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chelseeebe · 3 months ago

Text

(i only have) eyes for you

18+. mdni. smut. violence! horror themes throughout!! ghostface!eddie

day seven of spooky week and happy halloween freaks!!! i can’t believe i did it… seven days of consistent posting has taken genuine years off of my life lol. pls pretend they’re in college for this, i wrote it entirely that way and then decided they were going to be in steve’s house.. who knows

a/n: i listened to this song a lot while writing this because it is so creepy but so perfect for this fic! this was sorta kinda rushed but i’ve been working this entire week so finding the time to really delve into it the way i wanted to :,(

⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧

tap tap tap

the sound of something, or really someone rattles against your window, the faint sounds of someone whistling follow shortly after.

despite being wise to eddie’s tricks, the ominous tune makes your skin prickle, too spooked by the news of some masked murderer to think straight.

your window cracks open, the wooden frame scraping upwards loudly, a prolonged creak that signals that whatever it was, was now inside.

his cologne gives him away first, and then the lingering smell of weed that catches up to your nose soon after.

it was eddie, basking in the moonlight, just waiting for you to turn and see him.

“oh my fucking god,” you hiss, “you scared the shit out of me!” scowling as he pulls his limbs through the window.

he wastes no time in kicking off his shoes and practically diving across the room to land atop of you. his heaving chest pressed against yours, finding your frowning lips for a gentle kiss.

“‘m sorry sweetheart,” pouting his lips in an attempt to mock your worried tone, eddie found it endearing really, that you cared about him so.

“there’s a murderer out there, you know?” you scold.

“mhm, is there?”

“yes,” dropping the stern expression the second his hands find the hem of your shirt, delving underneath to grasp your waist, “and i’d really appreciate if you didn’t die.”

“i’m not gonna die,” he says entirely too confidently, “and neither are you.”

“what were you doing out there?”

“i had to.. do some business,” hoping you’d get the hint.

your upper lip snarls, having never liked the fact he dealt on the side. it was mostly a bit of weed to freshmen but the weekends were always busier. “oh,” you huff, running your hands along his sore shoulders.

“you asked,” eddie states plainly. it wasn’t as if he was entirely lying, because he had dropped off a gram for some useless kid.

he had just neglected to tell you what he and steve had done to the kid afterwards.

your eyes roll back, running your fingers up his neck and into his mane of hair, “i wish i hadn’t,” though judging by the fact that you hadn’t kicked him out, you can’t be too mad.

eddie hums, desperately trying to change the subject by trailing his hand further upwards, palming your boob with a soft groan.

“and what if i told you that i was the scary killer?” his knee shifts slightly, moving on top of yours to keep it pressed to the mattress. he’s got you trapped beneath his body, his large hands enveloping both of your wrists.

if you didn’t know eddie so well, you probably would’ve been much more afraid than you were. but you do know him, this had to be some stupid prank, something he’d thought up while high. so you do what he wants you to do and play into it. if he wants to pretend that he’s a weirdo then fine, you can play that game too.

“oh yeah?” you smirk, a feeble attempt to wriggle out of his grasp, “what’re you gonna do to me, mr ghostface?” rutting your hips up to meet his, sighing softly when you feel his hardened cock.

the fact that you’re even into this is simply abhorrent but you can already feel the wet patch growing in your panties, needly bucking your hips desperate for any friction to satiate the growing ache between your thighs.

he chuckles lowly, readjusting his grip on your wrists, leaving one hand pinning them both above your head, “well first..” his breath hot on your cheeks, “i’m going to fuck the shit out of you.” his pupils grow larger, darker somehow, “and then..” prodding his forefinger to your chest, slowly tracing down the length of your torso, “i might just gut you,” his eyes follow his finger all the way down.

you quiver under his touch, breathless. holy fuck. it’s disgusting. it is. but you can’t help yourself, practically panting with animalistic need. it’s not like he was actually going to kill you see, eddie was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a murderer.

“please,” you beg, squirming as his hand slips into the waistband of your jeans. he’s so cold, fingers like blocks of ice that make your skin prickle.

“you want that? hmm?”

you’re gasping at this point, pleading with him to just touch you. he had gotten what he’d wanted from this game so why couldn’t he hurry up? you’re literally jelly beneath him, malleable and just so eager to touch.

“gotta use your words baby.. i wanna hear you,” pausing his descent into your underwear, much to your dismay. legs springing apart as a sort of encouragement to get him to continue.

“yes.. yes i want that,” desperately panting underneath his sly smirk, he’s enjoying this far too much and you can’t help but to just give it to him. so desperate to please, even if it was borderline psychotic.

“good,” he breathes, curling his fingers around the waistband of your sodden underwear. his teeth emerging to graze upon your neck, making sure to leave splotches of violet and deep maroon so that everybody knew whose you really were.

your hips cant upward the second eddie’s fingers tease your hole, crying out for him to cut the shit and just touch you properly. he was a cruel man, unable to satisfy himself with any normal level of foreplay, no. for eddie, he needed to keep this charade up for as long as possible.

“you been thinkin’ ‘bout me?” using his other hand to control your chin, keeping your flickering gaze somewhat on his face, “waiting f’me all night.. i can feel it,” plunging his fingers into your sopping cunt, drawing a sharp hiss from your lips.

“think about you all the time,” you nod, whimpering against his mouth, keeping a strong grip on his neck.

eddie grins, the twinkle returning to his dark eye, letting the charade slip only slightly, “i know you do, and i know it because you never.. ever leave my mind,” his thumb beginning to swirl around your clit, letting go of your jaw to wrap his hands loosely around your neck instead.

“fuckk,” you shudder, canting your hips in response to his fingers gliding in and out of your hole, thumb performing laps around your clit and sensitive folds.

“you’re so beautiful like this,” he utters, dotting hungry kisses to your wetted lips, punctuating his longing words. “i just wanna keep you like this forever,” the hunger returning to his blown out pupils, fingers squeezing your throat.

he wouldn’t hurt you, not on purpose. but his grip was getting mighty tight, restricting your breath as your leg slides up between his. the twisting in your abdomen only worsens, dizzying as the pleasure intensifies.

squeezing out a garbled, “eds,” that makes him loosen his grip, flashing back to reality as you squeeze around his fingers, thrashing around underneath his body as your orgasm rocks your bones, the sweetest sounds fill the room.

“that’s it sweetheart,” eddie coos, sliding his hand from your shorts to grasp your hip, kissing over his previously made markings.

“i love you,” muttering breathlessly as you regain control of your limbs.

he breathes heavily into your neck, cocking his head up to meet your gaze, “i love you too,” beaming at your lovesick gaze, praying to god that you’d never find out about the horrific things he was truly doing tonight.

eddie’s idea of date night usually entails him being able to whisk you off somewhere dark and alone at some point during the night. so when you’d suggested a drive-in movie, he’d been positively over the moon.

he’d thought seeing a nightmare on elm street was a little on the nose considering the shit he’d been up to recently but you couldn’t know and besides, it meant you’d be curled into his shoulder for the majority of the movie anyway.

you sit now, with your face buried into his shoulder, both arms clinging tight to his.

not because of the movie though. no, this was because his right hand had crept underneath your skirt, pumping his fingers in and out of your soaked hole.

it wasn’t as if every other couple weren’t doing the exact same thing, it was an unspoken custom of the drive-in experience.

“wait,” you pant, “let me-,” letting go to reach down, pushing your seat further back. your fingers curl around something plastic, reemerging with the damning mask he’d shoved beneath the seat. “what the fuck is this?” you shriek, sitting straight up.

eddie’s blood runs cold, frozen as you flap the plastic mask in his face. it wasn’t even supposed to be in here, let alone for you to find so easily.

“oh my god,” he sighs, thinking on his toes, “it was for a prank,” grabbing the rubber from your fingers, “me and steve were gonna scare argyle and jonathan… it’s not what you think babe,” hoping that measly excuse would be enough to get you off of his back.

“a prank?” you hiss, “is that funny to you? pretending to be some psycho murderer?” funnily enough, he didn’t really have to pretend.

“no!” he frowns, pettily grabbing at the mask though you keep it out of reach, “that’s why we didn’t do it,” sounding completely desperate as he’s lying through his teeth, “sweetheart, i know what it looks like but i promise it’s not like that,” the guilt ripples through his chest, he didn’t want to lie to you but what choice did he have?

you frown, gripping the cracked plastic as if it could tell you the answer itself, “that’s not funny eddie,” lowering your clenched fist at last, “what if someone had seen you? what if someone else found this?”

you’re angry, it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. pupils dilated and your jaw clenched, he couldn’t bare to ever see you like this. god only knows how you’d react if you ever found out he was truly responsible for these killings.

“i’m sorry,” utterly exasperated, you couldn’t find out, not now, not ever. “i wasn’t thinking.. i’ve just been-,” his nostrils flare, hoping you could forget about this and quickly, “thinking about everyone dying, you know? i’m scared,” grabbing your hands to really accentuate his point.

“we’re all scared, eds,” his nickname allowing him to breathe at last, you’d never use eds when you were mad, never. “that doesn’t mean you should start pretending to kill people too, you’re so.. stupid,” said endearingly, far calmer than you were five minutes ago.

“i know.. i’m sorry baby,” squeezing your fingers together, “i love you, okay?”

your pout could solve wars, an immediate punch to his gut that had him instantly crawling on his knees for forgiveness. it’s no different now, jutting your bottom lip out with a slight quiver, vowing him to never make such a stupid mistake again.

eddie drives this time, rushing back from the large house they’d been at. he doesn’t even know the kids name, he just knows his spleen no longer resided within his gut.

this one was his idea, some kid that’d stiffed him for a couple grams a few months ago. stupid stuff really, but they’d needed to throw the cops off the scent.

“so,” steve begins, pulling eddie from his head, “you still wanna do this?”

he didn’t, not really. not while you were there.

“i don’t see any other way we can end this,” he sighs, turning onto the darkened street, “it has to end,” you were getting too wise, thumbing at the scratch marks on his arm or questioning why he was always out so late recently.

nothing would ever be worth losing you. not in a million years.

“alright,” steve pouts, enjoying this far more than he first let on, “what’re you gonna do about that sweet girlfriend of yours? i think we should spook her first, really up the stakes,” bouncing around the cab of the van.

“absolutely not, don’t even think about getting her involved with this shit,” baring his teeth, appalled that steve would ever even suggest something like that. you were all wide spoke about, filling up his thoughts even as he was driving a knife into the back of jason carver.

“whaat? you don’t even wanna scare her a little? make her squirm,” his smirk evident in his tone.

“i mean it steve,” eddie warns, flashing the boy a harsh glare, “if you touch her, i’ll kill you.”

the car goes silent for a moment until steve cackles, his grin shining through, “not if i kill you first.”

eddie’s blood runs cold, they could end this entire thing right now if that was what he wanted. his knuckles glow white, gripping the steering wheel as opposed to wrapping his hands around steve’s neck, “are you fucking serious?” spitting his words out, “because i’ll do it steve, i won’t fucking hesitate.”

steve pauses, trying to control his heaving breaths, “calm down loverboy, i’m not gonna hurt her,” sucking his teeth as if eddie were the crazed one here, like he hadn’t just been speaking complete sense.

“don’t even joke about that shit,” slapping his hand against the leather steering wheel, “fucking dumbass, i can’t believe you,” looking to steve with utter disbelief in his eye.

“chill out man,” steve calms, relaxing into the seat, “i’m not gonna do anything, wouldn’t wanna piss you off now, would i?”

eddie had thought the entire night through, every second meticulously planned so that you’d never end up in the crossfire. he just needed your willing cooperation and reassurance that his partner in crime wouldn’t lose his mind.

the last, he can’t promise.

steve had been more erratic than ever, obvious that letting go of this power wasn’t anything he wanted. eddie doesn’t know how he can live with the guilt, but then, steve didn’t look into your bright eyes each night and feel that same stab of betrayal he did.

he takes your hand now, leading you up the steep staircase and into the bathroom, under the guise of getting away from the noise, locking the door behind him as you stand at the sink, only slightly concerned.

“what’s this for?” dipping your chin when his hands meet your waist, pressing your back against the cold porcelain.

“i just wanted to.. get away,” eddie remarks, knowing that any minute now, all hell would break loose downstairs and he’d have to stab the shit out of people he called his friend.

“oh yeah? that’s all you wanted me in here for?” walking your fingers up his chest, settling on his shoulder.

“well,” letting his grin cock to the side, “what do you suggest we do in here?”

you hum, a sweet sound that makes his heart race, “i think we could start with a bit of kissing and then.. see where it goes,” weaving your fingers into his hair, bringing his face closer.

“i like the sound of that,” he coos, but the guilt is unimaginable, your oblivious smile soon to be wiped off your face and it’ll be all his fault.

your lips connect in a harmonious symphony, he can feel your smile radiating against his skin, your fingertips tracing light lines on his scalp, a motion that would usually soothe him has him anxious instead.

he so terribly wants to stay here for the duration of the night, or at least until steve had pushed his luck too far and ended up dead.

but that can’t happen, without eddie, this wouldn’t end.

you shift closer, pressing your body to his with a hum, hoping to turn this into something more that he just can’t give right now.

as if by magic, there’s a loud thud from downstairs, a blood curdling scream that echoes through the walls follows behind. your eyes full of pure dread meet his when you spring apart.

“what the fuck was that?” tightening your grip on the back of his neck.

“i.. don’t know,” a barefaced lie, “i’m gonna go and check it out, alright?” coming eye-to-eye with you, a plea of the highest order.

“what? are you fucking crazy?”

“stay here,” he orders, kindly slipping your bra strap back onto your shoulder, “lock the door after me and don’t come out.”

“no! don’t leave me in here,” true terror ringing through your words. he wishes he could tell you that you truly have nothing to worry about. not like the rest of them.

“you’ll be okay,” eddie soothes, grabbing your hand, “i promise,” his thumb tracing patterns onto your wrist.

“please come back quickly,” pleading with him not to go, your fingers shaking as they grasp his arm.

“i will,” pressing his forehead to yours, giving one last squeeze before he breaks apart, “promise,” slipping out of the door, only waiting to hear the quiet click of the lock before scuffling along to steve’s room.

his outfit had been stored in steve’s closet, the dark robe and rubbery mask that had now become dark and cracked. something about the fabric cascading over his skin had him more confident than anything, forgetting all about who was killing, unfazed by their distant screams.

he tiptoes down the stairs, careful not to bump into any stragglers, the knife poised in his hand when he hits the kitchen, fingers twitching around the handle ready to slash whoever came out first.

something squeals from behind the door, giving away their location immediately, some girl steve had tried to fuck, an obvious victim, someone quick and easy, someone you wouldn’t care about too much.

the knife plunges into her side, the dark red liquid spurting out and all over the linoleum floor, he’s sure steve’s dad wouldn’t care too much.

steve stomps through the kitchen, eyeing the scene before nodding to eddie, gesturing he follow him into the living room. it’s a silent affair, they could never know who was listening.

but eddie does as he’s told, walking in to find a barely-breathing tommy hagan, his hand reaching out pathetically as his eyelids flutter and his lungs fill with blood. eddie’s never liked him, he certainly wouldn’t be sad to see him go.

after the house is emptied, steve was to dress tommy in his robe and mask, plant the knife in his fist and call the police. they’d rehearsed it a thousand times, how steve would slash himself with his knife and eddie would scurry back up to the bathroom with you, waiting until the cops came to get you.

steve’s laugh echoes through the quiet house, maniacal as he drives his blade into tommy’s gut, his last attempts at protesting come out as squeaks before the couch turns a deep red and the sputtering comes to a sudden stop.

but eddie doesn’t want to play that game.

steve was too sporadic, untrustworthy and downright stupid, if he were to be honest. who’s to say he’d never turn on eddie? kill him or worse, you? eddie couldn’t trust him, the boy was out of it, drunk on the power it gave him.

so instead of doing anything they’d rehearsed, eddie forces the knife into steve’s chest, quickly taking it out to drive another jab into his throat, deafening his screams. steve’s eyes full of confusion, a lingering look of betrayal that makes his chest sting, if only for a second.

his body thuds as it hits the floor, a garbled sound full of air escape his throat, an anguished cry that vaguely resembles eddie.

he stares down at his accomplices twitching body, a sadness twinging his heart. steve would undoubtedly still be alive if he hadn’t been stupid enough to start joking about hurting you, all he’d had to do was keep his mouth shut and let the night play out.

but he hadn’t. desperate to make some edgy joke that now lead to him bleeding out on his living room floor.

eddie clears his throat, unwilling to dwell on his emotions for too long. he had to dress tommy and find the phone. there was too much at stake now to let steve ruin this from beyond the grave.

out of the corner of his eye he spots that same glittering top that he’d left locked in the bathroom. he can’t believe you’d been stupid enough to come out of there. why you couldn’t just listen to him for once was completely beyond him.

he bounds along behind you, esnuring that absolutely nobody was skulking around the grand house before clamping one hand over your mouth, the other snaking around your hip to bring you to the cold, wooden floor.

you scream against his palm, vibrating the skin with your pleas for help. eyes wide and watering as they meet the mask, he’s not surprised, for all you know, the knife in his hand was going straight into your side next.

he straddles your waist, keeping your pressed into the floor and not a problem for him, “shh.. sh-shut up,” he hushes, ensuring that the hall really was empty before he revealed his identity.

the thrashing stops, stilling as the cogs slowly turn and his voice becomes familiar, a blood-chilling flash of hurt overtakes your fearful eyes instead.

bile rises in his throat, sick to his stomach with the fact that he could do this to you, make you so scared of him.

“it’s me, it’s me sweetheart,” frantically trying to get you to calm down, to maybe not be so angry at him when this was all over. “promise not to scream and i’ll let go,” itching to take his gloved hand from your mouth, to prove his love.

you nod hopelessly, flashing him an expression that he really can’t place, somewhere between terror, disgust and relief.

he does as he promised, removing his hand from your mouth to slide the mask up, hoping that maybe seeing his face would help, would make you not hate him.

“baby.. it’s not- i can explain everything to you, i just need..” panting his words, scrambling for some kind of excuse to get you back to safety, “you have to listen to me, okay? you trust me, don’t you?”

your face says anything but, watching your bottom lip tremble makes him fume, so incredibly pissed off that he was capable of this.

“please,” eddie begs, pleads even, “i’d never.. ever hurt you, you know that, right?”

“i.. i trust you,” the words squeaked rather than spoken, accompanied by salty streams falling down your cheeks.

he nods, daring to lift his mask. maybe eye contact would make you comfortable, “i’m gonna take you back to the bathroom.. okay? wait for me.. i’ll be five minutes, yeah?” running his knuckles over your mascara stained cheek, “and then i’ll tell you everything,” his tone reeking of desperation.

much to his surprise, and utter delight, you lean into his hand, nodding with your pitiful trembling lip, “okay.. okay,” so innocent, totally unassuming about what he was going to admit to.

eddie clambers off of your body, offering his hand out and praying to whichever god would listen to make sure you wouldn’t run.

you don’t, of course you don’t. taking his hand as you climb up off of the floor, shoulders slumped over as you allow him to move you down the hallway, a gentle hand resting on your waist as you go.

“five minutes baby.. i’ll be back,” he reassures for the hundredth time, “promise me you’ll stay here this time?”

you nod, grabbing his hand just to feel his skin on yours, “i love you,” so sickly sweet he almost forgets what he had to do. but he had to do this for you, or he’d never hear that again.

“i love you too,” with full sincerity, letting the door shut between you as he continues his mission, sprinting back to the living room to get tommy in his clothes and shake any hints of evidence off of himself.

tommy’s heavier than he once anticipated, his lifeless body proving hard to contort into different clothes.

but he does it, dropping the knife on the couch next to his body, giving steve one last sympathetic glance before barrelling down the hallway to the bathroom, pummelling his fist against the door.

he hopes you’ll understand, you had to. everything he did, he did it with you in mind.

his fist pummels against the wood, relief washing over his body when he hears the tiny click that lets him inside and confirms that you didn’t hate him. you trusted him, completely, just as he thought.

eddie’s quick to lock it again, even while knowing the killer was inside of the room with you, the other strewn dead across the floor in a pool of his own blood.

before he can even breath long enough to curate his explanation, the echoing sound of shouting and footsteps fill the house, the cops forcing their way inside and discovering the scene.

the bathroom door splinters, eddie’s arms shielding you from the crossfire of wood. it’s the police, flashlights pointing right at your horrified faces, sharing concerned glances between one another.

“we’ve got two confirmed alive,” one of them squawks into his radio, a fuzzy crackle coming back.

“eddie? eddie munson? we’d like to speak to you about your friend, steve harrington.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson one shot #ghostface!eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #chelseeebespookyweek #Spotify

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2-dsimp · 4 months ago

Note

Yandere clown humiliates your mean ex and makes you laugh

[Y̾AͣN̾TͭOͦB𞀓EͤRͬ DͩAͣY̾ 5 Iͥmͫaͣg̾iͥn̾eͤ: K̾iͥl̾l̾eͤrͬ Cͨl̾oͦw𞀞n̾ f̾tͭ!]

•:•.•:•.••:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:

Cw: suggestive! Cannibalism, possessive/obsessive tendencies, Pyrok hates your ex-boyfriend and wants to eat him.

Synopsis: All you wanted was an antique doll from the antique store that was down the road from your home. But instead you get a murderous alien killer clown doll instead. With a long line of history for being known as the boogeyman who terrorized the districts of Devildom centuries ago.

•:•.•:•.••:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:

Thinking about a yandere Killer Clown! that was hexed by a powerful mage centuries ago for going on a killing spree. Cannibalizing the townsfolk like the neighborhood boogeyman. Within Devildom and leaving a trail of gnawed bones and flesh.

Yandere Killer Clown! Cursed to be a doll, with his alien features wiped from his face so he’d be looking like a blank faced mannequin. While his features were transferred onto the plate masks of varying expressions adorning his hip belt. To be kept under lock n key, shipped straight to an antique shop. Where he laid wasting away for centuries with only a mean grudge to his name. Until you came and bought the box out of curiosity.

Yandere Killer Clown! Who at first plays pretend when you open the box. Remaining dead in his doll form just to get a picture of who exactly his new owner was. And whether or not he should kill you and run away now that he’s been freed. There were many nights where he had his blank face jutted down at you.

Sitting on your chest as you breathed whilst his porcelain hand pressed against his mask which shifted into a ravenous expression. Razor teeth jutting out, with a long tongues slithering from the bottomless hole within the masks holes. Eyes boring into you, Always waiting for a chance of when you’d neglect him. Or forget to shine his porcelain body and dress him up in his favorite frills everyday. Any excuse to get rid of you but so far there was nothing.

Yandere Killer Clown! Who after a couple weeks, grew too comfortable being hugged and fawned over in his stay with you. He always wore his happy mask when he was in your presence. However, every time you left and came back you noticed how his mask switched from happy to angry.

The masks soulless eyes seemed to be glaring at you with intensity as if knowing whatever sin you committed to warrant the clowns wrath. Yeah he knew all about that wretched ex boyfriend you kept going on and off with. And it made his hollowed brain rattle violently with murderous and envious thoughts.

Yandere Killer Clown! Who became a touch more realer with every laugh he coaxed from you lips. Whether it be by his switch up in masks. (which always left you with whiplash from how it was even possible for him to do that.) Or from his out of context voice lines that had a morbid humorous edge with insults for your ex-boyfriend.

“Tiny pecker, Tiny pecker, Exy has a tiny pecker! Chop it off, lest it don’t grow any bigger!”

The past few days you could never find peace as strange things had started happening around you. More specifically with the clown doll, every time you went to polish him he felt colder than usual. And his edgy joints were less prominent with a softer more flexible edge. The kicker was that whenever you’d go to sleep. You’d always feel something breathing on you. But you chalked it up to an air drift from the window you cracked open.

Yandere Killer Clown! Who is garbling ancient enchantments via mask. Which enabled him to have an outlet to express himself. As his pointed claws surgically traced his signature sigil on your chest. the happy mask’s manic grin started growing eerily wider. At seeing the reddened glow of his brand on you. Which made the bond you two shared to be completely permanent.

This new status would allow him much more freedom. To battle against the croons curse which had limited his former self. However, it was incomplete, it was one sidedly done after all. So he needed you to do the same onto him.

You needed to Let him in.

Thanks to your intervention in his life there was so much he wanted to do. First thing on the list would be getting rid of that old croon’s curse on his body once and for all. The second would be eliminating that ex boyfriend of yours.

And lastly…Having you to be his brood mother to repopulate his alienkind of was also one of his goals. After all you were the perfect fit. You’ve already shown such potential in being his mate, by tending to him everyday and night. He’d be sure to return the favor tenfold keep you well fed, protected, and cherished.

All you had to do was Let. Him. Inside of you.

——————/—————

A/n: Decided to make an attempt on doing spooky yantober entry XD

Lmk if y��all would want to see more of him. 👀

Also I think I’ve finally did all the yandere alphabet letters woohoo 🎉

#Pyrok the KClown #yandere clown #yantober #canabalism #dark content #yandere x darling #yandere killer #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere alien #yandere monster #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere drabble #yandere headcannons

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arcaneauthor · 4 months ago

Note

Can you do cute things seungmin does as your boyfriend?

Cute things Seungmin does as your bf

Pairing: Kim Seungmin x reader

Tags: established relationship, just really fluffy, seungmin being puppy personified,

Warnings: mentioned mask kisses?? I’m never really sure what to count as warnings in fluffy stuff like this

Author’s note: Honestly Seungmin is such an underrated member and as someone who has also been known to be seen as being a bit “cold” I hate that so many people misinterpret his personality :( Anyway hope you guys enjoy and be ready cause I’ve already got 3 more members versions in the making!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Gently bullies you. not in a way that makes you feel self conscious or attacked just soft enough to make you laugh about it with him.

Likes to show you off to the others by sharing pictures and stories and such. Not in a possessive way but like your his pride and joy and he wants to show others how amazing you are.

Seungmin isn’t the best at outwardly expressing his emotions to you so he’d show that he loved you through his actions: cleaning, cooking, preparing relaxing baths, buying you stuff you want without having to ask, etc

And he won’t even acknowledge that he did it or try to get praise for doing it. Will just like casually walk in and lay something you’ve been wanting to buy right in front of you and walk out without even saying anything (but he would secretly light up if you thanked him and told him how much you appreciated it so make sure to do that)

Low key gets worried that him not always verbally expressing how much he loves you makes you feel uncared for so he’ll sometimes talk about it with you and makes sure you know how much you mean to him even if he doesn’t always come out and directly say it.

He’s a lot more emotionally intelligent then people give him credit for though so he’ll be the first to notice if something is off with you. Big sad puppy dog eyes while he tries to figure out what’s wrong.

If you’re just feeling a bit down or nervous he’ll try to cheer you up by cracking some of his typical dry humor jokes. THE biggest smile when he finally gets you to loosen up and laugh.

Likes to give very very subtle pda

Like he has ahold of your hand, interlocked fingers, 24/7. Like he’ll just reach over and snatch it up without even looking or saying anything lol.

The best listener. Like when you spill your problems or worries to him he normally doesn’t even try to advise you on any of it but it’s almost better that way. Just a comforting source to verbalize your issues to and get them off your chest. Even while staying quiet you can tell he’s genuinely listening and cares about what you’re saying. Although he doesn’t normally say much he’ll be holding your hand running a soothing thumb over your knuckles.

Not to say he wouldn’t help you work though them if you wanted him to, but you’d have to ask for it. He personally thinks it’s better to not say anything unless asked in case it seems like he’s forcing his opinions on you

As it’s been mentioned by the members before he has really good manners so he’s always opening your door, carrying your stuff, etc.

Also always enforces the sidewalk rule at all times.

Gives lots of mask kisses

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bangchansdirty-slut · 3 months ago

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Psycho Killer

•───⋅⋆⁺‧₊☽⛦☾₊‧⁺⋆⋅───•

Paring: Top!GP!SerialKiller!Winter x Bttm!Therapist!Reader

Genre: Smut

Summary: Winter, a notorious serial killer, becomes obsessed with her therapist, Y/n, while attending sessions for childhood trauma. After killing Y/n’s untrustworthy girlfriend in a jealous rage, Winter, wearing her killer’s mask, breaks into Y/n’s home, ready to reveal her twisted devotion.

More: Masterlist

A/n: My mom grounded me, so I can only use my computer at school, so I wrote this at school.

•───⋅⋆⁺‧₊☽⛦☾₊‧⁺⋆⋅───•

"Is it always going to be like this?" Winter's voice was a cool breeze, devoid of emotion as she sat in the chair opposite Y/n, her therapist. She toyed with the ends of her ginger hair, her eyes a frosty blue that seemed to peer into the depths of Y/n's soul.

Y/n leaned forward, her eyes full of empathy. "Every session is a step forward, Winter. Sometimes it feels like two steps back, but trust the process." Her voice was a gentle coax, the room a cocoon of safety.

Winter's gaze sharpened. "You don't understand. The world outside is a minefield, and everyone's just waiting to blow me up." Her words were a stark contrast to the serene office, the walls lined with diplomas and the scent of lavender candles trying to soothe the air.

Y/n nodded, maintaining eye contact. "Your trust issues are valid, but let's explore them together. What happened in your past that makes you feel so… unsafe?"

Winter's eyes narrowed, a hint of anger flashing through them. "You're not special," she said, her voice a low growl. "You're just like everyone else."

Y/n remained unfazed, her expression calm and understanding. "I know you've been hurt, but I'm here to help you heal."

Winter's grip tightened on the armrests, her jaw clenching. "You can't fix me," she spat, a flicker of pain crossing her face.

Y/n's voice remained steady. "I'm not here to fix you, Winter. I'm here to listen and guide you through the healing process."

Winter's icy demeanor cracked slightly, revealing a glimpse of the vulnerability beneath. "Why do you even care?" she murmured, the question hanging in the air like a shard of broken ice.

Y/n leaned back in her chair, a small smile playing on her lips. "Because everyone deserves to live without fear, to find happiness. That's what therapy is about."

Winter studied her for a moment, then sighed, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. "Fine," she said, her voice softer. "Let's talk."

Their sessions grew more intense as the weeks passed, a dance of words and emotions that saw Winter slowly peeling back the layers of her armor. Y/n was patient, a beacon of light in the cold, dark labyrinth of Winter's psyche. The therapist's office became a sanctuary where the frosty facade of the killer melted away, revealing a girl desperately yearning for connection.

Winter spoke of her childhood, her words a frostbitten whisper of pain and betrayal. Each session chipped away at the wall she had built, the ice queen slowly thawing before Y/n's warmth. Y/n's empathy was a balm to her tortured soul, and she found herself craving the gentle touch of understanding that only her therapist seemed to provide.

One evening, as the sun bled into the sky, painting the horizon with crimson hues, Winter lay in wait outside Y/n's apartment. She had followed her from the office, curiosity and something darker coiling in her stomach. Through the crack in the blinds, she watched as Y/n's girlfriend arrived, her laughter too bright, too false.

Winter's heart turned to ice. She knew the type—charming, manipulative, the kind that would leave scars. Her fists clenched around the handle of her signature knife, the cold steel a comforting weight. This couldn't stand. Y/n was hers to protect, to cherish. That night, as the shadows grew long, she made her decision.

The following session, Winter was unusually quiet, her eyes distant and haunted. Y/n sensed a shift, a storm brewing beneath the calm surface. She waited, letting the silence stretch taut between them, giving Winter the space to speak when she was ready.

"I had a… a disturbing dream," Winter finally said, her voice shaky. "It was about someone dying."

Y/n leaned in, her eyes searching Winter's face for clues. "Tell me about it," she urged, her voice a soothing lilt.

Winter took a deep, shuddering breath. "It was you," she said, her gaze dropping to her interlaced fingers. "Someone was hurting you, and I couldn't stop them."

Y/n's heart skipped a beat. "It's okay," she soothed, her voice a warm caress. "It's just a dream."

Winter looked up, her eyes a tempest of emotions. "But what if it's not?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "What if I can't control the monster inside me?"

Y/n reached out, her hand hovering over Winter's. "You're not a monster, you're just lost," she said firmly. "We'll find your way together."

Winter's eyes searched Y/n's, and she saw something she hadn't before—hope. It was a dangerous emotion, one she had long ago buried under layers of anger and fear. But here it was, pulsing through her veins like a trapped animal desperate to break free.

"I want to believe you," she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Y/n nodded, her hand now resting gently on Winter's. "You can, Winter. We'll do this together."

But Winter's thoughts were spiraling. Her obsession grew with every beat of her heart, and she knew she couldn't let anyone else hurt Y/n. She needed to be the one in control. She needed Y/n to be hers and only hers.

That night, she watched as Y/n's girlfriend left her house, her eyes following the taunting sway of her hips. Winter knew what she had to do. With the precision of a seasoned predator, she stalked the girlfriend through the quiet streets, her rage a silent symphony in her ears.

The girlfriend's screams pierced the night as Winter attacked, her movements swift and methodical. The knife sliced through the air, and with each cut, she felt a piece of her own pain dissipate. The girlfriend's eyes widened in horror, realizing too late the gravity of her actions. Winter's face was a mask of cold determination, her heart a block of ice as she watched the life drain from the woman's body.

When it was over, she returned to her own apartment, the echoes of the girlfriend's screams still ringing in her ears. She showered, scrubbing away the blood and the guilt, but the feeling of satisfaction lingered, a dark blossom in her chest. Winter knew she had crossed a line, but she couldn't bring herself to regret it. Y/n was safe now, free from the clutches of a woman who didn't deserve her.

The next session with Y/n was fraught with tension. Winter sat in the chair, the weight of her secret pressing down on her like a leaden blanket. She watched her therapist with a mix of longing and fear, her eyes hungry for the warmth she knew she didn't deserve.

Y/n noticed the change in her patient, the subtle shifts in body language and tone. "Winter," she said, her voice a gentle prod. "What's on your mind today?"

Winter's eyes flicked to the floor, then back up to meet Y/n's. "It's nothing," she said, her voice a brittle lie. "Just… stress."

Y/n nodded, her gaze unwavering. "Would you like to talk about it?"

Winter swallowed hard, the taste of bile rising in her throat. She had killed for Y/n, had become the monster she feared she was to protect the one person who had ever offered her kindness. Yet she found herself unable to speak the truth. "No," she said, her voice a hollow echo. "It's just… personal."

Y/n's gaze softened, her hand reaching out to cover Winter's. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

Winter nodded, her throat tight. "I know," she croaked. But she couldn't. Not this. Not yet. The lie sat heavy on her tongue, a cold, dead weight.

The following week, Y/n noticed a newfound tension in Winter's demeanor. Her eyes darted around the room, and she was jumpy, her responses clipped and curt. Y/n's concern grew with every passing minute, her gut telling her that something was very wrong.

"Winter," she said softly, her eyes searching the other woman's face. "What happened?"

Winter's jaw tightened, her eyes flickering to the side. "It's nothing," she murmured, her voice a whisper of a storm. "I just… had a rough week."

Y/n leaned in, her eyes filled with genuine concern. "You can share anything with me," she said, her voice a warm embrace. "I'm here to help."

Winter took a deep breath, the walls of her heart threatening to crumble under the weight of her obsession. "It's just… I can't shake these thoughts," she admitted, her voice strained. "These… dark thoughts."

Y/n's eyes searched hers, a silent plea for her to continue. "Thoughts about what, Winter?"

Winter took a shaky breath, her eyes never leaving Y/n's. "Thoughts about… protecting you," she said, her voice a whisper. "Thoughts about what I would do to anyone who tries to hurt you."

Y/n's eyes widened, a chill running down her spine. "Winter, you don't have to do anything like that. I can handle my own problems."

Winter's gaze grew intense, her eyes burning with a fiery determination. "You don't understand," she said, her voice a low growl. "They don't get to hurt you. No one does."

Y/n felt a strange mix of fear and comfort at the possessive tone in Winter's voice. "Who are 'they'?" she asked, her voice a gentle coax.

Winter leaned forward, her eyes blazing. "The ones who don't deserve you," she said, her voice a deadly whisper. "The ones who hurt you, betray you."

Y/n's heart raced as she realized the depth of Winter's obsession. "What have you done?" she breathed, her voice barely audible.

Winter's eyes searched Y/n's, desperation clinging to every word. "I've taken care of it," she said, her tone final. "You don't have to worry about 'they' anymore."

Y/n's heart hammered in her chest. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

"The session is over Y/n," Winter said abruptly, her eyes hardening. "Remember, It was all for you."

Y/n nodded, the weight of unspoken truths hanging heavy in the air. As Winter left, Y/n couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled into her bones. The girlfriend's sudden disappearance had made the local news, but the thought of her being involved never once crossed her mind.

Y/n went home that night with a sense of dread coiling in her stomach. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Winter had done something terrible, all in the twisted name of protecting her. The house was eerily quiet, the usual comfort of her sanctuary now feeling suffocating. She poured herself a glass of wine, trying to dull the edge of her anxiety.

As she sat at her desk in her bedroom, Y/n's thoughts raced. Her mind was a tornado of doubt and fear, swirling around the words Winter had left unsaid. The quiet hum of the city outside her window did little to soothe her racing heart. Her eyes fell upon the framed photo of her and her girlfriend, now a haunting reminder of a happiness that felt like a distant memory.

With trembling hands, she picked up the phone and dialed her girlfriend's number, the ringtone echoing through the empty apartment. It went straight to voicemail. Her heart plummeted. Something was wrong. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead, and she couldn't ignore the sinking feeling that her world was about to shatter.

That very same night, the masked Winter found herself standing outside Y/n's apartment, the cold steel of her knife pressing against her palm. The darkness whispered to her, egging her on. She couldn't ignore the siren call of her obsession. It was time to reveal her true self, to show Y/n that she was the one worthy of her love and trust.

With a silent prayer to the moon, she slipped inside, the shadows welcoming her like a long-lost friend. The apartment was a maze of shadows and memories, each step bringing her closer to the woman who had unwittingly captured her heart.

Winter moved with the grace of a ghost, the mask she wore a silent declaration of her intentions. Her eyes searched the darkness, seeking out the room where Y/n lay, oblivious to the danger lurking in the shadows. Her heart thundered in her chest, a drumbeat of anticipation and fear. The need to be close to Y/n had grown into an obsession, a hunger that gnawed at her soul. She had to show her that she was the only one who truly cared.

As she approached the bedroom door, she heard the faint sound of Y/n’s voice, a whisper in the dark. She paused, her hand hovering over the doorknob, her breaths shallow and quick. The sound grew louder, and she realized it was Y/n's voice on the phone, desperate and fearful.

"Hello? Hello? Where are you?" Y/n's voice was a raw, trembling plea. Winter's heart clenched at the sound, a mix of satisfaction and guilt. She knew she had to act. She couldn't let Y/n suffer any longer. With the grace of a panther, she entered the room, the moon casting a silver glow across the bed.

Y/n jumped at the sudden intrusion, Winter's hand flying to her mouth to stifle a scream. She looked up to see the masked figure standing over her, the cold moonlight glinting off the blade in her hand. Her eyes grew wide with terror, the phone slipping from her grip and clattering to the floor.

Winter took a step closer, her eyes peering into Y/n's terrified gaze. Slowly, she reached up and removed the mask, her own eyes brimming with a fervent mix of love and fear. "It's me," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "It's just me."

Y/n stared at her, recognition dawning in her eyes. She pushed herself back against the headboard, the fear slowly morphing into anger. "What the hell are you doing here?" she hissed, her voice shaking.

Winter's grip on the knife tightened, her eyes never leaving Y/n's. "I came for you," she said, her voice low and intense. "To show you that I'm the only one who truly cares for you, who will keep you safe." She caressed Y/n's cheek with the back of her hand, the cold steel of the knife a stark contrast to her warm touch.

Y/n's breath hitched, a mix of anger and confusion clouding her vision. "What are you talking about?" she spat out, pushing Winter's hand away. "You're just my patient. You don't know me like that."

Winter's expression grew pained. "You don't understand," she whispered, her voice filled with a desperation that chilled Y/n to the core. "I know everything about you. Your favorite shows, your favorite book, the way you take your coffee. I've studied you, Y/n. I know you better than anyone."

Y/n's heart hammered against her ribs as she took in the madness in Winter's eyes. "What have you done?" she choked out, her voice trembling with fear.

Winter raised the knife, the blood stained blade glinting in the moonlight. "I've removed the one who didn't deserve you," she said, her voice a soft growl. "Your girlfriend, the one who hurt you. She can't hurt you anymore."

Y/n's eyes went wide with horror as the pieces fell into place. "No," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Winter, no."

Winter's eyes searched hers, a storm of emotions raging behind the icy facade. "You don't understand," she said, her voice a desperate plea. "I did it for us."

Y/n's eyes grew colder than the steel blade. "Get out," she snarled, her voice laced with venom.

Winter's hand wavered, the knife still poised dangerously close to Y/n's face. "But I did it for you," she repeated, the desperation in her tone growing stronger. "I couldn't let her hurt you."

Y/n's voice was like a whip cracking through the air. "Get out of my house, and get help," she ordered, her voice shaking with rage and fear. "You're not the person I thought you were."

Winter's hand lowered, the knife clattering to the floor. Her eyes searched Y/n's face, a silent plea for understanding. "But I love you," she murmured, the words a hoarse whisper.

Y/n's expression was a twisted mask of anger and fear. "Love doesn't mean controlling me or hurting others," she spat. "Get out." Y/n stood up.

Winter grabbed Y/n's waist and pushed her down onto the bed, her eyes wild with a fierce determination that was both terrifying and mesmerizing. "You don't understand," she hissed, her grip tightening. "You're mine now."

Y/n's heart raced as she stared up at the crazed woman she had once considered a patient. "Winter, you need help," she said, her voice trembling.

Winter leaned down, her ginger hair brushing against Y/n's cheek. "You're all the help I need," she murmured, her voice a seductive whisper. She claimed Y/n's lips in a kiss that was both fierce and tender, her hands moving to untie the therapist's wrists.

Y/n's mind raced as she felt the knots loosen, her thoughts a tumult of fear and disbelief. Yet, as Winter kissed her, a strange warmth began to unfurl within her. The line between terror and arousal blurred, the intensity of the moment overwhelming.

Breaking the kiss, Winter whispered, "Let me show you how much you mean to me." Her eyes searched Y/n's, desperate for a glimmer of acceptance.

Y/n's breath was ragged, her body a battleground of emotions. But as she stared into the depths of Winter's eyes, she saw something she hadn't before—pain. A desperate, all-consuming pain that mirrored her own. She didn't know if it was fear or pity, but she found herself nodding, her body going limp beneath the other woman's touch.

Winter's eyes lit up with a feral hunger as she began to undress Y/n, her movements deft and sure. Each piece of clothing that fell away revealed more of Y/n's soft, warm flesh, a stark contrast to the cold metal of the knife still lying on the floor.

Y/n's thoughts were a chaotic maelstrom, her body responding against her will to the surprising gentleness of Winter's touch. Her mind screamed for her to fight, to push the madness away, but something in those piercing eyes held her captive, a silent promise that she couldn't quite understand.

Winter's lips trailed down Y/n's neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Her teeth grazed the sensitive skin, sending shivers down her spine. Y/n's body was betraying her, arching into the kisses, her breathing growing ragged. The warmth of Winter's mouth moved lower, her tongue tracing the curve of her collarbone, making her squirm with a mix of fear and desire.

Winter paused, her eyes meeting Y/n's, searching for any sign of rejection. But all she found was a strange mix of anger and need. Her own need was a living, breathing creature within her, demanding to be sated. She leaned back, her eyes never leaving Y/n's as she unbuckled her own pants, revealing the girl cock she had kept hidden beneath her clothes.

Y/n's eyes widened, a mix of shock and curiosity. Despite her fear, she felt a heat pooling in her stomach. She had never been with someone like Winter before, never felt such a primal, overwhelming desire from a woman.

Winter leaned over her, the tip of her cock brushing against Y/n's thigh. "Do you want this?" she murmured, her voice a sultry whisper. "Do you want me to make you feel good?"

Y/n's eyes narrowed, anger and lust warring within her. "I don't know what you think you're doing," she hissed, her voice thick with emotion. "But if you think this will fix anything, you're wrong."

Winter ignored the words, her gaze locked on Y/n's exposed neck. She leaned in, her teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, leaving a trail of red beads in her wake. "You're mine," she whispered, the words a dark benediction.

Y/n felt a strange thrill at the possessive bite, the sting of pain mingling with the warmth spreading through her body. "You can't just take what you want," she growled, trying to push Winter away. But her protests were weak, her body betraying her with every shiver of pleasure.

Winter's eyes flashed with something primal, a dark need that sent a shiver down Y/n's spine. "But I'm not taking," she murmured, her breath hot against Y/n's ear. "I'm giving." And with that, she slid into Y/n with a gentle, yet insistent pressure that made Y/n's eyes roll back in her head.

The pain was brief, replaced almost immediately by a white-hot pleasure that coursed through her veins like liquid fire. Y/n couldn't help but moan, her body responding to the intrusion with a wanton eagerness that shocked her to her core.

Winter took the sound as a sign of encouragement, her hips moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm that had Y/n's legs wrapping around her waist of their own accord. The room was a symphony of gasps and sighs, the only light coming from the moon outside, casting an eerie glow across their tangled forms.

Y/n's nails dug into Winter's back, her teeth clenched as the pleasure grew, a crescendo building with each stroke. The anger and fear were still there, but now they were mingled with a need so intense it was almost painful. Her body was a live wire, every touch from Winter sending electric jolts of sensation through her.

Winter's eyes were closed, lost in the feel of Y/n's warmth enveloping her. The tightness, the wetness, it was everything she had dreamt of and more. She whispered sweet nothings in Y/n's ear, her voice a soft caress that seemed to reach into the very core of her soul.

Y/n's eyes squeezed shut, trying to block out the reality of the situation. But the sensations were too intense, too overwhelming to ignore. Her body responded to Winter's touch in a way she had never experienced before, her mind a haze of anger, fear, and a disturbing thrill.

Winter's thrusts grew deeper, more urgent, her own moans mingling with Y/n's. She whispered sweet, dark promises of protection and belonging, her breath hot and heavy against Y/n's neck. "You're mine," she repeated, her voice a hoarse chant.

Y/n felt the climax building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter within her. She wanted to hate it, to push Winter away, but her body craved the release that was so close, the feeling of being claimed by this woman who had invaded her life so thoroughly.

Winter's hand moved to Y/n's throat, her grip firm but not painful, the pressure a silent declaration of her dominance. Y/n's eyes flew open, a mix of anger and arousal in her gaze as she stared up at the woman who had become her tormentor and, now, her lover.

Winter felt the tension in Y/n's body, the way she arched into her touch, and knew she was close. She leaned down, her teeth grazing Y/n's earlobe as she whispered, "Say it. Tell me you're mine."

Y/n's eyes narrowed, the anger and lust warring within her. But as Winter's thumb traced circles around her clit, she couldn't hold back any longer. "I'm yours," she gasped, the words torn from her in a mix of anger and pleasure.

Winter's eyes lit up with triumph, her strokes becoming more intense. "That's right," she murmured, her voice a dark purr. "You're mine to protect, to cherish."

The words sent a shiver down Y/n's spine, her body responding in ways she never thought possible. She felt the orgasm building, a wave of pleasure that threatened to consume her. Winter's eyes bore into hers, the intensity of her stare almost as overwhelming as the sensations that rocked her body.

"Winter~," she choked out, her voice a desperate plea.

Winter's eyes widened, the sound of her own name on Y/n's lips like a sweet symphony. She leaned closer, her cock driving deeper into the therapist's wet heat. "Say it again," she demanded, her voice a mix of lust and possessiveness.

"Winter," Y/n gasped, her body trembling. "I'm yours."

The admission seemed to push Winter over the edge, her hips moving faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Y/n's eyes rolled back in her head, the pleasure consuming her. She felt Winter's climax building, the other woman's body tightening around her, and she knew she was close.

With a final, desperate thrust, Winter came, her body shuddering with the force of it. Y/n's own orgasm followed, a wave that crashed over her, leaving her trembling and breathless. They stayed like that for a moment, their bodies tangled together in a mess of sweat and passion.

Winter leaned down, her forehead resting against Y/n's, their breath mingling in the heavy silence. "You feel so good," she murmured, her voice filled with awe. "I knew you would."

Y/n stared up at her, the anger and fear now tempered by the raw intimacy of the moment. "What now?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Winter pulled out of her, a look of satisfaction and possessiveness etched on her face. "Now," she said, her voice thick with emotion, "you're mine."

#aespa x fem reader #aespa x reader #winter x reader #kim minjeong x reader #aespa winter #winter imagines #bangchansdirty-slut #kim minjeong imagines #minjeong x reader #winter scenarios #winter x y/n #winter x you

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jezebelblues · 2 months ago

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𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 | 𝐇.𝐒 ݁ᛪ༙ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐛, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟.

𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐧—𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐰𝐧, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐚 𝐥��𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲.

pt i, pt ii

cw: blood, fem!reader, slowburn

word count: approx 14k

| this update was a bit long but i it felt right idk. the unedited version (some of this is still unedited i’ll go over it later) of this felt toooo long so i had to shorten it down some. hope u enjoy :^)

ps: before anyone anons me none of the gifs are my own

pps: i feel like i overused the words gaze and shadow so much. pretend i didn’t

The tavern was heavy with warmth, thick as the smoke that clung to the low beams overhead, where voices murmured in a haze, blending into a constant hum. Laughter, sharp and fleeting, cracked through the air now and again—its echoes dancing like fireflies in the corners, brief and forgotten as soon as they faded.

YN sat between Niall and Matilda, their bodies a cushion. Matilda—whose presence was like the earth itself, enduring yet delicate, her skin a dusky sheen, glowing faintly in the candlelight, as if touched by some quiet magic. Beneath the taupe of her skin, a subtle flush of magenta seemed to rise, like the softest blush of twilight, weaving around her as silk wraps a pearl. Her eyes, dark as walnut wood, held the deep wisdom of years unwritten, their irises swirling with concentric rings, like the rings of a tree long rooted in the soil of time.

To her, Matilda was not just a friend, but a kindred spirit—a sister not of blood, but of choice, a bond forged through the fires of shared years.

Her cheeks bloomed with the heat of the room, not just from the hearth but from the ale that hummed beneath her skin. The fire crackled, its breath licking the edges of the room, casting tremulous light on the aged wood, the walls darkened by years of ruckus. Silhouettes slithered over the faces of the others—hunched, hidden, lost within the quiet murmurs of their own worlds, each one cloaked in stories too old to tell aloud, too heavy to lift.

"Another round?" Niall’s grin was wide, a glint of something glimmering at the edge of his pupil, his tankard raised as though it were a banner. Without waiting for an answer, he sent a swift glance toward the barkeep, the signal already understood, the ritual as familiar as breath.

She chuckled softly, shaking her head with a weariness that only half-masked her affection. "You’ll have us drunk before the hours out if you keep this up," she warned, but her voice held no real rebuke—just the quiet comfort of knowing his games so well.

"Oh, come now, YN," The blonde teased, nudging her arm with a familiarity that bordered on tenderness. "A few ales to wash away the misery of the week won’t kill us. Besides," he added, his gaze flickering toward Matilda, who seemed as untroubled by the world as ever, "look at Matilda—she's not complainin'."

Matilda's lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk, her dark curls falling loose and untamed around her shoulders. "I’d never turn down a drink on Niall’s coin," she said, her voice laced with a sly sweetness, "Who knows when he’ll turn stingy again."

He huffed in mock offense, his brows furrowing comically, but the playful warmth in his voice betrayed him. "Stingy? Me? I’ll have you know I’m generous to a fault." He turned toward YN, as if to seek her confirmation, the corners of his lips tugging upward in a half-challenging smile. "Isn’t that right, love?"

She rolled her eyes, but there was no hiding the smile that tugged at her mouth, the soft pull of something more between them than just words. She took another sip, letting the warmth of the drink settle in her chest, a quiet fire against the chill of the world outside. The tavern, with its familiar scent of smoke and old wood, cradled them in a temporary reprieve—a small sanctuary where the burdens of life seemed just a little lighter. Here, the constant hunger of uncertainty, the whispers of bad omens, the specter of rationed days to come—they faded into the background, lost in the murmur of voices and the clink of tankards.

The laughter—clumsy, raucous, and rich with an odd comfort—was a balm, if only for a moment. A place where the weight of daily life eased just a bit, where the laughter and chatter dulled the constant worries of scarce food and rumors of ill omens.

Their conversation meandered as a familiar stream, winding through the usual tributaries of small-village life—Niall’s latest foolishness, whispers of passing strangers with their gold-braided coats, the gossip that bloomed and withered like wildflowers. But amid the hum of it all, YN’s thoughts wandered, drawn, like an invisible tether, to the watchtower that rose solemn in the distance. She remembered the man who had stood there, his features etched in the dim light, his eyes both distant and strangely soft. That fleeting moment had lingered in her mind, growing like a shadow that lengthens with dusk, though she could never quite name the shape of it.

Did he think of her, she wondered, as the days unfolded in their slow, relentless turn? Did the basket she had left—humble, perhaps, but with a quiet weight—find its way into his solitude, and if so, what did he see within it? A gift? A gesture? Or merely an idle offering, as common as the winds that swept across the hills? She could not tell, and perhaps it was better so—this silent question, unanswered, hanging like a note unsung, sweet and disquieting all the same.

As the evening stretched on, the tavern seemed to swell with noise, the laughter and clinking of mugs growing louder, more insistent, as though the very walls of the room had been pressed closer by the pressure heat. The fire crackled with a restless energy, its glow casting flickering shadows that danced across the worn faces of the patrons, each one swallowed up in the merry chaos of the hour. Yet, amidst it all, YN remained still—her secret a quiet comfort, nestled deep within her. She wore her mirth like a mask, laughing with the others, her words light and bright, but her thoughts clung to familiar stones, to the figure there, whose face haunted the edges of her mind.

There was a part of her that longed to speak, to share the strange discovery that had found its way into her heart. She imagined their reactions, the flurry of questions, the curious glances, but each thought was quickly quelled. For in that quiet, secret place where her heart held him, she knew some things were not meant for the ears of others. Some things were meant to linger between the spaces of breath, suspended in silence, known only to her and to the man who had, perhaps unknowingly, entered her world. And so, she kept it, like a hidden treasure, wrapped in the folds of the evening’s laughter, the mystery sealed away for now.

The first light of dawn crept over the hills, a pale gray whisper that softened the jagged contours of the land, as though the earth itself still hesitated between the clutches of night and the promises of day. From the threshold of his tower, Harry stood, unmoving, his gaze drifting down the hill toward the distant village, where the rooftops lay muted beneath the veil of early mist. The wind, sharp as a blade, pressed against him, but it did little to soothe the restless coil that tightened ever deeper in his chest.

There was a gnawing ache within him, a need not of flesh but of something more ancient, more desperate. It had been there, always, lurking just beneath the surface of his thoughts, but now, in the stillness of the breaking day, it felt more urgent. The silence of the world around him only served to amplify it, that quiet need, the echo of a longing he could not name. He knew what it was—knew what it had always been. The temptation, the thirst, the lure of something so close, yet so far from his reach. He had fought it for decades, distancing himself from the warmth of human company, the heat of blood that thrummed in their veins. But still, she lingered in the edges of his thoughts, like the faintest stream of sunlight on the horizon, pulling him toward something he could not deny.

Sleep had eluded him, as it often did now, though he scarcely noticed its absence. The hours had slipped by unnoticed, his body caught in restless motion—his thoughts as restless as his footsteps. It wasn’t something he needed, but it passed the time. The hunger was always there, a constant hum beneath his skin, gnawing at the edges of his composure, though he never let it show. It grew stronger, insidious, each time she lingered in his mind. Each fleeting thought of her—so brief, so innocent—pulled at him in a way he could neither understand nor escape.

There was something in her that unsettled him, something he could not quite name, nor bring himself to fully acknowledge. Perhaps it was the simplicity of her, unmarked by fear, offering him what he could not have, without question, without hesitation. Or perhaps it was the way she looked at him—not with the awe or revulsion he had come to expect, but with the quiet curiosity of someone seeing, not a legend, nor a monster, but something far more fragile. Something he had long forgotten how to be.

For decades, he had dwelled in the afterthought of the town’s edge, a half-forgotten relic of flesh and dust, unvisited by any living soul. But the whispers always crept in, insidious as rot. They started as flickers in the periphery, twisting shades that slipped into view and vanished, leaving a nagging sickness in the gut.

Then, in 1650, came talk of a ghost—a tortured soul, they said, who'd taken his own life in the tower and now roamed the woods, yearning for absolution that would never come. Heaven's doors stayed shut, and mercy seemed a fable.

By 1655, the villagers were finding the deer.

Carcasses strewn across the forest floor, gray, gaping, and bloodless, as if some foul thing had drained them dry. It was easier for them to name it, to craft their terror: night demon, they called it, a creature that could live only by consuming what was alive. Harry, feeling the noose of their suspicion, turned his appetite to smaller, lesser creatures, his hands stained with blood too meager to satisfy.

Then in 1698, after the king was beheaded and the fall of the kingdom, the whispers changed, took on a new venom. Now they spoke of a spy, some agent lurking in the ruins of the tower, sent to plot vengeance in the dark. The villagers feared the idea of a spy more than they feared a night demon. They feared each other more than a figment of hell.

In their mistrust, he felt a deep sorrow, hollow as the ribs of the carcasses he left behind. A sadness as profound as death, as he realized humanity could no longer recognize true horror—it had lost all memory of what lurked beyond the mirror's edge.

And in that, something broke, though he could not tell what—nor could he say why.

The thirst gnawed at him relentlessly, a raw, pulsing ache that twisted beneath his ribs, clawing and clawing with a force he could not escape, no matter how he turned his thoughts elsewhere. It hummed in his veins like fire, but darker, colder—a hunger that did not simply ask for blood, but demanded it, demanded the warm pulse of life that he had long denied himself. Each beat of his heart seemed to mock him, each breath he drew only stoking the flames of it, sharp as glass in his throat. The taste of it—the rich, copper warmth of blood—hung at the back of his mind, a constant, maddening memory. He had tried to bury it, to force it away with cold silence and self-preservation, but this morning, the ache was fiercer than it had ever been, digging into his bones with the ferocity of something starved for decades. And even as he struggled to hold it at bay, something else—something equally savage—gnawed at him from within, the hollow, unspoken absence of her. Her warmth, her softness, her blood that had flowed so close, so near, yet remained untouched. The silence in her wake was a wound he could not ignore, and in that silence, the hunger grew sharper, as if the very memory of her could feed the dark emptiness inside him.

He could not say when the decision had come—whether it had slipped upon him like a shadow or had broken through his thoughts with the force of something he could no longer deny. Perhaps it was the slow unraveling of his resolve, or the fierce, raw desperation for something—anything—alive, that had drawn him down the hill. His legs moved of their own accord, a slow, deliberate rhythm that felt both unnatural and inevitable, as if his body had forgotten what it meant to move freely, to walk without the weight of lifetimes pressing down. Each step was a silent battle, a strange dance between the gnawing pull of temptation and the remnants of restraint still clinging to him. The ground beneath him seemed to hum with each movement, as if it too felt the shift in him, the crossing of some unseen threshold, one he hadn’t dared approach in ages. It was not the angle of the hill that made his pace slow, but the unbearable anticipation that pressed at his chest, a swelling tide threatening to overtake him. The world around him felt suspended, holding its breath—waiting for him to yield, to surrender to the human warmth that called to him in the distance.

His ring caught the first light of dawn as he walked, its darkened crest catching the faintest gleam, a shard of forgotten embers against the pale, creeping morning. It was the only thing that had not been swallowed by time, the only gift Thomas had given him that still clung to his skin. A talisman, yes—but not one of comfort. The ring was his quiet, reluctant ally, allowing him to move through the sun’s wary embrace without the agony of flames licking at his flesh. Once, the daylight had been a battlefield, a reminder of the curse that pulsed through his veins, scorching him with every step. Now, with this small circle of silver upon his finger, he was permitted to walk beneath it, though never without the weight of knowing it was a gift that came at a cost.

It was his only reprieve, the faintest whisper of life that still belonged to him—a brief, bitter permission to walk where others could.

The trees, gnarled and bent with age, reached out with twisted fingers, their silhouette stretching long in the dim light. The brambles whispered as he passed, their thorned tendrils brushing against him in protest. He neared the docks, the world seeming to fall into a kind of fragile stillness. The boats rocked gently, their hulls creaking in time with the slow, rhythmic hush of the waves lapping against the weathered posts. The quiet was thick, almost sacred—no voices to disturb the calm, no fishermen hauling nets, no workers preparing for the bustle of the day. Only the soft pulse of the sea, the distant cry of a gull, and the hollow echo of his own heartbeat—steady, but not quite human. The taste of salt hung heavy in the air, mingling with a stagnation in his chest.

Harry came to a halt at the edge of the dock, his boots silent on the worn planks as he gripped the railing, the wood slick with the cold breath of morning. He stood there, staring out at the stretch of water, its surface flat and indifferent, like a mirror to the soul he no longer recognized. He did not know why he had come, could not outwardly say what had drawn him here, there was nothing for him, only the empty echo of a life he no longer belonged to. Yet, even as the thought mocked him, he found himself waiting—a flicker in his chest, a quiet, foolish hope that stirred with each passing wave. He told himself it was madness—he told himself it would never be enough—but still, there it was, a threadbare hope that he might catch a glimpse of her again. Just a fleeting moment, enough to remember the soft weight of being seen, the strange warmth of being spoken to as if he were still warm flesh, still alive.

The ache grew sharper the longer he stood, the hunger twisting within him, no longer a mere thirst for blood, but something darker, more raw, more human—something he hadn’t dared acknowledge in years. It sank into his bones, gnawing at him with a ferocity that made his chest tighten, his throat burn. He knew he should turn away, retreat into the shadows of the tower where the silence could swallow him whole once more, where the cold stone would keep him safely apart from a life he didn’t belong in. But still, his feet did not move, rooted to the planks of the dock as though they were chains of his own making. His gaze remained fixed on the distant rooftops, where the faintest trace of smoke rose into the gray morning, and for a moment, he imagined—foolishly, hopelessly—that if he stared long enough, willed it enough, she might appear. She might step into the light, just once more, and see him—not a demon, not the curse—but him.

If she did appear, he promised himself—though the vow felt fragile, like a thread pulled taut—he would not betray his presence. He would stay at the edges of her world, a fleeting figure that faded with the first light of day. He would not speak of the tower, not give voice to the dark, consuming truths that clung to him like a second skin. No, he would be nothing more than a passing stranger, a whisper on the wind. Yet even as he made this promise, the thought of it felt like a betrayal in itself, as though to remain distant was to deny the very thing that pulled him here, to this moment, to this place. The warmth of her—her kindness, so simple yet so rich—called to him in a way he could neither escape nor fully understand. Perhaps, if he could just stay near her, just a little longer, he might find the strength to endure another day. Just one more, he thought, as the days stretched into forever, as if he could keep pretending he was not already lost.

The thought was a temptation he had no right to entertain. Foolish, even reckless, he knew that. But he had grown weary—tired of silence, tired of the endless weight of his own secrets, of carrying the burden of solitude like a weight suspended from a noose. The girl had offered him a kindness, an offering so simple, yet so out of reach for someone like him. And though he could not, would not, repay it—could not bring himself to mar the fragile thread of warmth she had given—he found that he wouldn’t forget it. She had become something small, stubborn, like a flicker of light that refused to be extinguished, a flame in the deepest dark. And though he knew better than to hold on to such things, he would keep her there, in the quietest corner of his mind, as a reminder of what it was like to be seen, to be human, if only for a fleeting moment.

As if granted by God, or perhaps, the devil—YN passed through the old stone archway at the town's edge, a woven basket slung over her arm. The world seemed suspended, still wrapped in the soft embrace of dawn, the mist clinging to the trees and rooftops like a secret the earth wasn’t ready to reveal. She had risen early, drawn out by the need to gather the last of the winter berries, those fragile remnants of the season before the frost took hold and stilled the earth. It was one of her favorite tasks that led her beyond the town's walls, into the woods, a place where silence reigned and the trees held their own quiet truths.

She neared the docks, her steps growing hesitant, slowing without her willing it. There, at the edge of the water, stood the man from the watchtower—alone, his form carved in silhouette against the soft, silvery light of the sea. His back was turned, the dark coat he wore fluttering slightly in the breeze, his tousled curls stirring in the wind. In the dim, uncertain light of dawn, he seemed less a man and more a part of the landscape—a shadow that clung to the horizon, neither fully present nor fully gone, caught somewhere between the world she knew and something far more distant, more elusive.

She lingered for a breath, torn between calling for him or letting him remain untouched by the world, a figure suspended in the hush of the morning. He had occupied her thoughts ever since their first encounter, his face, his quiet gaze, as vivid in her mind as a memory from one of her grandmother’s old stories—unspoken, yet somehow known. She had kept him to herself, this fleeting, strange man, not spoken a word of him to those closest to her. He was a secret, her own personal sin that she wrapped around herself like silk.

He seemed to feel her before she spoke, the faintest tension creeping into his shoulders, a stillness that rippled like the calm before a storm. He did not turn, but something in his posture shifted—an almost imperceptible movement—as if his senses were attuned to the quiet stretch of her shadow across the weathered planks of the dock. His head tilted slightly, just enough to acknowledge her presence without a word.

"You never told me your name," she greeted softly, stepping closer, careful not to breach the delicate space between them.

He turned slowly, his jaw tightened. His skin was light as snow, the moss in his irises resembling the forest he hid in. Up close, he was as she remembered—shadowed eyes, heavy with unspoken things, yet sharp, as though he saw more than he let on. There was a stillness about him, a quiet reserve in his expression that made him feel both present and untouchable, a figure drawn from a dream—too distant to reach, but unmistakably real.

"Harry," he murmured, his voice low, almost uncertain, as though her address had pulled him from some distant place where names held no meaning.

“YN.” She lifted her basket slightly, a soft smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Out foraging before the frost,” she explained, her voice warm but quiet. “I hadn’t expected to see you here. I thought…” she trailed off, catching herself before admitting where she’d assumed he’d be.

He raised an eyebrow, a desire seeping through the cracks in the wall he desperately tried to keep up. "You thought I'd be tucked away in that old tower?" His tone was even, almost casual, as though he were testing the air between them, gauging her response before the silence could settle too deeply.

YN felt a blush creep up her cheeks and looked away. “Well… I suppose, yes.”

A flicker of something passed over his face, something that might have been understanding or perhaps resignation, but he didn’t let it linger. He nodded slightly, his gaze drifting back to the horizon. “Sometimes solitude wears thin, even in a place like that.”

His words mingled in the air, tinged with a quiet sorrow. She studied him in silence, noting the faintest tremor in his expression, the subtle tension that coiled through his posture. Despite his carefully maintained reserve, there was a weariness to him—an exhaustion that seemed to bleed through his seclusion, as if the silence had exacted a price, one he wasn’t yet willing to acknowledge, even to himself.

She took a step closer, the subtle shift of her weight a quiet invitation as she joined him by the railing, careful not to bridge the space between them too abruptly. Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, like the thought were her own, not meant to disturb the fragile stillness. “It must be lonely, a place like that—cut off from everything.”

He glanced at her, but he didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked out over the water, his expression caught between a guarded stillness and the faintest flicker of longing. "Lonely, perhaps," he muttered at last, his voice roughened, as though dragged from the depths of some forgotten grave. "But I've learned to wear it, like a second skin. I've grown accustomed to it… or it has grown accustomed to me." His words were slow, deliberate—each syllable a careful incision, as though he feared what might bleed out if he spoke too freely.

She nodded, tracing the faint shadows beneath his words with her eyes—melancholy buried so deep it seemed to haunt him like a scar long faded but never healed. The longer she watched, the more she felt the weight of it, a solitude so profound it had become his very skin. He had steeped himself in it, wrapped it around him like a cloak soaked in the blood of forgotten years, until it clung to him, a second nature, as much a part of him as the very air he breathed—an absence that devoured him from within.

They stood there in silence, the stillness wrapping around them, thick and quiet, neither comforting nor oppressive—just present. It was strange, she thought, how easily the silence settled between them, how it felt less like a void and more like something shared, their absence of like a language in itself. She let her eyes wander, tracing the rough grain of the dock beneath her feet, then briefly resting on the basket in her hands, wondering if she should break the silence, or if, perhaps, it was enough just to exist there beside him.

She spoke at last, her voice uncertain. “I was about to head up to the hills,” she mumbled, the words gentle but laden with invitation. “The berries won’t last long in this cold, and it helps to have someone along. It’s not a difficult walk, just... company for the journey.” She paused, her eyes darting briefly to him, a fleeting smile curving the corners of her lips—an offering, fragile, tentative. “If you’d like.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze focused somewhere in the distance, his fingers gripping the railing a bit tighter as though wrestling with some unspoken decision. She could see the hesitation in his face, a weariness that ran deeper than caution—the act of reaching out had become a thing he could no longer bear. It was as though he had spent years holding the world at arm’s length, terrified that its touch might unravel him.

When he finally met her eyes, his expression shifted, the stone of his reserve cracking just enough to reveal a flicker of something fragile, almost painfully human. “I don’t often accept such invitations,” he said, his voice low, threaded with an uncertainty he couldn’t quite conceal.

She nodded, her smile softening, becoming something quieter, more understanding—a silent acknowledgment of the weight behind his words. “Then consider it an exception,” Her tone shifted unexpectedly, a playful lilt slipping out like a secret she hadn’t meant to share. “Just once?”

He studied her in silence, it was an invitation, plain and unadorned, given without demand or condition, and for a moment, he found himself undone by it—drawn to the purity of it, despite himself.

“Just this once,” he repeated gently, almost to the wisps that danced in the breeze, as if the words themselves were a concession, a surrender he wasn’t quite prepared to make. He cast a fleeting glance toward the distant tower, that looming sentinel of his isolation, and in its outline, he felt the familiar tug of retreat. But then, as though the very weight of her kindness had pressed down on him, he nodded, the faintest gesture of capitulation, and gave in to the strange, irresistible pull that had led him here, to this moment.

They moved side by side, their footsteps soft echoes on the cobblestones, a rhythm that seemed to bind them together in the fragile stillness of the morning. The path wound upward, skirting the edge of the town's weathered walls, veering into the dense, dew-soaked grass that clung to the earth. The mist lingered, curling around them in cool, gossamer tendrils, as though the very air was reluctant to let them go. For a time, neither of them spoke, the silence between them delicate—neither uncomfortable nor forced, but a quiet communion, as if the world itself had paused.

YN glanced over at him, her eyes tracing the lines of his face, the subtle tension in the set of his shoulders—always poised, always wrapped in a quiet, almost impenetrable composure. "You seem a little different here," she confessed, her voice thoughtful. "When I first saw you, up in the tower… I thought you were someone who'd forgotten the world. Forgotten how to belong to it."

He looked at her, his eyes searching hers as though the question unsettled him. “Maybe I have,” he answered quietly, his tone laced with a distant sadness. “It’s… simpler that way.”

They reached the edge of the forest, where the last of the berry bushes clung stubbornly to the rocky earth, their branches heavy with the deep red of winter's stubborn fruit. YN knelt by one of the bushes, her movements smooth and practiced, fingers deftly plucking the berries, each one a small treasure against the cold. She glanced up, catching him watching her—a mixture of curiosity and something more guarded, as though he were trying to decipher a riddle that had long slipped beyond his grasp.

"What about you?" he asked suddenly, his voice low, testing the words on his tongue before letting them fall. There was a hesitation in his question, an unspoken edge to it. "Doesn’t it frighten you? Being alone out here?"

She looked up, her hands stilling for a moment while she considered his question, settling in the quiet between them. A faint smile touched her lips, fragile. "Here and there," she shrugged, admitting a truth she didn’t often speak. "But I think... sometimes, solitude is a kind of freedom, too. A way to... unearth yourself, without the world carving you into something else. Just you, in the quiet, with nothing but your own thoughts to guide you."

He fell silent, his eyes slipping away from hers, words brushing against something buried deep, stirring it from its dark corner. She studied him quietly, sensing a quiet burden he wore like a shadow that had long fused with his soul—a presence he could not escape, nor would he ever.

She placed a handful of berries into her basket, softly thudding as they rolled about. She stood slowly, offering him a nod that was gentle, careful. "Thank you for walking with me," she said, her voice soft but sure, like words themselves were a bridge between them. "I know... this isn’t your usual way."

He met her gaze, and for the briefest of moments, something flickered across his face—a softness, an unguardedness, almost like a breath held too long. Something that might have been gratitude, or perhaps a reverberation of a feeling he had long denied. “No,” he exhaled, his voice a low whisper, barely breaking the stillness. “It’s not.”

They stood there for what felt like an age, neither moving, neither speaking, the silence between them thick with the weight of things unsaid—things neither of them dared to name. And then, slowly, he inclined his head, a small, deliberate nod.

YN smiled softly, her steps lightening as she turned back toward the path that wound homeward, the weight of her basket now richer with the morning’s bounty. The air around them seemed to thicken, and as she walked, she could feel his presence beside her, a steadiness that clung to her.

Harry moved a pace behind, his steps measured, the soft crunch of leaves beneath his boots the only sound marking their progress. He kept his distance, a familiar gap between them, a boundary woven from old habits, borne not just of caution, but of something deeper, tragic—something that made the space between them a fragile necessity. Her warmth, the drum of her heartbeat, the maddening scent of her blood—each one was an unholy temptation, a siren’s song that pulled at him from the marrow of his bones. He could feel it stirring beneath his skin, a thirst that coiled like a serpent, winding tighter with every step they took together.

Yet here he was, a willing captive of his own weakness. And there she was—so close, so unguarded, soft.

She moved with a grace that seemed to belong to a world he could no longer touch, crouching now and then to pluck a berry, or to push aside a stray branch, her fingers nimble, delicate—perfectly at ease in the simplicity of the moment. Harry watched her, his gaze lingering on the way she moved through the trees, it made the weight of his own stillness feel unbearable.

She moved through his solitude as if it were nothing more than air, filling the cracks, unspoken, unnoticed—undeniable. A simplicity that made the silence between them feel like a violation, a thing that had no place in her quiet world.

"You don't talk much, do you?" she chuckled lightly, glancing up at him with a faint smile.

He seemed caught off guard, no one had spoken to him so directly in a very long time. "I suppose not," he admitted, his voice soft, deliberate. "Words are powerful things. I find I prefer to spend them sparingly."

She tilted her head, giving him a playful look.

"That sounds like something from an old book," she teased. "Is it isolation that makes you so mysterious, or were you born this way?"

A faint, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, a fleeting flicker of something that could have been amusement. For just a moment, she saw it—an echo of a man who hadn’t forgotten how to smile, how to feel. "Perhaps both," he muttered, his voice low, laced with a hint of something half-hidden, the words themselves carefully measured. "Though... solitude has a way of changing a man. It wears him down, carves him into something… different. Something harder."

She paused, her fingers lingering on the gnarled branch, heavy with dark berries that seemed to pulse in the soft mist like droplets of some forbidden nectar. She plucked a particularly plump blackcurrant, its skin swollen with ripeness, and turned to him, offering it with a quiet, almost reverent smile. “Here,” she breathed, her voice warm as though the offering were not of fruit, but of something deeper. “When they’re this fat, they’re sweetest.”

Harry's eyes fixed on the berry, suspended in the air between them like an offering—innocent, simple, and yet impossible. His first instinct was to refuse, to turn away from the thing that could never nourish him, but the invitation in her eyes—soft, untroubled, and daring—cut through the distance he had carefully constructed for centuries. There was something disarming in the way she offered it, human, delicate, alive.

After a long breath, he reached for the berry, his fingers curling around it with an unnatural gentleness, as though he feared the fruit might shatter in his touch. He held it as one might a fragile relic, some forbidden treasure—one so delicate it might slip through his fingers into the void. Her smile deepened, wide and expectant, and something stirred inside him, a soft flicker of something he couldn’t name, it felt almost foreign, like a sun he hadn’t seen in an eternity.

Slowly, he raised the berry to his lips, his movements deliberate, drawn out, savoring not just the fruit but the very act of living. The skin gave way beneath his teeth with a quiet burst, releasing the sharp sweetness that slid across his tongue. The taste was sudden—shocking in its vividness—like blood, but purer, more innocent, the tartness of life itself staining his senses. For a moment, it nearly consumed him, that wild, forbidden rush, and he could feel the juice slip down his chin, dark against the pale pallor of his skin.

He wiped the mess away instinctively, but as his hand rose, it faltered, caught by her gaze—soft, yet piercing—watching him with an intensity he could not ignore. Her eyes lingered on the stain that marred his mouth, a dark splotch of life that only served to deepen the silent distance between them, a reminder of the worlds he had once inhabited. He could see the faint flush of color rise to her cheeks, and in that moment, he realized how he must appear—caught between two realms, a man straddling the living and the damned, part of him still tethered to something ancient and blood-soaked, something that should have long since been buried.

A faint, sardonic smile curved at the corner of his lips, the trace of something like amusement but touched with sorrow. “It seems I’ve forgotten my manners,” he mumbled, the words thick with something more than simple apology—a confession of sorts, unspoken, lingering in the air between them. "It’s... sweet," he added, the word seeming to hold a weight it shouldn’t have, as though it bore some deeper meaning neither of them could fully understand. His voice cracked slightly, touched by a note of self-mockery, as if he were both aware and unaware of the chasm that stretched between him and the woman before him. The quiet messiness of the moment—his awkwardness—felt like something sacred, something wrong in a way that set his heart racing, but he could not tear his eyes away from her. Not now.

“S’just a berry, Harry.” She smiled.

He met her gaze, and for a fleeting moment, something like warmth flickered in his eyes, a glimmer of something not quite human, yet achingly familiar—humanity, maybe, or the shadow of it. He said nothing, just let the words fall from his lips, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, like a secret long buried, surfacing at last. "Just a berry," he breathed, his voice heavy with a weight she couldn’t yet understand. The words seemed to hold a meaning far older than either of them, a meaning he kept hidden beneath layers of time and darkness, a truth he couldn’t quite share.

She tilted her head, watching him intently, the space between them thick. "Maybe this isn't the sort of thing you're used to," she said slowly, testing the waters. "But maybe it’s good to have a reminder now and then. Not everything has to be heavy or distant. Not everything needs to be a burden." Her voice softened with that tenderness that could almost be called a challenge, as though she dared him to let go of the weight he carried—just for a moment—and find solace in something as simple and fleeting as a berry.

A faint, sad smile touched his lips. "You're very kind," there was a trace of gratitude in his voice. "Not everyone would bother with such words."

She dismissed him with a casual shrug, though a soft blush bloomed at her cheeks again, betraying her. "Well," she paused, tilting her head back to her task, fingers deftly plucking berries from the thorny branches. "Consider it my good deed for the day. A bit of company, a handful of berries... it's hardly a great sacrifice."

He watched her in silence, his eyes tracing her movements while she worked. There was something about her presence that settled in the dark places of him, casting a fragile light against his gnawing loneliness. For the first time in what felt like ages, the cold weight of solitude shifted, softened, a faint warmth brushing against his hollowed heart. Her companionship was like a thin ray of dawn breaking through the thick, leaden clouds, gentle and fleeting, but almost enough to make him believe, just for a moment, he belonged to it again.

They made their way back down the hillside, the morning mist lifting, replaced by the golden light of early day. The town came into view below, with the sea stretching out beyond it in shades of silver and blue. At the docks, a fisherman was loading his small boat, preparing to set out with the hope of finding a decent catch before the day wore on.

Harry and YN slowed their pace as they neared the town’s edge, a quiet understanding settling over them. She stopped first, turning to face him, her basket now filled with her morning’s foraging. The shimmer in her eyes was clear, a warmth that Harry had felt weaving its way through each word she spoke, each gesture. He found himself looking down at her, lingering longer than he meant to.

“Thank you,” he nodded, his voice soft but sincere. He felt awkward saying it, as though the words were foreign to him now, yet he meant them in a way he hadn’t for anything in years. “For letting me join you. It’s not often I find myself in good company.”

She smiled, tilting her head, her gaze as warm as the morning light. “Not often?” she teased, her voice light. “I’d have thought you had people lining up to walk the hills with you.”

He gave her a slight, almost rueful smile, lowering his gaze. “No,” he chuckled, “you’d be surprised.”

She laughed, a gentle sound that seemed to melt some of the tension he felt braced against his own chest. “Well, if it ever grows tiresome,” she paused, a hint of suggestion in her voice, “you could come into town. Join me for a cup of tea.”

At her words, something tightened in him—the familiar tension he felt whenever he allowed himself to stay close to her for too long. The sound of her heartbeat, the warmth of her skin, it all pressed against his self-control, threatening the thin restraint he kept over himself. He forced a small, polite smile, but he felt his jaw clench almost involuntarily, his fingers curling into his palms.

“I appreciate that” he managed, his voice steady, but softer now, with an almost regretful edge. “But I don’t often go into town. I think… today’s walk will be enough for me.” He inclined his head slightly, hoping she’d accept this without taking offense, without feeling he’d turned down her kindness out of coldness.

She looked at him, studying his face as if searching for something beneath his words, but after a moment, she smiled again, nodding. “Then perhaps I’ll bring you something instead,” she suggested weakly, her voice warm, reassuring. “Lunch tomorrow, if that would be alright.”

A strange mixture of relief and dread nestled within him. The thought of her returning—of her presence filling the cold, empty silence of the tower—was both comforting and unnerving. They would be alone, just the two of them, and though he had spent years learning to control his urges, nothing had tested him like this. Sometimes, the thrum of her heart was louder than anything else, or the scent of salt on her skin after the climb up would linger, sweet and tormenting. It was a peculiar torture, having something so inviting right before him, only to be faced with the hollowness of indulging. Her offer to bring him lunch, to sit and eat with him despite the fact he needed none of it, should have been easy to refuse. But he couldn’t find it in himself to do so—not when her gaze held such open, unguarded sincerity.

“That would be very kind of you,” The words came out reluctantly, like couldn’t stop them even if he wanted to. “Thank you, YN.”

He liked the sound of her rolling off his tongue.

She nodded, the faintest hint of excitement in her smile, pleased to have found a way around his reserve. “Tomorrow, then,” she beamed. “I’ll bring something good—don’t you worry.” Her eyes sparkled as she gave him a small wave, then turned, making her way back down the path toward town, her figure soon swallowed by the morning bustle.

Harry remained glued to his spot, taking his lip between his teeth to suppress a smile. She was off-putting, to say the least—her tenderness only a dead man could find odd. He was wrong for seeing her again, he knew it, falling into temptations like this. He could be careful, he thought, he has been so far. Or maybe he was just a guilty man trying to justify his crimes.

YN walked back into town with a lightness in her step, her mind turning over the morning’s encounter as if she were reliving each moment. The air had taken on the warmth of a rising sun, and the sleepy town had started to stir with the sounds of morning chores and familiar greetings. She made her way through the winding streets, past a few shopkeepers opening their doors, and toward her own modest home nestled along a cobbled lane.

As she moved, she found herself smiling, her thoughts still wrapped around the mysterious man from the watchtower. There was something about him—something almost magnetic, though she couldn’t put her finger on why. He seemed so… displaced, she thought, like he belonged to some other world or some faraway time. His formality, his quiet reserve, the way he looked at her like he hadn’t been in anyone’s presence in years—it all only deepened the intrigue she felt toward him.

When she had reached her home, her mother was already out front, shaking out rugs and pinning them to the line, her sleeves rolled up past her elbows. She looked up, smiling at YN’s approach, though her eyes quickly narrowed in mock suspicion.

“You’re back earlier than I thought,” her mother remarked, nodding toward the basket her daughter held. “But those berries are no less full, I see. Found a good patch, then?”

“Something like that,” She replied with a faint smile, setting the basket down on the stoop as she untied her shawl.

Her mother peered over at her, an eyebrow raised. “And you’re grinning like a girl who’s got more on her mind than just berries.”

YN’s cheeks warmed, and she glanced down at her hands, hoping her mother wouldn’t press her. “Just… ran into someone,” she shrugged, though she could feel her own heart beating faster as she spoke. She could hardly explain what about the man had affected her so, but there was no use pretending it hadn’t.

The rest of the day passed in the rhythm of her usual tasks, though her mind wandered often, her thoughts circling back to him in unbidden moments. As she washed linens in the cool water from the well, she remembered his soft, careful voice. As she helped her mother hang dried herbs in the kitchen, she thought of Harry’s strange, old phrases, the way he spoke as though he had words tucked away that he never quite spent. And as she swept the front step, she caught herself glancing up the hill, as if expecting to see his shadow among the trees.

When evening came, she prepared her plan for the next day, gathering ingredients for a simple meal—hearty bread, a thick soup made from root vegetables, and a small parcel of roasted nuts, wrapped carefully in cloth. Nothing extravagant, but enough to share.

The next morning, the sky dawned gray again. YN was up before her family, carefully packing the basket with the meal she’d prepared. She’d risen early on purpose, hoping to reach the tower before the town fully awoke, before her courage might falter under the curious eyes of neighbors.

She walked through the town’s cobbled streets and kept her gaze steady, willing herself not to think too much of what she was doing, to simply trust the instinct that had pulled her back to that place. She found her steps quickening as she neared the hillside path, the watchtower looming in the mist like a ghostly sentinel above the trees.

The closer she got, the more her heartbeat quickened, anticipation mingling with nerves. She hadn’t felt this kind of energy since she was a girl, sneaking off to meet a friend in secret, carrying a half-imagined thrill in her heart. But this was different, more serious. She wasn’t quite sure why, only that her curiosity—and something deeper, some small, unshakable sense of understanding—had drawn her here.

When the tower finally came into view, she felt a strange warmth rise in her chest, a mixture of excitement and vulnerability. She slowed her pace, clutching the basket a bit tighter, her gaze sweeping over the familiar stone walls, over the high windows that stood like silent watchers against the morning light.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped toward the door, raising her hand to knock. For a moment, she hesitated, wondering if he might not answer, if he’d decide to stay hidden, bound by whatever loneliness had kept him there all this time.

Or perhaps he could just be sleeping, she was a bit too early, after all.

But then, with a steadying breath, she knocked anyway, the sound echoing faintly against the old stone.

When the heavy wooden door creaked open, YN found herself staring into a face that was both familiar and strange in the dawn’s soft light. Harry stood there, his shirt loose at the collar, as though he’d barely had time to pull himself together. His curls were tousled, framing his face with a careless disarray that made him look younger, more human than he had the day before. The faintest flush of color lingered on his lips—a deep red stain that looked, she thought, suspiciously like the mark of freshly eaten berries. She found herself caught in the small details of him, her heart giving an unexpected flutter.

For a moment, he only blinked at her, taking in the sight of her with her neatly packed basket in hand, standing in the misty morning light.

“Good morning,” she managed, offering him a tentative smile. “I thought—well, I know it’s early, but I promised to bring you lunch.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching with the hint of a smile, and he crossed his arms over his chest, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Lunch?” he repeated, a teasing note in his voice. “Since when does lunch begin at dawn’s first light?”

She laughed, pink rushing to her cheeks, feeling like she’d caught him off guard—and, perhaps, herself as well. “I was just a bit eager, I suppose,” she admitted, her voice lighter than she’d intended. “Thought I might catch you before the rest of the day carried me off.”

Harry tilted his head, considering her with new interest, his gaze softening slightly. “Well, I can hardly argue with such eagerness,” he murmured, though his tone still held an edge of humor. “You are… remarkably prompt, I’ll give you that.”

He stepped aside, gesturing for her to come in, his form framed by the dim, shadowy interior of the tower. YN hesitated only a moment before stepping across the threshold. The air was still, thick with the scent of stone and the faintest hint of rain-soaked soil. She could feel him watching her as she looked around, taking in the carefully kept space.

She set her basket down on a small wooden table, glancing over at him, her curiosity getting the better of her. “I didn’t mean to intrude so early,” she sighed, smiling apologetically as she brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “But I thought… you might appreciate it, perhaps.”

Harry ran a hand through his disheveled curls, an almost sheepish look in his eyes. “Well,” he began, a soft chuckle folllwing, “you’re certainly succeeding in such thoughts.” His voice was warm, softened by a trace of lingering amusement, though his gaze lingered on her for a moment too long, still adjusting to her presence.

“Good,” she grinned as she reached into the basket to begin unpacking. She set out a thick slice of bread, the nuts, and jar of hearty soup she’d wrapped carefully to keep warm.

Harry watched her, his eyes following each movement, though his face remained unreadable. There was a subtle tension in the set of his jaw, a hint of something unbeknownst to her in his eyes, but when he finally looked up, his features softened involuntarily. “You needn’t have gone to all this trouble,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, her gesture surprising him more than he wanted to admit. “But… thank you.”

“It’s no trouble at all. I find myself enjoying your presence.”

Harry swallowed hard. He didn’t respond, or maybe he couldn’t. He was immortal, inhuman, a man molded by the hands of the devil, yet he was left intimidated by her.

They settled at the small wooden table, the quiet intimacy of the space filling with the soft rustle of cloth and the faint aroma of the food she’d brought. Harry sat across from her, holding the small slice of bread she’d laid out, his movements measured and deliberate. He took slow bites, his gaze flickering between her and the food, watching her reactions to the meal she’d prepared.

YN, already warmed by the cozy quiet between them, reached for her own serving of bread and took a bite, savoring the way the crust flaked against her teeth. She glanced up to find him watching her again, his expression carefully neutral, though his reserve was still obvious. “Is it all right?” she asked, her tone light, smiling a bit to reassure him. “Not too humble for a man such as you, I hope?”

It definitely didn’t compare to the way she would taste.

His lips quirked, the faintest of smiles appearing, and he inclined his head. “Quite the opposite,” he replied, a whisper of a lie. “It’s nice.”

At least it was warm.

They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, the quiet sounds of the meal settling between them. She noticed that he was eating slowly, as though savoring every mouthful, or hating every minute of it, she couldn’t tell. But there was a restraint to it, too—a hesitation that seemed at odds with someone enjoying a meal. Perhaps he simply wasn’t used to company, she thought, though she couldn’t help wondering about the hint of something withheld.

Harry finished his slice of bread and took another sip of the soup, though his attention seemed more on her than the food, his gaze lingering as if he were still surprised by her presence in his world. She caught him watching her and offered him a playful smile, unable to resist a small jest at his expense.

“Tell me,” she said, leaning forward with a glint of mischief in her eyes, “did you actually go out and forage for those berries after all?”

His brow furrowed, and she gestured to her own lips in demonstration. “Your mouth,” she clarified, laughter coloring her voice. “There’s a bit of red left. Did you get curious and try some of the berries after I left yesterday?”

Harry blinked, a faint look of shock crossing his face, and then something shifted—a glimmer of amusement softened his expression, though it was mixed with a flicker of discomfort he couldn’t entirely hide.

If only she knew.

“Ah,” he murmured, lifting a finger to his lips, dabbing at the faint stain. “Yes, perhaps I did. I… wasn’t aware it left such a mark.”

YN laughed, her own cheeks warming, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on why. “Well, you wear it well.” She teased lightly, her tone softening.

Harry chuckled, something almost guarded in his gaze, his jaw tightening slightly. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he replied, his voice laced with humor, eyes holding an unreadable darkness. “I suppose I’ll need to be more careful.”

YN’s laughter softened, and she shook her head, feeling that strange pull toward him—the sense of mystery he carried, his quiet, watchful presence that seemed both open and closed to her, like he was allowing her only glimpses of his true self. It made her want to know him more, to uncover the depth of whatever past he held close, whatever shadows he kept tucked away.

“Well, don’t be too careful,” she murmured, reaching for another slice of bread and breaking it in half, offering him a piece. “I’d hate for you to lose that touch of color. It suits you.”

Like a painting, she wanted to say, like he was made at the hands of an artist.

Harry took the offered bread, his eyes flickering over her face, something softer settling in his expression. He bit into the bread, more slowly this time, his eyes never leaving hers. “Thank you, then,” he cleared his throat, his voice low, almost reverent. “For the color—and for the meal.”

A silence between them grew soft and warm, filling the small space of the tower with an ease YN hadn’t anticipated. Harry had relaxed slightly, though he still held himself with a careful reserve, his gaze lingering on her now and then as they ate. There was something about him that felt… contradictory, she thought. He seemed distant, guarded, yet here he was, welcoming her presence, even if with a hint of reluctance.

After they’d finished, she began to gather up the remnants of the meal, brushing crumbs from the table into her hand. Harry watched her, his gaze thoughtful, still piecing together how he felt about her being there. She could feel his eyes on her, a weight she found both unsettling and oddly comforting.

“You know, I could bring a bit more next time. Dinner perhaps—if that wouldn’t be intruding.”

Harry’s expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. He looked down, his fingers brushing absently over a knot in the wood grain of the table. “You’d come back?”

She laughed softly, tucking a stray hair behind her ear as she straightened up. “Of course. I find you refreshing—different from most of the folks in town.” Her smile softened, becoming something more genuine. “It’s good, I think, to remind you there’s a world beyond these walls.”

She felt a pang of something she couldn’t quite name—a desire to reach out to him, to draw him out of whatever sorrow he held close to his heart. She had no idea what kind of loneliness he carried, but she sensed it was deep, rooted in something far older than just the quiet years he had spent in this place. “I can’t help but wonder what keeps you in this tower. You seem like someone with… stories to tell.”

He held her gaze for a long moment, something contemplative and guarded in his expression. He glanced away, a faint look of regret shadowing his face. “Yes, I suppose I have my share.”

For a brief, fleeting moment, she thought he might continue, might open up and share some part of himself with her. But then he seemed to retreat, as if he’d caught himself at the edge of something he wasn’t ready to confront. He glanced back down, his fingers idly tracing a line in the wood of the table again. “I don’t wish to burden you with old tales…Perhaps someday.”

The words hung between them, heavy with unspoken meaning, and YN found herself nodding, feeling the quiet promise in his voice. “I look forward to that day, then.”

They sat together a while longer, the silence stretching between them, comfortable yet charged with the beginnings of something. As the morning light grew stronger, casting warm beams through the narrow window, YN reluctantly gathered her things, sensing it was time to go.

“I’ll see you again soon?”

”Yes, YN. Until then.”

Harry watched her as she lingered by the door. Her basket was empty now, save for a few crumpled cloths, yet she seemed hesitant to go, her fingers brushing over the handle as though she were waiting for him to say something, anything, to draw out these last few moments. He couldn’t deny the pull of her presence, the warmth she brought to his cold, solitary space. Before he could think better of it, he took a small step forward, his voice soft but inviting.

“You know,” he murmured, his tone careful, “if you have no place pressing to be… you’re welcome to stay for a bit longer.”

She turned, surprise dancing across her face before it melted into a quiet, grateful smile. “I’d like that, if you don’t mind, truly.”

He allowed himself a hint of a smile, nodding slightly. “Not at all,” he kept his gaze steady to reassure her—and perhaps himself—that he truly meant it. “I think I… find myself rather unaccustomed to company. But I don’t mind yours.”

The words hung between them, unhurried and simple, yet they felt as profound to him as a vow. Her presence here was something different, something he hadn’t felt in longer than he cared to remember. And now that she was here, he wasn’t certain he wanted to let her leave, not just yet.

After a beat, she drifted around the room, taking in the details she hadn’t had time to notice before—the faint glow from the narrow windows, the muted colors of the worn stone walls, the air thick with the scent of old paper and the faintest hint of earth. The tower had a solemn quiet about it, a kind of reverence that made her feel as though she’d stepped into another world. Her eyes were soon drawn to the tall shelves on one side of the room, each one filled with rows upon rows of books.

She moved toward them instinctively, her footsteps light as she approached. Harry followed her at a measured pace, his eyes never leaving her as she came to a stop in front of the books, her fingers hovering just above the spines, brushing over the dust-speckled covers. The books varied in size and age—some with cracked leather bindings, others bound in faded cloth. A few bore intricate gold lettering, gleaming faintly in the low light. Each one looked well-worn, like it had been handled and read countless times.

“You have so many…” she smiled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many books in one place before.”

He stepped closer, keeping a small, respectful distance behind her, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. “They’re… relics,” he replied softly, his tone thoughtful. “Pieces of a life I left behind, though I suppose they’ve never really left me.”

YN glanced over her shoulder, catching the distant look in his eyes as he took in the shelves. “They mean a great deal to you,” she observed gently, her voice barely above a whisper due to how close he was. “I can see that.”

He nodded, a faint, almost sorrowful smile tugging at his lips. “Books,” he said slowly, “have a way of keeping memories… even when we’d rather leave them in the past.” His gaze lingered on a particular book faded from age and use.

She took in his expression, feeling a pang of curiosity mixed with a quiet empathy. She could sense the weight of those memories, the way they seemed to cast a shadow over him. She paused for a moment, her fingers drifting over the titles, reading names she didn’t quite recognize. Then, one title caught her eye—an ornate, weighty book, its leather cover stamped with intricate designs.

Without a word, Harry reached past her, his fingers brushing near hers as he pulled the book from the shelf with a kind of reverence. He held it carefully, almost lovingly, before turning it over to show her. “This one,” he began, his voice softer now, “is Theuerdank and Weisskunig. It’s… a rare piece. An epic, really. A romance of sorts.” He traced the cover with his fingertips, his expression growing more intense, almost tender.

“A romance?” she asked, her tone holding a hint of playful surprise. “I wouldn’t have guessed you to be one for romance.”

Another faint smile crossed his lips, (she had a way of doing that) although his eyes held a touch of melancholy. “Not the sort of romance people think of now,” he shook his head, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “This one is about… chivalry, valor, a man trying to prove his worth not to another, but to himself.” He paused, his gaze growing distant. “It’s a journey that changes him, even though he never quite reaches what he’d hoped for.”

She took in his words, her own features softening. There was a depth to him she hadn’t quite understood before, a sense that he carried within him something broken yet cherished, as though he held the remnants of a life that had shaped him in ways he couldn’t express. She could see in his eyes that he loved this story, that it resonated with him on a level deeper than she could fully comprehend.

“It sounds beautiful,” she murmured, her gaze drifting to the worn pages as she traced the intricate designs on the cover. “It seems you cherish it.”

“Yes. Something like that.”

She held the book in her hands, holding an urge to ask him about those memories, to know what he had seen and experienced that left such sorrow. But she sensed he wasn’t ready to share that—not yet.

“Thank you for showing me,” she smiled. The green in his eyes contrasted his pale skin, his lips the raspberries that grow in the summer. His hair was parted in the middle, chocolate curls framing his face. Chocolate raspberries, she thought. It fit him. Sweet, a delicacy, something she craved more of. “It’s… a lovely part of you.”

For a brief moment, it seemed as though he might say something more, but he only nodded, a quiet gratitude lingering in his eyes.

As she continued to look over his books, Harry found himself moving closer, his chest only a deep breath away from her back, drawn in by her presence despite the intoxicating pulse of her heartbeat that set his senses on edge. He could smell the faint scent of her hair, feel the warmth of her skin just inches from his own, and he fought the urge to retreat, to put distance between them. Instead, he focused on her fingers as they traced the books, her gentle touch against something he cherished.

Her hand drifted back to Theuerdank and Weisskunig, and she turned to look at him, her smile bright. He clenched his jaw, looking down at her through half-lidded eyes. She smelt of earl gray tea and lavender. He could hear her lungs expand as her breath hitched, the sound of her heart thrumming against her ribcage. He could see the way her jugular pulsed behind skin, how her cheeks flushed the same color as her lips.

Her lips—parted with shallow breaths that were barely audible underneath the rush of blood through her veins. Her lips, soft, plump. The part between them would fit his bottom lip perfectly. He wondered if they were as pliant as they looked.

He, of course, was aware of how pretty YN was, but she never seemed more beautiful in the soft glow of the candlelight.

And god, how he towered over her. His tummy fluttered with something he’d long forgotten, something more than lust, more intense than a want.

He wanted to cage her between him and his books, kiss her softer than he was used to. He wanted to trace her curves, to feel the warmth he was void of. He wanted to trail his lips along the line of her jaw to the softest part of her neck. He wanted to sink his teeth in her, to taste her, to feel the way she would slide across his tongue and down his throat. She was his little lamb, and he, the wolf.

The predator.

He took a step back, swallowing hard. It felt like his world was spinning, crashing in around him. This was so wrong, but fuck, it felt so right.

She could feel the burn of Harry’s eyes as she averted to the shelf, watchful and silent, his presence just behind her like a shadow she could feel but couldn’t see. There was a heaviness to his closeness, a tension she sensed in the way he held himself, as though he were carefully keeping a distance that he longed to close.

She’s had crushes before, desires. She was no stranger to a blush on her cheeks, to the warmth that would bloom in her chest if they locked eyes. But no man had ever brought a heat between her thighs, a fire in her belly that only he could extinguish. It was foreign, yet she relished it.

It was like YN could feel his body buzzing behind her, his breaths cool along the back of her neck—until it wasn’t. He stepped back, distanced himself. Had he not felt the same? Did he not desire her in the ways she did?

Her lips fell into a frown as she cleared her throat. She didn’t like how the silence felt now.

“You must have spent years collecting these. Do they hold a piece of you, Harry?”

Her words were not making this any better. He didn’t know her very long, but she got him.

He took a deep breath, although it didn’t matter much. Comfort of once was, maybe. “Fragments, I suppose,” he swallowed. “Memories from a time when I still believed in… well, things I haven’t felt in a very long while.”

There was something in his voice that made her pause, a thread of sadness woven into his words that tugged at her heart. She turned fully to face him, searching his expression, sensing that there was so much he kept hidden, so much of himself he held back, as though he feared what might happen if he allowed her to see him fully.

“What changed?” she asked gently, the question slipping from her lips before she could stop herself.

He looked at her for a long moment, his gaze intense, his jaw tightening as though he were wrestling with something inside himself. She could see the conflict in his eyes, the weight of whatever past he kept buried, and she felt a flicker of regret for having pressed him. But before she could apologize, he spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Life… has a way of taking things from us,” he shifted, eyes drifting toward the window where the morning light touched the stones with a cold, silver glow. “Things we thought we couldn’t lose… pieces of ourselves we believed would last forever.”

They didn’t, he thought. Things like that were only supposed to last a lifetime. Things like that have an expiration date, something he didn’t have.

YN watched him, her heart aching at the quiet sorrow in his words, the sense of loss that seemed to surround him. She wanted to reach out, to bridge the distance between them, but something told her that he was not ready for that—that he was still bound to the solitude.

“Maybe not everything has to last forever,” she started softly, her voice gentle. “Sometimes, things are beautiful because they’re fleeting. Because they remind us that we’re alive, even if only for a moment.”

He would laugh if he could. She was alive, beautiful, fleeting, and he was anything but.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, almost to himself, his gaze lingering on her face. “But the fleeting moments tend to hurt the most when they leave.”

She looked down, her fingers tracing the edge of the table, feeling the weight of his words settle around them like a shroud. There was a sadness to him, a depth of loss that she couldn’t fully comprehend, yet she felt drawn to it, to the mystery he kept hidden, as though she could somehow ease the burden he carried.

After a moment, he seemed to shake himself from whatever memories had surfaced, his expression softening as he looked at her with a faint, almost apologetic smile. “Forgive me,” his voice was rough, heavy with things left unsaid. “It’s been… a long time since I’ve spoken so freely.”

She shook her head, a warmth spreading through her chest. “You needn’t apologize, Harry. I’m glad you feel you can speak with me,” she replied, her voice sincere. “It means a lot that you’d share… even a small part of yourself.”

His eyes held hers, a quiet gratitude, and for a moment, it felt as though the walls around him had softened, as though he had allowed her to step just a little closer to the heart of who he was. She could feel the an intimacy between them, a connection that felt fragile yet profound.

She could feel the tension again, the same one he broke away from before. She hurriedly tucked wisps of hair behind her ear as she turned back around, grabbing any random book that caught her eyes first. “This one looks well-loved.” That was a guess. “What’s it about?”

Harry’s eyes lit with the faintest hint of warmth, and he took the book from her hands, his fingers brushing hers for just a brief moment. “It’s poetry,” he said, his voice reverent, almost tender. “Lines I knew by heart once.”

He opened the book, flipping through the delicate pages until he found a passage, and he held it out to her, fingers tracing the ink with a distant smile.

“Better a thousand times to die

Than for to live thus still tormented:

Dear, but remember it was I

Who for thy sake did die contended.”

His voice was tender, his eyes never leaving the page. He was close to her again, their shoulders touching. She wanted to reach out, to hold his hands and tell him how lovely he is, that he isn’t truly alone as much as he may try to be.

And yet, some unspoken barrier held her back, some invisible line neither of them seemed willing to cross. They stood in the quiet of the tower, both of them poised on the edge of something unnameable, something profound and fragile, something that neither of them dared to acknowledge but neither could ignore.

She mulled the words over in her head, trying to understand what lay beneath them. It was before her time, surely—and she was no poet.

He watched her, his gaze softening, a faint, wistful smile tugging at his lips. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet gratitude. “For letting me… share this. It’s been so long since I’ve had someone to speak with, someone who might understand.”

The morning light grew brighter, casting soft beams across the stone floor. She felt the moment settle around them, an understanding that went beyond words, a bond forged in the simple act of sharing a piece of themselves.

YN’s gaze drifted toward the narrow window overlooking the docks below. She noticed a familiar figure moving along the shoreline, preparing his small boat for the day’s work, his movements brisk and practiced. A soft laugh escaped her lips, a fondness shining in her eyes as she watched him.

“Ah, there’s Niall,” she murmured, more to herself, but Harry caught the familiarity in her tone.

He glanced down at her, tilting his head slightly. “A friend of yours?”

Just a friend, he selfishly hoped.

She nodded, smiling as she watched the blonde secure the ropes, his expression focused and slightly comical as he struggled with a particularly stubborn knot. “Yes. We’ve known each other since we were children. Niall’s always been… well, restless, I suppose. Could never stay put for more than a few minutes.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “Even now, he’s still got that same wild look in his eyes, like he’s just waiting to run off on some grand adventure.”

Harry’s lips curved into a faint smile as he listened. She was watching Niall, but Harry was watching her. There was something endearing about the way she spoke of her friend, a kind of affection that made her eyes sparkle and her voice warm. He could feel the subtle warmth in her words, the way she brought Niall to life in her memories. In her presence, he was reminded of the depth of human connection—the kind he had nearly forgotten, the kind he thought he’d lost.

“He sounds like quite the character.”

YN nodded, a wistful smile on her lips. “Indeed. We used to dream up all kinds of wild adventures together—though I think, deep down, he always knew he’d be the one to live them. And I’d be here, waiting to hear his stories.”

A sadness dripped from her words, he could feel it. Did she not think herself able? Was she tethered to one world, yet longed for another? He had not known her very long, but he thought her to be anything but trapped.

But before he could dwell on the thought, he noticed her expression change—a faint, startled gasp escaping her lips. She turned to him with wide eyes, a sudden urgency lighting her face.

“Oh,” she breathed, her hand lifting to her chest. “My father—he’s due back today. From his trip at sea.”

She looked up at him, a hint of guilt mingling with the excitement in her gaze. “I should… I should go,” she stammered, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “He’ll be expecting me at the docks any moment now, and I’ve completely lost track of time.”

Harry felt the quietness around them shift, the moment slipping through his fingers as she pulled away. Yet he nodded, his gaze steady, a small, understanding smile on his lips. “Of course,” he replied, his voice low, though he couldn’t quite hide the faint regret in his tone.

She hesitated, “Thank you… for this,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “For letting me stay, for… well, for everything.” She glanced down, a soft blush coloring her cheeks. “I’ll come by again. I’d like to… if that’s all right.”

He nodded, his voice gentle. “Very much so,” he replied, his words carrying a quiet sincerity that felt almost like a promise. “Take care, YN.”

With one last look, she turned and hurried toward the door, her footsteps light but purposeful. As she crossed the threshold and descended the hill toward the docks, Harry watched her until she vanished from view, her laughter and warmth lingering in the quiet emptiness of the tower.

The silence of the tower felt heavier once she left, the warmth YN had brought into the room dissipating like the last glow of a dying fire. Harry stood by the window, his eyes lingering on the distant figure making her way down the winding path toward town, her basket swinging lightly at her side. He had always known his solitude to be vast and impenetrable, something that felt inevitable. But now, watching her retreating form, he felt a quiet ache settle over him, unfamiliar and disquieting.

Below, he could just make out Niall, still by his boat, glancing up and giving a cheerful wave as YN approached. She returned it with a bright smile that seemed to reach even up to the tower, filling Harry with a strange, inexplicable longing. The easy way she moved through the world, the warmth she shared so freely—it was something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years. Her presence had stirred something deep within him, something he had thought long since buried.

He watched her as she stopped to exchange a few words with Niall, laughter drifting faintly on the morning air, and he could almost imagine her conversation, the honey in her voice, the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled.

He turned away from the window, the emptiness of the tower pressing down on him once more. The shelves of books lined the walls, relics of a life he had loved and left behind, each volume a reminder of the years he had spent in isolation, drawing comfort from words when human connection had felt too dangerous, too painful. But now, for the first time in decades, he found himself wishing for something beyond the familiar comfort of ink and paper.

Without her presence, the tower seemed colder, the silence no longer a welcome solitude but a reminder of what he lacked, of the hollowness that had slowly crept into his life. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration simmering beneath his composed exterior, a frustration at himself for allowing her to breach his walls so easily, to touch a part of him he had kept locked away.

He looked down at his hands, his fingers curling slightly, remembering the softness of her touch, the warmth that had radiated from her as she held the book he’d given her. The memories felt vivid, too close, too real—almost dangerous in their intensity. She had given him a glimpse of something he had forgotten he could feel, something he had once cherished but had long since taught himself to live without.

Then came something that made his stomach churn, he started to miss her.

The thought was dangerous, he knew. His life was built on control, on restraint, a constant battle against the hunger that lurked beneath his skin, a thirst that would never be sated. The solitude he had chosen was a necessary prison, a means of keeping others safe from his curse. And yet, he found himself questioning that choice, the isolation he had so carefully constructed, the walls he had so painstakingly built around himself.

Could it be possible, even for someone like him, to share even a sliver of his life with another? To find comfort, even fleetingly, in the presence of another soul?

Her soul.

He clenched his jaw, parting from the window with a sense of finality, as though ignoring the sight of her would return him to his old resolve. He couldn’t allow himself to indulge in such thoughts—not YN. She was a light, a brightness he had long since lost the right to reach for. She was the color pink, she was warmth of tea his mother use to make. She was the sun, the moon and the stars. To hold her close would be to risk the very thing he had sworn to avoid.

Yet, even as he tried to push the thought away, a small, insistent part of him refused to let go—the way she had looked at him as though she could see past the shadows that clung to him, as though he were something more than a curse.

It was foolish, he knew. But a smile began to spread across his lips at the promise of her coming back, to have her close, to listen to the soft lull of her voice.

And despite himself, despite the danger, he knew he would be waiting.

#harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry edward styles #harry styles concept #harry styles au #harry styles slowburn #vamprry #vampire!harry #innocent yn #pining harry #harry styles x you #harry styles series #harry styles drabble

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azen13 · 3 months ago

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CW: Yandere Themes, Drugging, Non-Sexual Intimacy

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

I can't help but feel like Yandere!Wriothesley would be horrible at understanding and processing just how obsessed he feels. He's lived beneath the surface his whole life, not really caring about having close friends, or Archons forbid, a partner. But then you come along, and catch his eye.

The first thing Wriothesley feels isn't butterflies, but the sea's rough tides filling up his glass heart. For a while, he's content to see you in passing—just a single conversation with you is enough to make a bad day good. Eventually though, he can't hold back all the strange feelings welling up in his chest. He knows logically it's wrong to take you, both morally and bureaucratically—if everyone in Meropide knew he was playing favorites, it would be a disaster—but he can't help himself.

So he calls you into his office, fixes you a nice, warm cup of chamomile tea, extra sugar and milk to mask any bitterness. It doesn't take long until you're practically curled up in your chair, dreamlessly drifting off into sleep.

You immediately know something is very, very wrong when you wake up because your back doesn't hurt. Your usual bed always gave you a horrible ache in your lower back when you woke up, but this morning, you feel strangely good.

The next sign that something is very wrong is the fact that across the room, sitting at a comically small desk, is Wriothesley. A stack of paperwork rests on the desk, but it's clear that none of it has been done. No, the Duke has been distracted all morning, busy staring at your beautiful face like an artist stares at their masterpiece.

Oh, how terrible he feels when you shriek and cry and curse and yell, when your sun-scorching anger turns to liquid moonlight leaking from your eyes, when you stare at him like he is a monster. Cracks begin to spiderweb all over his fragile heart.

Time heals all wounds, he thinks. Of course, he knows better than to just leave you alone. Not only are you a criminal, but your entire life has been turned upside down. So, Wriothesley rarely leaves you in these initial weeks, electing to do his paperwork at that small desk, keeping careful watch over you.

He tries. He tries so, so hard, putting every ounce of his love for you in everything he does. Every meal he brings you is held to the highest standards, and if you don't like something, Wriothesley ensures you won't be brought it again. If you ask him to leave your room, he obliges, letting you upstairs to the main office or to his own bedroom. He asks you if you want anything brought to you: books, newspapers, letters from your family, games, anything—except your freedom, of course.

Fall in love with him, Wriothesley pleads. He can be a gentle lover, and treat you like royalty, or divinity, even. All he wants are warm words of kindness, the impression of your lips on his own, a soothing presence to hold on those sleepless nights, and you to be his, completely and utterly.

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fanged-fanfics · 2 months ago

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on my hands and KNEES for a fic involving the circlet. i feel like it could be used so EFFECTIVELY for x reader angst but i never see it (wukong x reader hurt/comfort but HES getting comforted real not fake)

🧡👑 Heavy is the Crown That Crushes the Head — Wukong x GN! Reader Fic👑🧡

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort || they/them pronouns for reader || Warning for descriptions of circlet-induced pain/implied trauma

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆˚｡⋆୨👑୧⋆˚｡⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖

Li Jing's brash and cruel actions against the King affected him more than he was letting on. He was keeping up a brave and happy face, making it seem outwardly that it hadn't been bothering him too badly. That's what he'd always done, especially since his retirement. Especially for MK's sake. The kid was already going through so much, he didn't need to be worrying about Wukong on top of that. So he kept up a steel tight mask of a casual attitude, trying his best to not let any crack show through.

You, however, weren't so easily brushed away. You knew him better than Wukong sometimes knew himself, and that fact did often make Wukong just a bit nervous around you. There was a very brief pause in all the running and fighting, one where Wukong had distanced himself from MK and Macaque. He sure as hell didn't want Macaque making any snide comments right now.

You'd found him not long after he'd hidden, gently and carefully approaching him. "Wukong?" You began, sitting a few feet from him. Wukong gave you his default disarming grin "Yeah, peach? What's up?". "Are... are you okay?" You began, getting straight to the point "And I mean.. really okay. Not just 'surviving' or 'making it'". Wukong's grin faltered, and he looked down at the ground with a frown. "I... I'll be alright, hun. This isn't the first time I've had the world's worst crown on my head" he said. Though there was possibly a small attempt of humor in there, you could sense the genuine vulnerability in his tone.

You hesitated for a second, before reaching a hand out to him. He took it, and his breath faltered at feeling your thumb pet the back of his hand. He exhaled shakily, a hand going to the circlet. "There's really nothing we can do?" You asked, and Wukong shook his head. "No, I've tried. Practically takes a Buddah to do anything to this". You frowned sympathetically, putting your head on his shoulder. You could see his brow furrow, rubbing the circlet on his head. He remembered exactly how it felt. Being treated like a feral beast, like something to be caged and confined, to effectively declaw of his instincts. The first time it happened, at least he could admittedly understand it. He was quite literally a mass murderer back then, back when he needed the guidance of the Journey to end his borderline bloodlust.

But this was far different. This was blatant control. This was Li Jing trying to keep Wukong chained, because he knew the King was itching to settle a score with the man, especially after he got to talking to Nezha about how Li Jing acted. This was an act of malice, not protection. He could feel the familiar feelings from back then swirling in a sickly coil in his chest. Was he still dangerous? He did his best to learn, the Journey was proof of that. Maybe.. maybe all the trouble he was bringing was more than just coincidence. Maybe all these enemies coming back was a sign. He was dangerous. He was still that rough and undisciplined monkey who gnashed his teeth at any who came too close. What was he thinking, bringing this to MK and the others? To you? What kind of a partner was he, to let you fall in the way with his enemies? Maybe removing himself from the team would be better. Maybe-

"Wukong!"

The King was brought out of his spiral by your voice, cutting into his thoughts and adding a jolt of alarm to the mass of doubt he was feeling. He blinked, getting his bearings back as he turned to you. Your concerned frown hit him right in his heart. "I've been calling your name for like 30 seconds- where'd you go?" You asked. Wukong rubbed the back of his neck. "Don't worry about it, bud, I-"

"Please," You cut in imploringly "I know this is hard for you. I know that bastard has you backed into a corner, I... I'd be terrified if I were you. But you're not alone, love. I'm right here. I know I can't begin to imagine all the burdens on your shoulders, but don't be afraid to ask me to help lighten the load". Wukong took in your words, biting his lip to stop it from possibly trembling. He pulled you into a tight hug, burying his face in your shoulder and wrapping his tail tight around your waist. You held him in return, rubbing up and down his back in an attempt to comfort.

Wukong pressed his face more into your warmth, clearing his throat to make sure his voice was steady before talking "It hurts" he admitted "Worse than anything I've ever felt. Gods, it's terrible. I wouldn't wish this on anyone, I can't- I can barely deal with it. I just don't want the kid to worry. He has enough happening, I- I should be strong enough for us both". As the Sage vented, you brought a hand up to his head, gently petting through the fur there. "You are strong, honey" you said to him "But being strong isn't just bottling all this up. You'll always be his hero, Wu. But you're allowed to be human, too".

That last line struck a deep cord. Wukong had lived among humans for years, finding comfort in their creativity and vibrance. He wanted to blend in with them for ages, to have the peace a human life away from the celestials and demons provided. He nuzzled into you, holding you closer "I'll... try. It's not that easy, but.. please, please stick with me. You're my own little sun, you know that?". You nodded, kissing his temple "I will, I promise. You'll be okay. We'll get that thing off of you soon. We're here for you, I've got you"

Finding comfort in your promise, Wukong calmed his breathing, holding you a little less tightly. He finally found himself relaxing, wiping his eyes as he let out a relaxing sigh. "Thank you, really" he said "We.. should probably head back now, huh?". You gave him a reassuring smile, standing and extending a hand to him. He took it, standing with you and keeping his tail wrapped tightly around you. As you two began walking back to MK, you kissed his cheek "Come to me whenever, okay? I'll never turn you away" you reminded softly. Wukong smiled, returning the gesture of affection "I promise, sunbeam"

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latenightreadingpdf · 3 months ago

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Hidden in Plain Sight (2) - Dave Lizewski

₊‧⁺˖⋆ Masterlist ⋆˖⁺‧₊ ☽◯☾ ₊‧⁺˖⋆ Part 1 ⋆˖⁺‧₊ ☽◯☾ ₊‧⁺˖⋆ Part 3 ⋆˖⁺‧₊

Summary: When Y/S/N saves Kick-Ass from a dangerous situation, he becomes obsessed with trying to uncover her true identity. Little does he know, Y/S/N is a girl from his school who secretly has a crush on him as well. As they patrol together, their worlds collide in ways neither expected, leading to a surprising revelation about who's really behind the mask.

Y/S/N - Your superhero name

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Monday couldn’t have come fast enough. Dave was jittery with excitement and nerves as he met up with Todd and Marty outside school. Clutching his hastily scribbled list of suspects, he gave the rundown.

"Alright, guys, these are the girls who could be her. We’ll watch them, check out their voices, see if anything clicks. If one looks even a little familiar from the other night, I’ll try to talk to her after class."

Todd smirked, looking over the list. "You’re gonna stare down all these girls and hope one of them gives you a hint?”

"Exactly," Dave nodded, grinning. "This’ll work. It has to.”

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

In first period, Dave’s mission began. The first girl on the list, Emily Sanders, sat two rows ahead of him. He stared at her intently, trying to imagine her face under Y/S/N’s mask. She had dark hair, like Y/S/N, but she looked over her shoulder at him with a disgusted expression and promptly switched seats.

Strike one.

In the next class, he focused on Lisa Connelly, suspect number two. Every time she moved or talked, Dave leaned a little closer, hoping to catch some flash of familiarity. Eventually, Lisa’s friend whispered something to her, and she gave Dave a strange look before moving to a different part of the room.

Strike two.

The third girl, Brianna Torres, noticed his staring almost immediately. After class, he mustered up the courage to talk to her, but she barely let him get a word in before brushing past him, muttering, “Creep.”

At the end of the day, Dave regrouped with Todd and Marty as they walked home, pulling out his list with a sigh. “I crossed three off today,” he said, folding the list back up.

Todd nodded. “Marty and I managed to cross one off too. I guess she’s not Susie. That leaves… what, three?”

Dave nodded, relieved. "Right. We’ll hit those three tomorrow. We’re close, I can feel it.”

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

That night, he suited up in his Kick-Ass costume, the mask and jumpsuit a comfort now as he headed out on patrol. The list was still gnawing at the back of his mind, though, as he roamed the city streets, keeping an eye out for any sign of trouble—or maybe even a glimpse of Y/S/N.

And just like clockwork, her voice called out from behind him.

“Hey, Kick-Ass.”

He whirled around, trying not to look as startled as he felt, hands suddenly sweaty under his gloves. “H—hey,” he managed, aiming for casual but landing somewhere between awkward and shaky.

She walked up beside him, giving him a friendly nod as they began to patrol together in easy silence.

After a bit of small talk about superhero stuff, he started throwing out questions, subtle but probing, hoping they’d reveal something about her identity. But she sidestepped each one with a smooth answer, too clever to let anything slip.

Eventually, a small lull fell over the conversation. Dave’s mind raced, wanting to ask something—anything—that would get him closer to figuring out who she was. Then, before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “So, uh… how’s it going with that Dave guy from your school?”

She let out a soft laugh behind her mask. “Oh, that? You don’t want to hear about my dumb crush.”

“No!” he said, maybe a bit too loudly, his voice cracking as he stumbled to recover. “I mean, I want to help. You know… give some advice, or whatever.”

She glanced at him, the amusement clear in her eyes even with her mask on. “Alright. I mean, I’d love some advice, but… I don’t think he likes me back anyway.”

“What? No way! You’re—you’re amazing! Like, I don’t think anyone wouldn’t like you,” he said, the words tumbling out before he could think.

“Thanks,” she replied softly. Then her voice took on a more teasing tone, as if she knew something he didn’t. “But it doesn’t help that he’s been staring at a bunch of other girls in class. It’s like he doesn’t even notice me.”

Dave swallowed, the heat rising to his cheeks. “Oh… uh… really?”

“Mhm,” she said, and there was a smile in her tone. “I sit near him in calculus. Not that I pay much attention—I’m usually too busy looking at him to focus on anything else.”

His mind spun as he absorbed her words. Calculus… that narrowed it down a lot. And then it hit him. Y/N. She sat right near him in calculus. His heart nearly skipped a beat.

Holy crap, it’s Y/N! How did I not figure this out sooner?

As the realization sank in, his nerves took over. He didn’t know what came over him, but he started stumbling over his words, trying to come up with a quick excuse. “Uh—um, yeah, s-sorry I’ve got to go… um… feed my cat! Yeah, feed my cat. She’s probably hungry. But uh… you should talk to Dave! To see if he likes you back.”

Before she could respond, he took off running, practically tripping over his feet in his rush to get away. “I’ll, uh, see you around!”

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

When he got home, Dave immediately grabbed his phone, texting Todd and Marty.

Dave: Guys… I figured out who Y/S/N is.

Todd: Seriously? Who?

Dave: Y/N. You know, the Y/N from our calc class.

Marty: No way. Isn’t she, like, super hot?

Todd: Dude, how the hell did you manage to get someone like her into you? That’s insane.

Dave rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the goofy grin on his face. After shutting off his phone, he lay in bed, his mind spinning. He’d done it. He’d actually figured out who Y/S/N was. And more than that… she liked him, even when he was just awkward, nerdy Dave.

He closed his eyes, trying to calm down, but sleep wouldn’t come. All he could think about was Y/N—her laugh, her teasing, and, most of all, the fact that she was hiding right under his nose all along.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The next morning, Dave woke up with a renewed sense of purpose—and anxiety. Today, he was going to talk to Y/N. For once, he put a bit more effort into his appearance, doing his hair carefully and choosing an outfit that looked cooler than his usual. He even checked himself in the mirror before leaving, feeling oddly confident.

As soon as he got to school, he found Todd and Marty, who were waiting to discuss the plan.

“So, how are you gonna talk to her?” Todd asked, nudging him.

“Yeah, like, you actually need to have a game plan,” Marty added.

Before he could answer, Todd’s eyes widened, and he slapped Dave’s shoulder. “Dude, there she is! At her locker. Right now.”

Dave’s stomach did a nervous flip as he looked over to see Y/N grabbing her books from her locker. She looked effortlessly perfect, and he suddenly felt like he had no idea what he was doing.

“Holy shit, what do I even say?” he muttered, feeling himself start to freak out.

“Just go talk to her!” Todd whisper-shouted, nudging him forward.

But as they all panicked in silence, Y/N shut her locker and walked away toward her class. The three of them deflated, watching her go.

“Damn it!” Dave sighed, running a hand over his face.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

By the time calculus class rolled around, Dave was still on edge. When he walked in, he saw Y/N already seated and scrolling through her phone. He’d been planning all morning to talk to her before class, but now that she was right there, the nerves came rushing back. He chickened out and went straight to his seat, cursing himself internally.

But damn, she looked good.

Throughout the class, he found himself glancing her way, completely forgetting where he was. It was like she was the only person in the room, and every time she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear or shifted in her seat, he’d find himself staring all over again.

When the bell rang, Dave started gathering his stuff, still kicking himself for not making a move. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone approaching him. He looked up, and his heart nearly stopped.

It was her.

“Hey, Dave,” Y/N said with a sweet smile, her voice soft.

“H-hey, Y/N. What’s up?” he replied, hoping he sounded calm.

She looked a little shy, almost as if she were working up the courage to ask him something. “Um, I’m not doing too well in this class, and the teacher mentioned you’re, like, the best in here. I was hoping you could maybe… tutor me?”

His mind raced. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. He managed to nod, practically shouting, “Uh, y-yeah, of course!”

Y/N giggled, reaching into her bag and pulling out a small piece of paper. “Perfect! Here’s my number. Just text me when you’re free to help.”

She flashed him another smile, thanking him one more time before turning to walk away, a subtle smirk playing at her lips. Dave stared after her, feeling like he’d just ascended to another dimension. He could still smell a hint of her perfume lingering in the air around him, and he was left completely dazed.

Oh god, he thought, staring down at the paper in his hand. I’m so screwed.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

At lunch, Dave clutched the small piece of paper with Y/N’s number in his hand like it was a lifeline. He spotted Todd and Marty at their usual table and dropped into his seat, quieter than usual.

Todd noticed immediately, squinting at him. “Dude, what’s with you? You look… weird.”

Dave took a deep breath and held up the paper. “I got Y/N’s number.”

Both Todd and Marty’s eyes went wide, and they immediately broke out into grins.

“Are you serious?!” Todd said, practically jumping up from his seat.

“It’s not like that!” Dave blurted, trying to stay calm. “She just wants me to tutor her in calc. She thinks I’m good at it or something.”

“Still, that’s her number, man!” Marty elbowed him. “So, what’s your plan? Are you going to flirt with her? Sit super close? Or maybe pull the classic ‘oh no, I forgot my textbook’ move?”

Dave groaned. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I’ll probably just wing it.”

Marty rolled his eyes. “Yeah, ‘cause that always works out so well for you.”

“Come on, man!” Dave gave him a slap on the arm. “I’m not that bad at talking to her.”

The boys kept laughing, teasing him over possible things he could say, until eventually they switched to discussing a new comic that had just come out. But while Todd and Marty debated storylines, Dave couldn’t concentrate. His mind was on Y/N—and what he was actually supposed to text her.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

As soon as Dave got home from school, he went straight to his room, staring down at his phone, crafting the perfect text. His thumbs hovered over the screen before he finally typed:

"Hello, it’s Dave Lizewski from calculus class. Can’t wait to start tutoring you! Are you available after school tomorrow?"

He cringed, instantly deleting it. No, way too eager.

He tried again.

"Hey Y/N, it’s Dave from calc. Did you want to meet up tomorrow after school for tutoring?"

This time, it seemed more casual. He read it over about twenty times, taking a deep breath before finally hitting send. To his surprise, Y/N’s reply came back almost immediately.

Y/N: Hey Dave :) After school works for me. I’ll meet you in the library?

Dave grinned, typing back, “Yeah, sounds good.”

He set his phone down, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. He couldn’t believe it was happening; he was actually going to meet up with Y/N outside of class. But just as he started to relax, he remembered something else—Kick-Ass was due out on the streets tonight, too. And he’d almost definitely run into Y/S/N. Or, well, Y/N.

He let out a frustrated sigh, grabbing his suit and getting ready. How am I supposed to keep this whole thing a secret while tutoring her and fighting crime with her alter ego?

Little did he know, Y/N had already figured it out.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

A/N ~ I got a little carried away while writing so now there’s going to be a part 3

#fanfic #fluff #dave lizewski x y/n #dave lizewski x you #dave lizewski x reader #dave lizewski fanfic #dave lizewski imagine #dave #dave lizewski #kickass x reader #kick ass x y/n #kick ass x you #kick ass x reader #kick ass fanfic #kickass #kick ass #kick-ass #fanfics #fanfiction

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glacialswordsman · 5 months ago

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ᴛᴀɢ ᴅᴜᴍᴘ 𝟏 / ?

☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ behind the scenes. ⊰ ooc ⊱ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ on stage. ⊰ ic ⊱ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ beneath the mask. ⊰ headcanons ⊱ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ fanmail. ⊰ answered asks ⊱ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ pass the script. ⊰ ask prompt ⊱ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ shine the spotlight. ⊰ promo ⊱ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ intermission. ⊰ queue ⊱ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ character study. ⊰ musings ⊱ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ afterpiece. ⊰ dash games ⊱ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ between engagements. ⊰ dash commentary ⊱ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ break character. ⊰ crack ⊱ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ center of interest. ⊰ self-promo ⊱ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ cinematography. ⊰ video ⊱ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ artistic director. ⊰ my art ⊱ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ expository scene. ⊰ closed starter ⊱ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ curtain time. ⊰ thread ⊱ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ curtain call. ⊰ thread end ⊱ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ death at the box office. ⊰ dni ⊱ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ dramaturgy. ⊰ aesthetic ⊱ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ encore. ⊰ music ⊱ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ aesthetic distance. ⊰ wip ⊱ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ mise-en-scène. ⊰ art ⊱ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ improvisation. ⊰ open starter ⊱ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ melpomene. ⊰ introspection ⊱ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ dressing room. ⊰ visage ⊱ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ soliloquy. ⊰ one-shot ⊱ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ public address system. ⊰ psa ⊱ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ theater program. ⊰ pinned ⊱ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ slapstick. ⊰ meme ⊱ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ callbacks. ⊰ saved ⊱

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ang3lofdivinity · 1 year ago

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❝𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐧❞

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

Relationship(s): Yan!Andy (Andrew) Graves x Fem!reader

Format: Headcanons + stories.

Genre: IMPLIED Smut + fluff + some angst(?)

Warnings: Consent mf, intimidation, SA from one of the wardens to the reader, masturbation (reader and Andy), Leyley isn't super overprotective, Reader is very naïve and too kind (they consider all friends), kidnapping, stalking, Andy is kinda turned on by the readers constant praise and nicknames for him, smoking, swearing, smut has been removed because.. the more I realize it I want this account to be decently fluff.

Andy is a very reserved person.

He's an introvert as per what his sister calls him.

And she's right.

He doesn't like being around others, he's pretty logical, he's also very calm.

But, what he doesn't know is how charming he is to others.

Hell, bunches of girls try and get with him, while Leyley obnoxiously tries to get rid of them all.

So, he's never really had a long term relationship with anyone aside his sister.

And over the years, he's managed to craft, a meticulously created one, a façade.

A mask he's worked on for years.

One that he knows will never crack.

But perhaps he got too confident.

Because when you came along, he was restraining himself practically from getting excited after the first time he saw you.

He saw you, being the new kid in class back when he was still in school at a young age before being trapped in that hellscape he called his home.

You were an extrovert it seemed, turning out to be the opposite. But, you still cared a lot about everything and everyone, you introduced yourself sweetly with something along the lines of..

"Good morning, I'm (____) (_____). If you need anything, I'll always be right here."

You were so calm, so pretty.. how could someone be so pretty?

You joined a bunch of after school activities, student council and such.

Although, you seemed a bit worried over something always every time he saw you.

He felt something within his stomach churn whenever he saw you though, not managing to gather enough courage to talk to you.

So, you had to initiate the contact.

You saw him, being all lonely..

That made you feel incredibly horrible, you were in that position yourself once too.

So, you approached him.

And his heart fluttered.

"Good evening.. you're Andrew Graves, right?" You inquired as you sat beside him at his lunch table as your friends immediately started whispering to each other.

"Oh- I- I'm Andrew Graves, yes.." he cringed at his own stuttering, but you didn't seem to mind.

"Why don't you come and sit at my table with my friends?" You invited him with a warm smile.

He felt butterflies in his stomach, a feeling he never had in a while..

"Are- you sure? They won't make fun of me?.." he asked, obviously worried.

"Of course not! If they do, we can have lunch together alone if you want!"

"..alright."

That was the day he became so clingy to you.

Usually, he's very cynical. But, for some reason with you.. he could feel that your actions were very genuine.

And that's what got him attached.

Along with your humor.

"I swear to fucking goddess if Miss Alta keeps telling me to not draw, I will—"

"Good morning, Miss Alta!" You exclaimed happily the moment your communications teacher stepped foot into the room.

He almost wheezed, letting out a giggle at his failed attempt to restrain himself. His expression turned into one filled with guilt and embarrassment, but before Miss Alta or any of the students spoke, you blurted out.

"Ah, Miss Alta, there's something wrong with the air conditioning. It keeps moving a bit and making that scraping noise." You semi-lied as you turned to Andrew and gave a more sincere smile before paying attention once more.

..you would just, lie for him like that..

Your smile could make him go crazy, it couldn't be compared to anything!! The way you cried, your tears streaming down your cheeks as you ran to him when you got hurt on the playground earlier- blue diamonds couldn't even compare to the richness of them, and the way you were very touchy..

You always held onto his hand, holding onto his shirt as you walked behind him anxiously, anytime when you got older and watched any horror movie and clang onto him.

That's when it all went to shit.

You had to leave the state.

THE STATE.

After you had just got settled after the last time where you moved here as a child!

He almost broke down, wanting to pour out all of his feelings as if it would change anything.

But it was official, and Leyley had him all to herself. It was like that for years.

He was all alone.

He felt empty.

He felt empty without you.

Like a part of his soul was torn from him.

And that stuck with him forever.

Some sort of dark, black tar over his heart made it feel disgusting and filthy.

But for the lonely part..

It wasn't like that for long.

When they grew older, he started dating someone after so long.

His (ex) girlfriend, Julia.

But eventually, that all ended when he got put into that quarantined building with Leyley.

She broke it off with him on one of those nights.

He sobbed about it, and Leyley didn't help.

But, that's when he got a strange phone call when Leyley was asleep and he was still up.

He was hesitant, but his gut told him to pick it up.

And that he did.

And that was one of the best decisions of his life.

"..Hello?" He spoke, his voice raspy. He was unsure of what telemarketer would be calling at this hour, and it couldn't possibly be someone he knew.

"Andrew?.. is this really you?!.."

That voice.. that voice instead changed his mind of this being some sort of telemarketer.. how? Because that’s your voice. After so many years, you had called him!

"..(____)?!" He yelped out, almost loud enough to wake LeyLey.

"Oh dear— I'm so glad I can hear your sweet voice again!!" You exclaimed, sounding like you were on the brink of tears.

All of those previous feelings he had for you back when you were still around, they all came back in a flurry, overwhelming him.

"(____), I'm.. how did you get this number?.." he wanted to ask you so much more, but that's all that came out at the moment.

"I heard about the quarantine you got into with your sister.. I'm so sorry. One of the wardens was kind enough to give me your number! I didn't have much time previously due to my work.. but, now I have and I'm so thankful!"

"..Good god it's so nice hearing your voice again, (____)" he mumbled, smiling as tears prickled at his eyes. There were so many words that wanted to spill out of his mouth, but nothing came out due to his own self restraint.

"I'm going to get you out of there! I promise! You and your sister!" You yelped out, happiness laced into your voice. You were zeal about this, you were going to get him and his sister out of here. Or at least try.

"Wait- aren't you worried about the wardens??? They've been keeping us here!" He responded back, biting on his thumb.

"Eh?? Nah! I'm sure! The warden seemed to like me, I'm sure I can persuade him somehow." For some reason, this didn't sit right with him..

"..." He went radio silent, this feeling akin to foreboding surging through him with the sense of anger as well. But, he swallowed down his frustration and took some deep breaths.

"Andy- Andrew?.. you there?" You tried to fix your mistake. You heard his sister call him by that nickname once- so you know it's at least somewhat gotta be sentimental for him.

"..you can call me Andy" he slowly spoke up.

"Are you sure?.."

"I'm.. sure. Call me Andy." It almost sounded like a demand..

"..Alright, Andy."

He doesn't even let his own sister call him that anymore, but he lets you do it with free reign.. strange.

"Now, would you like to talk for a bit?.. or should I get straight to work with the pla-"

"Talk!.. please. I just.. I missed you. I missed listening to your voice, I missed just being with you.." he blurted out, cutting you off. He put a hand over his mouth in response, his eyes wide and filled with shame.

"..."

"...."

"I'm sorry- that probably sounded weird.." he spoke up after a long moment of silence.

"Nono! Don't apologize, I missed hearing your voice too, hun." You spoke sweetly to him, a smile he couldn't see plastered on your face.

"..Hun?" Saying the word made him feel this warm, bubbling sensation within his chest. It made him want to indulge in it more..

"I'm not gonna use Andy all the time, darling!" You giggled happily, and that just made something within his stomach churn and twist.. something that has been dormant for years finally stir.

It made his knees go weak, his mouth go slightly agape as he failed to make any words come out of his mouth for a while until you spoke.

"..Andy? Honey?"

"Oh- sorry just.. deep in thought.”

"Ah, I get that.. well anyways, what would you like to talk about?"

You two talked until the sun finally rose and you got sleepy.

"Night Andy, Hun!" He could hear you yawn.

"Night, (____).."

He then placed the phone back down, hanging up shortly after you did as he found himself already yearning and missing your voice.

But, he knows.. better.

He just can’t help it though.

..No matter, he’ll hopefully be able to see you soon as you said.

That would be wrong though.

Because guess what? That warden that was so kind to you was only there for your looks. He wanted you to have some.. “personal time” with you if you get my gist.

“No fucking way you creep!!” You yelped out, this man was about twice your age and asking you to have some personal time with you.

“C’mon, sweetheart!.. I promise I’ll make it worth your while” The warden spoke, a sickening smile on his face.

“No means no, pervert!! Now, let me see my friends, let me get them out of here!” The warden groaned at your response.

“Alright, look here sweet-cheeks. You aren’t gonna be able to save your friends and I shouldn’t even be helping you. So, you either let me have you and you can take your friends, or I kill you right here and now” the man gave you an ultimatum, causing your eyes to widen.

“I..” You almost bursted out into tears when the man moved his hands to your shoulders, lowering your shirt.

“Lemme take care of ya.” he hummed, pushing you against the table within the break room, tears pooling down your cheeks.

You then tried focusing on something else, noticing the fact he had a ring of keys on his belt..

The warden had a hand glide up your thigh, massaging the bundle of nerves there. You tensed, straining back any noises that would come out of your mouth.

“No need to hold back, sweetheart..” he pressed himself closer to you, this was your time to strike!

You punched the man in the face, causing him to stumble back. You fixed your clothes, jumping off the table, you stared at the man who was waddling around like an idiot. A huff escaped past your lips as grabbed the nearest blunt object and flung it at the man. It was a simple lamp, but it hit him real good in the head. Honestly, you felt powerful in that moment, finding the courage to continuously punching the man, letting out every last string of anger that you felt. It was basically free therapy! And, when you were done, he was no longer moving. You grabbed the keys before you marched off, now off to find Andy and his sister, Ashley!

It took you a bit, but after knocking on a few doors, you heard nothing but some shuffling.

“Andy!! Its me! (____)!!” You yelped out, taking out the ring of keys as you fumbled with them in your hands.

“..(____)!? You actually came!?!” He spoke up after hearing your voice, immediately rushed over to the door as he heard you unlock it, opening it for you, taking you by surprise.

“Of course, hun! I never break a promise.” You spoke more dulcetly, a smile upon your face as you looked up at him.

He’s.. grown taller than you.

He spent no time dawdling as he hugged you, pressing you close to him as he twirled you around.

“I’m proud of you for waiting this long. So proud.” You praised, causing Andrew to become flustered as he desperately tried hiding it.

You paused for a moment before you started giggling a bit.

“What.. whats so funny??” He asked

“Nothing. Just reminiscing of the old times.”

“..you’re talking like a grandma.”

You bursted out laughing, patting his back.

“Oh— really now? ‘Just be a good boy and be quiet!’ Is that better??” You were giggling, since you knew your words made any sense for some Grandma to say, but he wasn’t taking this as a joke. The way you called him a good boy..

It.. turned something on for him, craving for more practically.

“Okay I think thats enough mushy reunion stuff, mm?” You smiled sweetly at the boy as he pulled away from the hug, his face still slightly flushed.

“Yeah..” he internally cursed himself for almost stuttering.

“Where’s Ashley?..” you quietly asked.

From that moment, everything happened like some sort of descending spiral of madness. The thing with the demon and Ashley… killing the second warden, all of that fancy stuff. (being horribly mortified in the end.)

You had the both of them stay in the motel for a while until you could bring them into your home as you got them necessities; paying for them to continue staying, getting them new clothes, food, entertainment and others (not even knowing about their little hobby together.)

You’d visit once a week, much to Andrews begging for you to come more often, constant thanks as well from him.

“..I don’t think we can repay you ever for this.”

You always said it was fine, and his sister did too. She seemed more laid backed about the entire situation.

And, when you rushed in the middle of the night to their motel in your car to tell them the news that you finished up your work for their rooms and such, only throwing on a long overcoat, keeping on your nightclothes and throwing one some slippers.

..but they weren’t in there.

“PSSSTTT” the sound almost made you scream, but you turned to the cause of the noise.

“Ashley!” You smiled, not speaking above a whisper.

“Get over here!!!” You immediately rushed over to her without another question, taking her into an embrace.

“Woah- calm down, goody-two-shoes!” She grumbled, trying to get you to let go or at least loosen your arms that were tightly wrapped around her.

“You and Andrew can finally come over!!” You practically cried out, a bright smile on your face.

“..Where is Andrew..?” You questioned after surveying around, letting go of the embrace you tightly held Ashley in.

“Went to go and check on something.. don’t worry about it.”

“..Alright. I’ll wait here if you don’t mind.” You quietly spoke, standing beside Ashley as your hand subconsciously grabbed hers, intertwining them.

And Ashley didn’t say anything about it. Just to see how her brother would react, of course.

That didn’t go well, let me tell you.

He came back, noticing you, he was so excited like a puppy seeing their owner once more, but noticing that you were holding Ashleys hand..

..For some reason it made him pissed off.

“..(____), why don’t you hold my hand instead?”

You were already starting in his direction to tackle him into a hug, but Ashley pulled you back.

“Nah.. I think she’ll stay right here, holding my hand.”

“Ashley.”

“Yes, dear Andyyyy?”

“Let her go. Right now.”

“Mm, nah.” She chuckled seeing him get so riled up.

He flat up walked on over to you two, grabbed you by the waist, swiftly pulling you away from Ashley.

“Oh you jackass!!!”

But he didn’t care.

And then, you all heard another car..

Thats when everything else unfolded.

They killed that man..

And you witnessed it.

Then again though, he was a murderer as well..

..but why??

You were shaking like a leaf, catching Andy’s attention.

“Shh shh.. its okay. Theres no need to cry or worry, alright? It was in self-defense. I promise this won’t happen again.” He consoled you, hugging you closely as you nodded.

Ashley looked baffled though, one of her eyes slightly twitching.

..guess they’ll just have to not kill in front of you from now on.

Well, moving on from this..

You had made some fake ID’s for them (made by another friend of yours, of course) along with some birth certificates, you just wanted to help them get on their feet again.

That would.. slightly backfire.

No matter what, he became so obsessed with you, he started stalking you, watching you do anything around the house. When you’d turn to see if anyone was watching, no-one was there..

You brushed it off multiple times, but even when you were in the shower, or changing, you felt the same feeling. It was all.. unnerving. You hated it. You wanted it to stop.

But, it continued and continued, and it got to the point where you started asking Andrew if you could sleep with him for the night, to which he immediately accepted; surprising you.

You got into his bed, him pulling the covers over you despite the fact you already had a blanket with you.. but that was fine. You rested your head on his chest as he wrapped his arms around your lower back, pressing you closer to him.

And strangely, it seemed like all of the eyes that were previously watching you were gone. You could finally drift off to sleep, where Ashley would make fun of you both each time, but stopped suddenly after a bit..

But you shrugged it off as she was just bored of the joke now that you have cuddled with Andrew so many times now just for you to feel safer within your own home!

Little did you know that the person you were cuddling with was the one watching you all along..

His fingers threaded through your hair, humming ever so softly. He kissed the crown of your head, your forehead, your cheeks, and then eventually, your lips. You tasted sweet to him, sweet like nothing he’d ever tasted before in contrast to his usual taste of mint and cigarettes within his mouth.

He wanted more of it..

He then continued kissing your lips, now making out with your unconscious body, taking breaks in between to undress you from your nightclothes, underwear, and so forth.

In your sleep, you felt something.. swishing within your mouth. It was warm, tasting everything within your mouth almost, like it was trying to claim it!

You slowly awoke very sadly since you couldn’t get your beauty rest, trying to find the cause, just to see it was Andy. The person you were so close with. You instinctively pushed him away, or tried.

As much as you wanted to- you couldn’t hurt him. What would be everything you went for then? What would Ashley do?? You’d have to live with the guilt of possibly hurting one of your friends.

..is he even your friend anymore?

He took notice of that, opening his eyes instantaneously as he felt your touch. He pulled away for a moment, examining your expression.

The room was silent, the atmosphere was palpable as he turned to an emotionless face. He moved you closer to him.

“Andy!?” You yelped out as your body became tense.

“..Shit— shit, no, fuck, i’m so sorry. This is wrong-“ Andrew pushed himself away, getting up and threading his hands through his hair. His eyes were wide as he realized what he’d done.

“..Andrew, why??..”

“I’m sorry- that was disgusting- I’m sorry!..”

Your facial expression was bewildered, but you eventually just frowned and grabbed his arm (which was shaking.)

“Andrew, you should’ve asked me first so I could’ve consented. Especially if you have some sort of som—“

“Wait!.. how are you so calm?!” You really aren’t.

“..I’m not. But I would’ve just want some more information- some sort of talk about this entire situation before we could do anything.” Caressing his hand, you smiled softly, and he simply just stared at you for at least 5 seconds straight.

Consent talk?

Consent talk!!

He gave a long ass apology for his actions, immediately about to just get up and leave.

But you stopped him to talk further talked about the situation. You talked about what you really wanted.

And if you both were ready.

Even though all of this didn’t happen throughout one entire night, you planned everything out. What you two were going to do.

If you wanted a relationship.

Or just a situationship.

You both decided to test the waters first before deciding that.

You need to get out. Leave.

What are you doing?

Please, go.

He’ll kill you too.

You couldn’t fall asleep after everything that happened, so he ran a bath for you and him, washing you both.

After that though, he dressed you in some more comfortable clothes for the afternoon it seemed despite being early morning now.

He had you sit in his lap, smoking (trying to get you to smoke as well), tending to your wounds.

And that’s when Ashley came to you both later within the morning, groaning.

“Why was there so much noise in the night?.. could barely sleep..”

Safe to say, you gave a.. believable excuse

Wow- theres a lot here! But, I hope you all enjoyed!!

#andy graves x reader #andrew graves #the coffin of andy and leyley #x reader #yandere #yandere andy #yandere andy graves #ashely graves #leyley graves #juila the coffin of andy and leyley #🪦 — writing #🔪 — tcoaal #🪽 — ang3lofdivinity

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