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suashii · 11 days

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— 𝒻𝓇𝓊𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓁𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓇 ౨ৎ

boothill x f!reader. 2.3k wc. ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ non-canon compliant ﾉ farmhand!boothill ﾉ a lil bit of flirty teasing ﾉ pet names ( darlin' ) ﾉ interactions with kids ﾉ reader is navigating Big and Confusing feelings :3

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“one more stop and we should be good to go,” boothill informs you, closing the door behind him after joining you in the front of the truck. his presence makes the vehicle feel twice as hot and you find yourself scooting closer to the window to widen the gap between the two of you. the task proves to be a bit difficult in the two-seat cab.

maybe you can chalk it up to the fact that you’ve gotten used to the convenience of grocery delivery services, but you’re really starting to feel like boothill is going out of his way to make this the longest, most convoluted shopping trip simply because you’re here with him. if you knew you’d be spending such a large chunk of your day with the farmhand, you wouldn’t have so easily agreed to accompany him on the errands.

it was another request, or suggestion, rather, from your grandpa. you’ve been cooped up in the house since you arrived for your getaway and the man thought it might be a good idea for you to go into town, reacquaint yourself with the locals. you couldn’t argue—your trip is currently indefinite and you’re sure you’ll end up driving yourself crazy if you refuse to go out and are only left with the company of boothill.

he may still be in your presence now, but having others around to buffer your interactions has made all the difference. the farmhand is a lot more tolerable when it’s not just the two of you—less teasing, easier to talk to. you’d even go as far as calling him… charming. though, you’ll take that with you to the grave.

and, being trapped in a car with him is a different story. you silently hope that your next destination is in the same direction as home because you aren’t sure how much longer you can take being confined in such a cramped space with him. other than his unrelenting pestering, you’re angry at yourself for stealing glances at him—the way he steers with one hand and lets the other hang out the window and how the toothpick he’s chewing looks all too natural between his lips.

you focus your eyes ahead, scolding yourself for so shamelessly enjoying the sight of him. you should be glad he doesn’t catch you looking; you’d never hear the end of it. without turning to face him, you ask, “what’s the last stop?”

“produce stand,” he speaks around the wooden stick in his mouth, slowing to a stop at the red.

you frown, confused. “we were just at the market, why didn’t we just pick some up there?”

“and betray miss alma?” the name rings a bell, you recognize it from when you would spend summers with your grandpa. he must still do business with her if boothill is familiar, and loyal, at that. “absolutely not. better quality here, anyway.”

you don’t argue because you have a feeling that he’s right. and you wouldn’t mind catching up with alma. she was always so nice when you were a kid, excitedly asking you about your time here and offering you free carrots to feed the horses back home. you’re surprised to hear she’s still running the stall after all these years.

it only takes a few more minutes to make it to the roadside stand. there are a couple of cars already parked when boothill pulls off and you can see the owners of them picking out their desired fruits and vegetables. you don’t waste any time getting out of the truck when boothill turns it off, the gravel of the makeshift parking lot crunching beneath your boots as you make your way over to the little table that houses the register.

alma is seated behind it, head lifting up from the book in her hand at the sound of car doors closing. she readies to greet another customer but her eyes light up in pleasant delight when they land on you. “look who it is!”

her voice, though slightly changed by age, is familiar and brings an immediate smile to your face. you all but run to meet her at the table she comes to stand behind. the woman holds her arms out for a hug and you reach over the table to wrap your arms around her. it’s comforting in the same way hugging your grandpa is, like nothing can go wrong while you’re safe in their hold.

“your grandpa told me you were in town,” she tells you, pulling away and slowly taking a seat in her chair. “i was wondering if you’d stop by.”

you don’t want to tell her that you’re mostly here because of boothill. “how have you been, miss alma?”

“good, good.” she beams and gestures toward the multiple cartons and crates of colorful produce. “we’re still going strong.”

you smile at that. you don’t find many places like this in the city and the small businesses that you do come upon back home don’t foster this type of community. it’s nice to see that her livelihood is still thriving. alma gazes at her work proudly before her eyes zone in on something—or someone—else. “you here with boothill?”

“oh, yeah. he works at the farm,” you tell her, though, you’re sure she already knew as much. she’s seen much more of him in the past few years than she has of you. not that you didn’t believe him, but he really is a regular.

“nice young man, isn’t he?” alma asks, looking back at you. you’re not sure if you’d go that far but you nod in agreement regardless. he’s likely the perfect gentleman to the older ladies within town. she continues, “hardworking and handsome, too.”

“yeah,” you mindlessly admit. the hardworking part is undeniable, you’ve seen that much yourself. he’s always up on time and takes his responsibilities seriously, never half-asses his tasks and is consistently willing to take on more work if it’s necessary. you only concede on the handsome bit because boothill isn’t around to hear you say so. you hope alma isn’t a gossip.

“are you seeing him, dear?” she inquires.

“seeing him? like dating?” you ask for clarification. alma only raises her eyebrows. she does mean it like that. the question makes the tips of your ears grow hot, makes your heart feel like it’s beating against your ribcage infinitely faster. you quickly wave your hands in dismissal, smiling nervously at the woman’s assumption. “oh, no. no, no.”

alma laughs at your denial but something hidden in the sound makes it seem as though she can see right through you. she doesn’t push the matter and while you’re grateful to leave the discussion at that, you can’t help but wonder what gave her that impression, if it’s simply an old lady’s wishful thinking or if you aren’t as good at suppressing those confusing feelings as you thought you were.

“boothill!” the call of his name gives you a start. you almost think alma is calling him over but when you reassess the voice—how little and high-pitched it is—you calm down. your eyes search the small crowd for the man and you find him quickly, though he isn’t alone. there’s a little girl at his feet, one who’s hugging his legs tightly and looking up at him with stars in her eyes.

you don’t have time to wonder about who she is before alma explains. “that’s my granddaughter. sweet little thing. you should go meet her, she’ll love you.”

“sure.” you offer the woman a short wave before making your way over to boothill and the girl. you can pick up on tidbits of their conversation as you approach—boothill asking how much she’s missed him and the girl telling him “this much!” while opening her arms as wide as she can. he laughs and takes the opportunity to bend down and pick her up, situating her on his hip. he even takes the hat off his head to place it on hers. it’s big on her, covers her eyes and requires her to push it back so she can see.

the whole exchange is cute, not something you’d expect from boothill. there’s a lot that you don’t know about him, you think as you watch.

the girl must feel you looking because her head turns in your direction which causes boothill’s to follow. you smile at her and wave and when you’re finally close enough, you greet her. “hi there.”

“hello.” she isn’t as excited as she was when she realized boothill was here but she’s still kind, returning your wave with one of her own. your conversation ends before it truly begins as she turns back to boothill. there’s curiosity swimming in her eyes and she doesn’t attempt to lower her voice when she asks him, “is she your girlfriend?”

your mouth falls open in surprise at the girl’s bold question. boothill laughs heartily, whether at your reaction or the question itself, you’re not sure. you don’t know if you trust him enough to answer honestly but before you can tell her no, the man is already speaking. “nah.”

relief washes over you, but it’s short-lived. he meets your eye with his next words. “she’s real pretty though, ain’t she?”

he’s doing it again, putting you in a tough spot, one that urges you to run away rather than face the situation head-on. but this time, he knows that you know running away here would only cause a scene. you aren’t jumping at the chance to embarrass yourself in public so, even though you’re tempted to put as much space between you and boothill as possible, you plant your feet to the ground and stay put.

the girl in his arms looks at you again before eagerly nodding. “very pretty!”

“thank you, sweetheart,” you tell her with a soft smile. you try to keep it in place when you turn to address boothill. “are we ready to go?”

“almost,” he answers, crouching down to return the girl to the ground. the girl doesn’t look thrilled at their time being cut short but boothill, still at her level, playfully pinches her nose in hopes of cheering her up. “look, i gotta finish shopping but we can talk some more another day. maybe ask your mom if you can come ride the horses soon.”

“okay!” she places the hat back on his head, gives him a goodbye hug, and waves once more at you before skipping over to her grandma—presumably to share her enthusiasm at the prospect of visiting the farm.

she reminds you of yourself around that age.

“so,” boothill starts, rising to his full height with a half-full wicker basket in hand, “you only capable of accepting compliments when they’re not from me?”

there’s a grin stretched across his lips like he’s waiting for a thank you of his own. perhaps it’s a little rude, a bit pretentious even, but you can’t find it in you to utter the two simple words. maybe it’s strange and maybe it only makes sense to you, but not acknowledging the words is almost as if they never traveled through the air in the first place. pretending like the words don’t exist is easier on you—your turbulent mind and your unsteady heart.

you change the subject. “what else do we need?”

“you are ice cold, darlin’.” despite the statement, boothill doesn’t seem to be bothered by your indifference. he wouldn’t take it to heart if you were truly uninterested but the man is more perceptive than you give him credit for. he doesn’t miss how you can never seem to meet his eye following his heartfelt words, how you chew on your lip while you formulate an unrelated reply, and he certainly hasn’t forgotten about that stunt you pulled in the barn.

there’s something going on in that pretty head of yours and he’s determined to find out just what it is.

you pick out a few peaches and plums for yourself and a bunch of carrots for the horses while boothill grabs the rest of the household necessities. the basket is full by the time the two of you are finished. you plan on paying for your share but boothill insists that you wait in the truck, so, after bidding goodbye to alma and her granddaughter, you make the short walk back to the car.

a couple of minutes pass before you hear the man putting the produce away with the rest of the items in the bed of the truck. a second later his door opens and he joins you, though, he isn’t empty-handed. there’s a bouquet of flowers in his hand that he holds out to you. “for you.”

you eye them cautiously, not daring to reach out and accept them.

“don’t worry, they’re from miss alma,” he tells you, lightly shaking the colored cosmos in front of you in a gesture for you to take them. “put ‘em in your room or something, they’ll look nice.”

with his urging, you take the bouquet. pinks and purples with pops of white make up the arrangement and, much to your chagrin, boothill is right—you can think of the perfect spot in your window for the blossoms.

as he starts the car and begins to back out into the road, boothill steals a quick look at you. there’s a smile pulling at your lips, soft and natural. it’s a rare sight, but one he could get used to.

he supposes that if he wants to see it for a while longer, he shouldn’t tell you that they aren’t actually from miss alma, rather, a mere suggestion from the nice lady to get him in your good graces.

thanks for giving this a read! reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: honkai star rail #boothill x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #boothill drabble #hsr drabbles #boothill fluff #hsr fluff #honkai star rail fluff

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dotieeee · 5 months

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The Gamemaker's Apprentice

Masterlist

Fandom and pairing: TBOSAS, Dark!Young!Coriolanus x Named!Reader

Status: Ongoing

Premise:

Welcome to The Game!

There are no strict rules to The Game, and you only have one objective: to avoid capture. So you have to use your smarts, rely on your instincts and carefully plan ahead if you want to win. Outsmart the enemy, it loses a point and bides its time; get outsmarted by the enemy, and you get twice as close to getting captured. You may have to face multiple enemies at once. You won't die in The Game, but others might. You are at risk of losing yourself and compromising your core values as The Game progresses.

Will you prevail, or will the enemy ultimately land on top?

Overall warnings, take heed:

NON-CON, DUB-CON, Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow, Snow himself should be a warning, lots of blackmailing, gaslighting, manipulation, obsession, possesiveness, drugging, somnophilia, eventual forced marriage, eventual loss of virginity, breeding kink, canon-compliant major character death, reader is named but has no physical descriptions in the fic so one might also consider her an OC but in 2nd POV, will have canon inconsistencies, Slow burn!! and other stuff that may be added

Special thanks to @honeybeezgobzzzzz 🌹🌹🌹

AO3 link here

Links to the Chapters (styled as Levels):

Level 1, Level 2, Level 3, Level 4, Level 5, Level 6, Level 7, Level 8, Level 9, Level 10, Level 11, Level 12, Level 13, Level 14, Level 15, Level 16, Level 17, Level 18??

#dark!coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #young!coriolanus snow #young!coriolanus snow x reader #dark themes #dark fic #18+ only #tbosas fic #tbosas

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wangxianficfinder · 1 month

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In the mood for...

Apr 19th

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1. Hi, I'm looking for fics where WWX is drunk/high and LZ noncons him @thehappyyellow

the sweetest dream would never do by honeyandviscera (E, 2k, WangXian, Modern AU, Dark LWJ, Somnophilia, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Body Worship, Breaking and Entering, Drugged Sex, Stalking, Come Eating, Unreliable Narrator, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat)

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2. Hey, hope you guys are well. For itmf, any opwwx! recs? Preferably completed please. Thank you for your time!! @tinyfoxpeach

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3. Helloooo Just came here jajsjs I'm desperate, lately I was thinking about some caveman! Or prehistoric ice age wangxian but I could not find something like that :( any rec? (Tysm for this page)

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4. more fics like lwj's big dick agenda? or just fics lwj being possessive. thanksss!

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5. Love your blog!!!!thank you for the hardwork!

Would love some disabled/chronic health issues wei wuxian pretty please 💖💖

🔒 the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break by RoseThorne (E, 91k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Soulmates, Self-Esteem Issues, Fix-It, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, PTSD, Handfasting, Panic Attacks, Getting Together, First Time, Aftercare, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, /Referenced Torture, Scars, Chronic Pain, Golden Core Reveal, First Time, Switching, sex-related injury, LWJ Stays at the Burial Mounds, LSZ is a Wèi, Good Sibling JC, Dissociation, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Disability, Scheming NHS, Disabled Character)

🔒 a star called sun by thelastdboy (E, 120k, wangxian, SL/XXC, JC & JYL & WWX, JYL & LWJ, WWX & WN & WQ, JYL/JZX, Canon Divergence after Xuanwu Cave, Fall of Lotus Pier, But worse!, Power Imbalance, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Not Everyone Dies AU, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Canon-Typical Violence, Sunshot Campaign, Miscommunication, Heavy Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Major Character Injury, Loss of Limbs, Chronic Illness, Seizures, WWX’s Three Months in the Burial Mounds, Wēn Remnants Live, Wēn Remnants Deserve Better, WWX Creates a Sect | Yílíng Wèi Sect, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note, Hurt/Comfort, Selectively Mute LWJ, Service Animals, Crows)

The Darkness Before Dawn by PsycheStellata707 (M, 113k, wangxian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, BAMF WWX, Attempt at Humor, PTSD, Oblivious WWX, WWX-centric, Blind WWX, Sentient Burial Mounds, Everyone Lives AU, Except Those Who Deserves to Die, Oblivious Pining, Not Canon Compliant, WIP)

🧡 the river brought you here by chilianxianzi (Not Rated, 11k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, POV Outsider, Amnesia, Past abuse, Strangulation, Found Family)

please don’t let me be misunderstood by sysrae (T, 3k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, getting hit by cars, Past Child Abuse)

some foolish thing I've done by sysrae (M, 4k, wangxian, Modern, College/University, partial hearing loss, Past Child Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, the real OTP is everyone x therapy)

🔒 how to make your dad fall in love with your high school teacher in five steps; the complete and bulletproof guide by ravenditefairylights (T, 90k, wangxian, modern, coffee shop au, nonbinary LSZ, hurt/comfort, trauma, past abuse, past domestic violence, healing, hurt WWX, found family, hospitalization, therapy, single parent WWX, pining, teacher LWJ, unreliable narrator, chronic pain, queer platonic relationship, genderfluid WWX, autistic LWJ, fluff & angst)

🔒 some things go forward by everythingispoetry (T, 73k, WangXian, Modern AU, Hospitals, Teenage Drama, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Happy Ending)

Cure by Yukirin_Snow (M, 100k, WangXian, XiCheng, XuanLi, Modern AU, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Character, Cancer, Medical Procedures, Medical Jargon, Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Love at First Sight, possible trigger warnings) Wwx has cancer, happy ending. It's a really good fic. I love it.

Rest is Resolution series by MarbleGlove (T, 32k, JC & WWX, JYL/JZX, JZX & JGS, LQR & LWJ, wangxian, Fix-It, Post-Sunshot Campaign, this might be crack, Niè Cultivation, BAMF NHS, BAMF JYL, Canon Divergence, Madam Lan Backstory, Getting Together), but especially the first one, Elder, an Aesthetic It's WWX without his golden core leaning into needing assistance

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6. Hiii! For the next itmf, I’m wondering if anyone has read fics inspired on creative reality shows? I’d love to read about wangxian having to team up for something like baking impossible or blown away. I hope y’all are having a great day, thanks!

❤️ Knight Hunt! Phoenix Mountain by travelingneuritis (E, 51k, wangxian, modern, dating show, Modern Cultivation, but in the silliest way possible, Reality TV, the juniors are interns, Smut, Illustrations, low-stakes pining)

Wangxian Strictly AU Series by Selenay (E, 135k, WangXian, Modern: No Powers, Dance, Strictly Come Dancing Fusion, Ballroom Dancing, Dancer!WWX, Violinist LWJ, Pining While Dancing, Oblivious WWX, Gratuitous Costume Descriptions, Gratuitous dancing descriptions, Slow Burn, Ballroom dancing, Established Relationship, Romantic Fluff, [Podfic] Falling to the Rhythm by semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona))

Previously, on LEGO Masters by trippednfell (M, 55k, wangxian, Reality TV Show Contestants/Judges, Modern, Mutual Pining, Forced to compete together, strangers to reality show contestants to lovers, there's only one bed, Platonic Cuddling, Autistic LWJ, WWX Has ADHD, Grief/Mourning, Wangxian miss their moms, so much pining, More Pining than LEGO in this LEGO fic, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, POV Alternating, Lego Masters AU, Not YZY friendly, Dysfunctional Jiang family dynamics)

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7. Do you by any chance know if there's any fic about the kid playing hanguang-jun role and the kid playing to be the yiling patriarch of that bunch of kids playing to be cultivators? As they have no names idk where to start looking. I'm in the mood for something wholesome 😌 Thanks in advance!

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8. Itm A) miscarriage fics where it causes problems in wx marriage.

B) girl dad wwx

C) cat dad wwx

Please find all of them in >20k or atleast 10 k. Please. Thankyou.

Rise of the Divine Oracle by BlakSalt (T, 291k, WangXian, Boy Love, Hurt/Comfort, Romance)

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9. hi! :3 itmf junior-central fics :) can be any combination of the quartet. ship fics are fine but no sizhui/jin ling pls bc they are cousins in my heart. thanks!! @monstergreentea

🔒 blue flies buzzing by RoseThorne (T, 2k, JL & LJY & OYZZ & LSZ, JC & WWX, wangxian, LSZ & WWX, LSZ & LWJ, LSZ & LXC, Gossip, Rumors, Mentioned Wen Remnants, Sect Leader Yao Bashing, JC & WWX Reconciliation, NHS is a Little Shit, POV LJY, POV Third Person, Threats, Justice, Cultivation Discussion Conferences, LWJ is LSZ’s Parent, LJY Being LJY, Podfic Welcome)

🔒 hills and rivers are waiting by LtLJ (T, 15k, wangxian, Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Domestic Fluff, Family Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, the family that hunts demons together stays together, and doesn't murder each other, Case Fic, BAMF WWX, Mojo's post)

💖A Dramatic Reading by pupeez4eva (Not rated, 5k, wangxian, post-canon, humor, public confessions, curses, getting together)

❤️ Tragedy is Not the End by Hobbsy3 (T, 358k, wangxian, Time Travel, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Golden Core Reveal, Canon Divergence from Qiongqi Pass, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Yunmeng sibling bonding, good dad wwx, good dad lwj, JZX Lives, JYL Lives, Junior Quartet Dynamics)

Would You Come Home? by s6115 (Not rated, 46k, WangXian, Junior Quartet Centric, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Junior Quartet Dynamics) Might work, though it's a little more Sizhui centric, but it's a very lovely showing of their dynamic in a low stakes setting

❤️ grow by cafecliche (T, 14k, WangXian, Age Regression/De-Aging, Character Study, Post-Canon) link in #12

You Bring the Colour by fuddy_duddy (rainier_day) (G, 12k, wangxian, art school, art restoration)

🔒 Yearning by Sanguis (T, 9k, WangXian, LingYi, Modern AU, Professors, Established Relationship, Married Couple, Bunnies, Pre-Relationship Secrets)

climbing up that coastal shelf by Sour_Idealist (T, 15k, JC & JL & WWX, JC & JL, JC & WWX, JL & LSZ, JL & WWX, Post-Canon, Mutually Unrequited Forgiveness, JC & WWX Reconciliation, Family History, Generational Trauma, Discussion of Canonical Abuse, Awkward Attempts at Communication, mentions of past JC/WQ, Fairy is a good dog)

history by tongzhi (T, 16k, LSZ & WN, JC & LSZ, LSZ & WWX, LSZ & LWJ, LSZ & Wen Remnants, LSZ & Juniors, LSZ & MM, Post-Canon, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, LSZ gets angry, LSZ and JL refuse to take their family's trauma forward, jiujiu is the best, Character Study, MM abolitionist queen)

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10. itmf any pregxian fics! thank you for your hard work admins :)

Reluctant partner by sacrificial_fawn (G, 31k, wangxian, LXC/JGY, Modern, Mpreg, Family Reunions, bonding over your shared trauma, Reluctant Bonding, Married Life, Supportive LQR, Past Miscarriage, LXC's excessive use of kaomojis, Male Lactation, non-graphic birth, LQR tries to be a good uncle but he doesn’t know how to, Intersex WWX, JGY can hold the baby as a treat, LWJ can have words and verbs as a treat, Slight OOC) very sweet imo, it has a bit of Meng Yao and Wei Wuxian friendship, it's also a teene tiny bit sad

All I Want by Selenay (E, 47k, wangxian, Modern, Mpreg, Post Holiday Romance, Consequences, Reunions, Idiots in Love, wangxian attempt to be sensible adults about it, they are very bad at it, Teacher WWX, Rating earned in later chapters, Handwavey Biology)

Until The End by abCEE (M, 365k, wangxian, canon divergence, communication, established relationship, sunshot campaign, mpreg, canon typical violence, WWX has new golden core, canonical character death, happy ending, fix-it of sorts) He's not pregnant for a large portion of the fic, but it's not an insignificant amount of time.

Impermanence, Transience, Permanence by Best Bepsy (BepsyGray) (E, 39k, wangxian, canon divergence, unplanned pregnancy, mpreg, gore, sunshot campaign, assumed miscarriage, medical procedures, childbirth, golden core reveal) I'd be surprised if you haven't already read this one, but it's one of the few ones of the genre that I like.

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11. Hi!! For itmf, is there any fic where Lan zhan and wei ying personality swapped? It only temporary but the chaos cannot be contained @chibiizzy

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12. hey admins, any fic recs on wei ying getting injured or sick and lan zhan takes care of him or just anyone who gets very worried about him?? thanks <3

🔒🧡 rain falls and soaks into the earth series by RoseThorne (T, 57k, WangXian, WIP, Near Death Experience, Attempt Drowning, Madam Yu Bashing, Recovery, No war AU)

Rotten Work by ShanaStoryteller (Not rated, 63k, wangxian, JL & WWX, post-canon, Protective WWX, Protective JL, POV JL, JC & WWX Reconciliation, eventually, Reluctant Matchmaker JL, this kid is doing his best, Pre-JL/LJY if you squint)

How to Treat Your Injured Yiling Laozu by merakily (T, 3k, wangxian, Chronic Pain, Whump, Love Confessions, Literal Sleeping Together, Burial Mounds, Golden Core Reveal, LWJ has a lot of feelings about WWX being in pain, Hurt WWX)

hunters seeking solid ground by Attila (E, 23k, wangxian, Canon Compliant, discussion of canon character death, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, bed sharing, Getting Together, Yearning, Literal Sleeping Together, Really Excessive Amounts of Hurt/Comfort)

something left to save by androids_fighting93 (E, 57k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, No Bloodbath of Nightless City, JYL Lives, Not Everyone Dies AU, Hurt/Comfort, single dad wwx, Sick Character, Golden Core Reveal, the lightest d/s dynamic if you squint, handjobs, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Dynamics)

Heart of hearts series by apathyinreverie (M, 40k, wangxian, WIP, Dark LWJ-ish, Not Cultivation World Friendly, Amnesia, WWX gets to be Not Okay after the BM, Recovery, Possessive LWJ, Possessive WWX, Protective LWJ, not nearly as dark as the tags make it sound, Golden Core Reveal, Hurt WWX, Caring, WWX Goes to Gusu, ridiculously self-indulgent, Canon Divergence, Amnesia, some definite manipulation, but not everything is as it seems, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Domestic WangXian, Fluff, WWX happily atticwifing away, Sunshot Campaign, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ)

❤️ grow by cafecliche (T, 14k, WangXian, Age Regression/De-Aging, Character Study, Post-Canon)

What's Wrong With Him? by GrapefruitSketches (G, 2k, JYL & WWX, JYL & LWJ, JC & WWX & JYL, wangxian, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt WWX, Pining LWJ, POV JYL, Canon Compliant, Oblivious WWX, Unconscious WWX, Concerned JYL, JYL Knows Everything)

let the yoke fall from our shoulders by occultings (microcomets) (G, LSZ & LWJ, LSZ & WWX, wangxian, LWJ & LSZ & WWX, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Character Study, Mentions of Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Gusu Lan Juniors Dynamics, let capricorns cathart agenda, Happy Ending, Family Feels, Established Relationship)

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13. Itmf serious fics. Where wwx has personality like he has in 12 moons n a fortnight, he's so mature there uk. Ik that fic has funny and crack moments too, but it's mostly feels and serenity there, more fics where wwx is like that please?

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14. Hello. Thank you for all the hardwork.

For the next itmf I'm looking for fics whe WWX is not the only one to be resurrected.

Or where he is resurrected in other people bodies (I have seen the fic comp here ).

Thank you once again @anime-trash-parody

~*~

15. itmf,,, a fic where wwx atracts the supernatural, the divine, the eerie,, like he has a connection with the burial mounds or the dead in general, they like him, they are atracted to him; spirits and deities like huli jins or like the fliwer maiden are also atracted to him or interact with him,,, does what im saying even make sense?

Ad Oblivione by Baph, HikariNoHimeWriter (M, 70k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, POV Multiple, Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Identity Reveal, Golden Core Reveal, Cultivation World Critical, Not JC Friendly, Abusive YZY, Angst with a Happy Ending)

~*~

16. itmf any fics where they actually end up meeting baoshan sanren when going to or while doing the core transfer

Can't Tell Me Nothin by natacup82 (T, 35k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Everybody Lives, Family Feels, Communication, BAMF Women) They don’t meet during the transfer so it might not quite be what u have in mind but she does do something about it.

~*~

17. Would love some genius modern wei wuxian extra if the juniors are involved thank you 💖💖💖💖💖

💖 One Can Keep A Secret (If He Does Not Know It’s There)by H_Belle (T, 5k, wangxian, NHS & WWX, modern w/ cultivation, inventor WWX, secret identity, identity reveal, YLLZ WWX, rogue cultivator WWX, pining LWJ, WWX pov)

living in my memory/living in my mouth by tardigradeschool (T, 32k, wangxian, modern w/ magic, reincarnation, college/university au, hurt/comfort, sharing a bed, light angst, nightmares, epistolary, pining, friends to lovers)

🔒 care by everbrighter (T, 35k, LSZ & WWX, wangxian, modern w/ magic, resurrection, family bonding, getting to know each other, past character death, pining)

🔒 The Second Jade of Lan's late but incendiary sexual awakening by KizuKatana (E, 41k, wangxian, First Time, LWJ's Horny Grip,LWJ does not know what hit him, and yet somehow he still realizes it before WWX, canon wangxian dynamics, college AU, LWJ starts off annoyed at WWXBut quickly discovers both his competency kink and a caretaking kink, Genius WWX)

i really want to know (who are you) by Stratisphyre (M, 19k, wangxian, LQR & WWX, Modern with Magic, Golden Core Reveal, Single Dad WWX, Reasonable Authority Figure LQR, Allusions to violence and murder, Hospitalization)

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

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ultimate-submas-tournament · 1 year

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Do you like Submas? Do you like polls? Do you wish there was more polls to vote for train boys on?

Then boy do I have the tournament for you!

Introducing the

ULTIMATE SUBMAS TOURNAMENT

Where all the Ingos compete to find the best Ingo, and all the Emmets compete to find the best Emmet- and then they duke it out!!!!!

Come explore this melting pot of different AU creations from across the website- including your own!

That’s right! You too can compete in this for fun event! Get yourself out there!

Here’s the rules and how to sign up:

1) No bl///shipping AUs or bl///shipping blogs may enter. This is a platonic only submas tourney.

2) No NSFW 18+ AUs or NSFW 18+ blogs may enter. I want this to be welcoming to younger folks to so I’m gonna have to draw a line here.

3) You can only enter your own AU. You can share this post with other submas creators, but you can only personally enter AUs that you have made content for.

4) You can only enter AUs that have content made for it. It doesn’t matter if that content is a fic, a few drawings, or a series of interconnected tumblr asks- as long as there is content you can link me to, it qualifies.

5) You may enter up to two AUs (one for each brother). This may be lowered to one AU per user if the demand gets too high.

6) While non inc/st ships are not outright banned, AUs must be more than “canon compliant warden Ingo but he’s dating Melli”. Give us something fun to work with.

7) AUs can, and are encouraged to crossover with other content. Cretur AUs are also allowed because turning blorbos into cretur is fun.

8) Only Ingos and Emmets may be entered. We all love Elesa but this ain’t her tourney. (Fusions can be entered, but they will be placed in a fusion only bracket that will not affect the main tourney)

9) Lower your expectations. This is for fun, there is no prize, and statistically you will not win. Please do not whine and complain when you are inevitably knocked out.

10) BE NICE TO THE CONESTENTS. Holy heck don’t make me catch y'all harassing other people for ANY REASON. I will block you. Don’t make me do it.

How to enter:

Reblog this post with

1) The name of your AU

2) A link to your fic /tumblr tag /masterpost

3) An image that you want to represent your AU. (If you have no image, one of my associates or I will draw a simple one- but it won’t be very good and you shouldn’t expect much)

4) The name of the preferred brother you wish to enter (preferred brother may be overruled if the brackets get too uneven)

(If you plan on entering a second AU, you must do these steps again with a second reblog. The first AU you enter will be considered the priority if we get too many entries.)

(Entries may be denied for things like: side bl///shipping accounts, pedo//ilia, harassment or other things in that same vein. They may also be denied for more benign things like, “hey I love you lots but this is just canon Ingo”)

Entries must be submitted by the first of June!! Thank you for participating and ALL ABOARD!

#submas #submas au #subway master emmet #subway master ingo #subway bosses #subway boss emmet #subway boss ingo #bracket tournament #pokemon

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choism · 10 months

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Shameless | c.s

san solo, choi san

Genre: canon compliant, smut

Words: 1.8k

Summary: A month of sexual frustration and a pair of sweatpants can really bring out the animal in someone. In this case, that someone is San.

Warnings: Smut, masturbation, pillow humping, implied sexual tension, implied mxm pining, inappropriate use of a plushie, plushophilia, poor mokoko..., san masturbates basically

A/N: This is a request done for my beloved @kitten4sannie, ily bestie. It is also HEAVILY inspired by my beloved @parmesannie's fic on ao3 called Bring Me To Ruin. I say heavily, it's mostly the plushie part but we ball. I hope you enjoy! Cross posted to ao3! Will probably have a second part from Wooyoung's POV and end up becoming a woosan fic, we shall see...

The sound of shoes squeaking, music blaring, and people panting fills the practice room late at night..

San and Wooyoung had decided to do a last minute, late night practice session before their first comeback show for promotions. The choreo isn’t difficult by any means, but they felt like they had to show off more this comeback, hence why they are sweating their asses off at nearly eleven at night. The sound of their title track plays in the background as they move around fluidly, sweat dripping off their bodies and onto their shirts as they work hard to perfect every single move.

They finish up the chorus and Wooyoung moves to the computer to pause the music, “Wanna go again or take a small break, you look frustrated.” He says to San, jutting out his hip and putting all his weight onto that side, taking a swig from his water bottle as if he’s trying to seduce someone. San had been furrowing his eyebrows so hard Wooyoung thought they would fall off, or fly away.

“Yeah a break is fine, sorry.” San mutters and plops over to where his bag is, taking out his water and gulping it down furiously. San wipes the beads of water that dribble down his chin and Wooyoung’s eyes linger a bit too long until he snaps back into reality.

“What’s got your panties in a twist? Is it your part during the bridge? I think you look fine.” Wooyoung says trying to comfort his best friend even though he isn’t sure what’s bugging him. San lets out a huff and wriggles his hips a bit, probably just trying to adjust or get comfortable, Wooyoung assumes.

He takes another chug of his water before answering, “Nothing, I just think I’m tired all of a sudden and it’s getting to me, we can go another round.” Wooyoung quirks an eyebrow suspiciously but just mutters an ‘alright’ before restarting the part they had been working on. Both of them go and stand back in front of the wall mirror and wait for the counts to come so they can get their respective moves down.

San had only been slightly lying to Wooyoung about why he felt so frustrated. Yes, he is tired. They have been practicing non stop for this comeback and this final session is doing him in a bit, but it’s not the main reason.

The main reason is that San is wearing sweatpants.

Soft, comfortable, loose gray sweatpants.

‘What’s so frustrating about sweatpants?’ You may be wondering. Well it’s not just the sweatpants, he isn’t wearing any underwear either, which means he can feel the delicate and soft material rub against his soft cock, slightly springing it to life with each tight pull of his pants when he moves his legs. San hates underwear, they are uncomfortable and restricting, but he also loves sweatpants, so comfortable and freeing.

And sometimes, when he combines wearing sweatpants, with no underwear, he forgets just how pleasurable it makes him feel. This feeling, plus having not been able to jerk off in so long is really getting to him, clearly. They have been so preoccupied with promotions for this comeback that he hasn’t been able to properly touch himself in about a month, which is keeping him incredibly horny and frustrated. Sure he could have had time to rub one out if he hadn’t told Wooyoung he would practice with him, but he couldn’t say no to Wooyoung. Maybe this was a bad idea.

With each move he can feel the material move and strain against his now semi hard cock, when he was sitting on the floor earlier he tried to get a bit of relief by wriggling around a bit, but it just made his situation worse, and also made Wooyoung shoot him a weird look. He just needs to get off so bad, he needs it and it’s now clouding his brain. Clouding his brain so much that Wooyoung has to restart their part over, and over, and over.

“Alright maybe we should head to bed, you clearly aren’t focusing very well and you need sleep.” Wooyoung saunters back over to the computer once again to stop the music and San takes a second to catch his breath before responding.

“I’m sorry Youngie, I’m sure we’ll do great tomorrow anyway.” Wooyoung agrees and pats his back, shooting him a million dollar smile that shows he cares for the other man and his health more than some silly practice session. San sends back a more pained smile, but a smile nonetheless, and they head back to the new dorms.

***

San swears he’s never felt more relieved at having his own room before. As soon as they entered the apartment building San stormed off to his room, a disgruntled Jongho murmuring to Wooyoung, “What’s his deal?” And the other man shrugs in return.

The moment San is in his room he locks the door and looks into his full length mirror. His cock is very visibly hard against his sweats and there’s even a small stain of precum where his tip pushes against the soft material. “Fuck…” He whispers and hopes Wooyoung hadn’t noticed such an embarrassing thing. San immediately gets to work, rubbing his cock through his pants, the delicate material rubbing along the head of his dick making his belly swell with arousal. He sits on the ground and fucks up into his palm, trying to gain as much friction against the material as he can but it’s no longer enough, he wants, no, he needs more.

Hastily he clambers onto his bed and rids himself of his shirt, shoes and socks, his torso still sweaty from his practice session and his chest gleaming, nipples hardened. San takes a pillow from the head of his bed and places it underneath him. He finds an angle that works and lines himself onto it, shallowly thrusting onto the pillow to feel more friction. The front of his sweats are practically soaked, precum leaking all over them. He moans and grunts as he chases the feeling, the material of his sweats pulling forward along his cock with every grind onto the pillow, and the pillow adding a needed to pressure onto his longing cock.

It’s still not enough to get him anywhere, all it does is fill his belly with a small fire, but it doesn’t blaze to anything else. He needs more, he’s so desperate, he needs anything. Through his haze he looks around his bed to see if anything else will satisfy his needs until his eyes land on it, and he immediately has second thoughts.

His sweet, innocent mokoko plushie is right in his line of vision. It’s right there, beckoning him to use it. The small opening between where it’s holding a heart and it’s chest is perfect, a perfect spot to fuck into. Wait. No. He can’t fuck his plushies. He couldn’t dare soil his precious, special edition mokoko plushie….Could he?

He could.

In record time he finally peels off his sweatpants, his angry, throbbing cock springing out and hitting his stomach with a small slap sound. He discards the pillow underneath him onto the floor, it needs to be washed anyway, and with one last regretful look he turns back to his mokoko plushie and grabs it. “I’m so sorry Mokoko, I’ll make it up to you later.” He whispers and switches positions. He flips onto his side and props himself up onto his remaining pillows with his arm, and lines the plushies opening with his leaking cock. He says one final prayer before sliding his cock into the opening and he lets out the most groundbreaking moan he's ever moaned. It feels perfect. Nothing has felt so good before. Well, that’s debatable, but at this moment, after not having jerked off in nearly a month, the feeling could only compare to heaven itself.

He nearly comes right then and there, but he takes a second to compose himself. The soft, velvety material of the plushie brushes along the shaft of his cock so well, and while humble, he knows he’s well endowed and is reminded when the tip of his cock pushes into where mokoko’s mouth is. It’s kind of fucked up, but that’s just how the cards fall he guesses.

After gathering his bearings, he slowly starts to fuck into the plush, his lips falling into an ‘O’ shape at the feeling. He cants his hips up, making sure to appreciate every single detail of the way his cock feels fucking into the tight space, moans slipping from his mouth everytime the head of his cock pushes into the plush. San’s cock twitches with pleasure as he picks up his pace and while closer than ever it’s still not enough. The material is great but now it’s starting to rub. He needs lube.

Briefly, he gets up to reach into his nightstand for his lube and generously squirts some into his hand, warming it up and slicking up his cock soon after. He feels so bad, he’s about to ruin one of his favorite plushies, but his horniness is overtaking his sense of logic. He can just wash it after…right?

Removing the thoughts from his head, he switches positions, now laying the plushie underneath his hips so he can fuck into the plushie from the top. He aligns his cock once again, and slides into the opening once more. He nearly moans unbelievably loud but stops himself when he hears someone walk past his room. Once he thinks they’ve left he continues, fucking into the plushie again and, fuck, does it feel better than ever. He lets out small grunts and groans as he fucks into the opening harshly, feeling his orgasm finally building, and boy is it building fast. San has been practically edging himself this entire time, so it’s no surprise that once he finally figured out what he needed, he comes quickly. Three more thrust and he bites down on his lip to suppress his moans as he cums all over the plush, disgustingly coating its face and god there’s so much cum. It’s literally seeping into the material once he’s finished, and the ropes went so far some even landed on his sheets above where the plushie was, he guesses he really, really needed this.

After coming down from his high, he quickly realizes what he had just done. He ruined his favorite, one of a kind plushie. Jesus what has he done, how will he clean it, can he clean it? Should he throw it away? As he’s trying to come up with a solution to save his poor, poor mokoko he hears a knock at the door.

“Hey Sannie, can I come in?”

Fuck, It’s Wooyoung.

#choi san smut #san smut #k labels #choi san x reader #san x reader #ateez smut #ateez x reader #woosan smut #wooyoung x san #san x wooyoung

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probably-impossible · 1 year

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pls pls pls pls give us headcanons about the scara x katheryne crack ship or i will literally die bc i am a sucker for robot love too and i need this in my life :D

Okay so... I may have actually gotten way too invested in this and started writing a fic about it. 😅 But just in case that never comes to fruition, here's my more in-depth, canon-compliant(ish) thoughts:

The Katheryne in Sumeru was possessed by Nahida enough times that some of Irminsul's influence rubbed off on her and made her sentient. This only began to manifest after she was skewered by the Eremites, repaired, and then sent back to her normal Guild duties.

Scara visits the Adventurers' Guild for one reason or another and makes one of his usual snarky remarks, then is surprised when Katheryne briefly breaks character to snark back at him. Intrigued and slightly annoyed by the fact that a supposedly non-sentient "inferior" puppet has roasted him, he resolves to keep observing Katheryne and find out what's going on.

Meanwhile, Katheryne is new to this whole sentience thing and isn't quite sure what to do about it. She tries extra hard to go about her job as usual but finds that some weirdo in a big hat is always hanging around & disturbing her for some reason. She resolves to find out what his deal is and why he gives her pesky feelings in her chest sometimes.

Cue shenanigans, bonding over puppet troubles, themes of figuring out together how to make their own purpose in this world, etc. etc.

My headcanon for Katheryne's personality is that she has spent her entire existence working in customer service and has Seen Some Shit. As a result, she is usually unflappable, but can be taken aback by new or strong feelings. She's also very attached to / protective of the Adventurers' Guild and its members.

By contrast, Scara has the emotional fortitude of a wet paper bag, but he is technically more experienced with having feelings (and he has Nahida as his personal therapist). So he's able to help Katheryne adjust to being her own person & get her to explore the world a little more.

Also Scara's tsundere shit totally fails to land with Katheryne. He'll be like "Tch. As if I could ever do anything as embarrassing as spend time with you," and she'll just say "Okay, goodbye. :)"

I feel like Nahida would know exactly what's going on and would be bemused by it at first, then start actively trying to get them together. At some point she would definitely tell the Traveler to sub in for Katheryne at the Adventurers' Guild one day so Katheryne and Scara can hang out. (Of course the Traveler would be comedically overwhelmed and this arrangement would never happen again.)

If Katheryne gets a Vision in this version of events it would probably be Dendro. Her voice lines in combat would be variations on her standard canon dialogue, ex. "Compliments of the Adventurers' Guild!" or "Here is your reward!" while beating the living daylights out of some Hilichurl.

That's my take on it, anyway! There may or may not eventually be more from me on this because people seem to like it way more than I expected, ha ha 😂

#genshin impact #scaratheryne?#i saw someone suggest wanderyne which i think is fantastic #anyway thanks for indulging me lmaoooo #headcanon #scaramouche #wanderer #katheryne #my asks

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intriq · 4 months

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another sneaky teaser at upcoming chap 1 of new fic

im hoping to get this chapter out soon and hopefully its not disgustingly short (metaphorically banging my head into a wall)

tag list: @skullkidwithsunglasses @millyhelp @astrelz (<— difficulty tagging cus no one pops up lmao 😭)

#dc universe #oneshot #jason todd #may be non canon compliant #may be non canon compliant dc universe oneshot #ak!jason todd x reader #ak!jason x reader

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comfortless · 6 months

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Outside they say you’re alright (chapter 1 of ?)

🌱 PAIRING: König x fem!reader 🌾 CONTENT: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. fae au. blanket warning for death, violence, very light horror elements <— comes with the territory; all of this being said it’s still cozy and sweet here!!, not even remotely canon compliant, slow burn, eventual smut. chapter specific warnings: animal death (bird), implied ghoap, minor character death (but not really, hold tight!), non-consensual cuddling. 🍃 NOTES: this is my first time writing in a long stretch, but after finishing Meeting the Other Crowd i had to write this lest i wound up chewing thru my own fist. later chapters may have additional warnings added. not proofread. wc: 7.9k

next ->

The season of turning leaves, of the harvest moon, of a waning veil; it feels as though the entire world calls for change. Packing to move feels less arduous when the very earth is moving along with you, shifting her shape to bring in the autumn, the winter. Autumn feels less intense in the city. Concrete and vehicles don’t naturally shed their skins, hibernate, bed down and cozy up by a warm hearth. There’s a significant lack of trees and wildlife, all uprooted and shed away to make room for more human comforts. It’s never felt like home to you.

It’s almost funny how in your desperation to be untethered from an unwelcoming, pristine and metallic skyline, you’ve managed to neatly pack away your entire life into a mere two bags. Everything that wasn’t utterly necessary or sentimental donated or tossed into the garbage behind your former apartment. You know it’s a silly thing to believe a new roof over your head in an unfamiliar town a few hours venture away will change your entire life, but just as the leaves turn you feel it’s your moment to follow suit.

Kate hadn’t made you pay anything in advance. No deposits, no frivolous faxing of paperwork, Kate had requested nothing but email correspondence, and perhaps that should have set off some instinctual alarm bell in your head. Yet, you had been in contact with this woman for weeks, and you hadn’t picked up on anything odd in the eloquent responses Kate had given. The woman answered all of your questions with ease, and even had the decency to ask if there was anything she could do to make the move more bearable.

You found Kate’s listing on craigslist of all places— a humble little ad showing off a barren room in a small cottage located in the middle of nowhere, some mountainside town down south that you had never heard the name of prior. It was impulse that led you to reach out, typing out a sloppily worded email in the midst of another sleepless night expressing your interest in the room and a few words about yourself. Kate didn’t waste any time with her response, declaring that she felt you would fit in well in the home and things progressed naturally. You had decided that you liked Kate already.

But nothing could have prepared you for actually meeting Kate Laswell.

As you park your little, beaten down sedan in the forested driveway, you takes a moment to calm your nerves. A six hour drive has left you feeling as though you’re in an entirely different world— around the midway point in your journey was the last time you had actually seen a town. There’s a sense of apprehension building, and yet it does little to fully snuff out the excitement.

The cottage laid out before you is off-white in color with a grayish-brown roof, blanketed by tendrils of hedera helix curling up each corner of the home and meeting in a cluster on the roof. The fence surrounding the property, wooden and worn seemed more decorative than any protection against anything getting in or out. ‘Quaint’ was the only word that seemed to come to mind as you step out of the vehicle and move to the trunk to collect your meager belongings.

And as the trunk of the vehicle slams shut, you’re met with the sight of a gentle-looking woman sprinting toward you from the cottage, a bright, welcoming smile on her face and an oversized yellow cardigan draped ‘round her shoulders. “So glad you made it,” Kate greets warmly. “Need help with your bags?”

“Oh, I’m fine. Didn’t bring much.” You reply, and for the first time in months, you feel your heart begin to settle in your chest. This was good. The stress of the city seemed to retract its claws from your shoulders the moment you take a good look at Kate and the cottage behind her. The woman is older, soft lines visible on her face. She was fragile looking like a twittering little bird, but there was something in her eyes that suggested she was much more than her stature. Maybe not a robin at all, but a red-tailed hawk instead. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and the clothing she wore looked comfortable, a loose fitting white blouse, jeans, and the cardigan you wonder if she may have even knitted herself.

“Well, come in then. We’ll get you settled and have tea, or whiskey if you would prefer it.” Kate says with a wink, taking you by the hand and pulling you up the gravel-laden trail towards the door. Sparrows are nesting in the trees above, clover, sourgrass and wildflowers springing up in a viridian and brown blanket beneath your feet, and the dirt feels far more forgiving against the soles of your boots than the pavement of the city ever did. This already feels like home. “Just tea would be fine.”

Kate shows you around the cottage with pride, and you find that it’s entirely deserved. The home is immaculately tidy, albeit a tad cluttered. The woman had all sorts of strange baubles and crafts lining walls and shelves, books of all nature (even an extensive romance section you had found yourself drawn to, Kate had laughed at the sight of your eyes lingering on the spines as you read the suggestive titles), her furniture was all clean and patterned. Your room nearly brings you to tears. It was still rather empty, just as the pictures in the listing had suggested, with only a bed, dresser and vanity furnishing it. However, in the windowsill sits a blue planter with your name delicately painted on the front of it.

“A lily,” Kate informs you, smiling soft as you gaze down at the little green bulb in the pot. You ghost your fingertips over the rim of it as you tilt your head to look back at Kate, both confusion and gratefulness painting your expression. Kate’s smile doesn’t waver as she steps to your side and gives your shoulder a comforting squeeze. Her kindness has already made you trusting, and it seems with every action she takes you feel more at peace, as though Kate were merely an estranged aunt rather than a complete stranger. “I thought a lily might suit you. It might still be early enough for her to bloom.” You whisper a thanks, returning her smile with one of your own. The thoughtfulness of such a simple gesture warms your heart in a way that you hadn’t felt in some time. You make a mental note to read up on plant care to ensure Kate’s gift doesn’t go neglected.

She waits to lead you into the kitchen and dining area until after you had put away your things and have properly seen your room. The rooms are just as well cared for as the rest of the cottage, every item in its proper place, the sink cleared and a knitted doily placed in the center of the range. The table is what catches your eye most of all though— a fat loaf of fresh baked bread placed carefully on a platter next to small serving dishes filled with honey and jam, a tea kettle and two floral painted mugs set neatly just beside the display. It looks more like a painting than any meal you’ve seen before, far too accustomed to quick snacks and dull fast food bags. In the city, working so much just to ensure that you still had your apartment to come back to, the time it would take to prepare something even as simple as this was never something you could expend.

“This looks… it’s lovely, Miss Laswell,” You breathe out shyly, taking a seat at the table, your fingers flexing slightly. This kind of welcoming felt so foreign, not that you minded it. Not at all.

“Please just call me Kate.” She says with a laugh, pouring out a generous mug of tea for you and sliding it across the table as she takes place on the opposite end. Her smile is infectious, warming your heart and causing the corners of your mouth to tug upward, too.

“Kate.” You say aloud, committing it to memory. You wanted to be respectful. This was her home, you were just a temporary guest after all. You accept the mug of tea with a thankful nod of acknowledgement before taking a small sip. Warm. Everything about Kate’s home and her demeanor is so warm. Even in the midst of autumn, there’s no chill here, only tenderness and warmth as though some invisible hearth roars in the corner of every room. “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me.”

Kate hesitates for a moment, and had you blinked you would have missed the way her thin shoulders seemed to tense and the lines at the corners of her mouth visibly tightened. She parts her lips to speak, eying you carefully before… she merely reaches across the table to slice you off a plump helping of the bread, scooting the bowls of jam and honey in your direction.

You wonder if somehow your words had offended her, and you wished you could retract them, snatch the fluttering of your voice from thin air, but as quickly as that thought comes, Kate sighs.

“Well, I haven’t been entirely upfront with you, dear,” Kate begins in a soft voice, tilting her head as she sips her own tea. Your eyes widen in surprise at her words, uncertain as to what weight they carry. Your thoughts immediately veer in the worst direction— perhaps she wasn’t offering the room as long as the listing stated, and you had no where else to go. Perhaps someone else lived here too, someone dangerous.

“What do you mean?”

“The neighbors come around sometimes.” She says, and it almost pulls a giggle from you. Neighbors? You hadn’t seen any other homes on the way up here, and having lived in an apartment complex you were used to all manner of folks, from the loud, the strange, the elderly and standoffish. You give her a little shrug in response, unsure of what to say to such a silly thing.

“You’ve just got to understand how to deal with them if you see them,” Kate continues, her mouth pressed to a thin line as she regards you. There’s that sharp look in her eye that suggests she really isn’t kidding around, that there may even be a threat if you didn’t hold what she says next with the highest regard. You feel a swell of unease, but give the woman your rapt attention, not even bothering with the bread on your plate despite the way your stomach grumbles, quiet but demanding. “Don’t eat their food, never give them your name. Don’t thank them either, even if you break your ankle on a hike and one stops to help. No thanking them.”

You laugh. This had to be some silly joke, harmless hazing for the new roomie. Your mirthful giggles die in your throat when you meet Kate’s gaze again and her expression is entirely grave— gone was the soft smile and the twinkle in her eyes, and you’re quickly reminded as to why you thought of a hawk when you first saw that look in her eye.

“Kate… I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

She toys with the handle of her mug for a moment, watching as if to ensure your amusement has entirely died out before she graces you with another word. “Dear, I know I sound like I have bats in the belfry, but I need you to listen to me.” A heavy sigh leaves her lips after her words and her brow pinches as if she’s trying to consider the best possible way to explain this farfetched idea of her neighbors to you in a way that’s easy enough to digest without giving too much away. “Perhaps meeting one of them would be the best way to show you.” She mumbles as she sets her mug aside and stands from her chair. You remain dumbstruck in your seat, watching as she pulls her yellow cardigan tighter around herself before fumbling around in the kitchen to retrieve a small woven basket. Kate places two thick slices of bread inside and the little dish of honey too as you watch on.

“Sure.” You say with a quizzical tilt of your head. You didn’t want to insult your new roommate further, and she seemed deadly serious about this strange concept. Maybe it was best to appease her, and meeting other folks that lived out here didn’t seem like too arduous a task. Kate flashes you that smile again as you agree and offers the basket out to you. Your fingers curl around the stiff handle as you stand and bring it closer to your person.

“There’s a little walking trail out back that leads straight up the hill to the cemetery. Ghost should be there.”

“Ghost?” A ghost in the cemetery. How fitting.

Kate breathes a laugh and shakes her head. You’re pleased to see the tension has left her, she seemed at ease and just as sweet as she had when she rushed to greet you earlier. “Not really a ghost,” she explains with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You’ll see. He’s a bit… prickly at times, but he’s harmless enough. Just take him the bread and you’ll see.” Harmless, you want to tell her, is what most people should be expected to be without graceful description. ‘Are the others harmful, then?’, your mind supplies, as if trying to make you feel closer to a side character in some low budget horror film. Something was certainly off here, but you don’t find yourself questioning it further.

Kate leads you to the back door, unlatching a chain lock before unlocking the deadbolt and pushing the door open. The hinges whine as she directs you toward the trail with a pointed finger. And, with an encouraging pat on the shoulder, she pushes you out of the door. You can hear the tinkling of the chain and the thump of the deadbolt as she locks it behind her. You don’t know whether to side more with the anxiety building in your chest or the frustration burning at your stomach after finding yourself in this situation. So maybe Kate did have ‘bats in the belfry’ as she had called it. What woman would have invited a complete stranger to come live with her in the middle of no where, after all. But this was only your first day here, and you knew you had to make the most of it. Where else could you possibly go?

At least she was nice. The tea had been perfect, too. With a sigh, you decide to overlook her eccentricities for now as you start walking towards the trail. Your pace is brisk, orange and red fallen leaves crunching with each step as you meander up the thin, forested trail. The chill of an autumn breeze pushes through the trees with ease, shaking a flurry of dead leaves from dark branches to whirl around you, one landing gently on the shoulder of your coat. You pluck it off, twirling the stem between the fingers of your free hand as you walk.

The cemetery comes into view about half an hour later. The peaks of moss covered tombstones rise up over the hill, and you’re surprised to find that the old graveyard isn’t entirely overgrown. Some thorn bushes border the backside of the small clearing, trees towering so high to either side it almost roofs the area in entirely apart from a center circle where sunlight beams in. It’s quiet apart from the splintering of leaves beneath your soles and it dawns on you that you haven’t heard a sound not pulled from your own being since you started your short journey here.

You look around for this supposed ‘Ghost’ for a few moments, scanning both behind and above the tombstones. There’s nothing and no one to be seen, just a heavy silence and carpeting moss over stone that hasn’t been touched in what looked like centuries. You didn’t want to return too soon for fear of Kate not taking too kindly to it, you couldn’t run the risk of being cast out, even if the thought of her doing such a thing already felt uncharacteristic and outlandish.

So, you kneel in front of a larger headstone, fishing out a slice of bread from the basket and smoothing honey over it with the butter knife Kate had placed inside. The engraving was entirely illegible, worn away by the elements, and with so much moss encompassing it you doubt you could have read it anyway even if it hadn’t been so neglected. The bread, still warm and soft is nibbled at as you inspect some of the other graves, all in the same state of disrepair. A part of you wishes you had plucked some wildflowers on the walk, perhaps you could have given some restless spirit the satisfaction of not being forgotten.

A clipped ‘woof’ pries you from your thoughts, a deep and breathy sound that sends a chill down each bony knob of your spine as you whip around to face whatever had made the noise. You’re met with the view of a massive dog standing a mere three meters away. The animal’s fur was a coarse, wiry black, it’s eyes just as dark. It regards you with its ears flattened back against its skull, dark lips pulled back in a snarl, though it doesn’t growl. In fact, the creatures tail betrays this display of intimidation as it wags lazily behind it.

You break a corner of the bread off and extend your hand out to the dog, cooing softly to it and encouraging it to approach. The dog huffs, ears flicking forward. It watches you for several long moments before stiffly walking towards you, accepting the bread into its large mouth and swallowing it down without so much as a courtesy chew. Up close, you can’t discern what breed of dog this is at all. His ears were long and floppy, descending down past his maw, his hair looked stiff and rough almost like a wolfhound’s but it was much shaggier, longer.

“Good boy.” You chirp, reaching up to lightly ghost your fingers over the crown of the dog’s skull. The dog recoils with another huff, and for a moment you almost think you see his eyes narrow as if he were glaring at you— a silent ‘do not touch’. Your hand retreats and you mutter an apology out to the creature. The dog doesn’t move, standing still as a statue as it watches you fiddle with the handle of the basket and rise to your feet.

So, no Ghost, but you did meet a dog. That would have to do for now. You were exhausted from the drive, and more than anything you wanted to be in the warmth of a building, away from the volatile breeze and the eerie silence of the graveyard.

“Wait.” A voice rasps as you turn back to the trail. Everywhere and no where at once it comes and the feeling that arrives with it, so peaceful yet uncanny. Just like before, you don’t hear the dog approach, but you feel the cold of a wet nose press against your palm. His mouth opens, grazing your fingertips with his teeth as you whip your head around to look down at the creature, eyes wide and brows raised in shock. What?

You wrench your hand away from the dog, uncertainty sending a violent shiver down your spine. Surely the animal couldn’t’ve …

“F’me, wasn’t it?”

It’s not your mind playing tricks from the emptiness of the graveyard.

The dog spoke, rough and deep and accented.

The creature’s tail wags languidly behind him as he stares up at you expectantly, big paws placed firmly in a moss bed below with long, black claws curved into it.

“P-pardon?” You manage to breathe out, voice tight as your chest rises and falls rapidly with shallow, panicked breaths. This was impossible, you knew it. As a child you had spent countless hours trying to get your childhood pet to utter a single ‘I love you’ to no avail, and yet this dog before you seemed to find human speech as simple as inhaling or flicking his ears. The dog huffs, his dark eyes rolling, and you realize the animal does not simply speak, it finds you amusing too.

He noses at the basket, sniffling deeply at the food within before peering up at you in silent demand. You part your lips in a small ‘o’, lowering the basket to the mossy floor. The dog doesn’t spare you another glance as his tongue lolls out to lap at the dish of honey and draw the bread between rows of hungry teeth. He eats quickly and with all the grace of any normal canine, crumbs dotting the fur surrounding his mouth as he raises his head to regard you.

“You just… you spoke to me?” You question, your knees wobbling in surprise. Perhaps if he didn’t have the look of a cute dog, you would have been more fearful. “You talk?”

The dog tilts his head before sniffing at your boot for a moment only to raise his head back as he settles onto his haunches. The animals ears perk up, still flopping at the ends, almost covering his dark eyes.

“You smell like Kate.” He speaks, but his mouth doesn’t move. In fact, his entire body remains rigid and still, a graveyard statue blessed with the breath of life.

Something clicks as his words register. This isn’t just some extraordinary talking dog, this was the Ghost Kate had mentioned. Your eyes finally relax, there’s no more look of surprise, there’s no more unease. Having a talking dog for a neighbor seemed so much better than dealing with Mr. Thomson, stumbling back into the apartment complex after a long night drinking, singing his curses to the city, to the world itself.

Ghost was just fine.

Emboldened by this sudden realization, you reach out to the dog again. “Ghost,” you say with a hint of a smile. “You’re awful cute, aren’t you?” A giggle escapes you as you see he’s not moving away this time, but diligently sniffing at your hand. The dog pauses after a moment, flashing a hint of teeth at you. It’s not aggressive, you realize. Perhaps, he’s not the best with people.

“An’ you’re awful chummy, girl.” The dog snorts, turning his head away indignantly. So this one had a bit of an attitude, you let it roll off the shoulder. Surely he would warm up, talking or not, most stray dogs had a tendency to. You retract your hand and collect the empty basket and the dog gives you a slight nod in approval.

“I’ll walk ya back.”

— — —

The walk back to Kate’s cottage felt longer than the hike up to the graveyard. Ghost didn’t seem very keen on talking to you, despite his offer to escort you home. He padded in front of you with hurried steps, only circling back to nip at your heels every now and then if he felt you were trailing too far behind him. You didn’t yet know that there were other eyes in the forest observing the two of you. Each time a branch snapped behind or to either side of you, or when footsteps or laughter could be heard some distance away, Ghost would dart behind you to mouth at the leather of your boot with a low growl to keep you from looking at anything apart from the roof of the cottage as you approached.

After the third bite, with the cottage in full view you finally stop in your tracks, reaching down to ruffle his ears. “Why do you keep doing that?” You ask, an air of annoyance to your tone as you note the indents of fangs in your boots— the only pair of shoes you had even brought with you, already covered in drool and bite marks by some magical dog you hardly knew.

Ghost snorts, dark eyes locked on your face as he circles back around you. “You’ve got lead in your head or your shoes girl, which is it?”

You puff your cheeks in a slight pout, half a mind to knock his fuzzy head with the basket in your hands. “Neither,” you mutter, carrying on towards the cottage. “Stop biting me.”

Ghost shakes his shaggy head, opting to press his mouth to your hand in a silent order to get you moving again. You oblige, leaving the dog behind as you make it to the back door of the small house. You knock once, and already hear the sounds of the locks unlatching just beyond the wooden door. The door swings open, and Kate stands there in silence. face paled.

Ghost lets out a low bark somewhere behind you as you wave him off. Kate smiles broadly at the dog before turning to look at you just as he scampers back up the trail, no doubt back to the graveyard he had appeared in.

“I apologize, dear,” she breathes out, ushering you back inside. She looks incredibly apologetic as she takes your shoulders and turns you around to face her. Her tone remains a cross between stern and reassuring, and you feel a swell of guilt, almost like you should be comforting her rather than the opposite.

You explain to her that Ghost didn’t frighten you, and she settles immediately, a sigh of relief leaving her lips. You return the basket to its proper place, stored on a shelf high up in the pantry as you tell Kate about your interaction with the strange, talking graveyard dog.

“Sounds like he likes you.” Kate responds followed with a soft laugh. You notice she’s cleared the table of breakfast, only neatly crocheted doilies in place of where the two of you had sat earlier that morning. “He wouldn’t speak to me the first day we met.”

You shake your head in protest, gesturing towards the marks from his teeth in your boot. “He bit me!” You whine, earning another laugh from Kate. You crouch down to untie your boots, pulling them off of your feet, the woman kneels next to you and pries the boots from your hands with gentle, aged hands. She runs her thumb over the indentations with a hum.

“I should be able to fix them.”

“Really?”

Kate nods, standing to her feet and offering you her free hand. You take it, straightening yourself out. The room smells of lemongrass and lavender, the flickering glow of a large candle placed neatly on a side table housing a few choice pieces of fine china.

You watch as Kate takes your boots to her room, no doubt where whatever supplies she deemed useful enough to fix them lay in wait. She returns roughly a half hour later with them graciously repaired, and you’re uncertain of how she’s managed such a feat to the extent she has— no more indentations, no scuffs on the leather. They look new, something you haven’t seen since the day you purchased them.

You thank her graciously with a little bow of your head and you and Kate fall into a comfortable conversation. She tells you that there are many others like Ghost, that some of them look human but aren’t, that some are no more than groaning shadows or looming abysses of fur and sharp claws. Kate diligently reiterates her rules from earlier, and though you weren’t quite sure you believed her entirely about the dangers of these ‘neighbors’, you nod along enthusiastically.

“So, if Ghost is just a dog, why doesn’t he live here? With you? Winter gets cold in places like this,” you breathe out, seated on the opposite end of the floral patterned loveseat next to Kate.

“Oh? He didn’t show you then.” Kate laughs. She’s brewed another kettle of tea and she dispenses the amber fluid between two mugs. “I suppose he didn’t want to frighten you off, but he’s no dog.”

Your eyes widen, and you’re uncertain as to why Kate’s words fill you with dread, a cold spike through the chest that sends a shiver down each ridge of your spine. Ghost hadn’t hurt you, of course. He didn’t even seem to be entertaining any idea other than eating and walking you home. Maybe a bit pushy, but otherwise a proper gentle…dog. Your head tilts, wordlessly asking Kate to fully explain what Ghost may have been hiding.

“He’s a big guy,” is all she says as she takes a long sip from her tea. You open your mouth to speak again, but all of a sudden the scent of tobacco fills your lungs, swirls around the entire room as though it was emanating from the walls itself. You stifle a cough with your palm pressed flat against your lips and Kate laughs. Yet, as you glance about the den, you see no one else. Paranoia? But Kate seemed to have smelled it too. “Not me, dear.” She says quietly.

“… what are they?” You question, voice wavering. The scent of tobacco seems to grow stronger then dissipate after a few moments only to return.

“The good folk,” comes Kate’s immediate reply as she stands, clapping her palms against her thighs with an exasperated sigh. She tilts her head to look down at you with a small smile. “This one’s nice enough, too. Don’t worry.” Despite the waves of scent that drift in and out of the room, nothing else seems to appear. With everything that’s happened today, a part of you expects to meet with a sentient cigarette at Kate’s words, but… nothing.

— — —

As the days pass, you and Kate fall into a sort of routine. The woman will tell you the most unbelievable things with a smile on her face, and you find almost too quickly that everything she says is true. This place feels holy in a sense. It’s no church, but things of myth seem to embedded themselves into the walls, singing like a choir in the dead of night. You swear you hear Kate talking to someone some nights, a man’s voice booming through the cottage. They share laughs and the scent of a cigar ebbs and flows, but every time you’ve tried to steal a peek at this visitor, he seems to vanish the moment you step out of your room. Maybe you would think him rude if you knew for certain he existed at all.

Your mind tends to play tricks after the stress of leaving behind everything you knew, uprooting your entire life to come here. On the second day, you lose your car keys. You had placed them on your nightstand and you knew it, but the following morning they were no where to be found. On the third night, you wake up on your side in bed, the sound of someone breathing deeply behind you sending a swell of dread from the base of your neck down to the heels of your feet. Sleep paralysis, you tell yourself, but you knew you had pulled the blanket a bit tighter around yourself when it happened, stealthily tried to move your foot to see if you could feel anyone. You could move, it had been real.

It’s on the fourth day that your heart sinks in your chest. You wake to morning light flooding through the curtains, the chirping of birds in the willow just outside of your window. As you sit yourself up and wipe at your eyes with the meat of your palms, you realize the potted lily Kate had gifted to you is gone. Plants don’t just get up and walk, using their leaves to tug up their pots as if it were trousers as they saunter away on thin, wiry root legs. You feel like your sanity is slipping when you check the window and realize it’s still locked. Even though the lily was just a plant, you feel a sense of grief at the fact you couldn’t find it anywhere— not beneath the bed, in any drawer, the closet or… anywhere in the cottage.

You finally give in and decide to ask Kate, to which she explains that this event isn’t uncommon. You expected her to be upset (with what you believed to be your own irresponsibility), but she remains kind as always, tells you it will turn back up when you least expect it and ushers you to the kitchen to prepare breakfast with you, coffee, omelettes and bowls filled with blackberries.

“You could try asking Ghost,” Kate offers, “He seems fond of you, perhaps he took it.”

You bite back the urge to ask her how a dog could have possibly broken into your room and stolen a potted plant. The very image of it seemed silly, a beast like him biting down on the clay pot to, what? Haul it off to rest it atop some long-forgotten soul’s grave? Instead, you toy with the eggs on your plate, still feeling a bit strange about the entire ordeal.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Don’t be afraid,” the woman speaks up again. The expression on her face, oddly sheepish, doesn’t suit her well. A silent ‘don’t leave’ buried beneath her words, written clear as day in the sullen look in her eyes.

The trek to the graveyard feels heavier this time around. The dog isn’t what has your skin crawling, it’s the ever-present feeling that something just beyond your field of view is lying in wait, eyes trained solely on your form. You swear you can feel a puff of breath on the back of your neck a time or two, almost causing you to trip over a cluster of fallen pine cones and other forest debris. It’s silent, as always, and as much as your eyes scan through fallen leaves and bent branches, you can’t make out the sight of anything scampering about, not so much as a squirrel or a proud cardinal. It’s strange how empty a place teeming with life can feel at times when something lurks coaxing the other creatures to silence lest they fall victim to sharp fangs. Even you, you find, have taken to subconsciously adjusting your strides as to not step on too many fallen leaves, avoiding twigs as though making a peep at all would be a death sentence.

Making your way to the hill littered in graves only makes it feel more certain, that steady drip of dread telling you that death was nipping at your heels. Though, a part of you considers that’s just Ghost’s presence. Black shulk, a keeper of fairy mounds, a harbinger of death.

You’re not met with the presence of a wiry-haired dog this time though, but a man clad in black, face concealed by the frontal bones of a human skull with all but the jaw mostly there. Tall and bulky, the thin fabric of a tunic barely concealing the rigid musculature beneath. There’s a moment of panic, so brief the swell and fall leaves you breathless, before you realize looking into those eyes that this was still the dog you had met before. Different, but still just as haunted and weary. There’s a misplaced sense of peace with Ghost; a wolf taking to shepherding a lamb rather than devouring it.

“Ghost?” You call to him, and he tilts his head ever so slightly, attention pulled from whatever duty he feels that he owes to this cemetery. Some instinctual guardianship, perhaps, rooted just as deeply in his fae blood as the pride and fear in your humanity.

“Yes?”

The dog, man, whatever he may be doesn’t seem to have a care that you see him as he is now, his focus returning to the same tombstone you had kneeled beside the day you met him, thick fingers roving over the mossy stone. He’s not clearing it away, you notice, merely looking it over and it dawns on you that perhaps, in some distant past that this was someone he once knew. Had he waited at their side during their end? Pressed his muzzle to their palm in a kiss of death? Your fingers twitch at your side as your feet move on auto-pilot, arriving at his side before you seat yourself next to him.

Ghost smells of sulfur, of pine and morning dew. Not death as you had expected. He smells of spring mornings and hazy summer afternoons, scorched earth and vibrant meadows all in one. Purgatory made flesh, a passerby between heaven and hell.

“Did you steal my lily?” The words seem entirely outlandish as they spill from your mouth, and you realize how stupid you sound the second he cocks his head to look you over beneath the skull concealing the majority of his face from you. He doesn’t have to give you an answer, really, because you know he didn’t take it, but he still gives you the courtesy of a slow shake of his head. “Well, it’s gone.” You say quietly, drawing your gaze away from him as you look to the tombstone before the both of you. You can see it now, the name. Johnny MacTavish.

“Don’t know anything about it,” Ghost utters, his dark eyes remaining trained on you, but his hand moves to the soil beneath his feet. There’s a certain reverence to his touch as he splays his hand across the earth. This ‘Johnny’ must have been important to him in some capacity. Not a kiss of death at all, you realize then. Whatever Ghost was, he had the propensity to love, to grieve.

“Oh.” You breathe soft, pulling your lower lip between your teeth. A heavy silence hangs in the air for a moment. You hadn’t meant to interrupt him during such a sensitive time, but there’s some flicker in his eyes when you look up at him that suggests a semblance of gratitude that you’re here. “… you knew him?” Your force the question from your tongue, and Ghost merely turns his head to look at the stone before him, eyes somber as they trace over the engraved name as though he were reading poetry.

“That I did.”

You both sit in silence for a time. There’s a part of you that doesn’t want to leave him to haunt this place alone anymore, and a more rational part that tells you that he belongs here, tethered to this Johnny’s side for the rest of his days. Ghost seems less tense in your presence, almost soothed by the silence it seemed as his broad shoulders go slack and he pays his silent respects to this buried man by way of gentle touch and a barely contained softness in his eyes. The silence feels neither awkward nor unfamiliar, it’s as gentle as a breeze passing through. You picture what this man must have been like, to steal the heart of someone like Ghost, even in death. You don’t ask, despite the questions burning in your throat. In due time, perhaps.

An hour passes before you force up the will to leave him, and just like the last time, Ghost walks you home. There’s no more pushing, no ushering you to look forward or walk faster. The man would never voice it, but something about the way he looks at you now tells you there’s some newfound respect budding up in his chest like a wildflower.

The silence is only broken as you reach the door to Kate’s home.

“Somethin’s got its eye on you, lovie.” You whip your head around to question him, but find the man has already gone.

— — —

You return empty handed, noting that Kate’s car was no longer parked in the gravel driveway. A note on the refrigerator door reads ‘Out. Be back soon!’. It’s the first time that you’ve found yourself alone in the cottage, but you have the sense to tell you that you’re not entirely alone. Even the mottled white and blue wallpaper, some faux marble pattern, makes you feel as though you’re being watched, as though something you’re just not seeing is tucked away beneath those colors observing you with the eyes of a starved wolf.

And it’s quiet, it’s so quiet that it makes that unease grow. You’re repeating Ghost’s words in your head like a strange mantra.

Somethin’s got its eye on you, lovie.

Why didn’t he elaborate? Did he even know? Could he know?

The house settles, a floorboard creaks loudly and that’s enough to spur you to hide away in your room, at least until Kate returns.

Your room feels like small sanctuary as you shut the door behind you and let out a shaky breath. The calm is only interrupted when you notice the dead sparrow lying neatly atop your bedsheets, it’s wings spread out, feet tucked against its tiny body and it’s eyes closed. It looked peaceful, not brutally marred and yet the sight alone pulls a gasp from your throat as your eyes grow wide.

Something had been in your room. Someone had been in your room.

Was the dead bird a threat? A gift? You couldn’t be certain, but you glove your hands and bury it in the backyard, eyes carefully scanning the tree line every so often as a chill runs down each knob of your spine. You’ve heard mentions of the fair folk your entire life, in books and film, but those stories all felt so nonsensical and sweet compared to the here and now. Were they not supposed to simply be little people donning butterfly’s wings? Fluttering about thick oak trees and being birthed from flower bulbs? Kate’s ‘neighbors’ looked and felt the part of demons by comparison.

If not for Ghost’s existence, you would think this all was her doing, that perhaps she was more eccentric than you had realized. You’re scared, you’re alone here in the country, and it seemed as though these strange occurrences would just be your new day-to-day. As normal as a walk to the subway, as ordering your coffee from a local cafe. You pat the small grave with the spade once as you rise to your feet to head inside to wash your sheets.

— — —

You don’t remember falling asleep, memory only supplying you placing your sheets in the washer with a slight grimace on your face. But you wake, you wake to the dim light of the moon basking your room in a hazy, milky glow. You can feel the presence of a blanket covering your lower half, but you’ve hardly time to question how it got there at all.

A long, muscular arm curls around your middle, inviting in a cold, billowing wave of fear to wash over your bones. Ghost?, you wonder in silence, but the thought immediately dissipates as you feel the figure shift closer behind you, tucking you further against himself. Ghost was big, but this person was somehow larger. Impossibly so. You part your lips to scream, but not a sound comes out. You feel as though your voice itself has been snatched away from your throat. “Shh,” a voice hisses into your ear, the feeling of fabric moving over your face as the man behind you tilts his head to look you over.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“I won’t hurt you,” the voice continues, somehow both gravely and light as he speaks. It’s unfamiliar, entirely unfamiliar. He sounds unhinged in a way your fretful mind can’t even begin to voice, and surely, he must be. Climbing into bed with a stranger, pulling someone you’ve never met so closely to you… why would anyone in their right mind do that?!

You manage to find your voice when the man lowers his head to the crown of yours, deeply inhaling as his grip around you tightens. “What the hell are you doing?” You try to sound assertive, truly, but it comes out as a small squeak, anxiously wavering with each syllable uttered.

“You smell like honeysuckle.”

Was Kate back yet? If you screamed would she come sprinting through to door to rid this beast of a man from your bed? Your thoughts are like a roaring storm in your head just before you feel the gentle brush of lips, hidden beneath some veil, against your cheek and the figure pulls away to settle against your pillow with a soft huff of breath.

“Your heart is racing like a little hase. Calm down.”

“Stop. Please.” Your voice cracks again. Through the dim light of the moon seeping through your window you make out the sight of a clawed hand resting over your tummy. Thick, black keratin gently splayed over the fabric of your shirt, grip firm but not tight enough to cause injury. Your breath catches, the stranger let’s out an airy laugh, tries to pull you closer once again. You’re so entwined that it’s for naught, you’re only grateful he was gentle. The thought of those claws splitting you open surfaces just before he shushes you again.

“I won’t hurt you,” he repeats as if sensing your unease. You can almost detect the dejection in his voice, as though he knows, knows that you’re catching glimpses of a monster, a sight he couldn’t change. It’s gone so quickly you think you’ve imagined it. His thumb moves languidly to trace a circle along your sternum, trying to soothe.

“What do you want?” Your voice was a low hiss, eyes darting from his hand to the wall in front of you. The courage to twist in his grip and face him wasn’t there, your imagination running wild with possibilities of the rest of him like stills from a horror film.

“To hold you.” Simple sentences do nothing to make his voice sound calm, the man is practically trembling as his hand moves to your hip to trace a pattern there, clawed fingertips dancing over a hint of exposed flesh. His other arm shifts to fit beneath your neck, you can see the taut muscle, the veins there as he moves it to curl over your chest, his breathing uneven and deep. The sound was familiar, the same sound you had heard when you felt the dip in your mattress a few nights prior. “Just to hold you.”

And this, despite how horrific and strange, is oddly comforting. Your mind has been plagued with anxieties caused by the unseen for days on end, and you can’t even recall the last time you’ve been held like this, if ever. So tender, so warm. The man behind you quietly hums the tune of a song that isn’t familiar, but feels as though it were just behind you. His fingers continue to delicately trace small shapes against you, warm paths of connecting points, some angular, some smooth. Despite yourself, you find you’re lulled into a deep sleep filled with dreams of fall forests, of unknowns with sharp teeth and fierce eyes. A song, dancing naked in groves, a man with eyes like an ice covered stream.

When you wake, you find your bed empty apart from your own person, and a fully bloomed lily in your windowsill.

#König x reader #konig x reader #König x you #konig x you #konig fanfiction #konig #König #call of duty #if i look at this any longer i will never post it raaah #erlkönig!König is everything to me

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