Creepy, Neighbour!König who offers to set up your furniture when you first move in; your eyes lighting up with relief, thanking him profusely for his generosity and kindness.
He’s only doing offering to look for an excuse to be close with you, to hopefully convince you to repay him. He offers to build your desk for your office, occasionally wandering around your home to investigate your bedroom, stuffing a pair of lace panties into his pocket as a souvenir and gift for himself.
To then pound into you while you’re bent over and whining out, head flat and rested against the flat surface of your newly build desk, your trembling hands gripping at the dark oak wood, back arched, with König’s calloused and rusty hands rubbing up and down your waist, smooth skin against his, saw dust still lingering on his palms.
After all, you owe him something sweet for being so generous.
Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.
It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.
To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.
This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.
Join me below, if you would.
2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.
Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.
It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.
But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.
The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.
“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”
“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”
We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.
"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?
The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.
We had slightly miscalculated.
Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.
“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”
“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”
“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”
“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”
And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.
00000
We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.
It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.
At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.
Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.
So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.
“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.
“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.
Monday is the last day to do this, after all.
00000
So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.
The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.
“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”
So.
Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?
Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.
It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).
Then it starts to rain.
We had not dressed for rain.
00000
Here is how the next six hours go.
We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.
Everyone is so happy.
Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.
People online start making delivery orders.
Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.
A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.
The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.
A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.
Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.
00000
We have Line Neighbors.
Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.
The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.
Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”
“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”
“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”
My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”
“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.
“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.
“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”
We stay in line.
It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.
The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.
We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.
It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.
They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.
We still have a -long- way to go.
00000
They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.
It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”
We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.
We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.
I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.
The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.
Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.
The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.
A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“
The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”
We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.
If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.
That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.
There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.
We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)
I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.
There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.
Then we're married.
Then we get in line to get our license.
It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.
Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.
We make it to the marriage records office.
I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.
It's almost 3PM.
00000
There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.
We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.
I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”
He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.
Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.
We get back to our car and climb in.
It’s 4:30 and we are starving.
There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.
We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.
We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.
The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.
My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”
00000
It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”
But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.
It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.
I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.
We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.
Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.
It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.
Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"
And that was that.
00000
When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.
I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.
I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.
I never thought I’d live in this world.
And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.
I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.
The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.
And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.
note: ngl i had fun making this and i hope yall get a laugh from this or something (also on AO3)
summary:
of all the kortac members you’ve worked and hung out with, you try to avoid könig the most. the austrian man comes off as normal and even endearing at first, masking his anxiety with comedy, always being thoughtful of people's needs and personal space. but the more you hung out with him the more you realise he might actually have a woman held hostage in his house. he likes to talk about her, mostly innocuous comments about her new hobbies, but from time to time könig lets out insane comments in such a casual tone that rendered you and other kortac operators speechless.
bunny doesn't like men so when my kitchen was renovated i had to put her in the basement..
—sometimes she misbehaves so much i want to hit her but i can't so i had to leash her.
no one dares to talk about his bunny, you notice everyone skirting around the subject and never asking him directly about her even though he’s actively bringing her up in conversations. you don’t mind being around him during assignments, since he’s usually too busy saving people’s lives and covering his teammates backs to think about his ‘bunny’. but outside of combat? at the base? at karaoke or bars? you avoid him as much as possible.
until you slipped up, of course.
you were tired; unwashed, thinking only of the food in front of you and the long luxurious cold shower you’re going to have right after.
hearing the word ‘sick’ somewhere in your vincinity you immediately went into worry mode and asked follow up questions before your brain could determine who was talking.
horangi lets out a cough next to you, and only then you realise who said the word ‘sick’ and about whom.
the usually boisterous man looked so downtrodden, barely eating his dinner, moving his food around his metal tray.
“it’s bunny..” he whined, his hood blowing forwards for a moment before settling back in place.
“i’m sorry to hear that.” you offered, curtly. you thought of the least offensive thing you could muster that wouldn’t evoke any other bunny related tidbits. “how long until your assignment’s over?”
“two months.”
“i’m sure she’ll be fine.” you assured him, “hope she feels better soon, könig.”
he rested his chin on his open palm, “she can’t take care of herself, i had a friend stay at my house to take care of her.”
you glance at horangi, hoping he’d steer the conversation away. he halfheartedly shrugged as he dug into his food, unwilling to help. you dug your own grave, the shrug seems to imply.
“your friend is probably doing their best, you just have to trust them.”
horangi raised his brows and smirked at you. you poked him with one of the corners of your metal tray playfully when you two were done eating. laughing as he bumps your hip with his, saying something in korean before answering, “you have to learn to evade the bunny topic yourself. you did good.”
perhaps this is the nicest, or the only thing anyone has ever dared to say about his captive, because he turned up at your shared bunk that night. stiletto immediately fiddled with her butterfly knife when she saw who was at the door.
“may i talk to you?” his gaze jumped from your eyes to something behind you before looking at you again quickly and looking away again.
stiletto snarked at him from her bed, “you can talk over there with the door open.”
thankful for her caution, you see könig doesn’t seem too bothered by it.
“i’m worried about bunny.” he lowered his voice, bending a little so his head was closer to yours.
“oi! three feet apart!” you hear her yell alongside the soft clitter-clatter of her butterfly knife.
könig straightened up immediately, it’s so funny seeing him obey stiletto without question even though he’s her senior in age and rank.
“your friend is with bunny, no?” you tried reassuring him.
“ja.” he squares up to his full height, making you step back to even be able to look at his face. “she is taking care of bunny but she is no doctor.”
“neither am i.” you shrugged, turning to look at stiletto for reassurance.
to your relief she grumbled at the colonel, “get to the point, könig.”
the austrian threw a look at your bunkmate before looking back down at you.“i want you to go see her.”
your heart gave a little jolt, and you’re sure your whole body did too.
what.
blinking slowly, you turn your head to give stiletto a wide-eyed stare before looking back at him. “you want me to go see… your girl?”
his expression shifted, you could see the twinkle in his eyes hearing you’re not outright rejecting his proposal. “ja, ja, i want you to see bunny. you seem like a nice person. i want you to check up on bunny, and maybe stay with her until i come back.”
“stay?” you repeated. “at your house? where bunny is?”
nodding excitedly, he stepped forwards, “ja, exactly. i’ll pay your tickets.”
you want to look back and make faces at your roommate but out of respect you just look as confused as you could and tell him you would give him an answer tomorrow.
as soon as the door closed and könig’s footsteps can no longer be heard, stiletto hissed from her bed, “ma che cazzo, he is crazy.”
plopping down next to her, “i feel sorry, though.”
she slapped your upper arm, “his crazy is catching. what the fuck?”
“i mean, if he wants me to visit then how bad could the situation be, right?” you try to make sense of his actions. “if bad comes to worse i can always call the police.”
stiletto groaned, “the police could be in on it, idiota.”
she’s right.
but,
he’s your co-worker. if you go missing during your planned trip to austria on könig’s dime, there would definitely be an investigation, right? there’s paper trail and receipts and everything.
you voice your thoughts to your roommate and she sighs in defeat.
“your funeral, bunny number two.”
—
you arrived at könig’s little countryside (remote) house, with its dilapidated (creepy) looking roof and peeling windowsill. a gigantic rabbit greeted you in his lush front garden, happily chewing on a celery stalk and hopping away from the iron gate as you approached.
hop? that thing looks like it could gallop. there must be something in the water here that makes everything grow so large. how far is chernobyl from this place, again?
staring at his front door an embarrassingly long time, you took a quick and deep breath before knocking. his front door felt so foreboding you instinctively step back right after.
the woman greeting you with a smile looks a little bit older than you, with a charming smile that would definitely make you feel safe if you’ve never heard of the way könig talks about his girlfriend.
“hi, im here to see……” your eyes dart around your peripherals to make sure there’s no one that could ambush you, “..bunny?”
she gestured at the rabbit in the patch of sunlight behind you.
the world as you know it crumbled before your eyes. the sun shone brighter, the dilapidated windows look fine, and did you call his cabin creepy earlier? you meant cosy.
you blinked slowly. “that’s.. bunny?” you reiterated, turning halfway back at the rabbit while pointing at it.
“ja, bunny is rabbit in english? yes?” she sounded a little impatient, “are you a vet? she is all better now.” its clear from her tone and the hard stare she gave you that she’s offended of könig’s distrust in her ability to take care of his pet rabbit.
putting your hand up, “no, i’m his friend.” you stared back at the rabbit again for a little longer, making sure its actually a rabbit and not a woman in a realistic rabbit suit. you’ve seen the $15000 collie suit that went viral a few years back, “so…. könig’s girlfriend doesn't live here?”
crossing her arms, it was her turn to blink slowly. “girlfriend? i’ve only seen him bring men home.”
as much as you wanted to laugh out loud at the second big misunderstanding this poor man has in his life, it makes complete sense why she would think that way. “i see.” was all you could muster.
“come in, then.” she offered.
taking note of where the basement is as she points at things while giving you a tour, you opened the door to be immediately greeted by a well lit space, with a little rabbit enclosure at the back, a waist high fence separating the space from the rest of the basement. it had one of those hamster wheels although a much larger size, a pet bed, and neat stack of hay just outside the fence gate. you took careful steps further down in the basement, and you do see a little clasp and a leash hanging off the wall by the pet bed.
the first thing you after your brain process the whole information is run back outside and update the group chat.
stiletto had to personally call you fifteen minutes later because you weren’t active in the group chat.
könig came home to bunny sitting on what looked like a little trampoline with an umbrella on top of it, munching on some hay with pieces of flowers and fruits strewn about. seeing him, bunny hopped off her little perch. his little fluff of happiness is coming with her ears all perked up to flop on her side by his feet. here are little bows on both her ears and as he crouched down könig could feel all his stress melt away from the sight. picking bunny up, he walked in to find your bags packed and ready by the front door, your socks neatly placed inside each of your shoes.
bunny wiggled as könig roamed his house to look for you, presumably wanting to go back to her feast of hay and flowers and fruits that you set up for her. but when he opened the front door and set her down, she instead hopped further into the home, towards the basement door.
“there’s no man around for you to fear, häschen.” he coos, before looking at the direction bunny is heading.
first thing he saw was you had gathered more hay; könig notes its the expensive one he only gets when he receives his yearly bonus, the old pet bed looks cleaned, and there’s a new even bigger one by the wheel. he spots you in the corner fastening the leash hook.
“you want beer?” he offered in lieu of a greeting. you could hear the smile in his voice.
bunny punched the gate, signalling that she wants to go in the enclosure to possibly use the wheel or be with you. he unlatched the gate and watched with fascination as she hopped over to you, standing on her hind legs to see what you’re doing.
“oh hey könig, i’m just about done.” you pointed at the little sand pit next to the stairs, “careful of the sand pit.”
you heard him shuffle around behind you. the man is lazy and drags his feet when he’s not in combat. “you built this for bunny?” he sounded surprised, the sound of sand being played with grabbed your attention so you opted to stop fiddling with the hook and come see what he’s doing.
bunny followed you as you walked towards him, “yeah, we pitched in for a lot of the stuff. there’s a card upstairs.”
the tall man was grabbing some sand visibly stiffened at your reply. könig turned his head slowly towards you, “we?” the casualness dropped off his posture at that moment. “card?”
hearing the scepticism in his voice, you nodded and pointed at the door to usher him upstairs.
he stayed, looks down at the sand as if it was the most interesting thing in the world for him. bunny filled the long pause with her little clucks and chatters as you absentmindedly pet her. “i thought you guys didn’t like bunny..” he said weakly, returning to playing with the sand, slower this time.
oh no.
looking at it from his perspective, you saw how shitty you all must’ve looked. he had mentioned how sick his pet was and no one asked a single question nor seemed to care.
at this point bunny has sensed his distress and made her way towards him to cuddle. she’s really good at that, sensing peoples moods and coming over to offer comfort.
you think you will just rip the bandage off, or maybe at this point it’s more like giving him a surprise brazilian wax. “könig we thought bunny was your girlfriend. and you chain her up in the basement and everything.”
“WAS? WAS MEINST DU???” he turned your head to you so fast you could see little beads of sweat coming off his hair.
you think he’s yelling WHAT DO YOU MEAN??? so you continued on, swallowing thickly. “none of us were ever sure if you were talking about an animal or a person and we just…. yeah…” the look of horror in könig’s eyes was reflected in his overall disposition which prompted bunny to snuggle into his chest deeper. “i’m sorry könig…”
as you can see his world unravelling before him, you decided this would be the perfect time to leave him and his little rabbit alone.
a text in the big group chat popped up later that night.
Just ended a section notes summary with “when the government’s rules do not produce the results the government wants, the government will change the rules.”
take her off your hands [Haikyuu!! Kuroo Testurou x F!Reader]
im unhinged, at work, exhausted, consuming an energy drink, and listening to country music.
unedited and i typed Kuroo and Kurro almost every time
the dude is [derogatory] here
Song: Take Her Off Your Hands by Midland
Character: Kuroo Testurou from Haikyuu!!
female reader
There's a Saturday night, Saturday lights
The work week is exhausting, especially if you are in a career that doesn't allow for weekends off (I'm looking at YOU retail). Fortunately for our main man Kuroo, his job allows him the occasional weekend off. This being one of them. A lovely Saturday night in Tokyo allowed the clubs to be boppin, and he found himself in one with a few friends from work. When you don't have to work the next day, you let the drinks flow, and that is precisely what he was doing. At the bar, he stopped dancing long enough to take a long chug of the water he ordered between fruity drinks and shots. He allowed himself a look around the bar, and that is when he saw her.
And I’m watchin' her, watchin' him watchin’ ice
Just meltin' his drink, and I can't help but think
If she was with me, she'd be all I could see
Oh, but he's just lookin' 'round the room
God, was she pretty. Her [h/c] hair done in a quick little, and slightly messy, updo for dancing. A short black dress with gold accented flowers along the side catered to her body and curves nicely. She wore matching gold heels, which if Kuroo was to guess, would not be staying on all night. But they complimented her legs and build in a way that made his mouth water. She was leaning against the bar, her arms around the arm of a man sitting down at the bar, drinking a dark beer. She seemed to be attempting to get his attention, but from the far out look on the dude's face, it was not going to be happening. This dude, as Kuroo dubbed him in his head, was looking around the club focusing on nothing and everything, except for her.
'If that was me', Kuroo thought, 'I wouldn't take my eyes...or hands...off her all night'. Perchance if reading his thoughts, she looked around the room and locked eyes with Kuroo. Pretty [e/c] eyes highlighted by eyeliner and long, elegant eyelashes. He tipped his drink in her direction and gave the little smirk that gets most girls going. She gave a shy smile and looked away after a moment, back at the dude. 'I'm not having that', Kuroo thought to himself finishing the drink and putting it back on the bar for the bartender to take at his convenience. He sauntered over to the couple.
I'm over here watchin’ a fool who don’t know that he's wastin’ his chance
Hey mister, could I cut in for a dance?
You don't know what you've got if forever's just not in your plans
Let me take her off your hands
"Hey, I'm Kuroo. Could I interest you in a dance?" He said, getting close to her. She bit her lip and batted her eyelashes lightly. The dude with her continued to stare off in the distance, and didn't even notice when she removed her arms from his.
"I'm [Y/N], I'd love to dance." She took Kuroo's extended hand who then swirled her into him and guided the two into the middle of the dancefloor. They swayed with the music, something upbeat that you couldn't quite make the words out to do to the overpowering amount of bass shaking the whole club.
Kuroo moved his head closer to hers as they danced together, chest to chest with fingers intertwined. His mouth was practically against her ear as he said, "That your boyfriend or something?"
"Not so much anymore. This was supposed to be a rekindling, but he's fucked out on something and I can't be bothered to care anymore." [Y/N] said, a slight pout with her bottom lip jutting out. If Kuroo were to describe it, he'd call it kissable.
"Seemed like you cared a couple moments ago," he said, not pointing out but implying from the time her arms were around the dude.
"Yeah well then a handsome gentleman reminded me of other things life has to offer." Her smile was coy and it made Kuroo's heart skip a beat as a matching smile dawned on his face.
And oh, a girl wants to be swept off her feet
She didn’t put that dress on to be a
Nobody man, short on romance
Too blind to give her even a second glance
Oh, but he's still lookin' 'round the room
"You think I'm handsome?" He says, the smile much more of a smirk now. She laughed, throwing her head back. 'I could spend the rest of my life making her do that', he thinks to himself.
"I also said you were part of what life has to offer, which I think is the larger compliment."
"I'm trying not to inflate my ego to much tonight. Besides, I'm nothing special standing next to you." She blushes at that. You know that feeling with the incredibly hot person says you're hotter than them? Yeah that's the vibe.
He spins her around again and catches a glimpse at the dude, who is nursing a slightly lighter shade of brown beer, eyes scanning the room in an entirely unfocused manner. Kuroo understands what [Y/N] meant by fucked out on something, the hazy look in his eyes suggested a whole lot of weed. He remembered reading something about weed causing a depersonalization order when you smoke to much of it, doing research for Kenma who mentioned smoking once or twice. Kenma called him paranoid and said he didn't smoke enough to cause a problem, but deep down inside appreciated that his friend was looking out for him.
"In a way, I'm glad you gave him a second chance. If you didn't I might've not been able to sweep you off your feet in this club tonight." Kuroo says, instantly dropping her into a dip. The rise in her heart rate, she couldn't tell if it came from the dip or the man. She agreed with his sentiment though. Not one for love at first sight, she did believe in "god damn I've gotta spend more time with this man" at first sight.
As she rises from the dip, her arms move up, around his neck, playing with the hair at his nape. His arms wrap around her waist, connecting his fingers at the small of her back. They continued dancing to the music, occasionally making small talk and getting to know each other. Hours and hours passed, the duo only leaving the dancefloor to get drinks.
"Want to come back to my place?" Kuroo whispered huskily in her ear. [Y/N] pondered for a moment. She did just meet the guy, but she technically did have a boyfriend, but it wasn't going to last past tonight anyway. Her contemplation was answered by a quick tap on her shoulder.
"Hey," the dude started, "I'm headed home. Are you coming with?" He asked. She blinked at him, once, then twice, surprised by the audacity.
"You won't have to worry about her anymore," Kuroo said, with his signature smirk, "Let me take her off your hands."
The sun is in your eyes, but you can see for so far out that it doesn't even matter. Those fields, those battlegrounds; your sword is limp at your side. You fought and you cried and you won. People are whispering your name in the town square. You've never been a fighter.
