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heartshapedbubble · 9 months

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Could I perhaps have something like those 2 long and well written Joseph and Luchino fic but with Soul Catcher? Thank you🙏

anon i am SO SORRY this took so long you might as well have my first born

also english isn't my first language so please have mercy on me i know i reuse the same words over and over 😔 reqs like these sadly clog my inbox even tho i like writing them so i'm gonna do something about them after i empty it!!

my very own prince charming, a soul catcher fanfic🧲☠️

cw for vomit mention in case you have emetophobia, reader's gender not specified although soul catcher uses a few spanish pet names (nouns) that are gendered because haha language rules, not proofread, warning for intense corniness, this is very bad i apologize, ALSO VERY LONG

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There are amazing forces of Attraction and Repulsion between souls; just like when fate guides some people together and causes others to part.

After a period of indecisive skimming through the bookshelf, you picked out a thick, hardcover book.

You'd consider yourself quite picky regarding books - just a flashy cover and a taunting description wouldn't do it for you. A beautiful, elegant maiden and a handsome, charming prince were just one-dimensional props in the story, and you found all of those "new " and "wonderful " fantasy worlds described and mapped out on the front page generic and bland. You always seeked out something new, something that would leave you thirsting and longing for each damned word pressed onto the yellowing paper, make your fingers trail over dozens of pages in mere minutes. Yet, considering your little town in the south was limited to just one small, dusty library, finding such books would be considered an extreme sport.

So for now, you had to be satisfied with the usual, popular literature that the townsfolk read.

But today was special - you weren't in the mood for something new, or something outstanding, in fact you'd even say you wanted to read something normal. Something you could nonchalantly mention to your friends during afternoon coffee, with a plot so malleable and simple it would be woven around your conversation like it was nothing. The misadventures of a rookie knight, or the sorrows of a young, noble lady, all interpreted differently and abstractly and able to be swiftly analyzed and twisted over a cup of overly sweet coffee. Although the pile of smooth, newly released paperbacks at the entrance intrigued you, a minute later you found yourself squished between two dusty, polished wooden shelves, inspecting the book you just picked out.

Well, you didn't know you'd stoop that low, but what caught your eye right now was a book of fairy tales and fables. It was an old release, presumably donated to the library considering the oil stains on the brown paper that wrapped itself around the thick leather cover. Although worn out by time and basically crumbling from the outside, on the inside the lettering was flawless and written in an old, thick cursive, and simply bringing your face closer to the text would bless you with the scent of old, yet well kept books - the fresh smell of walnuts and baldachin beds and white cotton dresses, and even lilac bushes in the spring. Although all of these associations were of a life unknown to you, for some reason they made you feel at home.

There was another reason for you picking out this particular book - a reason you'd rather carry with you to your grave out of pride, unable to bend your head down and admit it. When life got unbearable and overbearing and the only way you felt safe and well was under heavy linen bedsheets or in the shade of the old pear tree, you'd curl up and indulge in the exact same books you usually despise. A humbling experience, indeed, but at times where safety and love were most neccessary fantasies were the quickest, most low-key way of getting what you needed the most at the moment. Projecting your being onto the flat sheet of a protagonist, you'd visualise yourself instead of them, you being the one kissing the hero's fading scars or having your hair braided by the thin, nimble fingers of the king's son. The amount of scenarios was neverending, and, well, if you couldn't get your fix with all these readily available options, you felt like you're doomed.

The book was now set inside your trusty linen bag while you were walking home. Oddly, the usually loud and populated city market was silent and not a soul could be seen out on the street, not even a head popping out of the window or a hand reaching for the hanged clothes that hung on the ropes high above the rocky path. While you were crossing the town bridge, you decided to stop to take a deep breath and enjoy for a bit, now that you weren't being pushed onward by the citizens and the merchants that usually piled behind you.

It does take a while to learn savor things, doesn't it? It takes until adolescence until the dark chocolate on your tongue unveils its rich, deep and bitter flavor, until you learn how special that first sip of morning coffee is and how good of a feeling it is to simply have another hand wrapped around yours. Same goes for nature, you thought to yourself as you looked over the bridge, watching the river speed under the arch and the plants inside of it wave around like silk scarfs. Without the noise pollution, you were finally able to hear the satisfying noises of the water sloshing over the rocks, droplets hitting each other every second. Without a second thought, you laid beside the edge of the bridge, your bag lazily hanging off of your wrist, and let yourself get lulled to sleep by the melody of the current.

That is, until the straps of the bag slipped off of your wrist.

Fuck.

You immediately jumped to your feet in panic, looking around for your bag. Yet, it was too late. It was nowhere to be found - it was probably already driven away by the river, taken to god-knows-where.

Well, it's not like you weren't aware of the risk. But your heart still ached - that was not your book, after all. And what a beautiful, old edition it was as well! There was no way you'd be able to properly apologize to the librarian, unless....

"Oye, muñeca, ta libre."

You jumped at the sudden voice whispering at your ear. You were sure no one was around here except you... or maybe..?

Slowly turning around, your face was met with another, yet wider, lathered with paint and shaded by the hat above's enormous brim. As the face moved away from yours and the person straightened their back, you found yourself gazing up and down at - what seemed to be, at least - a tall, youngish man, couldn't be above 28. Dressed in gaudy purple, green and black, adorned with flowers and gilded accessories, he looked like a living puppet, his chest and shoulders wide and his waist slim, proportions of a wooden harlequin they sold during the holiday season in the toy shop. Hanging off of his wrist was your beloved linen bag, the forsaken book inside still in tact, not a single droplet of water blemishing the paper.

"Who...? How did you...?" You muttered nonsense, as your arms needily reached for the bag that he gently waved around. Props to the visuals, but you had your priorities.

"It's all reflexes, sugar. Was taking a nap underneath the bridge, you know, all that wandering around numbs out your legs, and your little sack here just happened to fall close enough to my hand for me to grab it in time. Be a little more careful next time, will you, doll?" The man-puppet replied nonchalantly as he tossed the bag into your arms.

"Thank you, I- wait, what?" You quickly snapped out of your daze. "Napping? Under the bridge? "

"Don't judge it before you try it", he whistled, crossing his arms behind his head, "The cobblestone ain't the comfiest, but it does wonders for your back."

You sneered at his carefree expression, as if lying under a bridge was the most normal thing to do. Who exactly was this fellow, and who did he think he was?

"And you expect to believe me all that?"

"Hm?" He jolted a bit, not expecting a question, maybe a compliment, but definetly not a skeptical remark.

"Napping under a bridge? Seriously? You catching my bag is impressive, yes, but there's no way it was that much of a skillful feat. You probably dozed by the river's shore and suddenly found a bag by your side like any other guy at this hour. Who are you even, some wannabe-show-off-superhero?"

To your suprise, he just smirked back at you, lowering his torso until his face was just inches away from yours. So close, you could feel his warm breath on your cheeks, and his raspy voice rumbled inside your ears.

"How about you take a wild guess."

Stumped by his question, you took a few steps back. Your eyes now digesting his form in his entirety, you rubbed your chin as you gazed up and down at the man, posing, obviously very into the careful stare you were dissecting him with.

"Enjoying the view, hm, azúcar? "

"Give me a break! I'm trying to focus." You mumbled, panicking a bit, sensing that your cheeks started to flame up. To be honest - even under all that fabric and thick paint, he was quite a looker. The black paint defined his jawline in all the right places, and man, that silly outfit of his was tailored pretty damn well, gripping his legs and his biceps enough to define them nicely.

Although visually he was as fancy as a rich man's birthday cake, nothing seemed to pop out from his outfit, as if every embroidered piece of textile and every golden stud was carefully planned out. However, upon better inspection, one of them seemed to take the cake - it was the small shiny skull on top of his hat, shaped like a squished pear, a few nails stabbed into it like birthday candles. The cherry on top of it all - metaphorically and literally.

"The skull on your hat... looks like a well-made prop to me. You're some kind of entertainer, huh?"

A playful smile appeared on the lad's lips, yet it wasn't a confirming one. "You're getting closer, but no, not exactly."

"Street musician?"

"I can be one if you desire, but it's not exactly my main job."

"Actor?"

"Only behind the scenes, dear. But I can see by the look in your eye that you're going to head in the right direction." This little guessing game seemed to amuse him to no end.

"With all that flashy wear, it seems fair to assume you might even be some kind of high-end magician, performing for nobles or aristocrats. Or some wannabe wizard."

He bit his lip, the smile widening with each guess. He seemed more excited about this than you were.

A flower painted around his left eye. A belt fastened around his waist, with a big golden buckle. Sheer black gloves covering his hands in their entirety, bones painted in gold on his knuckles and fingers.

A glowing ring - no, a disk - hanging from the side of his belt, rocking with the movement of his hips.

Wait. It couldn't be. The disk looked too...

"Hold on a second. You couldn't be..."

"Sí, muñeca? "

"Are you..."

Before you could even finish your sentence he grinned from ear to ear and inched even closer to you, his nose now touching yours, as if he just managed to read your mind.

"Bingo."

The legend of the Soul Catcher was told times and times again, twisted and folded like fresh taffy to suit every possible scenario in one's life. To children, it was told to scare them into going to bed in time. To teenagers, it was told to ward them off from the forest at the edge of the town. To young adults, it was told to motivate them into becoming independent and to work hard. To newlyweds, it became a prayer, to protect the newly formed family and to bring safety to their home. He was not the Reaper, but if a soul was left astray, detached from the body it resided in, everyone knew well that once the Soul Catcher gets his hands on it, that it won't be back ever again. He was both a devil and a saint, a villain and a vigilante - but one thing was sure, he was well respected. No one knew if it was out of fear or out of genuine admiration. And what was even weirder - not a single person was sure if he ever actually existed.

Not a single adult, at least.

The legend was not a new one, in fact, it has been told for a little less than a century. If you were to have a little extra patience and attention, you could hear the town's elders occassionally mumble about seeing him as a child in the forest, or him visiting them in a dream. But their interpretations varied from tale to tale - he went from a spirit, to a ghoul, to simply an omen, either good or bad. Since the townspeople couldn't agree on a single, concrete definition, the Soul Catcher remained a concept, embodied by what seemed to be multiple entities.

However, if you were to ask a child about the Soul Catcher, you'd get a much more vivid and universal description than anything an adult could tell you. All of them were along the lines of "magical jester", and what was weirder, almost all of the children confessed that the Soul Catcher played with them. And no, it wasn't just a single sighting, he played with multiple kids at once, even going as far to balancing three of them on his shoulders and telling them stories. During the hot, damp afternoon hours of the summer, huge groups of children snuck out of their homes just to play with him. When their mothers soaked their cramped hands and their fathers took their first break after the morning shift, their beloved kids were out on the dusty streets, carefully following every word seeping off of the Soul Catcher's silver tongue.

The only thing that bound the varying opinions and theories of both the young and the old was the trusty disk that always hung by his hip, rumored to be the tool he used to attract and harvest souls. And this same legendary disk was now hanging off of the belt of the man in front of you, green and purple mist enveloping it.

The myth himself, in the flesh, in front of you.

"You were quicker than I thought you'd be. Bravo, dollface." He smiled and patted your head. "If we ignore your initial hostility, you seem quite confident in the fact that i'm the real deal. Mind telling me why?"

"Well, you don't see someone parading around with THE exact disk that the Soul Catcher uses. Everyone agrees on the main description of its appearance, but to be completely fair, no one around here is skilled enough to make a replica that's convincing enough."

"I see. It's nice to see somebody with both the wits and the pretty face." He chuckled. Who would have known that he's such a flirt? Nontheless, to your shame your face lit up at his silly compliment. There was just something about him that made you weak in the knees.

"Alright. I believe I should prove you I'm the real thing now." He unhooked the disk from his belt, spun it around in his hand, and hopped a few steps away from you. He pointed the disk at your chest, positioning himself as if he's getting ready to react to a suprise attack. You didn't know what he was trying to do, but you felt as if you shouldn't make a sound or even object to it.

A tension-filled silence wrapped around you two for 20 seconds. After 10 more which seemed more like 10 minutes, you felt your body move. Move, although your legs were planted at the same spot they were before. Your head ached and pulsed, you felt dizzy as if your intestines were tying themselves into knots. To be sick without actual pain, to move without any movement, what was he doing to you? If this keeps up, you might just end up vomiting out your stomach along with its contents. It was like being carsick, except the sickness rumbled not only through your abdomen, but through each one of your limbs as well.

"Here, I stopped. It's all over. Sorry for this."

The headache seemed to halt, and your body was back to normal, yet your hands and legs still felt a bit sore. He was now above you, his hand stretched out to your sides in case you lost your balance.

"...What did you just do to me?" You yawned, trying to stand up straight again.

"What you just experienced was your soul being harvested from your, already inhabited, body. I usually refrain from doing this, but I felt like I should let anyone that witnesses me up close go through this. Y'know, I want to be honest with people. That although they've seen me in the flesh and talked to me, they're fully aware of what I can do so they can prevent themselves from getting harmed."

"Does this imply you sucked someone's soul out from their living body?"

"Maybe", he shamefully turned his head away, "but it was never on purpose. Usually it was them reaching for the disk, or trying to see it up close. It pains me, since in most cases it's nearly impossible to return the original soul to its old body."

An awkward silence ensued.

"Sorry for ruining the mood, I felt like I needed to warn you first."

"Oh no, seriously, it's alri-"

"May I walk you to your house, jewel?"

"Huh?"

"You heard me the first time." He extended his hand, waiting for your next move.

What a peculiar man, indeed. First he tries to suck out the life out of you to give you a heads-up, and then he offers to walk you home like a gentleman.

And you'd be lying if that offer didn't sound thrilling. So now, your hand was intertwined with his, you trying to slow down as much as possible to make the moment last.

"I realized I had forgot to ask for your name. My apologies. Not very gentlemanly of me, isn't it?"

"Oh, I don't mind it. It's ____."

"___..." He looked up at the sky, rubbing his chin, as if he was trying to remember something, your name echoing on his lips multiple times.

"Pretty name, but it doesn't ring a bell. You're not among the horde of youth that I visit, are you?"

"Nope. I'd say i'm more of a loner most of the time. I like socializing and all, but nothing's like a good book that you can read in one sitting."

"I figured. No way in hell I'd forget such a cute face like yours, even if I saw it for a split second." He smiled and pinched your nose. If his plan was to drive you insane, he was incredibly effective.

"How come people have such different reports about you? Can you shapeshift?" Trying to lead a conversation with him felt like navigating through a mine field - there were no known limits, no known good or bad questions, or any shared topics you two could talk about. But you'd lie if you said it didn't excite you - waiting for his response, never being able to predict the next word that will come out of his mouth.

He sighed. "If you wore the same pair of pants every day, wouldn't you get tired of it?"

"I suppose..?"

"Well, yeah. It's that. Mix it with hallucinations the brain dials up once it's met with something outside the world it knows, and here's your answer. I'm no sprite or shapeshifter, just a regular guy who made a regrettable deal years ago. I might have the powers of the dead on my side, but at what cost?"

You shrugged. As much as you wanted to quiz him and get him to talk about himself, right now biting your tongue and playing it cool seemed like the best idea. Getting deeply invested in his life might not lead to good places.

"So... you're one of those so-called bookworms, hm? You've been carrying a book inside that bag of yours the entire time, too." You could feel his hand slip from yours, trailing across your arm to your shoulder, then to the other, gripping it softly. His touch felt warm on your skin, very human and real despite what he did for a living.

"...Yeah. In fact, I was just on my way from the library back at the bridge where I met you. I just borrowed it." You smiled shyly, holding the bag tightly in your arms. Knowing his curiosity and boldness, a feeling of panic unfolded in your chest, dreading what he might say next.

"Mind me taking a peek at what you're reading?"

Aaand this was it. The moment you prayed will not happen, but his chin was already resting on your shoulder, trying to get a peek at the contents of the bag.

"H-hey, hey! Back off! That book's my business, after all!" You giggled, holding it tighter and tighter, trying to laugh off your growing anxiety. If there's one person that you wouldn't like knowing about your little self-indulgent hobby, then it was Soul Catcher. But your tightest grip was easily undone by his loosest, and now your book was in his left hand, clumsily open, and the digits of his right were buried in the strands of your hair, holding your head away with careful but great strength. Even with your annoyed and panicked groans and your hands clawing at him, he simply couldn't miss the opportunity to steal a look at a few titles.

"Calm down there, you're acting as if it was a pipe bomb that you were carrying!" He chuckled, trying to stay composed as his body lost balance under your pushes and pulls. Yet your delight was short-lived, as only a second was needed for him to spread the pages open with his thumb and smugly read some of the titles out loud.

"Cinderella, Rapunzel, Sleeping Beauty... seems like someone's a sucker for Prince Charming, hm?" He snickered, but gave in to your pleas and dropped the book right into your sack.

"Would it hurt your pride to not dig through others' stuff?" You hissed, patting the bag in relief. "A-and is there something so wrong with indulging in childhood comfort anyway?"

"Oh, not only would it hurt it, it would kill it. Besides, something tells me that this little guilty pleasure of yours goes beyond just childhood comfort", he whistled in his usual self-satisfied tone, yanking at his suspenders, "But hey, who am I to say?"

"Oh, does it?" You gave him a taste of his own medicine, grimacing right at his face, making sure each word rumbled through his skull. "Well, what if I told you that such absurd assumptions are indeed incredibly untasteful, especially when left unelaborated? Just imagine how much of a hit that could be to your fragile ego..."

"¡Dios mío! You couldn't possibly...!" He dramatically threw his head back. At least something was true - he really was an actor behind the scenes. "Oh lord, it truly seems like the only way to make it up for you, your majesty, is to explain myself beneath your ice-cold gaze, like an accused pauper chained and laid before the king!"

Both of you laughed away at your ridiculous actions.

He cleared his throat, after a good minute of dying from laughter. "O-okay, where were we? Ah, yes, your dirty little secret." With his hands crossed behind his back and his gaze innocently directed at the sky, it seemed like this was a touchy subject for him, too. "Well, from all my previous experiences with people, I noticed that a lot of them like to fantasize about, well, a world where everything is just better - usually some kind of unrealistic fairytale utopia. It helps them feel better about their problems, especially during adolescence." His eyes briefly shifted to yours, watching them as if he's waiting for you to point out a fuck-up nested in his wording.

"Alright, continue...?"

"And, uhm, although fairy tales are meant for kids and all and are read by them, these same adolescents use them as a vessel for said utopias, or simply, a medium."

His lips were pressed into a firm line, waiting for your feedback.

"Bravo, jester", you treated him with a teasing smile, ruffling the stray locks of hair peeking out from his hat, "You got yourself out this time."

"Well then, call me Houdini." He smiled back, scratching the back of his neck. "Jeez, even though that fantasy thing should have gotten into my skull for the most part, I still can't fathom what's so special about the Prince Charming trope.. It's so annoying! Are y'all really drooling over the same guy in different fonts?"

"To be fair, it leaves a lot to the imagination. You can interpret him however you like, twist his personality to your liking."

"But that's exactly why it's horribly overused! Dressing every fictional man in a suit of already desired personalities is... boring! No variety, no depth - nothing! Do they really not find real people with actual lives, emotions, thoughts and opinions more appealing?"

It was a bit funny, him getting worked up over this, as if he was deeply insecure about it. You decided to fuel the fire a bit.

"Well, what does your average Prince Charming have that, let's say, I lack?"

"A great personality?"

"Oh, come on. Now you're just being mean." He sighed, traces of laughter in his sigh. "Damn you, muñeca." You chuckled.

"Big muscles?"

"These babies don't look defined to you?" He pouted jokingly, flexing his arm. Shit. Your face warmed up for a bit. For a second, a satisfied grin appeared on his face, liking the reaction he coaxed out of you through your composed armour.

"Strength and brave- AH!" You didn't even get to finish your sentence, and a moment barely passed, but his left arm was already wrapped around your calves, his right under your arm and around your back, his body leaned into yours and suddenly - you were hanging off his shoulder stomach-down, like a potato sack. "Oh my god yo- put me down!"

He whistled, holding you down to supress your squirming. "Strong enough for you, doll?"

"Not fair..." You groaned, lifelessly plopping onto him.

"You didn't answer my question~"

"Yes. Strong enough." It was quite enjoyable up on his shoulder, actually. After the initial panic passed it became nice, the rhythmic bouncing of his walk lulling you to sleep. You could get used to this.

"Now that's music to my ears." He showed no sign of letting go any time soon, perhaps he liked the smell of your perfume on your neck, and your weight resting on top of him, like a thick winter blanket.

"Since you've already decided to pick me up, would you be kind enough to carry me to my house?" You mumbled, your eyelids already feeling heavy. "That house, over there." Pointing at the tall, cobblestone house, you yawned.

"Entiendo, sirenita."

"How did you- actually, you know what? Nothing can suprise me anymore. You climbed up my balcony, didn't you?"

The sun was setting, and Soul Catcher was leaning against the railing of your balcony, your bag thrown around his frame.

"Actually I slid off the roof, but you're not that far off, beautiful." Every time your name was replaced - or you were simply called by - a soft pet name coming from his mouth, you felt as if your stomach would explode. Something about the way he spoke sent shivers down your spine, whispering endearments to you like you're the only person remaining in the world along with him. And whenever he read and peered through your façade as your face turned red and your breathing got deeper, he took a step further, engaging in the sensual, mental tango forming around you two. "I forgot to return your bag. Sorry."

"It's alright. I appreciate that you went out of your way for me." Gosh, the way you tortured him! Whenever he was smooth and flirtly and you punched him in the face with your kind, unfiltered smile instead of flirting back, it was like his heart was momentarily shattered into pieces and then bound again. The irresistable two-step of games and suave words was driving him insane and momentarily, in his mind it was your face, and your body, and your voice that called for him and your coldness clashing with his warmth, and it was making him dizzy. Behind his eyes, his brain was melting, and his heart was no different. To fall so quickly for a stranger - well, it's no secret that he's been depraved of actual love and affection beyond one night stands and empty promises to dozens of lovers from different times - was nothing new to him, but this attachment was not the same, it was permanent, stable, and wasn't going away any time soon.

"So, ___..." You turned quickly. When it was just your name and not something snarky on his lips, it seemed more important. "...You got any plans for the evening?"

"Oh- not really. Do you, though?"

"Not a plan, but rather an idea, a proposition, even." His voice was breathier as if he was nervous, coughing up the words from his chest. "If you want to, we could, y'know, watch the sunset together. I'm quite fond of sunsets myself, so I was wondering..."

"So you're proposing a date?" A date. As if he flinched when he heard the word.

"Well, yeah, a date, if you want to call it that." He said as he bit his lip. "Are you up?"

"Why not?" You whispered, creeping slowly towards him. "That sounds like a nice way to spend the evening."

"I'm glad." he smiled. In that little moment all of his confidence returned, and now his voice was clear again and he was back on his feet, jumping on top of the railing like the most skilled of acrobats and making his way to the roof. "You're coming, no?"

"And how exactly do you want me to come?"

"Grab my hand. Come on." His hand hanged from above, pushed as far as possible to reach you. "I'll pull you up."

You gulped. Heights remained a minor fear of yours ever since childhood, and having to face said fear head-first out of nowhere wasn't very appealing. "But what if I fall?"

"Believe me, muñeca, you won't."

"How can you be so sure!?"

He took a deep breath, trying to speak as gently as possible to calm you down.

"Trust me, ___. It's my hand around yours, no one elses, and my strength that's going to pull you up. I'm here for you. Please."

You didn't know when, you didn't know how, but the height suddenly stopped being a problem and, in a flashing moment, you were in his arms, being pulled to the middle of the roof.

"The clouds are such a beautiful color today. Light pink, as if they're crowning the sun before the moon rises."

Your back facing him, his chin on your shoulder, his breath on the nape of your neck.

"It's even more beautiful right before it goes down. They turn blood red, melting with the sky."

His arms wrapped around you, your hand around his wrist, your legs thrown over his.

"Do you have to go soon?" You whispered with a heavy heart.

"I should go." He suddenly stopped. "But I don't want to."

"Please. Stay for another moment."

He pulled you closer and closer to him, now his mouth right by your ear.

"Of course. A moment."

And it was more than a moment.

And more than an hour.

And only the crescent moon was the witness, and what it saw was sealed for eternity once the sun rose on the horizon again.

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oletusfragments · 1 year

Text

— I SMILE A LOT WHEN I'M IN FRONT OF YOU ; I FEEL LOVE, AFFECTION

⋄ Surprising each other on Valentine's Day

Characters: Andrew Kreiss, Demi Bourbon, Norton Campbell

▭ self indulg. ▭ genderneutral ▭ fluff ▭ not proofread ▭

— ANDREW

Being with you feels like a dream. Andrew hadn't realized that it's almost Valentine's day.

Just kidding, he's actually been thinking about it since December. What? You're so special to him. It's only right he does something special for you too.

He noted every small detail that gives a clue about what you're fond of. And despite his dislike for social situations, he approached Emma to help him set up a gift for you.

Actually, he tried to approach her. It was the gardener that confronted him after she noticed that he's been following her while staring at her as if wanting to ask her something. Much to the grave keeper's relief, Emma was happy to help.

But he can't help but get worried. The gardener kept giggling and snickering whenever he was with you. She might give away the surprise! But for some reason, you were also fidgety. Do you already know? Maybe you don't like it? Oh god, he's even more uneasy now.

He thought of dropping the surprise but then that means he won't have anything for you at valentine's day. No, he loves you. And he trusts you.

The day of the much awaited Valentine's day finally arrived. After lunchtime, he planned to ask you to meet him in the garden while trying not to be obvious as possible.

"Can you meet me at the garden later, dear? I-it's nothing serious. I just...have something to show you."

"What? That's funny, I was going to ask you the same thing." You said to him.

What a coincidence, he merely thought.

Meanwhile, you were feeling antsy. Andrew did say that it's nothing serious. But you hoped it wouldn't ruin what you want to do for him today.

After you both parted, Andrew immediately went to his room to quickly get his presents and arrive first at the garden. It'd be ugly if he arrived last, he thought.

The albino waits at the garden with trepidation, as he stands there holding your presents—a bouquet of your favorite flowers, and a present wrapped in a wrapper of your favorite color.

"Ah! Andrew, you're already here..."

He hears your voice and footsteps approach him. But why do you sound slightly disappointed? Oh no. No, it's too late to back out!

He feels your figure behind him and he preps himself. His hands slightly trembling from nervousness. He inhales, gathering up courage before turning around to face you, almost losing his balance.

"Y/N, Happy Valentine's Day!" Andrew shouts. Oh Lord, he didn't mean to be that loud. The grave keeper flushes in embarrassment while hanging his head low, and his eyes closed.

"Oh...I..."

He knew it. You're embarrassed for him, aren't you? He trembles in his stance, scared of what you'll say next.

But only your laughter was heard.

Andrew gulped. Were you making fun of him now? He looked up at you, confused and mortified.

But there you were in front of him, bathed in the sunlight peeking from the clouds. You were holding a bouquet of his favorite purple irises wrapped in a light pink wrapper and a gift wrapped Ina wrapper with heart patterns. You were laughing heartily.

To him, you looked breathtaking. It doesn't matter if you say you look like a mess or you're only wearing casual clothes. You looked beautiful.

"Ahaha! I was planning to surprise you first."

His mouth falls agape in shock and his blush deepens. What? "I–...those are for me?"

"Of course! Did you think I wasn't going to do anything for you today?" You asked, walking closer to him.

"I didn't think...well..." The grave keeper fumbles over his words.

You take the present you were carrying to your other arm so you could caress his cheek.

"Andrew, you mean the world to me. And I'd do anything to prove to you just how special you are." You say before pulling him down/tilting his head up to meet your lips–taking him in a sweet kiss.

The two of you part, breathless.

"I love you."

— DEMI

February 14th isn't just about Valentine's Day, it's also Demi's birthday! It's twice the celebration!

That is why you've been wracking up your brain trying to think of something to do for the lovely barmaid of the manor.

Perhaps you've been too stressed trying to come up with something since Demi kept trying to ask you what was wrong despite telling her that you're fine.

"You sure? Don't work yourself up too much, okay?" Demi says, combing her fingers through your hair.

If you didn't stop yourself, you might've fallen asleep from the gesture with the help of her voice that sounded like a lullaby to you after going through a frustration.

Really, what can you do for this beautiful woman?

What can you do?

That question never left you. Even as you wrote a newfound idea. The reason why your mind stays awake even though your eyes wanted to close that night.

The day after that, you started planning and preparing furiously. It almost intimidated the others around you. It was like you had grown another pair of arms as they witnessed you feverishly prepare something in the kitchen.

Demi had taught you how to mix drinks before. She was so passionate about teaching it to you that she even expressed that she anticipates your progress. In fact, in the future, once the both of you find Demi's brother, you plan to set up a bar run by Demi and you.

So you thought, why not mix a drink to show her how much you've improved? Paired up with a romantic dinner or lunch (whatever you prefer) date, prepared by your own hands.

That is what you've been trying to achieve in the kitchen. A mix that you could impress her with.

You felt giddy and nervous while making it. And those feelings never leave you even as you look at your own work on the special day.

A white table embroidered with floral patterns, two seats–that you made sure was comfortable to sit on, in front of it are the meals you've prepared, and in the middle of the table was a vase containing a few roses. The drink you've especially made was lying in your hands. You were still unsure, even after the million taste tests you did. It tasted fine but will it be good enough?

Demi was going to arrive here sooner or later. There's no time to panic or to alter things. You'll just have to make sure it goes well, and if it doesn't–you leave it up to date and hope for the best.

"Well, my. Is this all for me?"

You almost jumped out of your skin. The bottle in your hands almost shattered from your grip. But the presence behind you merely laughed.

"Yes–! Demi! Happy Birthday! …And Happy Valentine's day too!" You greeted, facing her sheepishly.

The barmaid chuckled once again. How precious you are, she thinks.

"And what's that?"She points at the porcelain bottle in your hands.

"Ah, well...I made it for you. It's a mix I made on my own. I hope you like it."

Demi grins wider. She rushed up to hug you and kissed your cheek. "Aw, geez. You've certainly outdone yourself. How can my present be as amazing as yours?"

What? You break away from her embrace. "What do you mean?"

Demi pulls a small red box adorned with a white ribbon from her pockets. You could smell the faint scent of chocolates and roses from it.

"I have something for you too." She says while handing it to you.

You shook your head, "But Demi, it's your special day today! You shouldn't have…"

"Ha! That's right. It's my birthday and I get to do what I want. And I chose to give you a gift." She declared, urging you to take the gift.

Her eyes narrowed and she gave you a sly grin, "You'll do anything for the birthday girl, right?"

You could only sigh as you gave up attempting to argue with her. Cradling the bottle on one of your arms carefully while you use your vacant hand to take her gift.

"Now let's dine in! I can't wait to try what you've made!" Demi grabbed your arm and pulled you with her as she rushed to the table.

"Ah–hold on!" You exclaim.

The rest of the time was filled with smiles and laughter as the two of you enjoyed your time together.

— NORTON

Look, he's broke. That is no secret. He would have never thought that a holiday, something he hardly think about, turns into a day he'll stress himself out on.

Everyone could see that the prospector is working harder to earn money than usual. That says a lot, because Norton has always been a hardworking individual. Others regarded this change as just desperation to conquer poverty quick.

Perhaps the said motive still stays true. It's what the prospector claims to the few people that asked him to atleast take a break. But what he's not telling is that it's always you that appears in his head as he works. How badly he wants to use his money to get you the riches you deserve to be pampered with. But dear, he needs that money to eat, that's why he's trying to earn more.

Actually, You and Norton aren't a thing yet. He's planning to confess to you this valentine's day—as cheesy as that may sound.

He wish he could give you more, really. But he hopes that these three red roses and chocolates in a heart shaped box is enough. It was the most popular gifts—and the cheapest.

Beneath the moody exterior that shouts "I don't care!" Is a heart that is nervous and wishing to love. He does in fact care, he does in fact love you.

Norton may not be able to afford certain things, but he could prove to you that he can give you all the love in the world. He just hopes that you'd give this poor man a chance.

Please? The plead repeats on his head as the pen writes an invitation for you to meet him at the garden on the day of valentine's.

Please? The word repeats on his head, his heart starts to beat faster as he approaches you with the gifts at hand.

"...I love you. I mean it." Please. Let me love you.

In front of him, you stand surprised. But what you did next shocked him even more.

You pulled your very own gifts and a love letter addressed to him from behind you.

You smiled warmly at him, something that felt like a comforting blanket after being in the cold for too long.

"I wanted to tell you the same thing! I–...I love you too." You confess, face flushing.

Norton stands, face blank but cheeks turning noticeably red. His eyes softened, and he let out an eased sigh.

"I have one more thing to give to you, actually." He says, moving closer to you.

"Wha–really? Norton that's–" You couldn't finish your sentence. Taken aback when he took your hands in his and put it in his chest. Where you could feel his heart racing despite his unbothered expression.

"My heart. It's yours." He says and captured your lips in his.

[ Happy Valentine's Day, Everyone! (*˘︶˘*).｡*♡ ]

#identity v imagines #identity v x reader #idv imagines #idv x reader #identity v #idv #Andrew kreiss x reader #demi bourbon x reader #norton campbell x reader

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