameful as it is, you would somewhat enjoy having him rut you like an animal in heat.

And you’ve gone mad, surely. 

You want to touch him too, just to test another theory. 

Deciding that it's a good idea to stick your hand into the maw of hell, your fingers lift. They meet his bicep, and the lewd panting stops.

He’s not even breathing… He’s just drowsy and drunk, looking at you with a mixture of soft sleepiness and awe in his stare. Like a dog who has never been petted, even his eyes drift half closed when he forgets to threaten you, now focusing solely on your hand. 

And you start to caress him, slowly, so slowly… Tracing the muscle all the way up where it meets the shoulder, you stroke even the thick cord that leads to his neck. The rest of him disappears under the bull, but the man behind it already shivers under your touch. He even bends his head a little in hopes that you would go under the mask and touch him there, and the gesture reminds you of an animal exposing its vulnerable areas, baring its very throat in submission. 

Braving a quick peek down, you notice that the buckskin cloth is stretched high and wide. His whole body is tense and immobile: you could cup him through the soft animal skin and he would probably shoot his seed from a single stroke of your palm. 

If this is not a virgin, you don’t know what is...

In a way, it would perhaps be wise to shove your hand down and disarm this man. That way, you would be safe for a few more minutes. Instead, you lay your palm over his chest, right over where his heart should be. 

“So do you, Bull of Crete...”

His gaze flickers.

The darkness hesitates, widens, nearly swallows the azure pools whole. But he doesn’t look irate or wild... Only shocked.

It’s an impasse. A thicket. His hand on you, your hand on him.

He surrenders first: the underworld budges before the utterly pure. You bless him with grace the instant he withdraws his hand from between your legs – slowly, reluctantly, like leaving a place that belongs to him. Or to which he belongs…

“I promise I’ll help you, Minos Tauros. But I need you to give me something in return.”

You remove your hand too. Softly, slowly, like a horse master who trains and tames wild things. All words seem to have escaped his tongue: he only grunts, unsure of what a beast like him could give you in return for your help.

“You must promise to be kind to me.”

“Kind...?”

“I need you to behave,” you explain. “No bad things on the way up... No fucking.”

Everything else, he seems to accept, but during the last sentence the Minotaur blinks at you, utterly confused.

“But... You smell like you want to fuck.” 

Your jaw drops open a tiny bit. Then you remember that a priestess of Hecate doesn’t gawk.

“I don’t–How would you know that…?”

The beast only shrugs. Then he leans forward and takes another sniff as if to prove it’s true that you want his cock inside you.

“You smell good,” he grunts. “Different... Female, not afraid.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to…”

He even raises his hand to inspect the slight wetness there. Fascinated by the thin film on his fingers, he rubs his thumb in it, probably thinking about bringing it under his mask to get a good sniff of your juices too.

You grab his wrist without thinking, mortified to your core by the prospect of him getting high on your slick. 

“Look. We need to leave before the candle burns out.”

The obsessive stare threatens to swallow you once more, so you let go of his wrist and steel your resolve. Scooting down to grab your things, you try to ignore the violent erection still pointing straight at you.

Hecate keep you from offering yourself to this man out of your own free will...

And you don’t have a torch, only a candle and a skein of blood-red yarn, but you know the way out, so there’s hope. There’s always hope.

“I need you to promise me,” you turn at the mouth of the tunnel, seeing that he’s still standing there, in the place where he almost took you like his first whore. As if waking up from a thrall, he straightens to his full height, picks up his sword and looks like a half-human, half-bull once more.

“I promise,” comes a booming voice from under the animal skull. “No fucking… I’ll behave.” 

You nod. There's a sense of trust in the air. A promise of hope... It's mutual, invigorating -- life-giving, like the sun and blood in your hands.

You don't know if the son of Minos has ever smiled in here, but from the quick glint in his eyes, you suspect that he's smiling right now, the man under that animal mask. Somehow, it reminds you of the stars in the sky.

“Lead the way, maiden.”

[waitingonher]

ELECTRIC TOUCH — [jason grace dating headcanons]

author's note: i need 2024 to be THE year. 2023 did me soooo dirty. im praying

dating JASON GRACE would be like dating someone from a regency era romance novel…he’s just SUCH a hopeless romantic but he would rather die than admit it.

in the initial first few weeks of dating, jason was sosososooooo shy about pda/physical touch. it’s not that he was uncomfortable, he LOVES physical touch, but he had just gone so long without it that he wasn’t used to it. but eventually, he warms up to it…and now he can’t go without having at least one part of him touching you 😭 

when it came to things like hugs, kisses, handholding, etc. jason would always wait for you to initiate it because he was so anxious about making you uncomfortable ?? fjsldfjs 

but when you communicated that he didn’t need to ask/wait for you all the time, jason started initiating things more. even still, he occasionally gets nervous to even hold your hand? like wdym you’ve been dating for over six months and you still get nervous doing simple couple things 😭 it’s very endearing though 

chivalry is NOT dead,, and it’s because of jason LMAO. he’s the type to swap shoes with you even though you’re wearing heels that are 3x too small for him, but hey, at least your feet don’t hurt anymore!

jason’s also hellbent on carrying things for you, opening doors for you, pulling out/pushing in chairs for you, etc… GOD HE’S SO CUTE. 

since dating him, you don’t think you’ve ever touched a single door or car handle when he’s with you. 

jason is NOT afraid to advocate or stand up for you, especially if you’re more on the quiet & non-confrontational side. if you’re in a group setting and someone interrupts you, he’s making sure you get your chance to say what you wanted to say. and he doesn’t do it in a way that leaves you embarrassed, he’s very very classy with it! 

if you’re a big music person, jason will literally learn your favorite artist’s entire discography so you guys have another thing to talk about. 

you guys also have a shared playlist of “your songs” and he’s so serious about it 😭 if jason hears a song that even remotely reminds him of you, he’s going to the ends of the earth to figure out what it’s called. 

rip to anyone around him if shazam doesn’t work! he’s gonna send voice messages to your big group chat humming the tune, but he’s so tone deaf that no one knows the song…and his search history is just variations of “song that goes du du ooh du ooh du du ooh” a for effort though babes…

jason’s love languages are definitely acts of service and quality time. over the years and throughout the many battles he’s fought, he’s come to realize that all he wants to do when he comes home is just spend time with his loved ones. 

after a busy day, you’ll come home to find your laundry folded, bed sheets washed & freshly made, along with a sweet little note from jason <3 

your guys’ thing are writing notes to each other. considering his and your busy schedule, you’ll write and leave tiny notes around the house for each other to find. it’s one of the many reasons why jason gets up in the morning. 

he loves coming home to you after a long day to simply melt in your arms. there’s just something so soothing about cuddling with you after a busy day. 

it does not matter where you are, you guys could literally be cleaning the camp toilets and he’d still be able to find the fun in it. you’re his home, and he’d follow you wherever you go. 

if you play sports, you already know he’s showing up to ALL your games. it doesn’t matter if it’s pouring rain or if it’s hours away, he’s absolutely determined to show his support. jason even makes posters with your jersey number and when you have big tournaments he’ll show up with posters of your face 😭 the refs are SO tired of jason help

i feel like if he really tried, jason would be a good cook. 

one day you sent him a recipe you saw online saying you wanted to make it with him, but then he decided to make it himself to surprise you. and it was actually so good??? 

JASON IN A “KISS THE COOK” APRON OMFG. that’s what you got him for his birthday and every single time without fail, he’ll wear it when he’s cooking. 

one of his hidden talents is that he’s super good at origami. he originally picked it up because he heard it was a good stress reliever, but now he also does it for you <3 

he loves your reaction when he gives you little paper rings or an origami version of your favorite animal! 

this guy DREAMS of domesticity. he’s always been the type to date to marry, and that’s just what he intends to do with you! even though you guys are still young, he’s been planning your proposal sfjfls

tell me why he already knows what kind of ring he wants to get you… omg. 

he really wants to just settle down with you in new rome. but honestly, he’s willing to do anything as long as you’re at his side. 

expect flowers from jason at least once a month! he even keeps one flower so he knows when it’s time to get you a new bouquet. and if he’s away, he’ll get one of his friends to deliver it! 

i have this headcanon that the aphrodite cabin teams up with the hephaestus cabin to throw a really elaborate party, essentially like prom. anyways, jason would go all out for your promposal jfdsls i feel like he would either do a super funny poster/proposal like y’know that one guy who did that medieval promposal 😭 yeah well jason would do something like that but like...more roman... LMFAO him pulling up to your place in a chariot 

or he would do something super super intricate and planned out…like a fancy picnic and then he’d have the fauns arrange fireflies to spell out “prom?” when it’s dark out. 

ugh! jason grace the man that you are… <3 best bf ever,, i can confirm btw

[hikarry]

I'm not really on the team that swears to Jesus and beyond that Crowley lost his memories after the Fall. Yes, of course, he forgot some stuff because, ya know, he has been alive for more than 6000 years and if I don't remember what I ate for lunch yesterday, Satan knows he won't remember every single second of his life, but he remembers the important things

"Ah, but what about him not remembering fighting alongside FurFur or building the thingy with Saraqael?"

Love, I give you two options:

Those are either some of the stuff he didn't consider important enough to remember OR he is just straight up fucking with them. He does remember, but why reveal it if playing dumb sometimes is good in the long run? Might be useful

Alas, I don't know, but I will die on the hill that he does remember

Which means he most probably remembers meeting Aziraphale. Not because Aziraphale was "important" at the time per se, or because it was love at first sight (because it wasnt, not for him. Bro was so focused on the nebula he didnt even introduce himself when Aziraphale did. He threw him a "Right. Nice to meet ya. Anyway, nebula time!"), but because he was there when Crowley created the nebula and, as he said, he had been waiting for that moment since "well, always". It's an important moment for him, so he remembers. Aziraphale just so happened to be present

I don't know if that was the only interaction they had in Heaven or not (and that's not the point I'm trying to get to so I will ignore that problem for a later post, maybe), but when the now Demon Crawley was sent up to the Garden, he did remember Aziraphale. That's why he approached him

Cmon, Crowley isn't stupid. Of course he wouldn't approach an angel on the wall just willy nilly and make conversation. He didn't know Aziraphale had given away the flaming sword yet. Just approaching an angel from behind and morph into a demon next to him out of nowhere could be a death sentence. Or at least an A Line for a good smitting

Yet, he did it. He had at least 3 other angels to choose from but he approached the angel that he remembered from back in the beginning that was kind enough to help him with the engine of the nebula. Hell! I even bet this was not the first time they saw each other in the Garden!

Bet they've seen and observed each other from afar a few times while they interacted with the humans (yes, cause I believe Crawley, before tempting Eve, tried to gain her trust. It's easier to listen to a friend than a random snake) or just around the Garden really.

That's why Aziraphale didn't get surprised when Crawley showed up at the wall, because he knew the demon snake had been around the Garden for a while. He probably even recognized him as the former Star Maker and hoped he was still a little bit of his old self so he allowed himself to engage in conversation

Anyhow, another clue? This:

He remembers how Heaven works. He remembers he was a high ranking angel. Satan, he remembers the bloody passwords!

Do you know what else he remembers?

Cause they didn't throw that line in there for nothing. No, gents. Cmon. Nothing is random in Good Omens

He knows who he was. He remembers being the Star Maker that hung the stars in the sky

He remembers why he fell, for goodness sake

And the fact that he remembers everything makes all of it so much more tragic, doesn't it? He remembers his life before the Fall, his supposed friends that dragged him into the pit with them, what Her love felt like, the "mistakes" he made that led to his Fall

And it must have hurt. It must have hurt so much when he found himself in a pit of boiling sulfur with his wings completely burned and without Her love because he remembered it all. He must have been so bloody confused for so long

He might have regretted it. All the questions and the company he kept that made him Fall. But he doesn't anymore.

He knows he doesn't need Heaven, he doesn't need Hell. They are toxic. All he needs is his pacific fragile existence on Earth with Aziraphale and yet...well, that's something else he won't forget now, is it?

*clears throat*

I rest my case

[spacedace]

It was the final hour. Doomsday at their door, with only hours left before the world was consumed entirely and every last living thing was devoured right along with it.

Summoning the High King of the Infinite Realms was the only option left, and even then felt more like choosing a firing squad rather than a noose at the end of the day. Pariah Dark might - might - accept the task of destroying the foe they faced, but tmit would come at a cost that was near equal to doing nothing at all. Provided the tyrannical ruler simply didn't let them all die, an entire planet dead was an entire planet to add to his endless armies.

They had to try. Stupid and suicidal as it was.

Zantanna and John worked in silence as they created the summoning circle, hands shaking and stomachs cramping as they worked under the apprehensive eyes of the rest of the League. They all understood that no matter what happened, they would all likely end up dead by the end of it. That the best case scenario meant that death was only the beginning of their problems.

Candles were lit. Insense burned. Blood spilled. Words spoken.

Nothing.

Nothing.

It failed, not so much as a flicker of magic. Which was impossible, they'd checked and confirmed a dozen times that they had the right ritual, that they were following the steps, they had done everything right way wasn't it working? What had they done wr-

"Ugh, gross is that blood?"

Elle Phantom, fifteen minuted late to the site of the ritual with both the boys Super, the most murderous Robin and a sugary abomination of an iced coffee from Starbucks, scrunched her nose in disgust as she looked at the summoning circle.

"This ritual is so out of date, where did you even find it? Wait is that Latin? Who tries to summon someone from the Ghost Zone in Latin?"

John had burned through every drop of alcohol and cigarette he owned hours ago while trying to find this bloody damn ritual and was very much not in the mood for the little hellspawn's color commentary on the process.

"I don't bloody well seeing you providing with any alternatives for summoning the Ghost King." He swore, turning away from the gremlin to tear through the ancient book he and Zantanna had discovered with the ritual inside.

There was a loud slurping noise as the undead hero sucked the last remnants of her drink through the straw. John's brow twitched, even Zantanna - who usually seemed endeared by the chaos goblin - looked at the end of her rope.

Then - "Oh, is that who you wanted to summon? Why didn't you say so?" She drifted over, handing her empty drink off to a disgruntled looking Batman, and began rummaging through the unused magival supplies left over from the - failed - summoning circle. "Here, give me like, five minutes."

John was fairly certain his head was about to explode.

"You know how to summon the Ghost King? You?"

Phantom rolled her eyes at him. "Duh, obviously."

"Obviously." Zantanna repeated, looking like she was half a moment away from having a breakdown. She didn't try to stop the ghostly girl, though, and to be fair neither was John. They were already fucked, might as well let the gremlin try her hand at it.

It took less than the five minutes Phantom had claimed she needed.

When she was done there was a significantly smaller circle on the ground. At the cardinal directions of the circle, written clockwise she'd drawn not any magical runes but instead what appeared to be the Roman Numerals for one, then two, then something akin to a sideways T with an additional mark rising upward from the long horizontal bar, then the letter L.

It had to have some kind of ancient magical significance John didn't know as Shazam made a noise like a dying goose and squeaked out the word Loss like it was a question. Phantom gave the Champion of Magic a sharp toothed grin before adding some words in a language John didn't know before she finally allowed gravity to pull her back to earth and plant her feet on the ground.

She wiped her hands together a bit dramatically, looking pleased with herself, but at that point John didn't care. He could feel the building magic, heavy and oppressive as she had begun her task. Unlike the circle he and Zantanna had attempted, this one was working.

He couldn't help thr nervous swallow he gave as Phantom then declared, with a strange amount of seriousness. "All that’s left are the words."

She took a deep breath, eyes closing for a moment, and the world went utterly silent around them. This, John could feel, this was the real deal. Fuck him sideways the hellspawn was actually doing it.

Phantom's eyes opened, glowing with that bright eerie green light of her power. Another deep breath and then -

"You are my dad! You're my dad!" He watched, any scraps of hope she'd instilled in him dying an undignified death as she gave a terrible little wiggle dance while she sang(?) Off key, "Boogie woogie woogie!"

Every last person on Earth was going to die and one of John's last moments was going to be spent watching the little undead shit do the Macarena. Well fuck him, he guessed.

Then there was the sound of the veil between the world's tearing in two and the fucking Ghost King was standing in Phantom's summoning circle screaming in a screeching falsetto:

"When will you learn? When will you learn that your actions have consequences!"

You know what actually at this point John would rather the apocalypse kill him.

[tootiecakes234]

First Kiss

Your first kiss with Katsuki was overwhelming…

The two of you have been friends since U.A. You’ve gotten so close over past couple years to the point where if your friends saw you they expected him not to be far behind and vice versa.

Best friends, that’s what you’ve settled with because you know Kat had 0 interest in you outside of that. You’ve seen the girls he’s hooked up with and you did not fit that type at all.

And don’t get it wrong, you loved being his best friend. He taught you stand up for yourself and you’d taught him how to speak to people with some level of respect. You guys were good together… yin and yang you liked to think

One night, you’re leaving a hangout you guys had at Mina’s place and Kat is walking you home. It was cool out that night and the moon was shining so bright you could still see the clouds in the sky. Apparently you had been gotten lost looking up at it.

“Oi, earth to y/n…. Get your ass moving. I’m exhausted and I’m ready to get home.”

When you come back to reality and look at him, he does look tired. It was almost 11:30pm and Kat had a strict bed time of 9:30…. 10 if he was feeling frisky.

“You do realize I don’t need you to walk me home. I’m a pro hero. I think I can take care of myself”

“Psh…. It’s not a criminal I’m worried about taking you out. It’s your clumsy ass coordination. You’re going to end up offing yourself if you don’t learn how to walk like an adult”

Ok so yea… maybe you had sprained your ankle last year while walking up some stairs. That’s wasn’t your fault tho… it was the stair ‘s fault.

“Are you ever gonna let that go?? Isn’t it getting a little old?”

“It still makes me laugh so nope…”

You rolled your eyes at him. He’s such a dick.

You were now walking up the same previously mentioned stairs to your apartment with Katsuki on your heels.

“ Are these the tights you were talking about the other day?? The ones that make your ass look “the best it’s ever looked””

“ Yea!!! Doesn’t it look amazing??!? I gave Mina the link while we were at her house because she mention how fantastic they looked on me”

“Sure I guess. I ain’t seen anything your ass doesn’t look good in but whatever you say”

You didn’t know what to say to that. He was just upfront like that. The man had little to no filter. Thank god you were at your door. You were unlocking it and about to go inside..

“Wait”

You turned around to look at him.

“What’s up”

“I uhm… well….”

“Come on, spit it out. I ain’t got all night”

He stared you directly in your eyes and said

“Fuck it”

Before you had time to react you were pressed up against the wall and his lips were on yours. Calling what happened a kiss seemed to be a real understatement. It was more like he was consuming you. More so than he already had. You got lost in him. Your hands were in his hair and his arms were around your waist pressing you against him.

When he pulled away you found yourself chasing his lips because you were afraid if it stopped, it might never start again.

“Next time, instead of bitching to raccoon eyes about how you don’t think you’re my type, just come straight to me dumbass. Since when do you keep secrets from me?”

You were really trying to pull your train of thought together but it was really hard when his lips still looked so inviting.

Kat realizes you’re not paying attention to him and flicks you in the forehead.

“Hey asshole. You know I hate when you do that”

“Then pull yourself together. I know I kiss like a god but that doesn’t mean you get to space out.”

He was smirking at you. Katsuki Bakugo had just kissed you and was now standing in front of you looking all suave and handsome. If you died here, you’d die a very happy person.

Your brain started playing catch and you realized something

“So you were eavesdropping on a private conversation?? And I wasn’t bitching… she was asking about you and me yet again and I was explaining to her that I didn’t think it’d ever happen”

You said the last part a little softer because you were embarrassed talking about all of this

“I wasn’t eavesdropping… it was shitty hair. Idk what you think my type is but apparently you got it all wrong”

He does not elaborate or tell you that you are his type. He just leaves it at that so you side step it

“I’m gonna kill Eiji…”

You guys sit there for a second until

“Anyways I’m tired . I’m going home to salvage the little bit of sleep I am going to get tonight. See ya later.”

And he turned to leave. Just like that.

“So that’s it… you kiss me, reveal my biggest secret and leave”

All you can do is sit there befuddled and confused.

“Yep. See ya tomorrow”

Katsuki actually leaves after that. He was not playing about his sleep. You do get a message about 10minutes later letting you know he’s home and also requesting the link to the tights you had on that night.

You ask him why he needs that and all he says is that you need them in more colors than just black… ha! You knew your ass looked good in these!

*you do not know until weeks later that in his head, that kiss was the start of y’all’s relationship. Asshole never does actually ask you but what else do you really expect from the angry Pomeranian?🤷🏾‍♀️

[hashtagboykisser]

HARRY POTTER HCS !!

FIRST “I LOVE YOU” !!

prompt: harry potter characters and their first “i love you”s in relationships

characters included: harry potter, ron weasley, hermione granger, draco malfoy, ginny weasley, seamus finnigan, fred weasley, george weasley

warnings: you and seamus smoking in seamus’ part, swearing, physical abuse in george’s part

harry j. potter…

who said it: harry

when: 5th year

“cmon… just a little bit more..” harry cooed patiently, hands placed on your hips. “forget it, harry. i don’t think i’ll ever get it right.” you sighed, wanting to throw your wand down on the ground.

dumbledore’s army had just begun merely a few sessions ago, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get your patronous just right.

maybe it was because you upset professor dolores umbridge today and pushed her far beyond her limits (not even on purpose, for that matter). or maybe it’s because colin creevey was stuck way too far up your arsehole whenever you would do something wrong when it came to today’s D.A session.

“well, maybe i can give you a happy memory to think about.” harry suggested. “how on earth do you plan to do that?” you questioned, wary of what he may do.

“maybe…like this.”

and with that, harry began to scan your lips with his, feeling for all the fine details that no one else would get to see but himself.

harry felt you smile against his own lips before pulling away, with a lopsided grin smearing his cheeks.

“i love you.” harry smiled, sounding as if he’s been waiting a century to say those words to you.

“i love you too.”

ron b. weasley…

who said it: him

when: 3rd year

“oh no!! oh no no no..!!” the ginger boy roared as he was being dragged by the foot by the black-furred dog (unbeknownst to him, which was sirius black), “i can’t die yet!! i haven’t told (y/n) how much i love her yet!!”

“you bloody moron, she’s right here!!” the shorter bushy haired girl replied, slightly jealous it was her best friends name and not her own.

“i love you, (y/n)! if i die, i promise my ghost will haunt you!!” ron shouted before being dragged away out of sight.

“i love you too!” you yelped, hoping he could still hear you.

hermione j. granger…

who said it: you

when: 7th year

“i know this isn’t much… but i wanted to be able to do something for you for our anniversary.” hermione said, rubbing her neck in pure embarrassment.

you, hermione, harry, and ron were on a hunt to look for all of voldemort’s horcurxes, and because of that, you all were staying in a rubbish tent in the woods.

the tent was empty for the most part, other than the small radio player that had muggle romance music on it.

“harry and ron are out of our hair…well for now anyway. i told them to go look for anything that could be useful, i just wanted to have a nice 3 months you.”

“you kicked them out for me?” you asked, disbelief leaving your throat.

“well yes — and i know it’s not much but-” the brunette would’ve continued if you didn’t interrupt her, and she gives a slight pout because of it.

“but it is much, it is something ‘mione! it is because i love you.”

“i- uhm. repeat yourself, please?”

“i love you, hermione.”

draco l. malfoy…

who said it: him

when: 6th year

“isn’t that right, ms. (y/n)?” the barely human wizard, voldemort, said, looking at you from the other side of table.

you gulped quietly, your shoulders stiffening. “yes, sir.” you murmured, glancing at the platinum blonde boy next to you before averting your gaze.

you and draco grew up together - as your mothers were very close in their teenage years, your fathers, not so much. but they got along okay.

when draco first became part of the death eaters, his mother decided it’d be easiest to have you there, to make it a little less hard on him.

“excuse me for a moment.” draco mumbled, somewhat abruptly, as lucius and the lord were in the middle of a conversation. draco stood up within the blink of an eye, and sped walked out of the room.

“would you be a dear and check on him for me, honey?” narcissa leaned over and whispered in your ear, as you were seated between draco and his mother.

you gave a small half-smile with a nod, as you politely excused yourself, afraid of what voldemort could do if you had done it in a way of which he didn’t like.

you went around the halls of malfoy manor, the walls of which most of your childhood memories took place, as sad as that is.

you saw a crack in the door of draco’s room, and you opened the door a tad more

draco said there, looking down at his folded hands, not saying anything.

“are you okay?” you asked, even though you already knew the answer.

“those meetings…get to me, sometimes.” the blonde mumbled, his voice cracking slightly.

“me too..” you answered, rubbing your hand up and down his back, as you sat next to him.

“thank you, for always being here. i’ve spent my whole life with you, i never want to let you go.” draco said, giving a small smile.

“i won’t ever leave you behind, okay?”

“this is exactly why i fell in love with you all those years ago.”

“wait…what?” you denied, your voice quiet.

“you heard me, i love you (y/n).”

ginevera m. weasley…

who said it: her

when: 5th year (well 4th year for her)

“hey (y/n)!” a familiar, high, squeaky voice called out to you, sounding a bit distant.

“oh, hi, ginny.” you half smiled, looking down at the younger girl.

“i need to talk to you, now.” ginny asked — well demanded, but she meant to ask.

you’ve known ginny long enough at this point to know sometimes, when she wants to ask a question, it can accidentally turn into a demand. especially, when she’s nervous.

“okay, no problem.” you reported, knowing exactly what she was going to say.

she grabs your wrist with a firm grip — but not firm enough for your to be hurt. and walks you down to a more empty side of the hogwarts express.

“i love you. and quite frankly, i hate it when you spend more time with my brothers and less time with me because it’s not fair, i fancy you!” the smaller ginger insisted, with a small stomp of her foot to show she meant what she said.

“i love you too, don’t worry, gin.” you spoke, as you tucked a string of hair behind her ear, that was before in the middle of her face.

she gave a lopsided grin before happily skipping off and giving a sing-songy goodbye.

seamus d. finnigan…

who said it: him

when: 4th year

the yule ball of the 1994 school year was slowly coming to a close, but you were unable to find where your date had ran off to, one moment he was with his best friend, dean thomas — and now you have no bloody clue where he is.

there was only one placed you hadn’t looked yet — the astronomy tower.

you begin your walk up the tower of many staircases and you hear some intense coughing the higher and higher you reach.

before your eyes, you see your boyfriend — or date, or technically boy friend, as the relationship between the two of you is a bit complicated, with a cigarette between his fingers.

“hey seamus.” you say, as you sit down next to him, leaning into his touch.

“hi doll.” he says, grinning as he puts an arm around your waist.

“can i smoke with you?”

“absolutely not, angel!” seamus gasps, shocked, putting a dramatized hand to his chest, his mouth open a gap.

“huh? why not?” you asked, now just confused.

“because! i love you! i’m not letting a gorgeous goddess inhale that shit!” seamus replied, now tossing his cigarette away into the distance.

“you love me?”

“with every inch my body stands.”

fred g. weasley…

who said it: him

when: 5th year (3rd book/movie)

“i don’t know how you could even do this, i don’t know what half of this is supposed to to mean..” your ginger boyfriend said, cuddled up into your side, as the two of you studied for the following potions exams.

“well, to make it’s quite simple, it’s just seeing it on paper is the hard part.” you said, nudging him slightly, to make sure he wouldn’t fall asleep again.

“oh, how so?” he asked.

“well actually you take the-”

and before you could get any further, your boyfriend pecked you on the lips.

“sorry, at first i was interested and then i just didn’t care anymore.” fred said with a chuckle.

“fred gideon weasley!!”

“i’m sorry, i love you, does that make it better?”

“i… yes.”

george g. weasley…

who said it: him

when: 7th year (5th book/movie)

i mustn’t make mistakes any longer.

i mustn’t make mistakes any longer.

i mustn’t make mistakes any longer.

i mustn’t make mistakes any longer.

i mustn’t make mistakes any longer.

the words on your arm continued to ring in your ear, like the tangy feeling on your tongue after eating spicy foods.

none of this would’ve happened if you didn’t snap at the new d.a.d.a teacher - dolores umbridge.

the torturous (literally), cruel woman put you through so much pain in one detention.

don’t get me wrong, you’ve gotten detention once in 2nd year, but this could never compare.

the words on your arm were the ones that made you cry terrifying sobs as you had to continue to write and write and write - thanks to your low physical pain tolerance and somewhat sensitive heart, you just couldn’t bare it.

sprinkles of raindrops began to form in your eyes, they ground onto the table you were sitting at, as you tried to rub your eyes before anyone happened to notice.

“hey, love, are you okay?” george weasley - your boyfriend asked, scurrying over to you.

your arm was angled in the correcting lighting and point of view to where the taller ginger could see your scars perfectly.

“blimey!” your boyfriend shouted, pointing, before madam prince gave him a stern shooshing.

“what happened?”

you clung onto him immediately, sobbing quietly,

“hey love — it’s okay, i love you, i’m here and i always will be.”

[cutielando]

old money aesthetic | g.r.

social media au

synopsis: in which they scream old-money couple

my masterlist

liked by lilymhe, landonorris and 2,194,176 others

yourinsta i love life with you 🤍 tagged: georgerussell63

view all 483,957 comments

georgerussell63 i love you

yourinsta i love you more

landonorris why

yourinsta why not

landonorris we're sick of seeing your cute couple photos 😐

yourinsta not my fault

user1 they are so old-money coded i can't- 🥲🥲

user2 Y/N is the definition of perfect, George is so lucky

user3 they're so classy 😩😩

alex_albon looking good

georgerussell63 always mate

user4 will Y/N be at the next Grand Prix?

yourinsta i will ! 🥰

user3 MOTHER IN THE PADDOCK 😩😩

francisca.cgomes i can't wait to see you !!!! 🤍🤍

yourinsta me too!! ❤️

user4 the friendship we didn't know we needed

f1gossippofficial we love seeing you guys! liked by yourinsta

user5 her style is to die for

user4 for real, she is so classy and elegant all the time

user5 and she is so sweet too. i met her at a grand prix a while back and she was so happy just talking to me and stuff. even got george to sign my hat for me, she is so kind

user3 she sounds like such a nice person to be around

user6 would she accept friendship bracelets from us?

yourinsta i do !!! i have a collection at home, bring them to me and we can exchange them !! <3

user6 omg 😭😭😭😭 you just made my day

liked by yourinsta, lewishamilton and 3,913,756 others

georgerussell63 Back to work 💪🏻

view all 832,579 comments

yourinsta ooof, who's this handsome lad? 😩

yourinsta so proud of you

yourinsta i love you ❤️

georgerussell63 i love you too, baby 🤍

user1 not Y/N being just as unhinged as us in the comments

landonorris thank you for sparing us

yourinsta i will hit you 😐

georgerussell63 i'll do it for you, babe

landonorris please don't

oscarpiastri why is Lando so scared of you all of a sudden, George?

yourinsta it's me he should be scared of

oscarpiastri got it

georgerussell63 you heard her

user2 such a good weekend for George ❤️❤️

user3 Y/N was there to be his lucky charm, he did so good 🥹🥹

user4 i want what they have, i need to know what their love feels like🥹😩😩😩

alex_albon did Y/N take these photos?

georgerussell63 she did. why?

alex_albon i was just appreciating the first good photos of yours that i have seen

yourinsta don't be mean alex

user5 Y/N to the defense, we love to see it

landonorris surprised you didn't pose shirtless

georgerussell63 y/n wouldn't let me

yourinsta damn right, those abs are for my eyes only😠

landonorris i didn't need to know that

yourinsta why did you leave a comment then?

landonorris i don't even know anymore

user6 where can i buy myself a George?

yourinsta you'll find them for free in King's Lynn

user6 she responded, i'm gonna cry😭😭😭

liked by yourinsta, yourbff and 94,286 others

f1gossippofficial Fan favorite grid couple, George Russell and Y/N Y/L/N, looking as good as always during the afterparty of the Singapore Grand Prix. tagged: yourinsta and georgerussell63

view all 16,285 comments

user1 they are so old money, i swear😭😩

user2 Y/N is so stunning, George really hit the jackpot with her😩

yourbff gorgeous, my favorite old-money couple

yourinsta not you as well 🙄

user3 existing at the same time as them should be considered a blessing

user2 amen to that

user4 i wonder if the old-money aesthetic comes naturally or something

user5 probably, apparently Y/N actually comes from a very old-school rich family

user4 really? she's really down-to-earth and humble for someone who comes from a rich background

user5 she's always wanted to make a name for herself without using her family's money, apparently

user2 we love an independent queen

liked by yourbff, landonorris and 2,382,470 others

yourinsta little getaway with my love ❤️ tagged: georgerussell63

view all 938,172 comments

georgerussell63 spending time with you is my favorite thing to do🤍

yourinsta i love you🫶🏻

landonorris i thought you were going to stop this

yourinsta just get a life lando 🙄

georgerussell63 i agree with her, mate

francisca.cgomes you two are soooo cute !!!! ❤️❤️

yourinsta not cuter than you and pierre my love !!

georgerussell63 yes, we are. sorry pierregasly

pierregasly in your dreams, brit

user1 they are my roman empire

user2 WHY ARE THEY SO CUTE OMFG 😩😩😩

user3 why can't i have what they have😭😭

alex_albon you two look like you just stepped out of a novel or something

yourinsta thank you alex, that is very kind of you to say

georgerussell63 so we basically look like book characters?

alex_albon yes

yourinsta georgie, it's a good thing, don't worry

georgerussell63 ooh, got it

lilymhe alex won't do this with me :(

yourinsta UNACCEPTABLE !!!

alex_albon you haven't even mentioned anything???????

yourinsta you're supposed to read her mind, alex

alex_albon ...you are both killing me

liked by yourinsta, alex_albon and 3,284,927 others

georgerussell63 kind of seeing where the trend comes from tagged: yourinsta

view all 834,271 comments

yourinsta we're dominating pinterest right now

georgerussell63 as we should

yourinsta that's the attitude babe

alex_albon noooooo, now i can't make fun of you two with this anymore :(

georgerussell63 sucks to suck

alex_albon did y/n tell you to say that?

yourinsta no comment.

user1 they are finally embracing it

mercedesamgf1 we love you two ❤️

yourinsta we love you too, merc admin ❤️

georgerussell63 ❤️

user2 they get classier and classier every time they post ❤️❤️

user3 i want this

francisca.cgomes you two are goals ❤️

yourinsta i love you !! ❤️ liked by francisca.cgomes

yourinsta i love you, sweet boy

georgerussell63 i love you more, my sweet girl

user4 you guys are killing us

formula1wags she is the best wag on the grid, nobody can change my mind

user2 this

user3 facts

user1 she really is

comments and re-blogs help us grow!

much appreciated!!

REQUEST HERE

[helen-with-an-a]

First Time Crush

Hi. This is from a request that I received a little bit ago - sorry it took a while to get to. I know you asked for a teen!R but I don't feel too comfortable writing for 15/16 yr old teen (especially if it has a romantic component to the story), so just imagine R is 18/19 (adult but still teenager iykwim). I also have tried to be as vague as possible with the description of R's crush so you can tailor it/imagine whoever you want. If your name is Ellie I apologise but I wanted OC to be English and it is literally one of the most common names here. Anyways I hope you like it

Barcelona Femeni x Reader; OC x Reader

Description: R has her first crush

Word Count: 2.1k

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3

It was something that had never really bothered you before. No guys or girls had ever caught your eye in that way. But there she was, with high cheekbones and pouty lips, laughing with a few other girls. She looked about your age, and even more importantly, she wore your England jersey. You hadn't been staring at her – that would be weird – but if your gaze just happened to linger on that part of the stands, you couldn't help it, right?

"Oi, earth to Y/N! Get on with it," Lucy nudged you forward, pulling your attention away from the crowd. "What are you looking at, anyway?" she asked, slinging an arm around your shoulders. You cleared your throat and shook your head, trying to banish the pretty girl from your mind. "Nothing, nothing. Just … nothing," you tried to hide your blushing cheeks. Lucy thought she might have an idea about what – or who – had captured your interest so intently, but she let it be. You did have a game to play, after all.

It happened again the next home game you had. She was sitting with your England jersey on, and her hair was twisted into an effortless, messy pile on her head. She caught you staring – not staring per se, just … looking for a bit too long – and she smiled, a shy smirk that stretched into a wide grin, and your eyes widened. Yet, you were unable to look away. You had just won a tough match; it was a 3 – 0 win, with your name on the score sheet, but still – they had put up a fight for you. "Let's go and say hi, shall we?" Pina said, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards where the girl was waiting. "No, Clau, no." You tried to resist, eventually, you managed to break free of her grasp and turned right into Bruna's open arms. "Aw, thanks for the hug, chica. But let's go and see who you've been staring at, yeh," she laughed as you tried to wiggle against her, but it was useless – her arms tightened and guided you towards the stands.

"Hola," Pina said to the group of girls waiting for you. "Soy Claudia," smiled politely at them. "y yo soy Bruna," there was an awkward pause, clearly meant for you to introduce yourself to them. You couldn't move, let alone introduce yourself to this beautiful stranger. "Esta es Y/N." Claudia took pity on you and spoke slowly like you would when encouraging a small child to speak. "Um, hold on, En-encantada de con-conocerte?" One of the girls tried to reply in Spanish. "Do you want us to speak in English?" Pina asked. "Please," she replied gratefully. It was subtle, but they eventually moved a little further away, leaving you standing helplessly on the pitch with the Beautiful Girl in front of you. "Hi, I'm Ellie," She reached her hand out for you to take. You blinked, looking down at her outstretched hand before back to those warm, soft eyes. "H-hi," you managed to squeak out. Clearly, you weren't going to shake her hand, so she awkwardly let it fall. "Great game out there. You played really well," she smiled at you. Your heart spluttered, and your breath hitched. You were going to die because a pretty girl smiled at you. You looked down at your boots, a very obvious blush blooming across your cheeks. The very awkward, one-sided conversation lasted only a few more painful minutes before your coaches called you inside. "It was really nice meeting you, Y/N. Hopefully, I'll see you at the next home game, yeh?" Ellie said before moving off to her friends.

"Oof, that was painful to watch, amiga," Bruna laughed, shoving you lightly and breaking you out of your trance. "Sí, I've never seen anything so … awful," Pina added, dragging you towards the tunnel. Just as you slipped out of sight, you looked back, hoping to catch a final glimpse of Ellie. To your surprise, she was already staring at you. She lifted her hand and waved gently as she caught your eyes before turning back to walk up the steps. "I don't even know what happened. It was like I couldn't breathe, or move, or … do anything!" You looked between the 2 of them. "You, mi amiga, have a crush," Claudia explained at precisely the wrong time. Alexia, Marta, Lucy, Ingrid, Mapi and Patri had just emerged from the physio rooms.

"Estás enamorada?" Mapi asked, slightly too gleefully. Ingrid – recognising the signs of Mapi's excitement – tapped her not-too-gently on the head. "Aye," Mapi exclaimed as she ducked out of the way of any more 'loving taps'. "Pequeña, estás enamorada?" she asked again, an unrecognisable emotion in her voice. "I … I don't know." You were genuinely perplexed. You had never felt like this before "What do you mean, 'you don't know'?" Patri asked exasperatedly. "I don't know," you said again with slightly more anger in your voice. "Well, do you like her or not?" Patri put her hands on her hips and stood in front of you as you sat in your cubby. "I – I don't know. I don't know what I feel." Patri huffed, her arms flinging out in exacerbation. You didn't know what you had done wrong. "Well, cariño, what do you feel when you see her? I'm assuming it's a her." Ingrid asked gently, coming to sit beside you on the bench. "I … I don't know that either," you whispered, ashamed that you didn't understand your own emotions. You were an adult—why couldn't you recognise simple feelings? "That's ok," Alexia said kindly, coming to sit on your other side. "When I first started seeing Olga, I couldn't stop blushing and smiling whenever I thought about her," she paused, allowing you to think about Ellie – you didn't smile, but you definitely felt your cheeks heat up. "And I could hardly function around Ingrid," Mapi said, coming to stand next to Ingrid and caressing her hand across her shoulder. “It's like I didn't know how to be human when she was around me." Ingrid looked up at her, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Not me," Lucy chimed in. "I was cool as a cucumber," that eased the emotion in the room slightly, making everyone laugh. "No, you weren't," Keira and Ona said simultaneously, giving each other a knowing look. "It's ok to not know how you feel," Frido smiled at you from across the room. "About someone or anything else. Not knowing is also an emotion." She winked at you. You nodded sombrely.

Ellie had been dancing through your mind for the past 2 weeks. It was finally another home game, and you were quietly hopeful that you might be able to see her. You couldn't stop thinking about her smile, her warm eyes, her caramel voice. As soon as you stepped onto the pitch, your eyes scanned the crowd, trying to catch sight of the familiar England jersey. Your heart sank a little when you couldn't find her. "Trying to find chica amante, amiga?" Jana asked, smirking at your embarrassed blush—but you didn't stop looking. You really hoped Ellie was here; you wanted to get your name on the score sheet again to impress her. "Cállate," You brushed her off, jogging away to join the older girls for warm-ups.

You still hadn't found Ellie before kick-off, and it was starting to dampen your mood a little. You were no longer quietly radiating excitement, and everyone could tell. "Está bien, penqueña, just because you can't find her doesn't mean she's not here." Irene rubbed your arms as you waited in the tunnel. "Does – does everyone on the team know?" You asked a little dejectedly. "Sí, cariño, todos en el equipo lo saben. Even Jona and the coaching staff." That really didn't help your mood. All of your closest friends knew about your crush; even your boss knew. You wished the ground would swallow you whole.

To say you played poorly would be mean. But you didn't play to your usual standard. You made silly mistakes you never usually made, giving the ball away when your usual passes were precise and accurate. You were unsurprised when your number flashed on the screen, indicating you were being subbed off. You sat down with a huff, Esmee's hand coming to hold yours tightly in hopes of comforting you. Today was most definitely not your day.

When the final whistle went, you tried to bolt straight to the changing rooms, but an immovable Alexia stood in your way. "Ale, por favor. I just want to go have a shower and go to bed. Please." You really were not in the mood to interact with anyone, let alone fans or be anywhere near a camera. "No, penqueña. Vamos a dar una vuelta al estadio, sí?" Her tone left no room for argument. You begrudgingly agreed and let her drag you around, fake smiling and signing things for fans, but it was obvious you didn't really want to be there.

"Vamos, pequeña. Hay alguien que creo que quizás quieras ver." Alexia said as she came to a stop near Ellie's usually stand. "Ale, please. I don't want to-" You started to turn around. "That's a shame" That sweet, silky, soft voice you had memorised cut through your pleas. You spun back around, quickly spotting Ellie, not wearing your England jersey. You felt a slight pang of hurt. That was stupid. It's just a shirt. She doesn't have to wear it. "Do you like my shirt?" Ellie asked, a playful smile teasing her lips. The Barca home jersey was slightly oversized and styled immaculately, tucked into her bra to crop it slightly, exposing a sliver of skin on her torso. You nodded profusely, but no answer was leaving your lips. "De quién es el número que obtuviste?" Alexia stepped in, obviously taking pity on you. "Um … número? Oh, um, number 3." You wore number 3. You blinked and blushed intensely. Alexia nudged you slightly. She sighed and left you alone with Ellie. "You played well," She started. You scoffed. "No, I didn't," You fiddled with your fingers, avoiding her gaze. "Yes, you did. You got an assist. I saw it." She smirked, twisting a loose piece of hair around her fingers and tilting her head. "I let the ball go so many times. I couldn't concentrate." You whispered, wishing the conversation was about anything else. "But you got it back every time, right? It was very impressive," she chuckled quietly at your awkwardness. "Gra-graci, uh, thanks," you stumbled over your words. "You don't do this very often, do you?' Ellie took sympathy on you. You clearly were out of your depth. "Do what?" You finally made eye contact with her. Your breath hitched, and you couldn't decide whether you never wanted to stop looking at them or turn away. "Flirt," she said as if it were obvious. “I've been flirting with you for weeks now," she explained. She was flirting with you? You blinked owlishly at her. "Here," she took the pen out of your hand, reaching for your arm and scrawling on it. It tickled a little, but you couldn't deny you liked having her this close to you … and holding your hand. You studied her as she wrote; her tongue stuck out slightly, and her eyes narrowed as she focused. "That is my number. You better use it. Otherwise, I will be very sad." She grinned cheekily at you. You nodded, cheeks crimson and unable to move. "Good," she said softly. "Now, you better go," she gently squeezed your chin. "Alexia and Ingrid look like they're waiting for you," she nodded behind you. You wanted to turn but couldn't. Not when she was so close to you. She wiggled her eyebrows, pointed at her number on your arm and shouted, "Use it," as she sauntered away.

"El bebe tiene novia," Alexia sang out as you joined them, her hands coming to ruffle your hair and pinch your bright red cheeks. "Ingrid," you whined, burying your face against her arm. "Make her stop." She laughed brightly. "Kjæreste, this is nothing compared to what is waiting for you with the others," Ingrid laughed as you pushed yourself further into her chest, dreading what awaited you in the changing rooms. But the more you thought about it, the less bothered you were.

Because you got the beautiful stranger's number.

I hope you liked it <3<3<3

[galacticgraffiti]

⋆☾⋆ Big Love Ahead ⋆☽⋆

!!! NSFW ⋆ 18+ ⋆ Minors DNI !!!

Summary: Halsin rescues you after you get hurt in a fight, and you get to spend some time with him during the spring and summer months as he nurses you back to health. And maybe, you start to wonder what it would be like if his hands touched you for different reasons than just to heal you…

Rating: Mature/Explicit (for horny nudity not smut) Wordcount: 4.5k Descriptors: The first two chapters are fairly genderneutral. Reader's physique is not really described aside from being quite a bit shorter and smaller than Halsin. CW: Fluff, softness, (physical) hurt/comfort, being nursed back to health by Halsin, pet names, this is achingly sweet, flirting, banter, oblivious pining, rated explicit for the eventual smut in chapters to come

✦⋆ Main Masterlist ⋆✦⋆ If you prefer AO3 ⋆✦

⋆༻༺⋆༺༻⋆••●••⋆༺༻⋆༻༺ ⋆

Chapter 1: The Druid

He is the one who finds you.

Heavy footsteps make the earth vibrate beneath you, then soft fur presses against your bloodied cheek. You let it happen only because you can’t escape. It’s a miracle you’re still alive, if you are honest with yourself, and you are quite sure this is just a dream.

Surely, it must be a dream, right? To be lifted, not by paws but big, strong hands, to be carried out of that violent grove that nearly became your grave. To be placed upon the softest thing you have ever felt, and to see skin turn into fur once more as he lays beside you. Surely, a dream.

You close your eyes, and you drift off.

*****

When you wake up, you are disoriented beyond all hells, and alone.

Your entire body aches, but when you look down, you see that all your wounds have been mended and wrapped in neat bandages. Some of them smell of forest and herbs, others of things you have no words for describing.

Sitting up makes your head spin, so you decide to close your eyes again. Just… for a moment.

*****

It’s night when you wake up, though once you think about it, you are not sure how you know. Was it this dark the last time you woke up? You think there was some light - you saw the bandages, you could see the shape of your body beneath the sheets… But now, there is just darkness, so black it scares you, heavy like a blanket made from a thousand deaths.

Your heart starts to race, and you feel yourself breaking out in sweats as you think about your lost friends - all of them laying bloodied and broken on the battlefield like dolls, with slit throats and arrows in their hearts.

You groan in pain when you sit up, and the edges of your vision start to blur.

“Careful, now.”

The voice startles you. It comes from the opposite end of whatever room you are in, too far away for you to reach out and touch, and even with all your squinting, you can’t see anyone. Your fingers grip the sheets tightly.

“Who are you? Why did you bring me here?” Your voice is scratchy and raw, and your throat burns from the dryness. You cough, doubling over as you try to inhale some air to fill your desperate lungs.

“Shh, don’t die on me now, little flower.” 

The voice is much closer now, and out of habit, your hand slides down your thigh to where you usually keep your knife. It’s not there - of course it’s not, you are not wearing anything more than you’d need to guarantee the smallest amount of decency.

Panic rises in your chest, a sour taste coating your tongue.

“Who are you?” You repeat, out of breath from those few words.

“I saved you.” A flame is lit only a few feet away from you, and your eyes hurt from the sudden light. You squint, trying to get used to it. All you can see is the faint silhouette of a… man. A broad-backed man, taller than you have ever seen, with long hair and a gentle face. Pointed ears peek out from beneath soft curls, and you stare at him. 

An elf? With this… frame? Who the hells is this guy?

He looks at you calmly, patiently waiting for your reaction.

“Saved me?” The question makes you cough again. A hand appears in front of your face, offering you a waterskin. You accept it without much hesitation - what choice do you have? If he wanted to kill you, he would have done it by now.

The water hurts as much as it helps - cool and fresh as it runs down your dry throat. You take a few careful sips and damn near end up coughing your lungs out again. The hand takes the water away from you gently.

“That’s enough for now. Slow down, or you’ll make yourself sick.” His voice speaks more of concern than command. You let go, pressing back into your little corner.

“You didn’t answer my question,” you say finally. “Who are you?”

The man steps back into the shadows, his back turned to you. He is scarred and marked in ways only people from the wilds ever are, and that calms you a little. He is not a soldier.

“Rest for now,” he says. “We will talk when you wake again.”

You want to object, but large, warm hands press you down into your soft bedding again and pull the blanket up over your shoulders. Your eyes flutter closed - you are tired, so tired still. Distantly, you wonder how much time has passed since the grove.

“Wait,” you whisper, your hand finding his larger one in the dark. Your fingers curl weakly.

“What is it? Something you need?” Once again, his only feeling seems to be concern.

You slowly shake your head and regret the motion immediately when you taste blood on your tongue.

“No, I don’t- just… thank you.”

He stills in your weak grasp. Moments pass, then finally, his voice comes again, sounding oddly sad.

“You are welcome, little one.”

*****

You find a rhythm after that, sleeping and waking. Sometimes he’s around, sometimes he is not. You realise that the supposed room you are in is little more than a cave decked out in some essentials.

After a few days, you finally learn his name: Halsin.

Halsin looks after you, and you don’t question why. He does not talk much, but the look on his face never makes you doubt that the only thing he wants is for you to get better.

You drink more water, and after a few days, Halsin finally allows you to eat: Stew, not much, fed to you by his large hand holding a spoon that seems much too small for him.

When the food stays down, Halsin allows you to eat more and more, and you get some of your strength back. Your body still hurts, but all your bones seem to be in the right place - though some are definitely still broken, as you discover when you try to lay on your side.

Some days after you first remember waking up, you manage to sit up all by yourself and your fingers can hold the spoon for the first time. Halsin watches you carefully, whittling away as you eat a bowl of stew. And another. And another.

“Someone was hungry,” he smiles.

“Hungry as a bear,” you grin. He furrows his brow. You swear his eyes seem golden, but it’s probably just the light of the fire. He stares into the darkness for a moment, then puts his knife to the side. Before you can ask him what is wrong, he is gone.

****

Halsin returns the next day, back to his usual self. You wouldn’t quite call it ‘chipper’, but none of the worry that graced his features yesterday seems to remain. You decide it is wisest not to ask about it. If there is something you need to talk about, he will tell you in time.

When Halsin tucks you into bed that night as has become his habit, you notice - not for the first time - how good he smells: Of fresh grass and summer rain, of wood and smoked leather. You become acutely aware that you yourself have not had a bath in quite some time.

“Halsin?” You bite your tongue, feeling awkward about asking.

“What is it?”

“Do you… well. I think I should take a bath.”

Halsin cocks his head. You can see the cogs in his head turning, behind his soft, round features. He crosses his arms, and your heart flutters at the sheer swell of his biceps. You shake your head to shoo the unwelcome thought away.

“Well. there is a stream close to the cave…” he says slowly.

You nod excitedly.

“Perfect! I can-”

“You are still very injured, little flower,” he interrupts you - not rudely, but firmly. “You can barely stand up, let alone walk all the way there. The stream is dangerous, and I do not want you injuring yourself-”

“Carry me, then,” you propose hastily, more in jest than anything else. A small smile tugs on the corners of Halsin’s eyes.

“You can’t stand on your own either, and only one of your arms has healed enough for you to wash yourself.” He quirks a brow. “Have you got a solution for that too, little one?”

“You can wash me,” you suggest, this time fully certain he will recognise the joke.

Halsin chuckles to himself and shakes his head.

“All that effort- for what? Your wounds are clean, and you are getting better every day. Have I not taken care of you? Is there something I missed? If you tell me-”

“You smell good,” you say before you can think about your words. Halsin’s eyes widen by the smallest fraction, but he stays quiet, so you drone on. “You smell like forest and fresh pine, and meanwhile, I have been wasting away in this cave for weeks now. I want to… I don’t know. I want to feel like less of a burden, I suppose. I want to feel like myself again.”

“Oh.” Halsin takes your hand, very gently, like a doctor calming his patient. It still makes your heart race. “You are not a burden. Taking care of you has been my privilege.”

“You’re sweet,” you whisper. Halsin lets go of you.

“Do you… do you think a bath would help you feel better?” he asks, his voice serious. “I know I don’t provide much entertainment-”

“I like it when you are around,” you admit quietly. “I like watching you whittle. Your presence calms me.”

At that, Halsin lets out a roaring laugh that takes you totally by surprise - so much so that you simply fall into laughing with him. You cannot grasp what he could be laughing about, but seeing him so happy - knowing you are the one who made him laugh - it makes your heart stumble.

“Fine,” Halsin says when he can breathe again. “Alright, little one, if a bath is what you want, a bath is what you shall get.”

*****

When he returns the next day, for the first time, you notice that you have no idea where he sleeps. He laughs the questions off as he looks over your various wounds and ailments.

These inspections have become a ritual that both excites and frightens you: It excites you because it means Halsin’s big hands on your body, stroking, nearly caressing, touching (almost) every inch of you. It frightens you because you are scared he will notice how much you like it. And it scares you to think that one day, there might not be anything for him to look at - and when your wounds are healed, where will you go?

 You scoot to the front of your makeshift bed when Halsin asks you to, dangling your feet over the edge. When he kneels between your thighs to examine a particularly deep cut in your upper thigh, it takes all your strength not to cup his jaw and ask him to kiss you.

You daydream yourself away - dream of the way his hands look on you, of the way the light bounces off his irises and makes it seem like they are glowing. You dream of his lips and how soft they might be against yours, and you try to remember that feeling when he first found you - the softness of fur - might it have been his hair?

“Alright,” Halsin declares, interrupting your yearning thoughts. 

“Alright?” you ask, looking down at him. He stands, suddenly towering over you. You swallow thickly.

“I think… it’s time for my little patient to have a bath.” He smiles and offers you his hand. You feel like you have been punched in the stomach when he calls you his patient. Is that all you are to him? Just some… girl he needs to heal? Someone he found and took responsibility for? Still, you take his hand and slide off the bed.

Your legs give in nearly the second they touch the ground, but Halsin’s strong arms are there to catch you. He lifts you like you weigh no more than a feather. His arms feel familiar, and comfortable, and like you could fall asleep in them forever and ever. You sigh happily and snuggle against his broad chest.

When you realise what you are doing, your eyes snap open, terrified of your own actions.

“Sorry,” you mumble, your cheeks aflame with embarrassment. Halsin’s chest shakes against you.

“No need to apologise. I am happy you feel comfortable in my presence.”

“Mhhm.” You try to hide your face as best you can, lest he recognise the emotions that must be showing.

Halsin carries you carefully, stopping as you get closer to the light near the entrance of the cave.

“Close your eyes, little one. You haven’t been outside in quite a while, and the sun is bright today.”

You follow his instructions, pressing your eyes shut. The air smells fresh and sweet when he steps out of the cave, and the rays of sun that dance on your face warm you from the inside out. You blink carefully, lids still half closed as you take in your surroundings: The formation of rocks that makes up your cave, the meadow below you, the quiet gurgle of a stream behind a grove of trees.

“Oh.” The noise is barely more than a breath that escapes you, but when you look up at Halsin, a bright smile illuminates his features.

“Beautiful, is it not?”

“Yes!” you nod your head enthusiastically, too distracted by the beauty around you to notice the way Halsin’s eyes linger on your face.

“I am glad you think so.” His arms tighten around you for a moment as he adjusts his stance. “Are you feeling alright? The place I had in mind is not far.”

“I am wonderful,” you assure him, closing your eyes as you bask in the sun. You never noticed how much you missed all of this until now. Halsin’s company is the best you could imagine, but the cave gets lonely from time to time. You like being outside, hearing the birds sing again, watching the clouds that sail through the sky above.

“Right then,” Halsin nods. “Onwards we go.”

It really is not a long walk - it barely takes a minute. The quiet corner of the river is tucked between two bends, next to a big weeping willow. It’s warm outside, much warmer than you expected, and you dare to hope the water might not be ice cold.

Halsin stops right next to a small pool of water, set apart from the rest of the river by a few stones, carefully placed - much too neat to be a natural occurrence.

“I made a bath for you,” he says, sounding quite pleased with himself. “I knew you could never withstand the current, not in the shape you are in, and…”

You look up at him, awed by his care and affection.

“Thank you,” you whisper. Halsin smiles quietly.

“Whatever I can do to help, it’s my pleasure.” He points at the pool with his chin. “Do you think this will suffice?”

“Oh, it will more than suffice,” you nod, practically vibrating with excitement. Finally, after all this time, a bath. Feeling clean again. 

Halsin seems to consider something, his brow furrowed with concern.

“I did not think about… where to put you down.”

You look at him in confusion and he shrugs, your weight not even slowing his shoulders in the movement. Your heart leaps.

“I mean,” Halsin explains, averting his eyes from yours tactfully, “that you will have to undress before you get in. Now, as you may have noticed, I enjoy nature in all of her forms, but I know not everyone is so… inclined.”

You swear you see a blush creep into his cheeks. His eyes flashing golden in the sunlight. Your heart flutters when you finally understand what he is trying to tell you.

“Oh!” you exclaim then, wiggling in his arms. This could not go better if you had planned it. You didn’t even think of this when you asked for a bath, but oh dear, did fate give you a good hand today. “I don’t mind if you stay, Halsin.”

“I want to make sure you don’t hurt yourself.” He sounds almost like he is trying to convince himself. “I made that pool of water quite deep so you could sit in it, though it is shallow enough the sun should have warmed it up a bit…”

“I would jump into the ice seas if only it meant a chance for a bath,” you chuckle. You tug at Halsin’s arm. “Put me down, please.”

He sets you down on the ground so gently as if you could break. You find your footing after a moment, holding on to his big arm until your head stops spinning, waving him off when he bends down to look at you with concerned eyes.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Promise.”

Halsin stares at you, but he doesn’t drag you back to the cave, so you take that as a sign of faith. You take a deep breath and start peeling out of the few layers of fabric you have on you. Reaching for your bandages, you hesitate.

“Should I leave those on?” you ask. Halsin’s eyes snap up to yours, and you nearly giggle at the look on his face. He has the expression of a bear caught with his paw in the honeypot.

“Oh… no,” he answers finally. “You can take those off, I’ll put fresh ones on after your bath.”

“Mhhm. You take such good care of me.”

You start peeling the bandages from your maltreated body, dedicating all your energy to staying upright. Halsin’s eyes never leave you, roaming up and down your naked body, but you are far too focused on the task at hand to notice.

This is the longest you have been on your legs in weeks, and your thighs are already starting to burn. Quickly, you finish unwrapping yourself. Before you can figure out a plan of how to best get into the water, strong hands slip beneath your arms and lift you up.

You squeal with joy as Halsin slowly lowers you down into the water.

It’s warmer than you expect, yet still cold as all hells. Goosebumps rise on your body and you shiver. Halsin stops moving, you, halfway submerged, hanging limp in his arms.

“Are you alright?”

Your teeth are not exactly chattering, but it takes some effort to keep it that way.

“‘M fine,” you say. “It’s just… a b-bit cold. But I’m okay. You know, I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d take the ice seas earlier.”

Laughter rumbles from Halsin’s chest like thunder. It makes you smile. He laughs so much more now than he used to.

“Fine. I’ll- just give me a moment.”

You are gently placed down in the pool, cold water up to your neck. Halsin makes a dissatisfied sound.

“Seems I overestimated your size, little flower.”

“Not hard to do when you’re this big,” you mumble, turning around to look up at him, gesturing at his silhouette that stands out against the sun- and stop. 

Your jaw nearly hangs open when you are faced with a nearly naked Halsin. You blink and shake your head, ready to believe that the cold may be causing hallucinations. Maybe you never woke up from your sickbed - maybe this is a dream. Maybe you died on the battlefield and this is Celestia.

Halsin sheds the last layers of clothing covering himself, and it’s all you can do not to say fuck me quite loudly. You bite your lip, but before you can even process the situation, Halsin has slipped into the self-made pool with you.

The water seems to heat up the second he is in there with you, his body so close to yours you could barely fit a leaf between the two of you. His eyes are bright gold in the sunshine, and he takes a deep breath, his chest expanding.

You stare and stare and hope you are not being all too obvious about it. Carefully, you take a step back only to slip on the muddy ground.

Halsin catches you easily, your body pressed against his, and you think that the water might start to boil any second now.

“Thanks,” you murmur, straightening up. His hand lets go of you as he takes a step back himself - the furthest he can go, even though there is stll barely space between you.

“Are you warm enough now?” he rumbles, sounding amused. There is a note of something else in his voice - a strain; not impatience, but something close to it. You press your hands to your sides awkwardly.

“Yeah… yeah, this is better. Thank-”

“No need to thank me.” Halsin interrupts you, abruptly turning around, away from you. The water that is up to your neck barely reaches halfway up his back. “I shall stay here so you don’t get sick on top of all your other injuries. Take all the time you need.”

You wish the water wasn’t so clear that you can see every detail of his backside. You wish his hair was not so soft, shining in the sun. You wish you could not see the muscles of his back ripple when he shifts, and that his shoulders would not look so perfectly round and juicy it makes your mouth water. You wish it was not so hard to avert your eyes.

A golden glitter in the water catches your eye. It travels up Halsin’s calf, his thigh. He shakes his head like he is swatting away flies, and the spark in the water fades.

What the hells was that?

You frown; but the water is winning you over. Your legs already hurt from standing, though the water makes the weight more bearable, and as much as you wish to stay here forever, tucked closely into your little corner of the world, feeling Halsin’s body next to yours, you have to admit you are feeling a little tired.

So, you get to work, scrubbing yourself down, dunking your head into the water and trying to extrapolate the filth from your hair. You are fairly certain Halsin must have at least wiped you down with a washcloth after rescuing you, since your body is not still covered entirely in guts and blood and dirt, but you have not had a proper bath in so long.

You sigh quietly as you wash your hair, your shoulders, your thighs, scrubbing and scrubbing until you feel raw in the best way. One of your arms hangs uselessly by your side, the bone on the mend but not healed, and soon, your other arm burns with exhaustion.

Halsin has not turned around to face you, though from his relaxed stance you are guessing he is probably basking in the sun with his eyes closed. You try and push through the pain and exhaustion, but eventually, you have to admit defeat.

“Halsin?” You tap his shoulder blade. A flash of light appears in the water, gone as soon as it came. His neck turns slightly.

“Yes?”

“Can you… help me?” you ask shyly. Finally, he turns around, his expression soft and controlled.

“What do you need help with, my angel?”

You shiver at the gravel in his voice, at the way he looks at you - with eyes burning, though you don’t dare to hope it may be desire. Maybe he is just getting impatient.

“I can’t reach,�� you explain and point to your back. “Not with this arm, and-”

Large hands roam across your body, careful to avoid all the sore spots and healing wounds.

“Of course,” he grumbles. “Turn around.”

You blink up at him, then carefully spin around - you have learned your lesson from last time - holding onto the edge of the pool.

Halsin’s fingers are rough, but not in an uncomfortable way. His palms are soft when he slowly rubs small circles into your back, washing away dirt and grime, showering you in his attention and his care. You catch the golden sparkle in the water again, but when you twist to see, it is already gone again. It must be the sun.

You close your eyes and let yourself sink into the feeling of Halsin so close to you.

Something tightens in your belly at the way he touches you - the gentleness his large hands are capable of more than you can handle. The way his hands could so easily wrap around your waist makes your heart stumble.

Halsin’s hands glide up your back easily, up to your hairline, roaming across your shoulder blades, and back down, stopping just shy of the small of your back. A quiet moan escapes from your throat at the touch, and you stiffen. Halsin carries on as if nothing has happened.

Fine. If he can ignore it, then so can you.

You are fairly certain that you are clean at this point, but Halsin is not stopping on his own, and who would you be to tell him to stop? You close your eyes and relax into his touch, into the soft pads of his fingers that dig into your shoulders in just the right way, the warmth of his body that you can feel even through the water.

“Good,” he mumbles eventually, his hands vanishing from your back.. “I know you must be tired. Are you satisfied?”

With you? Never, you want to say. What comes out instead is a vague,

“Mmhhm.”

Halsin chuckles quietly.

“Oh, you are exhausted, my love. Come on, I will take you to bed.”

Your eyes are falling shut when he heaves himself out of the water, and you can’t even open your mouth to make a silly joke about being taken to bed by him. You could slap yourself for not being able to keep your eyes open - oh, to see him one more time, to take him in in all his glory in the fading light of the day. 

Halsin lifts you out of the water easily. A shiver runs through him that makes you crack your eyes open. His irises glow golden in the sinking sun, and you smile at the sight. He smiles back at you, wrapping you in cloth, and carries you back to your cave, and back to your bed.

You are half-asleep when your head hits the pillow, so you can’t even blame yourself when your voice asks sleepily:

“Will you stay here with me tonight?”

Halsin gently pulls his hand from your grasp.

“Not tonight, my angel,” he murmurs, stroking your cheek so softly you wonder if you imagined it. “But I’ll be right outside should you need me.”

⋆༻༺⋆༺༻⋆••●••⋆༺༻⋆༻༺ ⋆

» Next Chapter

Hello my darlings! I have been consumed whole by BG3 and the big bear man, so I hope you enjoy! (Lmk if you want to not be tagged in this little series, I'm just going to tag my usuals)

@cyarbika @deewithani @ficsbynight @kote-wan @ariadnes-red-thread @rescuethewretched @twistedstitcher27 @kakashibabe02 @writingbylee @purgetrooperfox @basilbumble @witchklng @lackofhonor @ashotofspotchka @sailor-blossom @misogirl828 @amyroswell @darkjedipoptarts @pinkiemme @sleepingsun501 @fett-djarin @samanthacookieone @tortor-mcgee @corrabell @queen--kenobi @elegantduckturtle @felinaone @palpipeen @wild-karrde @obeydontstray @obeydontstray @nomercyforthewarrior @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @thefact0rygirl @everythingyouwanted @equalityforcats @cagrame @ladykatakuri @snakerune @shadesofshatteredblue @100lxtters @damerondala @tachyon-girl @rintheemolion @pickleprickle @mando-amando @certified-anakinfucker @baba-fett @ulchabhangorm

[upsidedownwithsteve]

A soulmate AU: Steve Harrington x fem!reader [4.3K] 18+

THE TIMELINE

“All I want is nothing more, to hear you knocking at my door. ‘Cause if I could see your face once more, I could die as a happy man I'm sure. When you said your last goodbye, I died a little bit inside. I lay in tears in bed all night, alone without you by my side. But if you loved me, why did you leave me?”

- All I Want by Kodaline

III. LONG ISLAND, NEW YORK: 1922

Opening the side door to the manor was easy when everyone else was occupied in the foyer.

The whole house was still alive despite the early morning hour, the air still smelling of the fireworks that lingered, gunpowder and spilled champagne. There was broken glass in the kitchen, from cocktail saucers or the smashed chandelier in the hallway, Steve wasn’t sure. But it crunched under his leather shoes as he snuck into the dark scullery, empty of the help and the silver platters of food they’d spent the day making.

He could see the silhouette through the frosted glass, impatiently waiting as he fumbled with the brass lock, the vibrations of the trombones and sax from the floor above making the handle buzz in his fist.

Steve barely got a chance to look at you before you had flung yourself at him, arms around his neck and chests colliding. He laughed, a small catch in his throat leaving him breathless for a second, your enthusiasm contagious. You still smelled like work, like cigar smoke and other peoples perfume, expensive cologne and top shelf sherry. It clung to your beaded dress, to your skin and Steve liked these nights, he liked the challenge of making you his again, even when you really weren’t supposed to be.

“They’re still going?” You asked, your words muffled against his chest. You’d get lipstick on his white shirt but neither of you cared. Steve had learnt long ago how to hide it from the maids.

He hummed in confirmation, any words he wanted to say stolen by your lips, your hands climbing up past his neck and into his hair. You tugged at it, ruining the style, hating when he slicked it back for the sake of the parties you were never allowed to attend.

It was a ferocious kiss, the kind that smudged your lipstick onto his mouth, the kind that told him you wanted to claim what you could of him in the short time you were able. Steve groaned, responding in kind, his arms winding around your waist to haul you even closer to him, his lips parting for your tongue.

It never grew old, it never waned - this feeling. Every kiss like the first, every time like nothing he’d ever felt before, never like anyone else. Your touch sent something through his bones, a deep kind of love that felt older and stronger and more powerful than the earth itself. He saw you one day in the city, under the bright lights that lit up Times Square and something told him that you were made for him.

Not a voice, just a feeling, one that his friends scoffed at because you weren’t from any kind of money that his family would accept and your dress didn’t come from Macy’s. But you’d turned and caught his eye, lips painted the prettiest red, eyes all bright like you felt the same when you looked at him. Days had turned to weeks and first dates had turned into nights in his locked bedroom and he still remembered the first time you pressed your ruby lips to the side of his throat and told him you were sure the gods themselves created him for you.

You kissed him now like you were remembering those words, your small hands diving into the already open collar of his white shirt, his black tie slipping from his neckline and you kissed that same spot, two moles that you claimed were somehow yours. They seemed to burn when you touched them, every pass of your lips and tongue making him feel weaker and weaker. And when you bit down a little, teeth grazing, Steve didn’t even notice the rain that had started to fall outside.

He felt feverish with you, greedy and desperate and never able to get enough. The brass band that his mother had hired for the evening started up another song, the China plates in the pantry cabinets rattling from the dancing feet above. He was on borrowed time, he knew that. So he let his tongue lick over your own once, twice, three times more before he pulled away, just enough to get his words out. You were as breathless as he was, too pretty in the dim light with your perfectly done make up, the pearls around your neck that no one knew came from him. Your dress made you glitter and from the faded lipstick around your mouth, Steve knew the majority was stamped on his own lips, his neck, his jaw.

The idea of it made him hold you tighter.

Thunder rumbled, a storm moving in over the lake outside the manor, the small yacht that was docked by the boathouse dipping with the current.

“Let’s go,” he murmured, kissing at the corner of your mouth between words. “Before they need to come for more champagne.”

So you let him pull you out of the kitchen, despite how well you knew the house you were never supposed to be invited into. Steve took your hand and led you like a secret, peering around corners before running past open doors, each room bigger than the last. The manor was all cherry oak floorboards and velvet drapes. There were chaise lounges in every bay window, baby grand pianos under crystal chandeliers and Steve’s father made sure the golden bar carts were always stocked and kept in every room.

The party was still thrumming in the largest lounge, where the hired band stood on the curved stairs and people danced on the tables. The glass doors were opened to the pool, a bright blue rectangle in the otherwise dark night and flecks of gold confetti lay atop the water, never sinking, looking like real life magic.

People spilled from everywhere, women shoeless and men missing their dinner jackets, hand in hand with girls that weren’t their wives and some of the richest of them showed their greed with a scantily clad dancer on each arm.

A door opened to the right, a server who was working well past his paid hours, still in his suit and carrying a large tray of champagne saucers, his expression bored. Steve grabbed you before the man could spot you both, tugging you behind a marble bust of a Grecian goddess, a piece of art that should’ve been in a museum.

The vacant eyes and kind smile of Aphrodite stared back at you both, seemingly amused at your lover's embrace, the one you had to hide.

“We’re not going to make it upstairs,” you whispered. It was too easy for Steve to let your touch linger on his waist, fingers tracing his belt, greedy and searching beneath his crumpled shirt for the feel of his warm skin. He needed you yesterday. He needed you always. “They’ll see us before we reach your room.”

Steve winced, knowing you were right. He could hear his mother from the lounge, singing too loudly, calling for another glass, her laughter making his jaw tense. “Library,” he said, nodding towards the door across the hall. “C’mon.”

You both made a run for it when the hallway seemed clear, the party goers too drunk to make out your faces, to recognise the girl that wasn’t supposed to be here, who certainly wasn’t supposed to be hand in hand with the man that wasn’t meant to be hers.

Steve closed the door with a soft click, turning the brass key in the lock just to make sure. The music was duller from behind the thick oak, the shelves and forest green curtains that draped along the walls. The library smelled like rich wood and old cigar smoke, older books and leather. It was stuffed with wingback armchairs, low lights from behind emerald glass lamp shades and dark, dark wood. A large fireplace took centre stage in the middle of the room, family photos and golden candlesticks along the mantle, the clock huge gilded mirror above it showing you and Steve standing together.

Outside the stained glass window, lightning flashed in the distance, the lake turning white, just for a second.

You didn’t have time to worry about the storm, nor think too hard about its sudden appearance. They’d always scared you, the too loud sounds, the crashes that seemed to vibrate in your bones, the lightning that always appeared way too close. Steve moved to stand behind you, his hand coming to smooth the collar of your dress away from your neck so he could dip his head down to kiss your skin.

His lips were a warm trail over your throat, his nose pressed underneath your jaw and you felt his smile when you tipped your head for him, granting him access. His hands, always so big and wide, spanned the sides of your waist, the beads and crystals that hung from your dress singing a soft song at his touch.

“Missed you,” he breathed, running the tip of his nose underneath your ear. He sucked at your throat, biting softly and you could only watch in awe as you stood in front of the mirror. “I missed you so much, honey.”

You knew why you hadn’t gotten to see him in so long. Eight whole days of being apart, seeing him in the city when he took his car to work, always flanked by business partners or his father. Worse still, you saw him one Saturday morning with his mother, another woman on his arm, a stiff smile on his lips as they entered a tea house. You knew the woman’s name, you just didn’t like to say it. His future wife, although Steve liked to remind you that they weren’t yet even engaged. But his mother was sure of it, the agreement made like a business deal because her father was head of the bank and Steve’s mother liked money.

A loveless marriage, set up for wealth, for survival, for good genes and even better business opportunities. But you saw the way the other woman looked at Steve, blown out curls and peach coloured lips always smiling up at him, ready to give him children and more.

A housewife. Ready made and picture perfect. The very thing that you were not.

“I missed you too,” you whispered back, unable to help it the way your voice cracked because long gone was the idea that you could pretend this wasn’t anything more than a fling.

You ached without the man. The longer you were apart the harder it became, a pain growing between your chest like an open wound that was pulled too tight. And now, as his hands trailed your hips and his lips found your jaw, you could feel it knitting itself closed, a pretty, red string tying the cut closed.

You’d seen the other woman, you knew what was meant to happen. You knew you’d lose him, eventually. That he’d no longer be yours. He’d have a ring on his finger and children with someone else and live in a house even bigger than this one and you’d never, ever be snuck in through a back door again.

It didn’t seem fair. It didn’t seem right. There was nothing in the world that you’d ever felt that was yours. No real money, different jobs for different months, an apartment above a bookstore in Brooklyn that you had to share with three other girls and even the dress you wore was borrowed.

But Steve? Steve Harrington?

It felt like someone created him just for you. Carved from marble, drawn on a canvas and brought to life, a man beyond perfect. Because he had his flaws - just like so many others that you’d dated - but you accepted his with more love than you’d ever felt before. The world seemed to still when you were with him, the entire planet slowing on its axis just so you could savour his touch a little longer.

You lay in his bed, in his arms, wrapped in his expensive cologne and cotton sheets and you knew.

You knew.

You knew that there was no way there was anyone else in this world that you were supposed to be with. His hand fit in yours too well, his lips slotting between your own like they were made from the same thing.

From a time before, when someone or something decided to create the Earth and built you both from the same bone.

Steve spoke into the crook of your neck, his finger spanning wide as his hands travelled over the front of you, feeling every curve, the softness of your stomach, the beads of your pretty dress, the dip of your waist. “You know, sometimes I think it would hurt less to drown in the lake than go without you,” he whispered, eyes closed as if at confession, murmuring his sins and secrets into your skin.

He kissed your throat again, revelling in the way your head fell back to top against his shoulder. Your eyes shut, your lips parted, your body trusting him to hold you up. “That’s awfully melodramatic,” you said airily.

Steve hummed, the ghost of his smile on your jaw. “Isn’t it? But it’s true. I’ve missed you more than I can understand.” He nudged you forward then, took the zipper at your shoulder blades between his fingers and tugged. “I needed you in my bed, in my sheets. They don’t smell like you anymore.”

You bit your lip, refusing to give into the questions that were bitter tasting and stuck in your throat: “has she been in them? Do they smell of her? Does she know about me?”

Because Steve pulled fully at your zipper and you shrugged your shoulders, letting the dress fall to the wooden floorboards, you turned in his arms and saw his eyes. Full of love, sadness, complete adoration and something else that you’d never seen in another man’s before. You were almost naked before him, blush pink undergarments made of silk and lace taught across your skin, silken thigh highs held up by suspenders, all costing an entire paycheck.

Steve wasn’t even looking at them, not yet. His hands went to your face, fingers cupping your jaw so gently that you even thought to yourself, that you might just break. It felt like it. His thumbs smoothed away the worry etched on your skin, frown lines disappearing under his touch and when he breathed out, you breathed in.

Sometimes you wondered if you shared the same heart.

“I love you,” he told you, his forehead pressed to yours.

You nodded, a tear slipping down one cheek and Steve kissed it away. “I love you, too.”

“Desperately,” Steve reminded you, bringing his mouth to yours. His kiss was feverish, pulling away too quickly before descending on you again, lips parted, tongue swiping across your own. “Insanely,” he groaned.

Your back hit a bookshelf as you tugged his shirt out of his trousers, the linen crumpling in your hands, a button hitting the floor when you became too impatient. Your fingertips traced the red lipstick marks on his neck, the ones that had smudged onto his clavicle and it was everything you needed to see and more.

A brand, hardly permanent, but yours nonetheless. If not just for tonight.

“I need you,” you told him, your skin on fire as his hand found your thigh. He pushed you into the spines of the books, cold leather on your skin as he hitched your leg to his hip and rolled his own against you. “Steve.”

“I know,” he murmured and his voice was hoarse, weak sounding. “I know, honey,” Steve assured you.

His belt rattled as it fell apart in your hands, the buckle cool to the touch and before you could push your hand into his underwear, Steve spun you both. You found yourself against one of the armchairs, tweed and plush, Steve kissing you from shoulder to shoulder as he stood behind you and coaxed your hands onto the back of it.

“Hold on,” he told you and you nodded, eyes half opened from the anticipation. You heard his zip, the slick sound of him stroking himself and you keened, impatient. Steve tutted and just as your eyes slipped shut, his fingers were under your chin, his bare chest curving along your back. “Eyes open, sweetheart. Look up. Watch yourself.”

Staring straight ahead, you saw how he’d positioned you both. In front of the fireplace, where the huge mirror hung above. You could see yourself, a scandalous sight, half naked and dripping in expensive lace, one strap of your brassiere falling from a shoulder. Smudged lipstick, darkened eyes and the most handsome man in Long Island draped over your frame.

Steve was pressed against your ass, his cock waiting hot and hard against your lower back as he moulded himself to your body. He was kissing your shoulder, mouth open and his jaw and neck decorated in your lipstick. His hair was already a mess, his white shirt hanging open and his hands wandering up your bare stomach to cup your breasts, finding your nipples through the silk almost too easily.

His eyes, half lidded and heavy with lust, found yours in the reflection of the mirror.

It was sinful.

“Watch what I do to you,” he said.

So you did.

You let the man push a knee between yours, spreading your legs for him so he could work his fingers into your underwear. You shivered as he talked you through it, telling you how wet you were, how good he knew you tasted. How he could spend days and nights and entire weeks between your thighs, how we wished he could have you on his tongue. Two fingers, achingly and annoyingly gentle, rubbed circles to your clit as he spoke, his eyes on your own the entire time and you felt too hot under his stare, his smile that grew when you gasped and whined.

He reared back when he pushed a finger into you, his other hand braced against the small of your back and he urged you to please him in a voice that sounded like sex itself. Steve was choked, his words tight in his throat and they came out in a rasp, pleading as he fucked two thick fingers in and out of your cunt.

“Let me see you,” he begged, his eyes taking down your frame and he groaned, almost too loud, when you dragged the cups of your bra down. Your tits were pushed against the back of the chair, moving with each motion his fingers made inside of you, the slow rock that had begun as Steve rolled his cock against your ass.

“Beautiful,” he told you, and he sounded like he was kneeling at an altar, talking to a god. “You’re so beautiful. You’re mine—”

“Inside me,” you interrupted. You were close to tears, your eyes glassy, everything too much. You felt as if you’d die if you didn’t have him closer. “Steve, I need you— I need you inside me.”

Outside, rain slammed against the large window, the lake nothing but a grey-blue blue behind the streaked glass. The wind howled and if you’d cared to listen, you would’ve heard the faint shrieks and laughs of the party-goers as they fought against the wind, trying to close the patio doors. Thunder cracked above the house, as if disagreeing, as if fighting back.

You didn’t hear any of it over the sound of Steve moaning in your ear as he slipped his cock against your folds, the head nudging once, twice at your clit before he pushed his hips back and slid into you. He fell forward, feeling like a man who’d been broken down and fixed again, his head on your shoulder as he wound his arms around your waist. You were held, truly held against him, feeling full and loved and adored as he whispered every sweet word he knew into your skin.

The two of you stayed like that for minutes, maybe a few longer than you realised, before it became too much. You whined, a needy sound that made Steve’s cock twitch inside of you and then you were being hauled up with him. The two of you standing behind the chair, your back to his chest and as the thunder grew louder and the windows rattled, you both gave in.

Your hands found home in Steve’s hair, reaching up and back to ground him to you, one of his hands moving your knee up to rest on the chair, opening you for him. Your pretty pink underwear was stretched out, allowing room for his cock to slip into you further. It was a dirty grind, you barely pushing your hips back as Steve snapped his into your own, his hand on your neck as he kept you facing forward, your eyes locked on each other.

His kisses became more lips than teeth, biting at your jaw, your earlobe, his fingers only leaving your throat to play with your bouncing tits, pinching at your nipples until you clenched around him. It was raw, dirty, watching each other in the mirror like that, seeing how wet you were with your legs spread open, Steve’s cock shining from you in the low light as it disappeared inside of you over and over and over again.

“Could stay like this,” Steve gasped, fucking you faster now. The sight of your body slack against his had him reeling, your perfume on his skin, your lipstick on his throat. “Could stay like this forever, could hold you forever, want you forever—”

His words were cut short as you came suddenly, clenching around him with a cry, your eyes shut tight in bliss and your head thrown back on his shoulder. You tugged at his hair, pulling him down, silently begging for a kiss that he gave you, a slow, deep push of his mouth to your own and he came with a wrecked noise when you breathed his name against his parted lips.

Steve had barely softened inside of you when he spoke. “Run away with me.”

You weren’t sure you heard him above the harsh breaths leaving both your lips, chest heaving and body’s lax against each other. His lips traced the line of your jaw, his mouth finding the corner of your own, he kissed you, once, twice, three times, his arms pulling you into his embrace and you could smell his cologne, the remnants of cigar smoke, sex and you.

“Run away with me,” he whispered again. “Let’s just go, we can— we can leave. Tonight.”

“Steve—” your voice was already pained and you slipped from his arms, fixing the lace until your skin was covered, watching as Steve tucked himself back into his dress pants. He left his shirt open as you searched the floor for your dress, his lips twisted with the rejection he knew that would come. “You know we can’t—”

“I want to spend forever with you,” he said and you knew he meant it.

Maybe the sky did too, because the rain fell heavier and lightning flashed across the lake, turning the world ultraviolet, just for a second.

“We can’t,” you said sadly, your voice a whisper. The words cracked in your mouth. “You’re not mine to keep.”

Steve watched you drag your dress up your legs, the unshed tears glittering in the corners of your eyes. His breath left him in a heavy gasp, like someone had punched him in the chest.

“But I am,” he told you, his chest heaving, burning. He blinked, eyes stinging, his vision blurring. The sky above the house cracked. “I am yours.”

It hurt to say it but you shook your head and spoke anyway, your eyes fixed on the way your lips had left tattoos on Steve’s skin. You were all over him still, even separated by five feet. And still— “you’re Nancy’s.” You swallowed the lump in your throat. “You’re Nancy Wheeler’s and she is yours and that’s— that’s how it’s meant to be.”

Steve shook his head, moving forward with his shirt still hanging open, his hair curling across his forehead and his hands caught your own. “No. No, no, no—” he look pained, fingers reaching up to brush across your damp cheek and you should’ve pulled away. But you couldn’t. “No. That’s not— it’s not like that. You know this.”

Steve bent, lips finding the corner of your mouth as you moved out of guilt, his touch chasing you. He made a noise of protest, ducking his head closer until he could steal a kiss and you bent to his will, lips yielding under his own he tasted like you, like sex and like home, like something you felt you’d know your entire life and maybe the one before too.

“Run away with me,” he murmured into the kiss, forehead touching yours. You didn’t have to open your eyes to know that he was crying, his voice wet, cracking like the clouds outside and when lightning struck the dock on the bay, he pulled you closer. “We’ll find somewhere else for us. Another town, another country. Another home, another life.”

You kissed him then, stole the words from his lips and swallowed them, kept them locked somewhere close to your heart and you knew you had to hold onto them. For as long as you could. Forever, if you had to.

“Maybe,” you started, voice hitching, “—maybe we weren’t supposed to have this life.”

Steve groaned, a soft sound of agony, of protest. The storm was passing, the party louder than before. He hated how this felt like a goodbye.

“Maybe, we just need to promise that we’ll find each other in the next one.”

[rory-cakes]

A Buck and A Canary

What was she doing here?

Why was she smiling at him like nothing happened?

He left their child alone!

He let her die!

He lied to her!

It has been one week since the battle at the Habin Hotel. They were starting to finish the reconstruction of the hotel when something strange happened. An angel appeared. 

“Hello! My name is Y/n Altruist, and the higher-ups of heaven have sent me to oversee the progress of the hotel!” 

“THEY CHANGED THEIR MINDS!?” Charlie was practically vibrating with joy. 

“Why?” Vaggie asked skeptically. 

“Well, unlike before, we have proof that your hotel works! A certain serpent has shown up in heaven!”

“Sir Penitouse is alive!” everyone was filled with overwhelming joy. 

“Also”

Y/n bowed in respect. 

“I deeply apologize for the exterminations. They were never supposed to happen. Sera and Adam were working alone in that sense.” 

Charlie grabbed her hand and helped her back up. 

“So really, no one knew? How is that possible?”

“The seven virtues are the only defense against evil on Earth so they have their hands full with that, I’m afraid. I was at the meeting and I brought up the issue as soon as I could!”

“Why do you care so much about what happens to us? No offense, we’re really grateful you did what you did! But why?”

“Well, I'm afraid my answer is a little selfish. My husband is down here. He wasn’t a good man but he was a good husband and he would have been a good father hadn’t he died.”

How did an angel like her end up with someone down here?

Wait-

An angel like her?

“Im sorry, but what is your husband’s na-”

“Birdy?”

“Alastor?”

Alastor sat uncomfortably on the plush couch in his room. Y/n sat equally as uncomfortable in a chair of a similar design. You could cut the tension in the air with a knife. 

Alastor avoided making eye contact with his wife. I mean she had to know who he truly was at this point. How could she not?

“Alastor.”

She breaks the silence. 

“I’ve missed you dearly, my darling.”

Why was she smiling?

“I know what you did, and while I can’t say I’m pleased, that doesn’t change the fact that you are my husband.”

What?

“You cherished and loved me for so many years. You took care of me and Eudora. You loved me with everything you had.”

This isn’t right.

“So, if you haven’t stopped loving me in the time we’ve been apart,”

No

“I’d like to be your wife still.”

Alastor finally looked at his ethereal wife. She was so good. She shouldn’t be corrupted by his darkness. 

“I left her alone.”

“So did I.”

Y/n smiled at the man in front of her. This was her Alastor. This was the man she fell in love with. Sure, there were blazing red flags and she should probably be running for the hills. However, she can’t deny the urge to be with him. 

“I’ve been watching over her.”

“You have? How is she?”

“She’s lived a long life. She’s been married to her wife for about 40 years now. She adopted three kids and has a bunch of grandkids. She had her own radio show, Al!”

“She did?”

“She did.”

Y/n moves to sit beside him and grabs his hand with both of hers. Alastor finally pulls her closer,

“You deserve so much more than I am. I cursed you in life I can’t let you get hurt again.”

“You are all that I want, and if I get cursed because of it, that will have been my decision.”

She places her hand on his face, and he leans into it. 

“My darling Alastor, there is nothing you can do for me to stop loving you.”

“Alright, Birdy, I’ll have you for as long as you wish to stay.”

And so the Buck was reunited with his Canary.  

A/N: Hi! I hope you liked the last part of Alastor's Birdy! If you have scenarios you would like me to write with this au, just send me an ask and ill get to it as soon as I can!

Taglist: @crazed-flower, @nanamunath, @preferably-fictional, @eccedentesiast-sapphic, @leximus98, @cupidsgift, @mag-chan, @stygianoir, @thereeallink, @yelloeukulele, @mariaclarade-la-cruz1, blurpleuni-squid, @galaxywing-has-adhd, @just-here-reading, @deez-nuts0, @strawberry-gothic, @purplerose291,@1-800-mocha, @trashbin-nie, @queenmizuki, @nkirukaj @bennythebitch @otherthoughtsofbu, @fantasycantasy, @hunnybee11626, @notally-tormal, @valerie-36, @lovingyeet, @holographicage, @har-har-harvey, @i-love-jafar, @cupidsgift, @meow-meowo, @theblueslytherin, @deadt3tinside, @lyralibra, @the-unhinged-raccoon, @avitute, @alastorswifeee, @stygianoir, @sideshow-b0b, @deadlymouse123, @mysingularitybts, @emotionalfangirl2002, @t0xic1vi, @goodlittlepup, @starsatmyhome, @wendds, @reader3, @redfoxgotlost, @hurthermore, @frostychurro @isa-dragon

[1-800-luvmail]

[ read part one w/ price here ! ]

reader who would rather skydive without a parachute than have their self sufficiency questioned vs cod men [ 2 / ? ]

könig assumed that when you invited him to bake with you, it was going to be a cute little activity for the two of you to do. a simple afternoon in your kitchen, making some baked goods to enjoy later.

he could not be more fucking wrong. you bake up a storm, leaving trails of flour, baking soda, sugar and whatever other substances you've used in your wake. you also seem to be eyeballing every single measurement. it's chaos. he's never seen a more disorganized process of making red velvet cupcakes.

the worst part is, könig can't seem to understand why he's even there.

"hey can you pass me th— nevermind, i got it." you say, standing on the tips of your toes to reach a bag of chocolate chips which was just a little too high. he's just a whole 6'10 ft of useless, standing in your kitchen, and getting in the way.

so instead of waiting for instructions, he choses to make himself helpful by attempting to clean as you bake. it works smoothly for the most part. he wipes up any milk you've spilt on the counter, places a batter covered spoon in the sink to be washed later (not before taking a little taste of course... and mess be damned, you're good at baking even if the sample he got was raw), and moves the bowls you don't quite need yet out of the way.

everything is going fine. you're talking to him like this is the most calming activity on earth and he's replying with little hums of acknowledgement and nods as he swiftly tries to get a little more batter from the whisk you've just stopped using.

"hey— no. you're gonna get sick. there's raw egg in there." you chide, just as he's about to sneak a lick. he wonders how you even noticed, considering you seem to be using 110% of your concentration on filling up the cupcake liners with just enough batter for each cupcake to be roughly the same size, which happens to be the only semblance of consistency you've had this entire baking session.

"i'm not going to die because of a little batter." he counters, amused by your concern. he can't help but chuckle.

you snort, rolling your eyes. "famous last words of an impatient man."

eventually, your baking frenzy subsides. the red velvet cupcakes are cooled after being pulled fresh out of the oven, you've made an insanely good homemade cream cheese icing to go on top (which you begrudgingly allow him one taste of. one.), and it's time to decorate. you've piped on most of the icing already, but the unsatisfied stare you give your baked goods allows him to piece together it isn't over yet.

"i think these need sprinkles." you murmur after a moment. your eyes glance around and eventually land on possibly the highest shelf in the kitchen. where the sprinkles just so happen to be. he tries to supress laughter when he sees the disbelief on your face. "motherfu—"

"i will get it." könig interrupts, stepping towards the shelf. you step in front of him, blocking him from getting there, hauling a chair with you.

"nope. won't need to. 'm innovative." he watches you set up the chair and get ready to climb up— only to gently grab your forearm and tug you back.

"famous last words of a stupid person." he scoffs, echoing your words from earlier.

you shoot him an exasperated look as you wriggle out of his grasp.

"c'mon, i do this like, what— all the time? hasn't killed me yet." you say, pointing at the shelf. "it's not that high. i'll just climb up to reach it."

"or you could swallow your pride and allow me to get it."

"and what fun would that be?"

he sighs at your response, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he mutters something to himself. probably in german. not like you could hear. you were too busy staring up at the shelf and getting the chair set up.

on one hand, könig wants to help to prevent you from potentially falling and eating shit, but on the other, he knows you well enough to understand there's no stopping you. so instead, he settles for a compromise.

könig moves the chair out of the way.

"i said, i'm getting it by myself. i kinda need the chair for that." you huff, glancing back at him, only to watch as he lowers himself, arms wrapping around your legs. "hey wh—"

before you can process, you're hoisted up into the air with a startling ease.

"alright," he isn't even trying to hide his smirk as he lifts you up, high enough to reach the shelf, "you can get it."