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almostfoxglove · 17 days

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BLOCK PARTY

written for @auteurdelabre's TROPE OFF! challenge & a special thank you to @jolapeno for coming up with this idea - ilysm!

RATING: Explicit (18+) | PAIRING: Joel Miller x f!Reader WORD COUNT: 4.6k | TROPE: FAKE RELATIONSHIP CW: Tooth-rotting fluff, so much soft!joel, a tiny bit of protective!joel as a treat.

SUMMARY: After your ex moves into the neighborhood, Joel offers to pose as your boyfriend at the annual block party. It shouldn't be hard to pretend for a night, since he's hopelessly into you.

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Joel remembers the day you moved into the house on the corner perfectly—that orange craftsman with the cute triangle yard and a pergola on which the last owners let their wisteria die, left empty for nearly half a year. He’d just gotten home from a job, sweat-stained and spent, desperate for a shower when he’d heard the hum of an unfamiliar car. He’s not curious by nature, keeps happily to himself, but that day he found himself spying out through the picket of window between his curtains, wondering who it might be.

Thank god he did.

Thank god, too, that no one else bought that house. Has a little wrap around porch, a red door. Whole block wanted it—hell, Joel even heard the couple left of him consider it one evening. We could sell, one had said, hushed and conspiratorial, then buy that one.

But they didn’t, and a few weeks later you and your beat-up hatchback rolled up into the driveway, gifting Joel one measly glimpse of the back of your head as you rushed inside. No sight of you the next day; you kept the curtains drawn. But two evenings later a moving truck squealed up the quiet street and Joel, well. Joel happened to be near the windows when the truck happened to stop outside your orange house and happened to catch a look at you slogging down from the porch to roll up the back of the van with a distant grunt, unveiling your boxes and towered belongings.

He was pretty much a goner right then, right there.

Because you looked miserable, an Atlas lugging the world on your shoulders. Dark shadows clinging to the hollows of your cheeks. Your hair pulled back and greasy, your t-shirt a size too big, puddled at the hem with a stain. And maybe he’s getting soft or was from the start, because against his better judgment and the complaints of all his tired joints, Joel jogged out of his house and right on up to you. Offered to help you carry it all inside.

Took an hour to trek the boxes in, twenty minutes to tetris the couch, and another thirty for the rest of the furniture. One lampshade broke, for which Joel will never forgive himself but you swore it was fine, insisting it wasn’t one you liked, that it belonged to an ex.

The whole evening sped by and bruised blue, and Joel’s stomach sank just a little when it was done. Though his body howled and ached, he wouldn’t have minded if it’d taken eight more hours to haul all that shit into your house. Might’ve offered to help you unpack if that wouldn’t have been a creepy thing to do. But you shook his hand in thanks, gave him your name and a stiff smile, promising him dinner, or muffins, or whatever the fuck neighbors do as you walked him to the door with the urgency of a vampire who has only a few minutes left to black out all the windows and doors before sunrise. Hurrying him out, wanting to be alone.

When his own front door was latched, the house dead in its quiet, Joel swore to himself that once you got settled, he’d find some way to tell you that you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, that the caw of laughter you let out when he’d dropped the foot of your couch on his ankle was the best fucking sound even if it did bruise purple and green, that all the furniture you own is somehow perfect and warm and exactly what he’d never think to buy but would love to come home to, and that just shaking your hand made him feel like a kid again. That he’d pretty much do anything to be the one who puts a smile on your face.

But you’ve lived across the street three years now and he’s never told you.

Can’t now. It’s too late. You’re friends.

And anyway, these days you smile plenty on your own; you don’t need him. Took the better part of a year, but you perked up. Transformed that triangle yard into an Eden, built trellises for sweet peas and tomato vines. Every year, bushels of strawberry plants bloom in summer and rows of squash unfurl in autumn. Stalks of bulb plants flower every month right on cue. Your birdfeeders never vacant, the little wooden house driven into the yard on a stake dizzy with mason bees in spring.

Three years after you moved in, no one would ever believe Joel if he told them how you’d looked that first day. Her? Can’t picture that girl sad. Her? The one who’s always smiling? You’re messing with me.

Now, both of you swaying on his porch swing—looking out into the rutted wasteland of backyard he swears one day he’ll landscape—Joel watches that old shadow cross your face as you lift your lemonade to your chewed-up lips. He can see it. The light in your eyes swishing dark like you’ve drawn the curtains. For three years he’s watched you build yourself up, coax yourself into the sunshine, only to have it extinguished by your ex—an ex who’s moved in just five houses down.

It might kill him to see you like this again.

Joel might kill the bastard just to prevent you any more harm. Burn that goddamn house to the ground. He’s glad that he broke that lamp when you moved in. Not that he says.

“C’mere,” he says, stretching out one arm, and without hesitating—without even turning your head to look at him—you sink against his side, cheek squished to his chest. A torture and miracle, the gift of your touch. How you have, over the years, decided to trust him.

“Of all the fucking neighborhoods to—” you start to say, but your voice cracks, betrays you, and there’s a jagged edge to your next breath that makes Joel’s whole body yank with pain. “Of all the fucking neighborhoods for him to choose.”

“I know, darlin’,” Joel mumbles, resting his chin on the crown of your head. Praying he doesn’t imagine the way your body deflates at his touch.

“Block party’s gonna suck,” you sigh, and if he closes his eyes Joel can almost imagine that this is something that it’s not. That if he wanted to, he could kiss you right now, touch you properly. Pet and lick and fuck every thought and worry right out of your head. That your heart’s racing even half the speed his is right now.

You must hear it, he thinks—with the shell of your ear resting so near that traitorous organ—but if you do you don’t say a word.

Joel squeezes your shoulder. “Don’t gotta go alone,” he says.

This stiffens your shoulders, holds your breath. You peel yourself from his side and evening sun paints your face orange as a clementine, gilds your eyes with tendrils of gold. Your brows pinch together so sweetly, curving down above your nose as a laugh rises to your lips. “Right,” you chuckle. “Sure.”

“I mean it,” Joel says, and takes his arm off you to sit up straighter, rocking the swing. “Could go together.”

He’s not sure why you look so surprised. You’re friends. You go places together. Lunch, the movies, to the grocery store. Shit, you drove him home loopy from the dentist after they cracked out his wisdom teeth. Took photos of him after you waddled him into his house, drugged up and chipmunk-cheeked. Relished showing him every snapshot for weeks afterward, giggling and pinching his face until he blushed.

Going to the annual block party together seems a hell of a lot more neighborly than that.

“What,” you say, still smiling at him like he’s crazy. “And you’ll pretend to be my boyfriend?”

It’s possible Joel’s heart stops. All his thoughts certainly do. All sound, reasonable logic floats away until all that matters in the world is your face, your gob-smacked smile. The dissonance of what he was offering and what you heard.

“If you want,” Joel hears himself say.

And that’s that. He digs his own grave.

If anyone was around to see Joel’s face when he first lays eyes on the guy, they’d probably assume you used to date the devil himself. Jaw grinding, arms crossed tightly over his chest, every nerve flayed and hair on end—doesn’t seem to matter how much you assured him that your ex isn’t a bad person, Joel hates the guy. If he were a younger man, as reckless as he’d once been, he’d knock the guy on his ass for daring to step foot in the neighborhood, let alone buy up a place.

You’re with Joel in your front yard showing off the mason bees that dart in and out of their paper tubes when something flickers in the corner of Joel’s eye—a man running on the sidewalk, earbuds in, sweat pooled in a V on the front of his t-shirt. He does a double take at the sight of you.

Joel squares his shoulders.

The guy comes to a jogging halt, pops an earbud out as he calls your name, and Joel’s heart might rip clean out of his chest when your face falls at the sound of his voice, all the pride in your smile snuffed in the blink of an eye. You turn so slowly. Wave a little sheepishly. “Hi.”

“Do you—” the guy starts to ask, his bright eyes flickering between you and your orange house.

You nod. “Three years now.”

His eyes damn near pop out of his skull—this, at least, is one small comfort. He had no idea you lived here. He’s not following you or nothing. As you rub the back of your neck, suddenly quiet, Joel hears your voice in his head saying, You’ll pretend to be my boyfriend?

Guess that starts now if you wanna sell it. At least that’s what Joel tells himself as he takes a small step closer and settles his hand on the small of your back over your t-shirt. Swears he can feel your every tiny twitch beneath his palm, every degree of your body heat. There’s just one second of lag before you inch closer, too, making a shrew of his nervous heart. Blood races in his veins; his stomach turns to molten gold.

A twitch snags in your ex’s cheek and Joel’s lips tighten, fighting back the smug urge to smile. Tucked against his side, you look up at Joel and he can’t help feeling like next to you is exactly where he belongs. Perfect, you smile before drawing your eyes away, and slip your arm around his waist.

“Sorry,” you say, grinning in a way Joel’s not seen you manage since this jackass showed up. “This is Joel. My— uh—boyfriend.”

Maybe heaven is one beautiful lie.

Joel must be a greedy man, because he slips his hand up your spine to wrap his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his chest. It’s either the best or worst feeling in the world, the way you don’t resist for a second. The way you melt against him, your hand gripping at the hem of his t-shirt over his hip.

“Right,” says your ex, still doe-eyed when he meets Joel’s blackened stare. “Clark. S’nice to meet you, man.”

Joel hmphs , gives him fuck all but a stiff nod, and for just one second you turn your face into his chest like you’re trying to smother a laugh. Pride has never filled him quite as quickly as it does now, knowing he’s the cause. That he’s put that smile on you, making you bite your bottom lip. He’s the one who’s made this gentler on your heart.

When Clark takes off again, you and Joel wait until he disappears around the corner to withdraw your arms, then you break into stomach-y laughter, smothering your face in your hands. “Oh god,” you wheeze, your whole face split by joy. “His face. That was—shit, that was incredible. That felt so good.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Joel looks out into the empty street to hide his blush, focusing on the golden light of August’s showboating. It’s a perfect evening, oak trees gossiping in the balmy breeze. It’s small, sure, but knowing he’s made you feel so good sets him on fire, fries his brain. He wants to make you say so good, so good, so good, in every possible way.

You snort, you’re laughing so hard.

“Happy to be of service,” he mumbles.

“Jesus,” you go on, and he turns to find you’re wiping your thumbs under your eyes. “That felt so much better than I thought it would. I think you might be a genius.”

Sure, genius. That’s the word for it.

On the day of the block party, you ask Joel to creep across the street at the break of dawn, insisting that people could be setting up, and, wouldn’t it look weird if we didn’t come out of the same house? We have to look like we’re sleeping together, dumbass. He only managed to restrain himself from suggesting that he just sleepover by the skin of his teeth, so tempted by the thought of being close to you at night—even isolated on your couch, so many doors away from your dreams.

But he’ll take the morning. He does. As early light sets the asphalt ablaze, Joel slinks across the road to your house, finds your front door unlocked, and lets himself in. Inside is cold like winter, the air-con cranked, and you’re on the couch in a sweater that’s cuffed at your wrists, coffee smoking in your hand, your legs folded up beneath you, bare.

“Morning,” you say, when you see him, a kind smile on your lips.

Joel shuts the red door behind him, clears his throat. “Mornin’,” he says.

There are hours until the block party begins, so you and Joel kill the morning on your couch watching shitty TV and drinking enough coffee that Joel’s hands begin to shake—though maybe that’s just the cold, the air frigid in a way that transcends summer. Maybe it’s just you. You, transforming leftovers from your fridge into a breakfast hash, rich with cilantro from the plant on your windowsill. You, knocking your knuckles against his arm whenever you laugh at something stupid he’s managed to say or a joke on screen. You, handing him his refilled mug or breakfast bowl or taking them back to wash up, brushing your fingertips against his hand. Every time.

It’s a jolt to his whole system, this small meeting of your skin.

Soon the television is challenged by the din of your neighbors setting up tables and booths and games for the kids—at which you straighten on the couch, craning to peek through one of your picture-frame windows. A sigh blooms from your lips, then you set down your mug.

“Should put clothes on,” you tell him as you rise, legs unfolding. You look so soft. Joel knows you would be. “Gimme a second.”

Then you’re gone, and his head falls down against the back of your couch, the heels of his hands grinding into his eyes. It feels like you’re only gone for a second before your footsteps pinch down the stairs once more. “Headache?” he hears you ask, catching him with his hands still over his eyes. “Did I give you too much coffee?”

You’re teasing. Joel can hear your smirk as his hands slip back down to his lap, craning over the back of the couch to look up at you, and the world crumbles below him and falls away. Brows folded low over your eyes, you slide your hands down your front to soothe wrinkles from the skirt of your red sundress that only you can see. Slack-jawed, Joel finally manages to sit up, then twists to look back at you properly—perfect, that’s what you are. Every temptation and every vice and every poison he’d willingly drink.

“The dress is too much, isn’t it?” you say, sounding worried now.

He shakes his head, fights not to reach over this goddamn couch and pull you onto his lap. The thought alone makes his cock twitch traitorously in his jeans. You’re close enough that he could. You’re right there.

“S’perfect,” Joel croaks.

You let out a sigh of relief and nod before moving toward the door for your shoes. With his last remaining sense, Joel turns his head just before you bend down to reach for a pair of sandals. This was a terrible idea. He sees that now. A huge fucking mistake.

But it’s too late to back out now, because you’re already calling him over, sliding your hand into his as you step out onto the porch like this is normal, like you’ve done this before, like you don’t mind his sweaty palm. Outside the street is a racket, a flurry of children chasing each other between driveways and neighbors cracking the caps off beer bottles, a painted banner strung over the road between two maples:

B L O C K P A R T Y !

He hears you make a quiet hmph sound of amusement as you draw toward the crowd.

Joel waits, but to his surprise, no one asks why you’re here together, why you’re holding hands. Sorta figured you’d have to do the awkward uh, yes, it’s very… new for everyone, but nobody asks. In fact, when you vanish momentarily from his side to get drinks—the ruffle of your dress flirting with the tops of your thighs—someone tuts sweetly to Joel, “I knew it.”

Then you’re back before he can blush, two bottles sweating in your hands, and the neighbor vanishes the second you pass one to him. Your forehead has pinched up with nerves. Must mean you’ve seen him, Clark or whatever, and Joel’s a man of his word—you’ve asked him to do a job—so he glides one hand around your waist and presses his lips to your temple. Mumbles softly, “I’ve got ya,” against your skin as he breathes you in. There’s something sweet in your perfume, he thinks. Lilac or honey.

As if on cue, a soccer ball zips beneath the banner and a moment later it lifts as someone chases after it. Clark, obviously, looks up, sees you in the nook of Joel’s arm, and tucks the runaway ball under one arm without a word, then takes off in the direction he came from without so much as a nod.

Joel feels your chin jut into his chest as you squeeze him, smiling. “This is gonna be fun,” you grin.

Joel takes a deep breath to keep himself from hoping. That glint in your eye—one part mischief and another affection—ain’t good for him, but he can’t help the twitch at the corner of his mouth, that instinct to return your smile. “Careful, darlin’,” he mumbles, and as he brushes his thumb across your cheek you lean into his hand. “Face might stick like that.”

Rolling your eyes, you say, “What, you don’t like it like this?”

Though he only hmphs, Joel suspects you know that he does, in fact, like you very much like this: smiling up at him like he’s painted the sky with stars just by standing at your side.

How quickly the day passes with you beside him. For every year he’s lived in the neighborhood Joel has too attended the block party, but like most obligatory functions, he finds himself worn down quickly, always the first to leave, retreating into the quiet of his house when he’s reached the end of his meager tolerance. When he’s had too many conversations and seen too many faces too close together and he’s desperate for quiet, for sleep.

It’s different with you. You buffer so much of the polite conversations he’s never been good at having with grace and ease, always drawing the focus away from him just as he starts to feel it’s too much, like you can tell when Joel’s at the end of his rope. Sure, he’s still gotta stand there while you chat to whoever about mixed up mail or work or garden soil, but so long as they’re looking at you, that swell of too much never comes. He can just stand there, sipping his beer or lemonade, and focus on the swipe of your thumb across his knuckles as you hold his hand. The heat of your body when you lean into him.

By sundown, Joel forgets that it’s all pretend. He forgets this is nothing but a favor between friends.

Now the food has dwindled, that summer smell of hotdogs dissolving from the air, and all the lawn chairs once relegated to each person’s lawn shuffle into the black street as cicadas form their nightly orchestra. You don’t have any lawn chairs, but Joel’s got two. Always has—he doesn’t know why. Only ever just him at these things.

Maybe he was hopeful, back when he bought them.

It’s hard not to feel—as he drags both out to sit at the back of the crowd—like he was waiting for you. He just didn’t know it at the time.

“So prepared,” you tease him, as you settle into your seats.

“Keep it up,” he replies, his eyebrows warning in their slow rise. “I’ll take that chair you’re sittin’ on.”

You scrunch your nose. “No you won’t,” you say.

Obviously he won’t. But you don’t have to be so cute about it.

Then a sudden chorus of children shrieks, announcing the first firework. There’s a hissing, then a dart in the darkness, and a small spark of golden light cracks open overhead. A smattering of applause simmers, punctuated by oohs and awws, and all the kids giggle every time a sparkler booms. Beside him, the glitter of each explosion forms a galaxy in your eyes, your lips parted with wonder. The prettiest thing Joel’s ever seen, just like that first day. After a while you notice that Joel’s not watching the show, and turn slowly to look at him, your expression open and tender.

“Missing the show,” you say.

He shrugs. “I’ll see ‘em next year.”

When you smile, he wants to kiss you so badly his heart might actually stop, strangled by its longing.

But your head whips back at the thunder of a vibrant firework—a dandelion of neon blue and searing white—and the moment passes. Then Joel watches your smile falter as your eyes fall into the crowd; Clark, sitting up near the front of the pack, is looking back at you over his shoulder. Trying to be subtle and doing a shitty job; head snapping away the moment he sees Joel’s glare.

“Ignore him,” Joel says, and reaches down to wrap a hand around one leg of your chair, dragging you closer to him. You let out a giddy yelp of surprise and draw your ex’s attention again.

This time you don’t flinch or falter. One glance at the guy and you’re reaching for Joel, fist gripping the collar of his t-shirt to tug him toward you. He’s got no chance to think, to panic; it happens too fast. Your sweet mouth closes over his—not for a peck, but a real kiss. Lips parting to taste his bottom lip, a breathy sigh passed from your tongue to his. Joel’s lost all at once, no use resisting. His hand curls gently over your wrist to keep your grip on him as he tilts his head to lick into your mouth.

The fireworks fall away.

You taste like lemonade and hops and the raspberry cobbler someone cooked up, and there’s not a cell in Joel’s body that doesn’t swoon at the way your lips chase and melt into his, humming softly against his mouth when he cradles the back of your head in the palm of his hand. How you tug gently at his bottom lip before you draw away, forcing his hand to slink from your hair.

Clark’s staring. Your lips proud and grinning. Plush and kiss-bitten. Looking every bit as calm as Joel feels walloped. You hm smugly to yourself and drop your head on his shoulder, attention once more captured by the crackle of fireworks Joel forgot were happening, and even though he’s a fool for agreeing to something he knew would rip him up, he can’t bring himself to regret it. Not when you’ve kissed him like that. Not when you’re lying against him still, even though Clark has turned away.

The whole rest of the show passes in a dizzy haze. A blur of shattering light, and the heady weight of you leaning against him. Near the end you slip one hand over his knee. Your ex isn’t watching, doesn’t see the way your thumb glides slowly across the denim of Joel’s jeans, intoxicating.

It feels, or else he hopes, that it’s just for him.

The night is black by the time he walks you home, all your neighbors disappearing into their darkened houses, his lawn chairs stowed safely on his porch, and even though everyone’s gone when you reach your porch you still don’t let go of his hand until you’re at the door and you have to get out your keys.

Your lock surrenders with a metal crack and you let your red door swing open. Inside your furniture beckons from the shadowed living room, cozy and soft. But you hesitate in the doorway, looking up at him. Joel has to put his hands in the pockets of his jeans to keep himself from pulling you against him properly, and pinning you to the wall.

You scrunch your nose at him again. “Thank you,” you say, and your bottom lip pinches between your teeth as Joel’s gaze falls to your mouth. “Was actually pretty fun, in the end.”

Joel nods, drops his eyes shyly to his shoes. “I had fun too,” he manages to say.

Your sandal nudges the toe of his boot as he stares at his shoes. “Y’alright?”

No, he’s not alright. He knows what it’s like to kiss you now—how the hell’s he supposed to go on living with that, and not ever have it again. “Mhm,” Joel lies, head snapping up to meet your gaze. He mistakes the look in your eyes for discomfort, thinks he must be keeping you from your night, from sleep. That after you were so sweet to him all day, he’s got the nerve to bother you. His heart winces as he forces himself to take a small step back. “Sorry. Don’t wanna keep ya.”

“Oh,” you say, face falling a little. “Okay. Goodnight then.”

There’s no way the pathetic flinch of his lips looks anything like a smile as he mumbles a sorry g’night.

Then your face shrinks slowly in the closing gap of the door, a darkened look haunting your face that Joel swears—in the split second he sees it—almost looks like disappointment. Like you don’t want him to go.

When he licks his lips, Joel remembers the plush of your lips, the soft hum you’d made when he licked into your mouth, how you’d leaned into his hand when he cradled your head. How your ex could never have seen or heard any of that sitting so far away.

Maybe you just wanted to. God, he hopes you wanted to.

So before he can talk himself out of it, Joel’s hand jumps out and smacks flat against your door, holding it ajar. Through the slender gap he watches a grin bolt across your face as you sigh thank god and grab hold of his shirt, hauling him through the doorway to crash your lips against his.

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#joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel tlou #almostfoxglove #tropeoff2024 #myfics #fic: blockparty #one shot #tlou fanfic

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rainrot4me · 3 months

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Steam Roller | Chapter 3

Summary: Jeffrey has to face the consequences of his actions, and in doing so, drags you down with him.

Characters: Jeffrey Woods x Female Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Trauma, hate-fucking, domination, forcing, vaginal, slight non-con, spitting, fingers in mouth, shaming, spanking, clawing, mocking, choking, denial, using sex to cope

Words: 4.5k

A/N: This one’s kinda rough… be mindful :/

This is a continuation, chapter one is here.

Jeff was not gone by sunrise.

He hadn't gone several sunrises after that either.

You had somewhat just accepted his presence there, his shadow constantly following you as you loafed around your house day in and out. Jeff found it incredibly boring, but getting to sink his cock into you on any given surface made up for the fact. He groaned, pulling out of your very soaked cunt as you bent over the kitchen counter, panting onto the cold marble as his seed leaked down your legs. He fell to his knees, licking up your leg and sinking his tongue inside of your sensitive entrance as you cried his name. He gripped your ass, massaging the cheeks in his hands until he had lapped up all of his seed inside of you, leaning back with a huff of exhaustion. You were both soaked in sweat, fucking like rabbits day and night to override the emotional baggage you held over his head.

You hadn’t spoken about the incident in the woods, you didn’t want to. Any thought of seeing your friend’s neck twisted sent nausea through your system, tears pricking your eyes. Jeff’s cock seemed like a better reason to cry to you anyways.

“Fuck babe, taste sooo good.” Jeff lulled, falling on top of you and scooping your waist into his arms as he breathed heavily against your neck. You grinned, planting a kiss against his cheek before sliding out of his grasp and pulling your panties back up, sliding to the refrigerator to grab something to drink. Jeff rested against the counter, watching you saunter through the house and smacking your ass harshly as you passed him. He had felt content here, ignoring his obligations at the mansion for some downtime with his favorite toy of the hour. A secret part of him hoped he’d never have to go back, content with just staying here and fucking you silly any hour of the day. It sounded like a perfect life to him. He finally got to take good showers, eat good food, and not feel like he was constantly under surveillance. Through the good, he was in constant turmoil with his mind about you. He was using you for your body and house, but did it mean more? He searched you out when he very well could have moved on and forgotten about you, or better yet, have killed you in the first place. But something in him tugged him to that cute little face of yours and made him want to defile it forever. Were you just a toy after all? Staring at your ass made it hard to come to a decision.

You walked back into the kitchen, hopping up on the counter and sliding your arm around Jeffrey’s neck, running your fingers through his not-so-filthy hair. “I need to run to the store, you’ve eaten out our entire supply of cereal.” He grinned, running his hand over your thighs. “I’ve eaten out a lot more than just cereal, babe.” He presses his hand between your legs, running his fingers over the wet area of your panties. You groaned, slapping his hand away and hopping off the counter and walking towards your bedroom. “I’ll be back in a few.” You shuffled into your bedroom, sliding on some shorts, a loose sweater, and some old sneakers from your closet. Coming back out, Jeffrey leaned against the counter, a strained look on his face. “Jeff…?” You called. In Jeff’s head, it was like someone had turned an old TV on, static ringing quietly between his ears. It wasn’t enough to gawk at, but it was an unfamiliar sensation he was not fond of. Jeff looked up at you, catching your worried expression. “Gah, nothin’. Probably a migraine coming or somethin’.” Jeff groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. You walked to the door, turning to him one more time. “Okay, well. Drink some water or something.” At that you left the house, Jeff standing in the quietness of the house interrupted by the loudness of his mind.

What in the hell was it? Jeff didn’t believe in taking medicine, but he seriously considered popping an advil from the annoying strain this buzzing caused him. He had never experienced anything like this before, his brows furrowing at the genuine headache he was beginning to receive now. He cursed, sliding into the living room and onto the couch with a deep sigh, running his hands through his hair and massaging his temples. “Fuck this.” He hissed, laying down and covering his head with a pillow. That was when he felt it, a slight tug at his chest begging him to stand up and walk out the door. He was confused, brows knitting together. The headache was growing, the static in his mind becoming louder the longer he lay on that couch. The tug he felt was strong as if it wanted him to go somewhere, pulling him desperately.

When you returned from the store with sacks of groceries in your hands, you expected Jeffrey to be sleeping or doing whatever it was terrifying murderers did. What you didn’t expect was him curled up on the living room carpet, head in his hands and groaning loudly as he writhed. “Jeffrey?!” You panicked, tossing the bags onto the kitchen counter and running to his side. You rolled him onto his back, pulling his hands down and trying to gauge what was wrong as he resisted against your grasp. “Jeff?! What’s wrong??” You shook him, his eyes opening slowly to glare at your anxious face. He pushed your hands off of him, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“I’ve gotta go back…” He groaned, rubbing a circular motion on his chest as he went to stand up. You looked puzzled, standing on your own feet as you followed closely behind him. “Go where?” Jeff stopped walking, turning his gaze towards you as he picked his trust knife up off of the kitchen counter. He sighed, slotting it into the back of his jeans and turning to face you fully. “Remember where your little camp trip was?” He grinned, crossing his arms at his chest. You tensed, eyes glaring at him as you felt the stir of nausea churn your stomach. You nodded shallowly, looking at the floor. “Well, it looks like the old boss wants me back before I get too comfy.” Jeff wasn’t exactly sure that was the reason why, but he was sure that the ear-piercing static and the tug on his chest was Slender calling him back to the mansion. It felt too familiar the first time they met, and Jeff really didn’t want to keep this headache any longer. “So let’s go.” He huffed.

“Hell no.” You spat, fidgeting your fingers in your hands as you huffed your disapproval. “I’m not going back there.” You didn’t care who Jeff’s boss was or what he wanted, you were not going to that campsite again. Jeff laughed shallowly, leaning down to meet your gaze head-on, challenging you. “Really?” He purred, staring deeply into your eyes as you tensed, refusing to meet his gaze. Jeff didn’t need to take you back with him, but he wanted to. The thought of you living in the mansion with him, sleeping in his bed, and attending to his cock whenever he wanted you to made Jeff wildly excited. Your house was nice, but Slender would never let him stay here, and Jeff was too lazy to make the trek to your bedroom every time he got a hard-on. It sounded petty, but Jeff had decided days ago that you were perfect for him in every way, from your beautiful body to your attitude that could match his in a second. He wasn’t letting you go.

He ran the back of his fingers across your cheek, sighing at the soft skin as you submitted under his touch. “I don’t remember giving you a choice, babe.” He smiled sweetly, that shit-eating grin taunting you. Before you could react, Jeff had gripped your throat with both hands, squeezing dangerously hard. You couldn’t breathe, panic filling your senses as you clawed at his hands pressing tighter and tighter. Jeff smiled as your cheeks flushed red, your puffy eyes filling with tears as he strangled you. “Go to sleep, babe…” He cooed, finally releasing his tight grasp on your throat when you stopped struggling and your eyes finally shut.

Jeff scooped you up bridal style, kissing your forehead and humming to himself as he nudged open the front door and began his long walk back to the mansion. He sighed as he could feel the static dampen with every step he took.

You stirred slowly, blinking your eyes awake as you rolled over. You tugged the sheets up closer, nuzzling into the pillow under your head, breathing in Jeffrey’s scent. Your brows knitted, your eyes shooting open as you sat up abruptly. This was not your bed, and you didn’t recognize the room at all. You groaned, cupping your head in your hand at the headache pricking its way to the surface. You tried to recall what had happened, how you appeared in this room when you were talking with Jeff in your own house before.

As it hit you, you shot out of the bed, stepping in front of the full-length mirror in the corner and examining the hand-shaped bruises decorating your neck like a collar. Your blood began to boil, fear and anger encompassing you as desperately needed to find Jeffrey so you could lay one into him. But as you looked around the room, you began to take in just how trashed it was. Fast food bags were littered on the ground, clothes were thrown around everywhere, and the smell of rotted blood wafted from the carpet. It was horrible. You shuffled to the window on the other side of the room, peeking through the curtain as the evening light peeked through the trees. From the view, it looked like you were on the second floor of the house, but it was impossible to tell how far away you were from your own house from the dense treeline. Turning back to the room, you shuffled to the door, slowly turning the handle and pulling as the door creaked open. You peeked down the hallway, several doors on either side led down to a spiral staircase.

You closed the door behind you, walking quietly down the dusty hallway. Paint peeled from the walls, cobwebs sat in the corners, and the whole place just smelled foul. You didn’t know if it was abandoned, but it sure wasn’t inhabitable… you hoped.

You made your way down the large staircase, leading into a grand entrance room, the same grime and deterioration coating every inch. You gazed around, seeing several chairs and couches littered with the same garbage. You groaned, anxiety setting in as you quickly searched around the room, but still found no sign of Jeff. Your anger towards him was subsiding into desperation as you wanted to find him before you got yourself lost. As you looked through the large kitchen, you were startled by tiny footsteps running up behind you. You jumped, spinning quickly as your eyes landed on a little girl in a pink dress, holding a bear close to her side.

“Oh- Uhm.. Hello?” You smiled, awkwardly kneeling in front of her. She stared at you, studying your face as she smiled back. “Hi.” She giggled, stopping when she saw your neck. You ran your hands over the area, trying to avert her gaze as you cringed. “You’re Jeff’s girlfriend, aren’t you? I’m Sally.” She giggled, swaying side to side and holding her bear closer to her chest. Your cheeks became hot, smiling awkwardly at her. “Uh- Sure. W-Where is he, Sally?” She spun around, opening the cupboard and grabbing a juice box before shutting it back. “Outside. With Masky.” At that, she left, running up the staircase and out of view. You stood back up, searching for a door that led outside. Masky? Who the hell was that?

You walked out the grand front door, dead hedges decorating the steps leading down to the gravel pathway. You stepped down, looking around until you could hear voices arguing at the back of the large house. Well, not a house, more like a mansion. As you walked around, you watched in amazement as the old mansion that, on the outside, looked abandoned, but looking closer you could see windows opened to let in the cool autumn air and could see different decorations in every window. From the looks of it, lots of people lived here, which confused you, why would anyone want to live here?

You reached the back of the mansion, the voices growing louder as you pinpointed where they were. A man taller than Jeffrey was leaning over him, throwing his hands as he yelled into his face. He wore a mask, covering his anger. Jeff was meeting his yells, balling his fists at the man who you assumed was Masky. Standing to the side, a boy in a hoodie and goggles watched the two fight as he mumbled to a taller man in a blue mask. The whole gaggle of them looked like a teenager’s Halloween costume party. You hesitantly stepped closer, stopping just far enough away to not catch Jeff’s attention as you didn’t want to distract him. “You’re [Y/N], r-right.” You looked to your side, the boy in the hoodie walking over next to you as the man in the blue mask followed him. “Uh- yeah.” You gulped, he looked friendly enough, but the man towering behind him sent a chill down your spine. The boy had bandages wrapped around his cheek, a blood stain dirtying the patch. His neck twitched to the side, eyes twitching the same as he turned back to look at Jeff and Masky. “I’m Toby. T- this is EJ. Jeff got you into a w- whole heap of shit, h- huh?” He laughed. EJ still stared at you, not saying anything but just watching as you turned back to face the two arguing men. “J-Jeff!” Toby yelled, stepping towards the two as they paused for a second.

Jeff’s eyes landed on you, opening wide and smiling shyly at you. Masky looked at you, groaning and pulling his hand back to slap Jeffrey on the back of the head. “You fucking dumbass, you brought her here?!” He yelled, pinching the bridge of his nose in anger. “You’re going to get us all gutted.” Masky turned and walked away, crossing his hands over his chest as he continued to curse under his breath.

“Fuck him,” Jeff rubbed the back of his head, walking to face you and reaching to grab your hand. You pulled it away sharply, glaring into his eyes as Toby and EJ watched you, Toby giggling. “You alright..?” He groaned, shooting daggers at the two, shutting them up. “Does it look like I’m alright Jeffrey?” You barked, rubbing your neck. He cringed, reaching out again and holding your hand and gripping it tightly, rubbing his hand through his hair.

Walking back over to the two of you, Masky stood close, eyeing you through his mask and huffing his anger. “She has to go, and you know it.” He barked to Jeff, crossing his arms sternly. “I don’t care. She’s not going.” He huffed, staring only at you and nowhere else. Toby sauntered over to the group, gripping Jeff’s arm as he looked at his face. “T-then what hap- happens when Slen- Slender finds her?” He frowned, glancing between you and Jeffrey and wincing. Jeff glanced at him, groaning and rolling his eyes. “She won’t get in the way. And I’m sure he’d appreciate someone preoccupying me so I don’t hound your ass every second.” Jeff barked at Toby, pulling you to his side and wrapping his arm around your waist. EJ stepped closer, taking his hands out of his hoodie pocket and crossing his arms as well. “I for one, don’t want to hear you two going at it at all times. Your dick is what got you into this mess in the first place.” His voice was soft, scratchy, but soothing. Your eyes flickered between the faces towering over you, nervousness growing. “Yeah, but last time I checked, it’s my mess. Stay out of it.” You nudged your arms between you and Jeffrey, shoving him off of you and glaring at him.

“I am not staying here. Did you even think to ask me before you started making decisions for me?” You barked, resting your hands on your hips as the group of boys watched you carefully. Toby chuckled, looking at Jeff but quickly shutting up when Jeff raised his hand to him. “I mean, Christ! You kill my friends, break into my home, and you assume that I’m just going to be okay with living with you? I mean, how can I even be sure you’re not going to kill me when you get bored??” You yelled, throwing your hands up as tears pricked your eyes and your cheeks grew red. This was embarrassing and you knew it, but you would not let Jeff make decisions for you anymore. “[Y/N]-” Jeff began, but you turned on your heels, scoffing.

Jeff hated this. First of all that he couldn’t bring himself to just forget you. In recent days you had infested his mind, and it hadn’t helped that even though you knew what he was, you still treated him like any other person. It pricked at him in some awful way. And knowing that he could keep you all for himself, he couldn’t resist no matter how much you wanted to leave. He’d tie you down if he really had to.

Before he could say anything else, you took off around to the front of the mansion, running as fast as your feet would carry you. Jeff cursed, pinching the bridge of his nose and groaning. “Wow.” EJ chuckled, slapping Jeff on the shoulder. “Good luck with that one.” Jeff groaned, following your path around the house and trailing you through the tree line.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you ran, anger guiding your every step as you dodged trees and roots surrounding you in the dense forest. The evening sun was hanging just at golden hour, golden light shining on your face as the cold wind whipped your hair. Fuck Jeff. Fuck this. There was bound to be a highway somewhere and you’d hitchhike your way back home. This is what you got for letting some psycho fuck you, and this is what you got for enjoying it. You never really received any attention from guys, so when someone who so easily could have killed you decided that he’d rather have you, it made you feel all warm inside. But those emotions were overridden with disgust as that same man thought he could decide your future. You stretch your legs, muscles straining as you leap over branches. Your breath was running thin, gasping for air as tears continued to well in your eyes.

As you saw a break in the trees, you slowed down, stepping through the treeline and walking into the clearing. You walked cautiously, catching your breath. That’s when it all hit you, the familiar tree line, the shreds of police tape littering the ground, and the ashes piled up where a campfire had been lit. Your campsite. It had all been cleared out, all the tents and benches, nothing but an open field. At that point, it’s like you couldn’t contain your emotions anymore. Falling to your knees, you sobbed into your hands, stomach clenching as you cried out. This was all a pile of shit. Nothing was making sense for you anymore, your emotions overtaking you and giving you no room to think.

Jeff ran through the clearing, breathing heavily as his eyes landed on you. He cautiously stepped forward, hearing your sobs echo through the trees and cringing. As he stepped to your side, he knelt down cautiously, trying not to arouse you further. “[Y/N]...” He cooed, placing his hand flatly on your back. You shot up, glaring at him as tears fell heavily down your cheeks. “Do you feel bad?” You choked out, gripping your shorts tightly as goosebumps trailed up your thighs. “Like, do you ever feel bad?” Your tone was more aggressive now, Jeffrey taking his hand off of your back and rubbing his neck. He chose not to answer. What was he supposed to say? Be truthful and tell you the only emotions he’s ever felt about anyone is you. Fuck that. He chose to stay silent, staring at the ground as you scoffed at him. “Y’know, my friend was looking forward to starting at her new job next month, but now she’ll never get to.” Jeff cringed, the acid in your tone dripping out as you growled. He thought it better to just let you yell it out, staying silent as you hit him with insult after insult. You eventually crumbled back into your hands, sobbing as you choked on your spit.

Jeff knew he got excited when people got emotional as he was about to murder them, but as his cock twitched in his jeans, he grit his teeth. He tried to settle himself, his body basically vibrating as you gave in and wrapped your arms around his neck, crying into his shoulder. He held the back of your head, straining his eyes shut as he rubbed your back. It took everything in him not to dip lower and grab your ass, knowing that this wasn’t the time. But as your crying slowly subsided and your lips began to pepper kisses on his neck, his cock fully sprag to life, aching terribly as it strained against his now tight jeans. Unfortunately, sex was the only way you knew how to cope, and sex was what Jeff was good at.

He laid you down on your back in the cool grass, slowly nibbling and kissing your neck as he pulled your sweatshirt up to uncover your bra. He groaned, sliding the cup down and popping your right breast out before taking it in his mouth and sucking harshly. You moaned beautifully under him, grinding your hips up to meet his bulge. Your hands hooked under his hoodie, pulling it over his head and reaching down further to unzip his jeans, letting his cock spring free. He moaned on your breast, popping off of the nipple and licking a streak down your stomach before sliding your shorts and panties off and tossing them to the side. You clenched your knees together, the cold breeze making you shiver. “Oh, don’t get shy now, babe.” He chuckled, pulling your hips apart and nuzzling his head into your lips as he sunk his tongue in. Jeff curled his tongue inside, your walls clenching down on him as you moaned into your hands loudly. He pulled his head back, spreading your folds open with his fingers as he spat onto your clit, rubbing the nub harshly with his thumb as you squirmed and squealed. He relished in it, growing restless as he sat up, scrooping you into his arms and walking you over to that all-too-familiar stump.

He sat you down in front of it, making you face the stump as he knelt down behind you, forcing you to lean over the wood onto your elbows. “Mmh- I’ll never get over this view.” He smiled, reaching his hand around and bringing it in front of your mouth. “Spit.” He commanded. You spit onto his hand, embarrassment growing on your cheeks as he tugged your hips up, forcing you to arch your back. He stroked his length with his spit-covered hand, groaning as you looked back at him, puffy eyes dazed out. He couldn’t stand how much your face affected him and swayed his emotions so easily. It was sickening. He grunted, brows knitting as he lined his cock up with your entrance and shoved himself in, giving you no time to react. You screamed out, gripping the stump tightly as Jeff began to pull your hips back to meet his thrusts. Skin slapping echoed through the clearing, his hips ramming into yours as he grunted with every thrust. “Such- fuck, [Y/N], such a good pussy-” He groaned, bringing his right up to your mouth again and shoving his fingers inside, pulling your cheek to the side. You moaned loudly, tongue licking his fingers as he clamped onto your jaw, tugging with every thrust of his hips.

“My little cock slut- fuckin’ takin’ me so good.” He held your hips flush against him, grinding up into your core as your walls throbbed around him. Slobber drooled down your lips, your eyes rolling back as his rock rammed against your g-spot over and over again. “Fuu- gunna cuu-” You babbled, Jeff’s fingers pressing deeper into your mouth and making you gag as he held your tongue down. Your left hand snaked down, reaching between your legs and sloppily rubbing your clit as you could feel your insides twist. Jeff noticed, gripping your arm immediately and twisting your hand behind your back, holding it on your lower back as you whined loudly. He grunted loudly, hips snapping into you and pushing you flat against the stump. “If you can’t cum on my cock…” He breathed heavily, shoving his fingers deeper into your throat. “Then you don’t deserve to cum at all.” He gripped your arm tightly, stabilizing himself as he thrust roughly up into your cunt, making you whine and moan on his fingers.

You felt your core twist again, his cock slamming into your g-spot as you arched your back against him. You moaned loudly, eyes rolling into your head as you felt your orgasm crash into you, constricting around Jeff’s length as he cursed loudly. The tightness made it impossible for him to thrust so smoothly, so he pulled out quickly, grabbing you by your sweatshirt and making you face him as he began to stroke his cock shallowly. You opened your lips, eyes dazed out and heavy as you took his head in your mouth and swirled circles on his tip with your tongue. He groaned, taking a fistful of your hair as he stroked his cock quickly with his opposite hand. You shut your eyes, moaning lowly as you heard Jeff moan above you, his seed shooting into your mouth and coating your tongue. You popped off his head, cringing at the sour taste as you swallowed. Jeff slowly caught his breath, zipping himself back up as he retrieved your shorts and helped you put them on. He scooped you into his arms again, gripping you tightly as he kissed you on the forehead.

“Where are we going?” You grunted, laying your head on his shoulder.

“I’m taking you home.” He huffed quietly, carrying you back into the forest and away from that clearing. You closed your eyes, breathing deeply as you prayed you’d never step foot there again.

Chapter 4 is here!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

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greensimp · 1 year

Text

Gyutaro x Reader:

He nearly kills you. Regrets it immediately.

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Canon!Gyutaro x gn!Reader

WC: 1.9k

Warnings: violence, angst, threats of violence, vulgar language

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You scoff and glare up at your partner with annoyance.

“Gyutaro, it’s not a big deal!”

The demon you’re arguing with stands above you, a frustrated scowl painting his features. Bringing a hand up to the side of his face, he growled and began scratching at himself.

“Yes it is, damnit! Do you realize how fucking dangerous that was?! What if I wasn’t around to get you away from there?!”

You balled your fists and stomped your foot childishly, indignation evident in your stance.

“I didn’t need your help! I was fine on my own! I’ve survived on my own a lot longer that I’ve had you around!”

Anger bubbled up in Gyutaro’s chest at your infuriating naivety. This wasn’t some stroll you took a little way outside of Yoshiwara. The little stunt you pulled tonight could have ended your life.

What did you do?

You left his territory entirely. The only reason he knew about it was because he spotted you speaking to an unfamiliar man from the shadows hours before. It wasn’t unlike you to socialize with strangers, but Gyutaro knew from the start that something about him wasn’t “genuine.”

So he stalked you. He stalked you until that man led you so far away from the Kyogoku house that only the quiet noises of the forest could be heard.

What the hell were you thinking?

If it wasn’t obvious before, it was now. This lowly demon was luring you to his feeding grounds. Gyutaro could read the overzealous and smug confidence all over the worm’s face. Despite smelling him and Daki’s scent, he thought he could pick off a couple humans for himself.

Unfortunately for this little bug, he couldn’t have chosen a worse human to prey upon.

When it was apparent that the demon was about to make its move, it turned around and froze, practically pissing himself as the kanji-filled eyes of Upper Moon Six bored down upon him from behind the human he lured. You were confused at first before turning around to see what he was so scared of.

Oh.

“Goin’ somewhere? Y’know, its rude to be taking off with other people’s things, cretin.”

The pathetic demon tried to shake his hands in front of him and scurry away.

“I-I’m so s-sorry sir, I d-didn’t know this one w-was y-“

He couldn’t even finish his sentence before a hand wrapped itself around his mouth and jaw, crushing it in painfully.

“I don’t recall asking for your pathetic apology, whelp.”

Neither you or the demon saw Gyutaro move. It was like he was behind you one moment, then crushing the demon’s face the next.

He was pissed. Blindingly so.

You winced as a disgusting cracking sound reverberated through the forest. Gyutaro had drove the demon’s head so far into the ground that it made a crater. It wouldn’t be regenerating from that by sunrise.

Your legs felt weak as you stared at the blood. Then, Gyutaro rose to his feet and turned to you, his normal scowl now clearly on edge and splattered with blood.

“We’re going home. Now.”

…

You may have survived all this time, but you also had your beauty and luck on your side. Gyutaro had neither. He wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t born yesterday. You’re too comfortable with the knowledge of demons existing. You’re not cautious enough.

The room became deadly silent.

His scratching and growling ceased, with the only sounds being the ever-hastening blood rushing through your ears.

Your nerves were on edge, Gyutaro’s sudden silence freaking you out more than his display of anger earlier.

“Gyutaro…?”

He didn’t reply right away, only slowly and deliberately lowering his arm to his side.

You furrowed your brows and huffed.

“Oh, so now I’m getting the silent treatment?”

You were about to continue provoking him until you saw the veins and flesh under the skin of his forearms begin to writhe and pulse. You took a step back, now suddenly nervous.

“H-hey, what’re you doing?”

“I don’t think you understand how much danger you’re in right now.”

Two growths began emerging from Gyutaro’s hands.

“W-what do you mean?!”

Another step back, but this time, Gyutaro mirrored you with a step forward.

“You think this a world where you can just walk around and trust anyone you meet? There are things out there. Things much scarier than me. And you think you can just throw yourself out there for them to take you from me?”

The writhing flesh in his hands now took the distinct shape of... sickles?

The weight of the situation now dawned on you. Your eyes slowly widened in raw fear as he took another firm step your way. Your breath faltered, your fight or flight response automatically causing you to freeze, despite wanting to run.

His vision was blurred with rage, he didn’t care that you were terrified of him in that moment. The only thing going through his mind was that he needed to instill the fear of demons in you that you needed. You needed to know that things like him are hiding a side of themselves that only doomed humans ever get to see.

He loves you too much to let you die.

You finally gained control of your legs (barely). Of course, the second you tried to stumble backwards, you slipped and fell straight on your ass. Still, you desperately scoot yourself back, whimpering and breathing heavily as he menacingly stepped closer to you.

“I-I’m sorry Gyu! P-please don’t hurt me!”

Your pleas didn’t get though to him. He was in fight mode. His only instinct being to protect the people he loves. It just so happened that his instincts were being a bit counterproductive.

You squeaked when your back hit the wall.

Your pupils dilated and tears fell from your eyes. You barely recognized the monster in front of you. It was like the gentle giant you fell in love with traded bodies with a pure evil.

Whatever point he wanted to get across to you, it worked.

Oh. It worked.

A razor sharp point prodded at you under your chin tauntingly. A sickening, wretched giggle came from his throat.

You felt your heart jump in your throat as you stared death in the eyes.

“Do you understand, now? Do you fear, death? I bet you do, love.”

Laughter followed his taunts as he pressed the blade deeper.

“BROTHER! WHAT’RE YOU DOING?!”

A feminine voice practically screeched from the doorway.

As if someone flipped a switch, Gyutaro’s tunnel vision cleared. The fog of anger and spite dissipated into painful clarity.

His sickening grin fell instantly, confusion flooding his mind as to why you were looking at him like a cornered animal.

Then, his stomach practically dropped to the floor when he realized what he was holding to your throat.

He jerked his sickle back and trembled, his eyes widening in horror at what he’d done to you.

If he had broken your skin… it would have certainly cut your life short. The poison that laces his blades is thousands of times more potent than the deadliest snakes of the world.

You brought a hand to your throat and sobbed, falling to your side.

He just stared at his sickle and shook, stepping away from you.

He didn’t even notice Daki darting past him to get to you.

“Why did you do that, brother?!”

His eyes snapped to his sister’s scathing glare.

“I-I-“

Another step back.

He almost killed you.

He’s pathetic.

He’s worthless.

He doesn’t deserve you.

You’re scared of him now.

You got what you wanted, Gyutaro. Now they’re scared of you.

Now they hate you.

Before Daki could yell at him again, he darted out of the room.

…

Even Daki couldn’t find Gyutaro for hours. She’s never seen her brother shaken up this bad and she had no idea what to do. When you told what happened, she sort of flipped at your stupidity, too. Although not as… murder-y. She understood why Gyutaro would be cross with you, but she was still surprised that he’s go so far as to traumatize you. She knew better than anyone that he’d never even dream of killing you.

She brought you some food and water before setting out into the night to find Gyutaro again, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Now that you’d calmed down, the hurt finally sunk in. Why would he do this? Did he really love you? If Daki hadn’t interrupted… would he have truly done it.

His maniacal laughter played in your mind like a broken record, causing you to cringe and shiver. The mouth that had uttered such sweet words to you… used to taunt you. To make you feel like prey.

A small creak in the doorway caused you to jump in your skin. You were still very on edge.

And the figure in it did not help to calm you.

Gyutaro’s face was shrouded in shadow, his mouth in a pursed frown.

The air grew thick with tension as he just stood there.

Then, he took a small step in, which had you involuntarily jump backwards in fear.

Your reaction to his presence made his chest feel tight. Guilt practically strangled him by the neck. He wanted you to be afraid of demons… not him.

But he is a demon.

A pathetic, filthy demon.

When he took another step into the room, something caught your eye that made your breath hitch.

In the light of the oil lamps in your room, a faint sheen of wetness trailed down Gyutaro’s cheek.

Was…

Was he crying?

You’d never seen him so much as sniffle, let alone cry.

You finally feel the guilt oozing from him, your stomach sinking.

Before you could speak, he collapsed to his knees and stared at you through misty eyes. You noticed a slight tremble in them.

“I- I’m so sorry-“

He’s pathetic.

He took a deep, shaky breath and let out the most sorrowful wail you’ve ever heard from a creature. He hunched over, bringing his hands to the sides of face and digging his nails into the skin.

“FORGIVE ME”

Pathetic. Worthless.

You just stared in complete awe at the heaving man in front of you. The display of vulnerability had your heart in a vice grip, whatever apprehension you held for Gyutaro fleeing your conscious like a gust of wind.

He was a broken man.

He was at your mercy.

He was groveling to you.

A pair of arms squeezing his head paused his crying. The warmth of your embrace came as an utter shock.

“I understand, Gyutaro. And… I do fear death.”

You echoed his words from earlier in a wobbly tone.

You fluttered your eyes shut and squeezed him to your chest.

“I’m scared of demons. That much is true.”

A single tear fell from your eye and you hiccuped.

“But…”

Memories of Gyutaro holding you in his arms during a firework display, memories him lovingly petting your hair as you snuggle into him, memories of him making love to you, all flowed through your head.

What you saw earlier wasn’t your Gyutaro.

“I could never stay afraid of you.”

Gyutaro’s breath hitched as your words pierced his heart.

He really didn’t deserve you.

Here you are, just forgiving him after he tried to kill you only hours before.

He sobbed and squeezed his eyes shut before wrapping his arms around your waist and nuzzling his head into your stomach.

He didn’t deserve you.

But somehow…

He still has you.

And he’s never letting go.

#gyutaro x reader #gyutaro shabana #fanfiction #gyutaro #one shot #angst #kny fanfic #12 kizuki #daki demon slayer #gyutaro demon slayer #reader insert #gender neutral reader

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draquus · 6 months

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It is a long time, even as Ents count it, before Fangorn falls. Even the youngest of them, like Quickbeam, have grown grey and sleepy. Treebeard rarely stirs from his hill, deep in the forest. The trees no longer sing to him, or else he can no longer hear them.

The dominion of men has come, and men come at last to Fangorn. If they remember the old stories, they do not heed them, but perhaps they simply do not know. They cut trees to build homes. They cut to clear land. They cut for firewood. Slowly, then quicker, the forest dwindles.

Treebeard and the other Ents do not rise in wrath this time. They are too old and tired, and these are no orcs. These men have wives and children. They do not waste the wood. They sing as they build, and are grateful. There are just too many of them, and their lives are too short. They are careless, not cruel.

One night, as the axes ring, Treebeard knows the time has come. He takes a slow step, the first in a century, then another. Every step leads westward. Every Ent and Huorn who remains follows him. In the morning, the woodsmen find the forest strangely changed, but they do not understand what has happened.

Slowly, wrapped in shadow, the last march of the Ents crosses the land. Few see them, fewer take them for anything but trees in the distance. At last, they reach the sea.

They have no boats. They lift their log-like bodies on the waves. They float and swim, seeking the straight way. There is no Elf left in Middle-Earth who could guide them, but sometimes they can see a star.

Their bodies grow heavy with salt water. First one, then another, sinks beneath the waves. At last, even Treebeard goes down, out of the starlight of the world.

He wakes up on an unfamiliar shore. The few branches he had left are gone, and his gnarled skin is now smooth and pale as driftwood, but he feels much lighter. He stretches his ancient limbs, and finds them less stiff than he remembered.

A song he had not realized was not part of the wind and waves suddenly breaks up in laughter. He turns, and sees another shape, tall and lithe as sea grass.

“It took you long enough to get here, but then I shouldn’t be surprised. An oak takes longer to bear fruit than a berry-bush.” She looked into his eyes, with the green, sparkling eyes of their people, “I would have waited twice as long.”

He could not remember how long it had been since he last saw those eyes. He could not remember what she had looked like then, though he felt sure she was as changed as he. He wasn’t even sure if he remembered her name.

He took her hand, and together they walked into the cool blue morning, with the sunrise streaming behind them.

#fanfiction #tolkien #ents

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hyxsn · 2 months

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fuck the person who

1) made the headcanon that lu guang and cheng xiaoshi were dating in the first timeline and

2) made the headcanon that lu guang is easily flustered by cheng xiaoshi's antics in the first timeline

because you ruined my life,

now i cant stop thinking about how innocent and tender their love was. i cant stop thinking about them meeting each other at the basketball court for the first time. i cant stop thinking about them anticipating the next time they meet at the court. their eyes meeting as they pass each other in the school hallways. their declarations of love and their first kiss.

i cant stop thinking about cheng xiaoshi giving lu guang gifts regularly, and lu guang giving gifts back. i cant stop thinking about the days they spent just coexisting in silence, their comfort space expanding to the two of them. i cant stop thinking about the endless conversations that fall out of cheng xiaoshi, and how lu guang would listen and remember every single word and detail from him. i cant stop thinking about every time they saw either one hurt, theyd drop everything to make sure the other is okay.

i cant stop thinking about cheng xiaoshi holding lu guang, and how lu guang would initially get flustered before slowly getting used to it. how lu guangs cold skin would be warmed by the skin of cheng xiaoshi's. how his body would feel unfamiliar without cheng xiaoshi touching him. how they look at each other as they share their first times together.

i cant stop thinking about cheng xiaoshi convincing lu guang to move in with him. i cant stop thinking about the dates, the shared meals, the boba teas, the sunsets and sunrises they watched together. i cant stop thinking about how happy they were, how clueless they were, how much lu guang had smiled the moment cheng xiaoshi entered his life.

i cant stop thinking about lu guangs reaction when it dawns on him that cheng xiaoshi, the first and final love of his life, was dying in his arms so suddenly, the promises cheng xiaoshi made to spend his future with him by his side shattering as he watches the life from cheng xiaoshi's eyes fade.

oh, to have love like that.

#yes im allergic to happiness #i got a test tmr #on a sunday btw #goodnight #shiguang #link click #shiguang dailiren #lu guang #cheng xiaoshi #shiguang daili ren #link click theory #maybe idk

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leviathanleva · 4 months

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Daisy

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader [DARK FIC]

Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.

But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...

........................

[MDNI, Mention of Suicide, Smoking, Non-consensual Choking, Alcohol Consumption]

[6.6k words] 🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

Chapter 9 "The Glass"

Good things never lasted.

You were going to get a bitter reminder of that little fact by the end of the day and looking back, you wished you’d just died the night before when you were happy.

Cooper had left before sunrise, rasped a few commands to stay put and that he wouldn’t be long, to talk to Mitzi if you needed anything and put it on his tab. You’d been too drowsy to consider the anomaly, him leaving you to your leisure, out of his sight for more than a few moments. Your answer had been barely coherent, muffled into the pillow as your body lay squished between the mattress and the ghoul. Sloppy palms had given your plushy hips a few squeezes, a brash peck or two to your shoulder and he was gone.

You awoke properly a few hours later, late into the morning. The bleary memories flooded back, but the warm sunlight and the clinking and buzz of life stirring from the main floor kept the dread from sinking too deep.

He’d be back, you weren’t abandoned, the leathery bandolier discarded on the couch said as much, it eased your uncertainty the moment you’d spotted it behind a curtain of messy hair. And until then, Mitzi would be your consolation. Harmless naivety had you imagining serving customers and clearing up tables while indulging in idle chatter together, counting caps and scribbling orders while immersed in a lighthearted repartee.

After a prolonged yawn and a thorough stretch that earned a few satisfying pops from your back, you slid from beneath the heavy, woolen comforter. Your boots are neatly set on the floor beside the foot of the bed, tights stuffed inside one of them while your socks occupy the other; you fiddle with them, pull them on, and tie them securely.

A peculiar, but not unfamiliar symphony catches your attention and you peek out the window curiously. The huddled, snoozing brahmin from last night are now serenely moping around the front yard, grazing at the scarce weeds that sprout around the vegetable garden or sunbathing on the powdery ground. There’s a person tending the plants, clad in a large straw hat and baggy clothes, ankles deep in mud and with an empty bucket on their hip along with a pair of rusty sheers.

Fingers comb through your hair and pat it down to a barely presentable state before you rub the sleep out of your eyes and roll the stiffness out of your shoulders. Standing, you shake the numbness off and tap the tip of your shoes into the floor to set them in place.

The smell of coffee lingers, sharp and bitter, it leads you through the mouldering corridor and down the creaky stairs, into the bar. The music still plays and the shadowy figures are now nothing more than brooding travelers nurturing either a hangover or sleeplessness. Daytime is less kind to the appearance of the guesthouse, specs of dust can be spotted in the brash sunrays flooding through the windows, the time-touched signs on every bit of furniture are obvious now. The omnicity and furtiveness have vanished, all is mundane and regular; the cigarette smog yet persists, rivaled only by the stench of old grease being reheated to prepare the breakfast items from the menu.

“Cooper’s runt.”

Your head snaps to the bar and there stands a beefy woman who would easily beat most if not all her clientele in arm wrestling. A stick-and-poke tattoo of a cupid is proudly displayed on her shoulder, a mane of curly black hair is tied back into a low ponytail, beady eyes are eating you up like a snack and you instinctively straighten out some of the less defined creases in your dress.

“Uh…Good morning?” you bear an uneasy smile, hoping that her comment was one of bluntness and not hostility.

The gold in her mouth glints as she beckons you closer with a canine grin.

“Indeed a good mornin’. Not a single raider got cooked on the fence yesterday and m’ dogs didn’t stir all night!” leaving the pile of caps for later, she rests an elbow on the counter and extends a hand to you. “I’m guessing Mitzie was too hyper to give me a proper introduction. Happens sometimes when unfamiliar faces stop by, don’t mind ‘er.” you shake her hand with hesitancy and pull away too hastily for someone who’s trying to mask their intimidation. She scoffs at your skittish nature. “M’ name’s Monique, owner of this fine establishment.”

As if on cue with you sitting on one of the bar stools, a strikingly large hound pokes its head from behind the mass of stained coffee cups yet to be cleared for washing and greets you with a bellowing bark. You start with a choked cry and recoil as the furless beast strains forward with a twitching snout, eager to give you a good sniff.

“Jesus Christ!”

“Bucky, down!” Monique is quick to scold the dog and its once perked ears lower, the energetic whining, however, doesn’t waver. “What I tell you ‘bout scaring customers? You ain’t a pup no more.”

She pushes down on his massive head until he’s out of sight, but the visually grotesque mutt is far from discouraged. Carrying the heart of a Labrador, he’s set to complete his innocent mission of establishing a new friendship and add it to his vast collection.

You hear the patter of clawed paws and soon he reappears, having circled the counter and now eagerly sat beside your chair, beaming up at you while his curious nose pokes at the side of your thigh. Your first instinct is to stiffen, Bucky isn’t the only mongrel you’ve seen, but the rest had all been rabid and out for blood, driven mad by both homelessness and radiation.

“He don’t bite.”

You vaguely register his owner’s quip, attention glued to the shiny slobber being happily spread over your tights.

There are dogs like Cujo and dogs like Lassie and your caution was founded, but it was doing Bucky a disservice. Poor bud was pleading for a pat and a good belly rub. Gathering enough courage to still the shakiness of your fingers, you plant them gently over the pooch’s wrinkled forehead and let them rest there to see his reaction. He’s delighted, the stump of a tail on his butt almost vibrating when you reach to scratch behind his chewed-up ear.

“Good pup.” you mirror his doggy grin, lovingly assaulting him with both hands now and he’s happily melting against your leg, snout stuffed into your dress and dampening it with open mouthed, hot huffs. “He’s lovely.”

“Of course!” Monique shrugs with a prideful snort. “I trained ‘em.” she’s back to counting yesterday’s profit while comparing separate piles to the list of orders.

Once Bucky has melted into a satisfied puddle on the floor you’re left to awkwardly eye the place while mulling over what to say next or if you should at all. Without Cooper standing between you and the world, it became difficult to find your courage and be your own entity. You’d never been apart, you’d grown co-dependent and not only on his marvelous gunslinging but on his presence as a whole. Starting from him being your only means of familiarity and safety, to you clinging to him now as your single source of comfort. You relied on him for everything. If that bit of info had been obscured before, pushed to the back of your mind due to bigger problems needing solving, now it was blatantly obvious.

The bartender was no danger, she was great albeit a little rough around the edges, and her pet being this friendly spoke more than words ever could. Still, a mental barrier prevented your voice from showing. You were mute and bolted to the stool until an event requiring a change happened.

“So you here to chat or can I getcha anything?”

Monique, the absolute angel of a woman, had finished up her daily counting of caps and was expectantly staring you down. You doubted she was aware of her kind act, but were grateful regardless because if she hadn’t spoken up you never would have, not for a while at least.

“Is there coffee?” you perk up at the offer, display the sweetest smile you can make up, and drown the dreary train of thought that had been on its way to ruin your day.

“Mitzie! Cup o’ coffee for Doe Eyes!” she leans back to holler at the kitchen door, then turns to you. “Ten caps.”

You had a nickname already, how quaint.

“Actually, can you put it on C –”

“– I’ll pay.” your second favorite ghoul steps out of the kitchen with a tray in hand and you were expecting her to be just as cheery as the previous night if not more, but she’s anything but. “You can make it up to me with a good chat, yeah?”

She’s looking at you with incomprehensible unease which sparks worry in your gut. There’s a weight to her movements, something fowl plaguing her that can’t be blamed on just lack of sleep, but by her droopy eyes, you can tell that’s also a factor.

“…Sure?” is all you manage before she sits beside you and pushes the steaming mug towards you.

“Ma, I’m sorry. Can you please serve breakfast for me? I’ll take over after this, just…” she doesn’t finish, the rest of the words between her and Monique are exchanged non-verbally and the stout woman flares up.

You expect her to say something by the way her jaw tightens and her beady eyes narrow, she doesn’t. Instead, she spares you a glance that lingers too long for it to be anything but disheartening and leaves. You follow her until she’s out of sight, made anxious by their queer exchange and vaguely acknowledging the unbearably scalding cup of coffee in your hands.

“Right…Before I say anything I want you to at least consider my words, okay?” there’s an urgency to her voice, she’s drumming her fingers over the counter, and her baby blues turned ghostly grey are glued to you to make sure your attention is solely centered on her. “This isn’t just me spouting shit to scare you off or stir trouble.”

It’s unnerving, Mitzie’s shift of character is turning your friendliness into apprehensiveness. You’d be empathetic to her perturbed state, but all emotion is overwhelmed by the incessant foreboding forming a lump in your throat.

“What?” you blurt while nervously tracing the edge of the cup. Shifting more comfortably into your stool, you lower until you’re nearly lying on the bar with ears strained and a whirring mind. “Mitzie, what’s going – ”

“ – Promise me.”

There is nothing subtle about the way you’re etching closer to her, anyone with one good eye would spot the direness in your conversation. What you wished for was to know why there were such macabre undertones to her speech. A night had passed since you’d last seen each other. What could have possibly happened for her to look as though she was about to attend a funeral?

With the way she’s positioned, body directly facing you and her head slightly rolled to the side, she can easily switch from watching you to checking the entrance of the guesthouse. She does just that, gaze darting back and forth and waiting for something, anticipating. It’s nerve-wracking, makes your stomach coil.

What the hell is going on?

“I…Sure, okay. I promise.” you answer, obliging her in the hopes that it eases some of her worries. “What’s going on?”

She nudges you to drink before your coffee gets cold, then combats your question with her own.

“How long have you known Cooper?”

“Couple months…Why?” your best efforts to keep an even, soft tone fail and your reply comes out curt and snappy.

“What do you know about him?” she gives you no room to breathe, fires another inquiry even with your apparent skepticism towards the conversation.

The music and simmering liveliness are drowned out by the steadily increasing beat of your heart. Your surroundings fade, blocked from your peripherals until it’s only you, Mitzie and Bucky as he soundly snoozes in your feet. You envy him and his ignorance.

Her question does more damage than intended.

Truthfully, you know nothing of your short-tempered companion, you wouldn’t even know his name if it hadn’t been for the slip-up in Tillburry. You’d based his adamance of keeping you uninformed on his lack of trust, but by the incredulous way Mitzie had asked, you began doubting that excuse. You’d traversed enough land and shared countless nights huddled together, sharing a meal, sharing everything, watching each other’s backs. Surely by now, you’d earned the right to know at least his age, yet he’d revealed nothing to you. You light up the conniving musing with the scalding heat of your drink and let simmer away as you respond.

“I mean…Not much, but –”

“– Fucking typical…” she snarls, doesn’t let you finish, already knowing the answer, her gaunt features turn malignant, and the grimace she bears is bone-chilling. Mitzie checks the horizon beyond the freshly wiped windows, shifts uncomfortably, as if ladened by her uniform, and continues with urgency. “Listen to me, I know his words probably outweigh mine, I mean, we’re not really friends you and I. And you don’t have to believe me…but for your own sake I hope you do.”

She’s gesturing down with her hand, palms spread and visible to soothe your hastily dissipating patience. Your prickliness doesn’t wane and the more she tries to tame it while spouting gibberish the worse it gets. You cross both legs and arms, barricading your tumultuous heart from the trepidatious babbling and letting go of the politeness keeping the bubbling vulgar words out of your vocabulary.

To hell with manners and formalities if you were going to be interrogated without being given a reason why.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“He’s not a good man.” she whispers while cupping her mouth and it’s low, but with enough certainty for you to hear perfectly. “Cooper. He’s bad…real fucking bad.”

“You aren’t telling me anything new.” you shake your head with a series of blinks, unmoved. Her deciding to sit you down and work you up for a serious conversation to tell you this while Cooper is away instead of simplifying it to a passing comment while she’s working is more of a surprise than the information itself.

Was this fiasco truly about the bounty hunter’s moral compass? Really?

“You don’t get it…” she clasps a hand over her forehead with a pained expression and a groan, then lets it slide down to rub her eyes. “He doesn’t care about anybody. He sure as fuck doesn’t care about you. You just can’t see it yet.”

“That’s a bit presumptuous, isn’t it?” you deflect with a half-frown. “I mean, sure. He’s not great, but he’s been patient with me, he’s a good friend. He’s kept me alive so far when he could have left me behind plenty of times.”

“Yeah? Good friend?” there’s mockery hanging off every word, then Mitzie pauses as if debating whether she should say more. For a moment she’s mournful, regretful that she’s burdened with ripping apart the delusion you’ve lived in thus far. “So did he tell you he has a family?”

The world stops, you falter.

“What?”

To behold a human break from the utterance of so few words is a sad imagery.

“Told me one night when he was high off his ass.” her words cut deep, slice through your cool demeanor until you’re left bare before the raw turmoil that beats you down until you’re physically doubling over. She grips your hand as a reminder that she’s still there and not hurting you out of spite. “A daughter and a wife. He’s looking for them, Honeybee. He isn’t making friends with you, he’s using you.”

You look at her hand over yours. It reminds you of his.

“That’s not…”

Unlike her who is high on alert and jumping at every creak or shuffle, you’re far away. Ripped out of your body as her truths knock on your skull and try to sink it, you’re scrambling to regain feeling in your legs, fighting to remember how to move your lips to form a coherent sentence. Heat rises from the bowels of your stomach to the peak of your neck, nips at your ears until you’re conscious of their existence, and submerged in an almost deafening screeching.

“His daughter’s name is Janey. Ask em yourself if you don’t believe me.”

Searing pinches assault your scalp, you scratch them away, but more appear and you’re left pulling at fistfuls of hair to ease some of the pulsing tension rendering your vision doubled. You have to grip the counter before you tumble off the chair, any sign of balance or proper motor function is gone, overshadowed by that screaming that’s tormenting your hearing and making your teeth ache.

A daughter…a wife…

You’d had your tongue ravaging the mouth of someone’s husband. What the actual fuck. You would have let him take you if he’d so wished.

Cooper falls in your eyes then, his pedestal – desecrated, his value – diminished. You hoped the love would die, that your affection would flee just as fast as the shame had settled. But it doesn’t, he’d made damn sure you’d stay a loyal bitch, had worked your cogs from the start until you were enamored.

You felt disgusting, wanted to crawl out of your skin.

“Mitzie…” sullen, destroyed, humiliated, still you defend him, still you fight against the stinging reality that burrows into your flesh and writhes until you’re close to hurling. Still, you try to keep the halo above his head from completely cracking while gathering the pieces of your scattered mind, alone, of course, because you know he’d never do what you do for him. “That’s none of my business, neither yours.”

Preserving his reputation while yours crumbles away, pathetic. Have you no self-respect? No. Not when it comes to him.

“Yes it is!” she exclaims, spills too much too brashly in her frustration. “I saw you through the keyhole…last night.”

Her vigor fades at the repulsion plastered on your face. You rip away from her, refusing all contact except that of your hardened eyes burning into hers for answers.

“You were spying on us?”

The bridge she’d built between you was burnt, the gates to your impressionable mind shut before her. The trust she’d earned was stomped and left to rot. That single jumble of a confession thrown in the hopes of convincing you further tore apart any ounce of tolerance you had left.

With a slack jaw, she watches your lids close over guttural anguish and your mouth twitch into a thin line as you hold back the bitter betrayal from surfacing.

“Enough…”

Your voice is unrecognizable.

Fuck her. Fuck him! Fuck everything…

You should have never stopped at this damnable place.

“Wait…Wait, please, wait, wait, wait.” she clings to your arm before you’ve walked too far, baby blues dashing around random spots in search of a proper expression. “I was scared for you.” she confesses over hoarseness due to either a dry throat or uncontrollable emotions. She’s shaking you, desperate to make you understand and giving no fucks about how stupid the pair of you look or how much attention she draws. “You can’t trust him, please listen to me! He’s leading you to slaughter!”

“I don’t trust rats.”

Glistening with stifled tears at the absolute hatred in your snarl, Mitzie loosens her hold and her head dips. Too kind to push her away and leave, too hurt to accept her accusations as the truth, you’re stuck in a limbo of numbness and hollow pain. You’d urge her to cry if she’s so riled up, would have lent a shoulder and cried with her. But there is only so much a person can take.

Blow after blow, you’re left too stunted to express anything despite everything inside you twisting.

“There’s…a place.” she murmurs while tugging you to the stairs where shadows reign to hide both of you from curious onlookers and save you the trouble. “It’s half a day away from here. Super Duper Mart. It’s…It’s an organ harvesting business.”

“I’m not…Get to the fucking point.” you command, but your tone wavers and your mouth shuts before an unsolicited sob escapes.

“Please, let me go…Please…I can’t anymore…”

“Ghouls need a certain substance to stay sane. All of us do. Super Duper Mart sells it. Usually, we sell a kidney to get a few vials, it grows back in a day or two. Or a ton of caps, but not a lot of people can afford that.” she swallows something vile, and rearranges her next words in a way that doesn’t outright spit at everything you’ve known to be your existence so far, your false reality. “Or, we sell someone else’s organs.”

You shudder, lean against the railing before your knees give out, and suck in a shaky breath as the ice licks your spine raw.

“Please don’t…”

“Let me live a lie. Let me die happy.”

“He only stops here when he’s going there.”

“Mitzie.” your warning falls on deaf ears.

“You’re a product, not a person.” she chokes you with harsh facts, steers the reins of your sanity towards a meltdown and it doesn’t take long for your mouth to drip with blood from biting open wounds into your bottom lip. “Not to him.” she catches you when you wobble, blows at your face because you’ve turned ghostly pale. “You need to get the hell out of whatever shit he’s gotten you into. Leave before it’s too late.”

“Where the hell am I supposed to go? I don’t know shit about surviving alone…I depend on him for everything.” you croak and taste bile on your tongue.

“You could stay here…” she mumbles, salving over the gashes she caused. “Could always use another pair of hands, if you’re willing to pay for your supper in labor.” she pats your head, brushes the hair to expose dead eyes staring right through her, but that doesn’t stop her from playing hero. “I talked with ma already, and Cooper isn’t stupid, he wouldn’t pull a gun here. Just tell him you don’t wanna travel with him anymore when he’s back. Or I can do it, I don’t mind.” she’s so kind, a sweet deformed woman, a sisterly guide trying to save you from the jaws of the reaper. “You have a choice. You have a chance. Please…”

But you don’t want her. You want him.

You wave a deathly calm hand and draw an end to her verbal molestation. Whisked away by the last burst of energy available, your back greets her as you ascend the stairs, leave her and everything she’s thrown at you behind. Trapped into the premises of your head, you forget speech and hearing as she meagerly calls to you for an answer.

Uncaring for your mental limitations as she is, Mitzie doesn’t pursue. Maybe it’s best you contemplate your next actions in solitude.

Tear-stained vision leads you to the safety of your room before you crumble to the floor, looming over the toilet as you lurch spit and air. You wish to be rid of this entire experience, throw up everything you’ve heard and said.

Nothing comes out.

The ringing subsides along with all worldly sensations just a moment later as you lie limp inside the bathroom with eyes rolled into the back of your head. Darkness has consumed both thought and feeling, lulling you into still nothingness. Steady breaths cast a sheet of vapor over the cool tiles.

Woe is you, weak, pathetic thing, dreaming of adventure and independence, freedom and love. Here is your independence now, your freedom, your love, your pleas were answered. Take them. You’ve wanted them for so long… Take them now.

It’s the scratching that pulls you out of unconsciousness. Fingers twitch to life first, then your senses return albeit groggy and dull. You’ve no interest in company, but the single needy whine amidst the determined scraping makes you overturn that decision.

With no recollection of when you’d fainted or for how long, you’re whimpering and nurturing a heavy migraine.

Bucky, your savior, lets himself in happily when you manage to crawl to the door and open it. The mere sight of him, so glad to see you again and wagging that stump of a tail, draws the last straw of your composure. You claw at him until he’s sitting between your legs, resting a slobbering snout against your shoulder as you weep into his thick neck, possessed by ugly sobs that shake your entire being.

He snaps his jaws a few times, a gentle brute, as you hug him close and suffocate in despair and loathing until you’re spent. He stays with you when you stand on wonky feet and pop a Rad-X before taking a shower that lasts long enough to count for two. Ever loyal and eager, you bathe him as well while he tries to bite the water current.

A clean boy, the goodest of boys, the crutch to your broken self. He licks the droplets off your calves as you let your dress dry you off and don’t bother to towel your hair.

Nobody told you drinking on an empty stomach is a death sentence, but you’re desperate to quiet down your wounded soul and racing imagination so the outcome would have been the same. The bourbon is sweet against your throat, doesn’t burn one but this time and Bucky is a warm, soft pillow to your floating head once it becomes too heavy for your shoulders to bear. Tucked into the couch and comforted by nasal puffs as your companion drifts in and out of sleep, you’re too exhausted to keep crying but the dry, infrequent sobs persist.

An eternity passes before the dog’s ears perk up and you’re woefully unprepared for the discussion that is to come.

The light from the corridor is blinding. The ghoul is standing at the door, a dark silhouette whose shadow stretches far into the room and almost reaches you. A hand comes up to shield your eyes as you groan.

“Well, well, well.” he sneers and switches the lamp on for you to see the demeaning smirk. His expression as a whole is not kind, Bucky, the wonderful boy, is currently in his spot and Cooper isn’t one for sharing. “See you’ve replaced me already.” he gestures towards the exit, holding the door open, and spits a harsh command. “Get!”

You don’t want to be left alone with this man, preferring to leave along with the dog and it shows by the anxiety burdening your features. The alcohol lingers still, makes your limbs feel like stone as you sit up and rub at your reddened, puffy lids.

Your pulse is already picking up speed when he slumps in the chair opposite to you and lights a cigarette before tilting his head back. The question is readied on the tip of your tongue and you’re irritated because it’s so damnably difficult to voice it. You press an attentive hand to your neck to encourage something to come out while the other sinks into your thigh until the flesh changes color.

“Are you gonna sell me, Mister?” you shoot in between plans on how to approach the matter and let loose a curt breath, relieved that it’s out of your system.

The casual swaying of his knee stops.

He straightens up, abandoning his nonchalant posture to give you a good once-over with the smoke secured between his lips.

You’re an unmistakably macabre sight even under the weak glare of the dying lightbulb. Bloodshot orbs nestled into a saggy face, sucked-in lips framing a ghost of a frown, he couldn’t see how contorted your body was from behind the table, but by the hung shoulders and lowered neck it’s obvious the rest of you isn’t pretty.

There’s a great amount of bourbon missing when he decides to pour himself a glass midway through his examination.

But all those factors can’t compete with the title you’d used to address him.

Mister.

You hadn’t used that since you’d learned his name and it was the first red flag he’d picked up, a warning that something was terribly amiss, that something vital had occurred while he’d been gone and now it’s his turn to have a taste of it.

“I’ve entertained the thought.” he scoffs through a meager smirk. You give him a look that washes away all hues of jokingness, the tiny hint of concern he displays would have been comforting, but you’ve been disturbed to where his crumbs of affection are useless. His hat is tipped to one side, guarding his shifting expression as he asks: “Was goin’ on, Darlin’?”

You want to scream. Yell all that you’ve been told and beg him to assure you none of it is true because, for God’s sake, he’d kissed you the night before and now you know he has a family waiting for him somewhere. You want Mitzie to be the villain who’s causing mischief for the sake of it because he’s your hero and he’s supposed to save the day. Deep down, you know your wishes will go unanswered and maybe that’s why you don’t completely break down before him.

He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve anything.

“Are you going to sell me?” you repeat with more force and less uncertainty, fueling yourself with enough malice to keep you from backing out of the confrontation. You won’t falter, you refuse.

“Who you been talkin’ to?”

He’s evasive and it’s tugging at your nerves. Despite your desperation for answers, you decide to at least respond properly, you’re weakhearted unlike him, you’re prone to show sympathy.

“Mitzie.” a hand comes up to rub away the goosebumps on your upper arm and your gaze steers away from his. You’re not keen on putting Mitzie in the spotlight, but you’d rather be truthful, maybe it will push him towards reciprocating. Guilt sprouts in your chest before you curtly remind yourself that you’re not the bad guy here. “She told me a few things…”

His apprehensive visage turns vicious, lanky limbs become taut, and his clothes squeak in strain as he settles into a less open posture. If he’d had any intent on taking down walls to let you in, it had died by the utterance of that name. His lips are pulled back in a nasty snarl.

“Should’a stuffed a bullet down ‘er throat long time ago.”

It’s an insult to you and your intelligence, he’s painted you as gullible while dismissing Mitzie’s credibility without even giving a reason. He doesn’t need to defend his stance, either you believe him or you don’t and you have for the longest time, but when so much information has been thrown at your face regarding him and he can’t even refute the claims, you’re left second-guessing.

“You’d rather kill her than answer my question?” you’re revolted at his savage revelation and it shows in the twisted way your tone lowers. But you're empathetic even to the undeserving and watching him lash out like a cornered animal causes you to soften. “You know I’d trust your word over anyone else’s.” your attempt at reaching past the acidic, gruff exterior he’s hidden behind fails, he’s not interested in being vulnerable or deepening your bond, he’d rather stay a feral simpleton. Another insult, another stab at what you’d thought was a connection in the making. You swallow through a tight gullet, pained beyond belief. “You’re despicable.”

“Watch yer mouth, Missy.” he spits back.

He dares to scold you when he’s in the center of the dilemma. He demands respect when he’s the cause of the anguish poisoning your once hallowed spirit. He’s the problem and he has the audacity to treat you like a misbehaving child.

Angry tears weigh on your lashes, you grit your teeth to strangle a sob that threatens to rob you of all the authority and composure you’ve built.

“You never answered my question.”

The lamp flickers in an ominous prediction of his next words.

“And what if I do?” detached, cold; not a human, but a creature made of melted skin and unfathomable disregard for other beings speaks to you. A spiteful, ugly man who you’d grown to cherish so passionately is throwing bile at you because he’s not the misunderstood morally grey Superman you’d hoped for, he’s just a pile of shit and the best you could do is walk away. He’s terrible and he lets you know by continuing to belittle you and all the love you’d shown him. “Gonna snap outta your teenage dotin’ ‘nd see me the way I am?” with a cruel smile, he shrugs. “Told you I’m rotten, Sweetheart. Didn’t listen, did ya?”

You don’t regret what slips off your tongue next.

He deserves all the despair you’ve felt, the betrayal. You’ve long since drowned in hopelessness, submerged in scenarios of how you’ll go on without him as chances were – he’d probably leave after all this, his persona was unmasked, he had no reason to stick around anymore. He should at least be ashamed of his actions, but to do that one needs to have a conscience and so far he’s not shown signs of any.

You don’t mean to stoop to his level, but his ridicule is just that contagious.

“Janey?” a palpable pause, so thick with dread. You don’t leave it there; you plunge the knife deeper. “Is that really your daughter’s name?”

He’s on you in an instant.

Having lunged out of his chair, he’s squeezing your throat so ferociously you choke. He’s ready to kill and by the way his pupils shrink, he just might.

Demonic above you, forcing you down onto the sofa, he looks like he’ll rip you apart.

“Never say that name again. Ever!”

He’s a nightmare. His devastating grimace will forever stay burned into your memory. But for once you’re ready to fight back and you do so with vigorous hatred.

“Don’t touch me you fucking freak!”

You manage to slide your knees between your bodies and kick him with all your might. For the first time, your actions have an effect, he stumbles back, nearly knocks the table over. You’d thrown him off with such force it surprises both of you. Delicate things can also be fierce. But were you delicate? Not anymore, not like before. The wasteland had taken its toll on you, he had as well. Stripping you of all your beauty, now you were just like the rest of them – cruel, gross, burdened, haunted.

“Don’t ever touch me you manipulative, disgusting, vile – ” you jut a shaky finger at him, longing to berate him all night, but your voice cracks and you shut your mouth as if he hadn’t already seen how shattered you are.

You suck in a tattered breath and stand. The barrel of his pistol points at you as you lean closer, he cocks it without hesitation, but you don’t flinch, instead grabbing for the matches and box of cigarettes he’d left next to his now spilled drink. Maneuvering sluggishly, you sit on the windowsill, facing away as he audibly plops back in the chair and slams his glass into the table before pouring another batch of bourbon. Like drowning in alcohol could fix all this shit…

Typical for him, you’re not surprised.

Never in your life have you lit a match, but you’d rather waste his entire box than ask him for help. You pinch a smoke between your lips, your first and hopefully last, strike the match and it flares to life.

Bitter and chalky, leaves your tongue dry and your head light, a physical manifestation of death, you like the taste and the suffocating fumes that circle your nose despite the open window. You’re supposed to cough and recoil, throw it away because it’s suicide wrapped in paper, instead, you look back and toss the two little boxes to their owner, hoping to hit him.

The night is cold, the chill is pleasant against your skin, it sweeps away a part of the haze you’d been engrossed in during the day.

“You never told me you had a family.” it’s more of a shared thought than a statement; you stare up at the sky, dangling one bare foot into the air until the steady breeze numbs your toes. “Never told me you were looking for them.” your battle zest dissipates as you continue mumbling out the decrepit sorrowful melody of your heart. “Never told me fucking anything…”

“My family ain’t none o’ your concern.” comes a hiss from behind you to deter your scornful moping. You scoff at that, shake your head at your stupid, unwavering faith in him rather than his reply.

You’re still trying to find a spec of goodness after all this, it’s laughable.

“I thought we were friends…or…or partners.” you toss the cigarette bud when the flame scalds your fingers, let the smoke exit your lungs through a heave. “You’re supposed to share with me!” hands obscure your face from the world as you suffer through a few sobs and swallow mouthfuls of tears. “I care for you so much…I’d do anything for you. But you’re just – ”

He’s cruel though, whether screaming and kicking or on your knees crying, it makes no difference to him. He doesn’t care. Did he ever?

“We ain’t no friends.” he states it as the fact it is. “We ain’t nothin’.”

“You’re right…” you nod, giggle even as you wipe your cheeks dry. “Friends don’t sell each other for organ harvesting.”

You never heard the new batch of vials clinking in his coat pocket, didn’t see the freshly stitched scar in the middle of his back, where his kidney used to be. How were you supposed to know when he never told you anything?

So it comes as a surprise when he throws the spare glass and it shatters next to your head and makes you wince. His sudden burst of anger is a mystery and it’s his own fault.

For once he’d been good, for once he’d put someone else before himself and this is what he got.

“You know what’s really pathetic?” you let go of a bitter laugh, wet and putrid, but it’s shortlived, you return to curling up and mumbling because he doesn’t deserve to know how precious he is to you, but you want to let it all out and be done with this. “The only reason why I’d be sad if you sold me is that I’d be away from you.”

“Don’t fuckin’ say that…”

A blip of something other than rage or mock, but he’s too late to the party. You’ve already dedicated to demolishing all that he’s poisoned with his touch, all his self-control and stoicism.

“I’d rather die by your hand than be taken away.” you glimpse down at the shards scattered next to your thigh to find your reflection in much the same state - broken. “I’m a coward, I guess. I never wanted this life…but I’m too scared to end it myself.”

Crack

The glass shatters in his hand, the only reminder left of the paradise from the night before, he’d broken both of them, first yours, then his. The pieces spread, deftly falling to the floor as the bourbon drips from the edge of the table.

“Good night, Mister.”

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

Chapter 10 >>>

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@fallout-girl219 @one-of-thewalkingdead @robin-the-enby @savanahc @whatthefuckkrichard

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#cooper howard #the ghoul fallout #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #fallout tv series #the ghoul fanfic #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #x reader #fallout the ghoul #cooper howard fanfiction #cooper howard fic

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babsisbakery · 6 months

Text

Should have listened

Leila Ouahabi x fem!reader

For @sleekswosobession, my mate, happy birthday soldier

A day off for your professional athlete girlfriend. You'd expected her to lay in bed with you and get some extra cuddles from you. Usually she's up far too early for your liking, which results in less physical contact in the morning. She's a morning person, you not exactly. You could wake up and start your day at an ungodly hour but do you want to? Mmmm not really. There’s just something about laying in your fresh sheets at sunrise looking through your massive window. Enjoying the calmness, listening to birds chatter and soft music playing in the background, yeah Leila loves her Spanish music while she's in the shower. Honestly you would join her but that requires getting out of bed. It's too peaceful to destroy the silent moment to yourself. Besides, she showers twice a day, such a maniac. At least she moisturises her skin after every shower. Meaning: her skin is suuuper soft and you can't get enough of it. You don't have to join her in every shower, only every second. But let's not get into these hot and steamy sessions.

Your extraordinary girlfriend had a plan for the day. Her mind was made up days ago. At first you tried to persuade her to be lazy with you but she's an athlete. There's almost nothing more thrilling than exercising for her. She loves it and it shows. Her abs: WOW. AND her biceps, chefs kiss.

Her idea warmed up to you as the days proceeded, you were looking forward to it. She was mindful and chose an intermediate path. Not too exhausting but it's not a walk in the park either. You were both going hiking, yay. To be fair the route looked manageable and you were certain you'd smash this. Leila repeatedly told you, you'd love it. She wouldn't budge from this hike, whatever you said. But you were stubborn thus you kept your joy about the hike a bit more to yourself. She couldn't be right every single time, someone had to tame her ego. Still a smirk was evident on her face as you prepared snacks for your trip. The defender knew you like the back of her hand, of course she sensed your facade. Repeated pokes to your side made you lose your firm demeanour, resulting in a fit of giggles. Afterwards your smile couldn't be wiped off your face. “ You're cute like this mi amor” and without further ado she booped your nose. Your cheeks flushed, not only from her untrue words but the small affectionate gesture. “Am not.” you whispered. It was loud enough for your girlfriend to hear “Si amor you are, the red on your cheeks suits you perfectly. Makes you look, how do you say it again, red as a tomato hehe.” To say the least, you got redder.

The route was The Trinnacle loop from Yeoman Hey Reservoir, a good two hour hike but you'd stop somewhere to “picnic”. You would have killed her if she chose the six hour route, your knee wasn't fully recovered yet. She knew your hesitance all too well, she opted for the shorter one instead. As an athlete she understood your concern, you were also invested in sports but you didn't want to go pro. Not that your body allowed you anygays, the monthly cramps and many injuries made you rethink your future.

As your shared apartment was closer to the training grounds than the route. IT'S ON THE OTHER SIDE OF MANCHESTER. For fucks sake, the ride to the parking would be loooong, traffic was hell. At least you're always prepared. An extra playlist was about to be played in the car. What is a good car ride without music?? The defender didn't bat an eye at the unfamiliar songs. Just vibed with you to them. At red lights she made use of spare seconds to plant a kiss on your face. Sometimes it was arduous as you were pulling out your best dance moves but she somehow managed.

Both of you arrived after a fun ride. Grabbing the two backpacks, filled with food and drinks, you began your short journey. Coming across beautiful flowers. Subsequently stopping to take pictures of your girlfriend, she looked awe-inspiring in the sunlight. The flowers in the background just accentuated her natural beauty magnificently. You were wonderstruck. Falling head over heads for her all over again. You didn't know it was possible but she never ceases to amaze you. Since you were preoccupied zooming into the photos, you weren't aware of the pictures Leila was making of you. She found your stance adorable. Too focused on your phone, with a look on your face she consistently wanted to spot. It was the most endearing thing she has ever seen. She could have melted right there and then. You still got shy around her, something she took pride in. But this meant not seeing this face regularly as you were hiding behind your blanket, cushions, etc you name it. Therefore, this will be her new lock screen or background when you both get home.

In the meantime she chose to give you a little scare. As you were still lost in your own world, scrolling through every picture, Leila sneakily positioned herself behind you. She locked her arms around your waist. This sudden move startled the hell out of you, which Leila found hilarious. The mini heart attack you had subsided as fast as it appeared. Her action earned her a smack, not a delightful one.

“Leila! You'll be the death of me, I swear.'' This spurred her laughing fit further on. Her laugh is as contagious as Corona when no vaccine was found. Hence both of you were a laughing mess. As you both calmed down your girlfriend said “You should have seen your face, priceless.” The faces you make were truly gold, meme material so you knew it was accurate. You shook your head, smiling knowingly.

The defender grabbed your hand, interlocking them. Never being able to be far apart from you for an extended period of time. You were each other's drugs. A life elixir. Your job was flexible, you could do home office whenever you wished. Thus being able to travel to Leila’s camps. Both the national as well as her club teammates viewed you as one of their own. Leila and you came as a package deal and they knew it.

During the hike you both rambled about anything and everything. Finally reaching several colossal rocks you decided to eat your brunch here. You were starving. (I didn't know that I was starving till i tasted you) During the setup both of you were putting effort in, Leila chimed in “Bebe, what do you think, should i climb these rocks?” This raised one of your eyebrows. “Love you could hurt yourself, besides why do you want to climb one of these?” “Well for fun. I won't hurt myself, I’m Leila Ouahabi this is easy peasy.” she answered. “I won't stop you, be warned if you hurt yourself, remember I told you so. Our future kids need to have a second mother.” With a large grin she closed the distance to one rock “Aw how cute, you worry about me. And our kids do need a second mother, a fun one.” Those words made you roll your eyes.

Your girlfriend, the adventurer as usual, decided, against your advice, to climb up one of those gigantic rocks. While positioning her arms and legs in the right spots, she said “Carino what could possibly happen, me falling off this thing? Pfff. I'm way too talented for that.” You didn't react to her words. When she was up there, she naturally wanted to show off. Such a big ego. “Look I can stand on one leg and noooothing happens.” she says in her attractive Spanish accent, which melts your brain every time words leave her mouth. You simply continued to munch on your delicious sandwich. Acting unphased by this spectacle but you had to admit it was pretty impressive and hot.“Great, love. I see you can do anything.”, you say sarcastically. To prove her point even further she takes her phone out of the pocket. “Smiiile into the camera mi amor. Mirar al pajarito. Decid patata!” and boom a memory was created. You’ve taken too many selfies with your girl not to know the potato phrase.

After her demonstration, as if she was a little kid, you were sure she was set. She was yet again right. While she made her way back down she miscalculated. She slipped as it had rained the day before. Typical weather. She crashed in slow motion. Her head hitting the ground, not a pretty sound. You saw her fall to the ground. It was as if time stood still. Complete shock coursed through you. Panic mode was activated. Your heart pumped blood at high speed, adrenalin sparkling from left to right. You ran to her, she was a few metres away but seeing her fall made you extremely concerned. This is not something you wanted to be right about. As you reached her, you fell to your knees. “Leila, Leila are you okay? Leila can you hear me?” a groan was her response. One of her hands went to touch the back of her head. As she retrieved it, you saw red. Literally, you saw blood. Then she opened her eyes. A mix of confusion and fear was set in them.

The first words out of her mouth were “Who are you?” You wouldn't believe your ears, rather appalled you withdrew your hands from her. One had been on her cheek, desperately trying to check for any injuries while holding her head still. The other one was on her leg for stability. Her words cut so incredibly deep, you didn't know what to utter. The emotions you felt in this moment were indescribable. You’ve never been so lost. Leila’s next words didn't even register with you. Staring at the horizon was all you could muster without bursting into tears. She had to take your hand back into hers for you to touch some gras again (it's a Brett Cooper reference).

You were met with a smile when you turned to face her. “Sorry I had to. This is like one of those movie scen-” she couldn't continue. Your kiss silenced her. Relieve washed over you. Simply the thought of what could have been made you cry. Your tears transferred to Leila’s face. She had to disconnect from the passionate kiss, even if she really didn't want to end it. “Oh amor, I'm sorry. I didn't mea-” again you silenced her but not with a kiss. A smack to the chest. “You scared me. Don't do this ever again.” “No more climbing rocks, got it amor.” You hugged her tightly, as if the moment was too good to be true. “Ow bebe you are crushing me.” and with these words it hit you. You scrambled to your feet. Rushing off to your backpack. The defender was confused, why were you running off. You returned with a bandage and carefully wrapped it around her head. She was bleeding and it needed to stop. “My love don't move your head, I’m attending to your wound.” She stood still like a statue. “You're lucky you don't need stitches.” a hum from Leila confirmed that she wasn't actually paying attention. She was busy admiring, as she would say, your face. The concentrated look on your face mixed with your bossy attitude made her feel things, certain things. Now was definitely NOT the moment for spicy activities. Luckily her injury wasn't too concerning, her concussion test turned out great. Nothing to worry about.

Both of you sat on the picnic blanket, snacking on your food. Eventually you put away all of your belongings and continued. It was uneventful and Leila even behaved for the rest of the hike, not wanting to stress you out more. This didn't stop her from making stupid jokes, which made you laugh nonetheless. It was a memorable evening to say the least.

After arriving at your apartment and checking Leila’s wound, you flopped onto the bed. “Hey, what do you wanna eat amor, take away or should i cook something?” No answer. Looking your way she saw you already fast asleep. The day was exhausting as it was. Time for some well deserved rest.

#woso #woso imagine #woso x reader #leila ouahabi #leila ouahabi x reader #man city wfc #espwnt x reader #spain women's national team #man city women

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httpiastri · 5 months

Text

sunrise serenity – jmm21

your first morning with pepe, after your first night together...

genre: fluff + a little little suggestive

pairing: reader x pepe marti

warnings: hmmmm a few suggestive mentions but that's it i think

word count: 1.3k (like, exactly 1300.... kinda freaky actually)

requested: again not rlly lol but there have been asks abt more pepe stuff soooo :)

author's note: hehe a little more pepe love <33 idk thinking about waking up and seeing his gorgeous tanned back- 😶 it makes me freak a little ngl. anyway. hope u all have a lovely weekend <3 also i *just* realized that i forgot to use any spanish in this lol hope u still enjoy :)

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‎‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎

the room is so light, way too light, when your eyes finally flutter open. keeping them open is a constant battle, with the rays of sunlight peeking past the blinds stinging like you're staring straight into the sun itself. you just want to roll around and bury your face into the pillow underneath you, but something about the feeling of the pillow against your skin feels unfamiliar... and that's when you realize.

right. this isn't your own bed, or your own apartment – it's pepe's.

your eyes are fully open by now, butterflies waking up in the pit of your stomach as they roam across the room. seeing a pile of your boyfriend's clothes folded up on a nearby chair, the pictures of his family and friends hung up on the walls, all of the other little quirks that just scream pepe; it's all so unfamiliar, yet so comforting and heartwarming.

this isn't your first time being in this room, but it's the first time you see it in this light. the first time you wake up in this bed, the first time you're in his room at this hour of the day. you and pepe have been dating for a few months now, and you've been planning for the first time you stay overnight in his apartment for quite a while. last night, it was finally time – and you've probably never had as good of a night's sleep before in your life. from the fact that he cooked you a very fancy dinner, to the way that his fingers danced across your skin when you lied next to him in bed; everything was just perfect. and going grocery shopping together, helping each other clean the dishes, brushing your teeth side by side…

it was hard not to imagine what it would feel like to spend all your days like this. it all became so real, so domestic, and you never want to go back.

the sound of pans clinging together along with a quiet swear reaches your ears and you can't help but let out a chuckle, finally pushing yourself up to sit on the edge of the bed. you reach for the first piece of clothing you can see, which turns out to be the oversized shirt pepe wore last night, and you pull it over your head before rising from the bed. your body is still a bit sore, but the sweet aroma of pancakes meeting your nose gives you the energy to keep going.

you stop in your tracks when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror right by pepe's bedroom door – or, more exactly, the sight of your neck.

the trail of lovebites your boyfriend left stretches from your jaw and down under the collar of your shirt, and you know you'd be met by many more if you looked underneath it. the artwork is so mesmerizing that you have to shake your head to bring yourself out of your trance, slightly embarrassed by the way your stomach flips just at the sight of some hickeys.

when you eventually make your way into the kitchen and your eyes land on your boyfriend, you almost swoon. the sight of him from behind is just gorgeous; his sweatpants hanging low on his hips and his tanned, broad back practically calling out for you to come and kiss it. you're not sure if he's heard your footsteps or if he can just sense your presence, but pepe shifts slightly after a few moments. "good morning."

"good morning," you cheer back, beginning to stroll over to him. when he looks over his shoulder and takes in the sight of you, the way the hem of his shirt reaches the middle of your thigh and your slightly messy bedhead, a little laugh slips past his lips. your eyebrows pinch together. "what?"

"nothing," he says, arm wrapping around your shoulders once you reach his side. "you're just cute, that's all."

you coo playfully at him, hand reaching up to cup the side of his face before getting on your tippytoes. pepe meets you halfway, lips sealing against yours with ease.

"slept well?" he asks when you pull apart, his hand dropping down to your hip and pulling you in closer. his other hand works on flipping the pancake in the pan, a hint of a smile on his lips as if he already knows the answer.

"really well. you?"

pepe nods before leaning his head against yours. "you were out like a light yesterday," he says with another chuckle. "i swear, the second your head hit the pillow..."

you let out a groan. "i'm sorry."

"no, don't apologize!" he interjects immediately. "we had a long day. you looked so peaceful, it was adorable." he pulls his head away, looking down at you with a grin. "seeing that calm side of you was interesting, honestly. it's a far cry from how you are when you're awake, i'll tell you that."

"hey!"

your exclaim is followed by a press of your elbow into his side, which he answers with a quick kiss to your temple. you wriggle out of his embrace, to which his eyebrows shoot up – but when he watches you push yourself up to sit atop the counter next to the stove, legs dangling from the edge and feet swinging in the air, he relaxes again.

pepe places the pancake on a plate by your side, before pouring a thin layer of batter into the pan. "do you usually have pancakes for breakfast?" you tease, biting back the smile that wants to spread across your lips when your boyfriend's free hand lands on your knee.

he shakes his head, thumb drawing circles into your skin while he spreads the batter out evenly in the pan. "i wish." there are a few moments of silence before he turns to you, a slight smirk on his face. "though, i know something i'd rather have for breakfast every morning..."

tender fingers brush a few strands of hair out of your face and behind your ear before resting right below your jaw as pepe leans in, nose nudging yours to draw out a giggle from you. and then he kisses you, his smile pressed against yours as your eyes flutter closed. your hands come up to rest on his shoulders, the feeling of his warm skin and the strong muscles beneath it sending a shiver down your spine.

pepe tastes faintly of toothpaste with just a hint of sweetness, as if he's already had a sample of a pancake. when his lips part, yours follow his lead, and you can't help the sound that leaves the back of your throat as he licks into your mouth. your arms wrap around his neck for stability and his hands reach for your waist, pulling you forward and into him.

when his kisses begin to travel along your cheek, your legs wrap around him almost out of habit. you sigh, the way his lips move down the side of your neck making your head spin. but your skin is still so sensitive, and the little whine that escapes from your mouth has him pulling back. he blinks down at you, but it doesn't take long before he understands.

one of his fingers traces along the marks he's left down your neck, a content and proud smile on his lips. "i'm sorry," he says, though you both know there's no sincerity in the apology.

"don't be, they look good," you start, leaning forward to seal your lips again. "and they felt really good, too."

the groan that vibrates from his chest has you smiling against him yet again. "you can't just say that. you're gonna have to stay over way more often now."

"deal."

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schoenpepper · 2 months

Text

Like Raven Feathers

Intro: Riddle does something against the rules. And because of that, he'll fall from Heaven, oh he'll fall, just for you.

Warnings: bad writing, awful grammar, proofread by quillbot, Riddle's mom is mentioned, lots of religious whatever, bro's a simp through and through

A/N: Lookie what I whipped up with a random dose of motivation. Riddle's not even in my top five faves so I'm not sure why the first full fic I'll ever post is one about him. This has no effect on my Isekai'd Chronicles series update schedule, but it does share the same universe so go check it out if you're confused.

Masterlist

Riddle has always lived his life by the Bible of the Church of Light. Every movement is according to scripture, and every choice is made under the guidance of his mother, the Saintess. Since she has the highest authority in Heaven and is the angel closest to the God of Light, surely she's correct in all that she does. Surely he's correct to follow her. He would keep his wings pure and abide by every rule; no one likes a fallen acolyte of Light.

In this little circle, he's safe.

He wakes up at sunrise every day and prays. He does as is taught to him: give his thanks for every blessing and apologize for every failure, for every sin, and for every wrong he's committed. Most days, he doesn't know why he's begging for forgiveness. Today, he does. "Forgive me, oh Lord of Light," Riddle mumbles piously under his breath. "I have done something unbecoming of your servant. I have developed…feelings, for a mortal nonetheless. I have given away the love that rightfully belongs to you. Please have mercy and forgive this poor soul."

He never says a word about repenting.

After ten minutes of prayer, he makes his bed, takes a bath, straightens out his feathers, and brushes his teeth. Then it's time to double-check all the items he needs for classes and ensure that he's done all the assignments necessary for each day. He has breakfast with the rest of his dormitory members after giving thanks to his Lord for the food. There's another prayer after eating.

Another careless apology leaves his lips.

Classes go by far too slowly for his liking. When he sits at the cafeteria for lunch, his blue-gray eyes search for the mortal that's been in his mind for far too long, far too often. They light up when he finds you.

There's you beyond his circle, just out of reach.

Riddle isn't shy when he asks you to spend lunch with him. When you agree with a smile, his heart seems to beat faster than before. Too fast for his brain to keep up with. He's short of breath around you; you make him unable to even think. He's like an electronic toy short-circuiting in water. That's what you are, after all—strange, unfamiliar territory he isn't allowed to traverse. But even the first angels fell to temptation, so who is he to be the exception?

You're the sweetest forbidden fruit.

He has to go back to class eventually, but he hates that he does. That's weird, that's wrong; he's Riddle Rosehearts, and studies should be his priority after his God. But his hand is out of his control when he doodles little hearts on the border of his notebook (why would he do that? It's so childish, so immature.).

After class, he sends you a text to ask you to study with him in the library. Alone, preferably, because your friends always raise a ruckus (that's the excuse he tells you and himself). He feels content, happy, when you show up by yourself. The two of you sit across from each other, and he reviews topics for you that he still remembers clearly from his first year. Riddle finds it fun. Perhaps some would call it tedious, but he thinks that you're a worthy use of his time. He gets paid by the way you pout when you're struggling with a question. He feels fulfilled when you smile that bright smile, all teeth showing, eyes squinted into crescents, when you claim to finally understand something you've been struggling with for a while. He thinks he can die happy in your arms when you hug him in excitement and thank him for tutoring you.

You trespass into his little circle.

He packs up too soon because you have some commitment with some other person; he's alone in the library now. He sees the way other people look at you. You're just so uniquely you; he understands they want you the way he does. It doesn't mean he'll relent his efforts to snake his way into your heart. You're something he desperately wants, needs, even.

He's envious of the way other people make you laugh. Riddle's never been the humorous type (do you like that type better?). He's too strict, too strait-laced. Maybe you don't think he's fun, or cool, or interesting. Do you even think of him at all?

He still can't touch you.

When he's back at the dorm, he spends the rest of his time buried in his assignments. Perhaps getting you off his mind is the best thing he can do today. He's unproductive when you're the only thing on his mind, so he buries you underneath mountains of schoolwork.

Why can't he reach you?

He lays in bed after another prayer. The same apology is said. He can't even bother to change it. At some point, he'll stop asking for forgiveness. Some time in the future, he'll only confess his love for you in his daily prayers without being sorry for it. Falling in love with a mortal is wrong. Praying insincerely is wrong. But you, you, oh, you're everything that's right in this sinful world. His mother will never understand him.

But the God of Light will.

Because he doesn't even know when it started, but you've become his light. He fears for the darkness that will swallow him when you're gone.

Don't choose someone else. Don't find someone else. Don't love someone else.

He'll leave his circle on his own.

And when the angel falls, he'll make sure he goes out with the most glorious fireworks.

With you.

#disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twisted wonderland #gender neutral reader #twst x reader #x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle x reader #riddle rosehearts #heartslabyul #heartslaybul x reader

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mysterycitrus · 9 months

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hihihi! tim drake in college real?

oog indeed mein freund

so ur tim drake, ur seventeen, and ur dad has just come back from the dead. u hollowed urself out until there’s nothing left and ur ribs are broken but you’ve never felt better. if u stop moving for more than a second the weight of the world hits u. there’s another kid wearing ur uniform and u have to watch as this new robin and bruce, the bruce u fought for, the bruce u left everything behind for, the bruce u nearly died for, debut as gothams dynamic duo. but it’s fine. u did what u had to do. u feel great, actually.

then ur brother who u love more than anything sits u down and tells u he’s enrolled u in college in california. ur so angry ur spitting. he trusts u and now he’s not even giving u the choice to stay. u want to kick and scream and hold on till ur hands are bloody, but he tells u that he’s worried. he’s been so scared for u since ur dad died. he thinks ur losing urself. he wants u to make choices for urself without bruce. he wants u to spend time with ur friends who are alive again and miss u. he wants u to take a chance to live ur life away from gotham, away from that burden.

he tells u: robin is never truly gone, alright? it’ll never leave. i need u to trust me that it’ll still be u no matter how many other kids wear the cape. i need u to trust that i love u more than what ur able to do in tights.

and he knows this better than anyone. he’s asking u to extricate tim drake from robin and batman and red robin. to remember what it felt like to choose. and after all these years u can’t say no, so u pack ur bags and leave for the west coast.

college is fine. u keep changing majors. u pick up photography as a joke, thinking about snapping photos of the boy wonder from a distance, to print in the basement dark room after school. it’s a laugh, and ur gonna drop it until donna troy finds out, and u spend a long time on the roof of the tower with her taking photos of the sunrise. it’s been a while since the sunrise was the start of ur day. it feels….. unfamiliar. she tells u about how ur brother became nightwing. she tells u about the heartbreak of having to move on. she tells u about choices.

kon’s right down the hall. he can hear u but u can’t hear him, so sometimes you’ll whisper a question for him to shout back. he obligingly poses for ur still life class. he and steph make fun of how u can’t decide what to study. it’s painful to become tim drake and nothing else again, but it happens in increments. u make friends with people in ur tutoriasl. ur less pale — u pinken under the sun easily, peeling flesh turning red and painful, but u look less like a corpse. ur hair is longer, and bart buys u a claw clip shaped like an avocado.

the new robin is growing up, and he explains colour theory to u for one of ur classes. he’s an asshole, but he’s trying. when asked politely, he draws character sheets for bart’s dnd group with minimal grumbling. red and yellow suit him, and looking at him in the costume feels less painful, and more nostalgic.

u brainstorm new ideas for urself, new roles, new ideas for the team, but there’s no rush. u have time. if u see bruce, u kno there’s someone else at his back, watching him through the night. dick texts u life updates, but they’re funny, not desperate. the world continues to spin. u, tim drake, are still alive.

#sorry this is truly just word vomit #tim drake #robin #red robin #dc comics #teen titans #ty for all the asks I got immediately everyone!!!!!!! v v appreciated #OOG!! ily rimi hehehehe #the ask and the answer

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eydi-andrius · 6 months

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bad idea right?

Synopsis: The plan was to lose your virginity at 30 in a one night stand, so there will be no string attached to mind afterwards. You don't plan to be married, nor to be in a relationship but you do want to feel what sex is. Little did you know that the man you chose that night seems to like you a little bit too much.

Simon “Ghost” Riley, John Price and Konig

a/n: if this becomes well-liked, I may continue it as a short series. And lol yes, this is my first story written for COD. 😩🤺

💀 Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon is not a good conversationalist but he tried. Despite not replying much, you know he is listening to you. He even stopped you from ordering more alcoholic drinks and requested water when he noticed how you gradually became giggly and touchy. You don't even know how you understand each other, when he tilts his head to the side, you know he is asking for more details. Then, you looked into each other's eyes, understood what that meant, and did the deed until sunrise. You thought that would be the last of it. But then, something happened in your neighborhood, the officers called for a backup and you caught eyes with Simon. Since then, he never left your side. The action created a misunderstanding to people and thinking you two were together.

🍑 John Price

When you met Captain Price, he was such an easy guy to talk to. He has a deep, soothing voice that you liked and enjoy listening to the whole night. He was so thoughtful and asked you for another round when he noticed that your glass was empty. When you started slurring your voice, he insisted that you drink water. He did not stop you however, when you started moving towards him, inching closer, stroking his legs while you tell a story, leaning your head towards his hand when he fixed your unruly small curly hair that fell out of your bun. Long story short, you did the deed. From the car, to his doorstep, in his door and finally on the bed. You were able to leave his house, the next day, at noon, finally the fatigue catching up to him. You choose to sneak out and never make any noise just in case. Upon coming to your house, when you tried pulling out the key from your pocket, you noticed that in your keychain there is a simple ring attached to it. You tried so hard to remember when you received it since it looks so unfamiliar but shook it off when the hangover made your head hurt.

After half a year, you never met Price again but you do admit that every time you remember the ghost of his touch, you shudder and wants to feel it again. Anyway, you were minding your own business one day, when a man caged you in your shopping cart and whispered in you ear “What’s for dinner, dear wife? You owe me that after you left with no details to contact and find you. Hmmm?”

😈 Konig

You two caught eyes when you looked at the corner and a man was sitting there, sipping his drink, while his eyes were locked on you. Seeing how his eyes stare at you and the way you think his adam apple moved very sexily, you smiled at him, and he took it as an invitation to come closer. He sat beside you and at first, you were caught off guard when you heard his high pitched voice. You were expecting something deeper since he is huge like a dangerous bear. But the surprise were soon forgotten when you started talking and funnily enough, he was good in continuing the conversation. Either with his side comments or side puns, usually you don't really like it much, but when he did it, you thought it was cute and fun.

A bit of drink later, he started a somewhat suggestive joke, which you retorted with an innuendo joke. You two were just staring at each other at first, then you just found yourself at the bar’s bathroom, legs spread, panty shoved to the side and his tongue on you. Honestly, you can't remember that much, but when you closed your eyes from an orgasm, the memories seems to be patchy. You can't remember the details, but you felt when your head fell into a cheap bed and heard the creaking as he crawled and kissed your leg from your thighs up to your core. You woke up the next day, sore and barely able to walk. He was just too huge and he went rough once he found his pace and see how you're enjoying it.

Let's just say the bruises you saw on your neck before leaving were tattooed inside your head. You even promised that you will never do that again as you sneakily went out. Later that night, you prepared food for the stray dog you fed. He doesn't like living inside a home so you let him wander with a collar and your contact number. You went out to your backyard and called for him. You had to do it twice before you heard a bark from a bush and happily went over there and called for him again. As you come closer though, you quickly realized that your stray dog was not the only one there, in fact a familiar figure was petting your dog, who happily wags its tail, and when he noticed that you finally saw him in the dark, he barked and you realized you're fucked.

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floofanflurr · 5 months

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Draw this in your style!

Hello!!!!! Wow, there’s a lot of people here now! I wanted to do something to celebrate my 300 follower milestone, so here we are!!! A draw this in your style challenge (invitation?)

Rules and details below!

Rules:

Have fun! If you don't want to do a night sky, it could be a sunrise, sunset, cloud-watching... whatever you want Sans, Frisk, and Papyrus to be watching as long as it's a sky of some kind!

Since someone asked- You can add characters- just don’t take any away!

Don't trace/steal other people's art.

Please @ me and tag your art #star shower dtys. I don't have a twitter, so if you post it somewhere else, please let me know on tumblr so I can still see it!

Anyone can participate!

But!!! As a thank you for following me and also for participating in this, for my followers, there is a couple prizes!

Who qualifies?

Any of my followers on tumblr! They also have to post the dtys art on tumblr, and tag it with #star shower dtys and properly @ me. If you're seeing this, and you don't follow me, you can always follow now!

I also need to be able to DM you if you win!

Who will be the winners?

One randomly selected person!

And! My favorite image at the end!

Detail about winning prizes:

Each winner will get a drawing! One to two characters of your choice, waist up. Plain/simple background. (I have full rights to deny any request I am uncomfortable drawing, and to ask for a different request. Please be respectful.)

Fair warning that my art is a mixed bag when it comes to quality and style - especially when I'm not drawing Undertale - if you do decide to ask for character(s) outside of the fandom.

I will do my best to draw any characters I am unfamiliar with (including OCs!) but I will need plenty of references.

Deadline?

May 25th, 11:59PM Central Time

(This is the cutoff for if you want to be considered for winning a prize - but please feel free to continue to draw this in your style even after this timeframe passes as long as you tag it #star shower dtys and @ me.)

Have fun!!!

#star shower dtys #dtys #undertale #undertale fanart #draw this in your style #sans #frisk #papyrus #fanart #floof draws #popyrus

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wherethefireliliesgrow · 6 months

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Moonlight Sunrise (Part 1)

Minatozaki Sana x reader

GENRE: angst, fluff, non-idol

TYPE: Short fic Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

Slowly making your way down the dusty, unfamiliar roads, you passed several guards waving large indigo-purple flags.

“Only two more days before the labyrinth opens!” they yelled, “Find the Luminite Stone and save the princess from the labyrinth!”

Several men, presumably the best knights and warriors of their kingdoms, crowded around the guards, sizing each other up and boasting about their wins.

As you passed by the crowd, you quickly pulled down your hood, trying to avoid any suspicion. There was a low possibility that anyone recognized you, as you were more of an assassin, always with your face covered. However, you were worried that others from the same profession might be present as well.

It was almost time for the annual labyrinth challenge, where warriors and knights from all over the world traveled to the Minatozaki kingdom, one of the most powerful kingdoms existing, to save the princess and win her hand in marriage. The only child of King Minatozaki had been cursed by one of the eastern witches after they were accidentally omitted from the baby’s birth celebration. It was rumored that she had one of the most angelic faces to grace the earth, but right after her 17th birthday, she disappeared from public view altogether.

A labyrinth of a thousand acres suddenly appeared at the borders of the kingdom, shrouded by dark clouds and vine-covered walls thousands of meters high. In the core of the labyrinth was the Luminite stone, a stone that grants the beholder any wish, and the princess’s soul was also bound to the stone. The princess was said to only be seen in the labyrinth, forever lost in the dark.

King Minatozaki loved his daughter dearly. Although he was reluctant to marry her off to just anyone, he knew that he himself couldn’t manage to retrieve the stone with his daughter's soul from the labyrinth. He wanted his daughter free from the grasp of the labyrinth, so the only way to do so was to hold a competition every year when the gates to the labyrinth opened.

Anyone who managed to make it out alive with the stone would be able to have their wish granted, but at the same time, as they now had the stone, they would be in control of Princess Sana, and the entire kingdom would be inherited. This prompted countless greedy men to try, hoping to have their deepest desires fulfilled and to possess the most beautiful human to grace the earth. However, not once had anyone made it out alive from the past ten competitions, all disappearing mysteriously.

You couldn’t care less about owning an entire nation, let alone marrying a random princess that you had never seen. You were there for the one wish that would be granted by the Luminite Stone. You had someone to save, and that brought you out from the private, invisible life as an assassin.

The sun was setting as you finally reached the golden gates of the castle. Its towering walls, adorned with intricate carvings and banners bearing the kingdom's crest, loomed majestically against the dusky sky. Each night leading up to the competition for the week, the King hosted lavish banquets within the castle's celestial halls.

These gatherings weren't just about food; they were a spectacle, ensuring the competitors were not only well-fed but also immersed in the grandeur of the kingdom. Newcomers were welcomed with open arms, and given the chance to register, mingle, and familiarize themselves with the labyrinth's complexities before the daunting challenge ahead. After all, this was probably the last time they would ever have something to eat before they met their end in the labyrinth.

The banquet hall buzzed with hundreds of men, their voices echoing off the walls. You spotted a few familiar faces from your past travels but made a beeline for the reception, preferring not to draw attention. After all, the labyrinth held not only unknown monsters but human threats as well.

“Name?” the page asked without looking up, his tired face buried in countless scrolls of paper.

“Hwang Y/N,” you muttered, shifting uncomfortably and pulling your hood even higher over your face.

The page paused, his hands trembling slightly as he looked up at you. His eyes widened in shock, and he pushed his glasses closer to his eyes, clearing his throat.

“Hwang Y/N? The NightWalker?”

You nodded, expressionless, as the man cowered in fear.

“I-I didn’t expect you to participate in these events.”

“Is that a problem?”

“N-no… of course not. I guess even assassins have an eye for beauty,” he nervously laughed, expecting you to agree.

You narrowed your eyes at his comment, disbelieving how even those who worked for the princess treated her as an object.

“You should keep your mouth shut before I cut off your tongue,” you whispered in his ear, watching with satisfaction as he fumbled with his pen.

Before you could do anything else, a warm arm wrapped around your shoulders. Instinctively, you reached for your small knife, but the intruder's hand firmly grasped yours, firm yet unthreatening.

“Now now, Hwang. That’s not how you greet an old friend, is it?”

You turned to see Momo, one of your close colleagues before she became head of security for the Minatozaki Kingdom.

“Hirai,” you sighed, pulling her into a hug.

“Fancy seeing you here, stranger. It’s been, what, three years since I last heard from you?”

“Five,” you grinned, feeling more at ease with Momo by your side.

“Yes! Exactly! Ever since you took down the Kim Clan, you just disappeared,” she sighed dramatically, leading you toward a table filled with exotic cuisines. She grabbed a bottle of champagne, taking a sip before passing it to you.

“The hero of the century, gone without a sound, forever remaining a mystery. Face unseen, name forever known. Until now,” she said as if narrating a fairy tale. “She shows the world her face, to save the damsel in distress.”

You rolled your eyes and took a swig of champagne. “I’m not here for the princess or power.”

“Whichever reason you are here for, I won’t pry. I’ll just be cheering you on from the sidelines.” Momo smirked, blowing her bangs out of her eyes. Her respect for your privacy was always something you loved about her.

“Anyway, I have to get back to my duties. Let’s catch up tomorrow before the challenge.” She says loudly, before whispering in your ear, “take the door on the left, and go down two flights of stairs. You’ll find the backdoor to the garden.”

As if nothing happened, she straightened up and breezed away toward a small crowd that was about to break into a fight.

You watched Momo easily tackle a barbaric man down to the floor, without drawing her sword. The crowd of onlookers quickly dispersed as Momo stood up with one of her feet on the man’s stomach, looking challenging for anyone daring to cause more trouble in her land. She caught your eye and grinned, giving you a goofy thumbs-up before changing back to her serious face.

You chuckled, grabbing an apple and the champagne, before slipping to the darker corners of the kingdom undetected. Momo working here was a blessing in disguise, she gave you the chance to get to investigate the labyrinth before the challenge.

As you navigated down a murky corridor, the air thick with the scent of age and dampness, you descended what felt like more than two flights of stairs, each step creaking under your weight. At last, you stumbled upon a wooden door, its frame nearly crumbling with decay from years of neglect and exposure to the elements.

Pushing it open with a groan, you were surprised to find yourself greeted by a scene of unexpected beauty. The garden beyond was bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, casting ethereal shadows upon the grounds. Dewdrops reflected the moonlight like diamonds on the grass, their gentle shimmering a stark contrast to the dark, cloudy skies looming over the labyrinth just meters away.

The metal walls that surrounded the garden appeared rusted and weather-beaten, their once sturdy facade now worn and rusted. You couldn't help but wonder if they were enough to keep people out, let alone the rumored monsters said to lurk within the labyrinth's depths.

Taking another swig of your champagne, you wandered around the walls, the sound of your footsteps echoing softly in the still night air. Peering into the swirling mist, you strained your ears and thought you heard faint roars emanating from within. Yet, in the eerie silence of the garden, you couldn't be certain if they were real or merely figments of your imagination, born from the ominous atmosphere that surrounded you.

"Guess I won’t be getting anything out of this tonight," you thought, sighing as you took a seat on one of the forlorn benches near the metal bars.

Taking an apple out of your coat pocket, you polished it on your sleeve. Just as you were about to bite into it, an eerily soft voice echoed from the shadows looming over the corner.

"Can I have some?" A hooded figure emerged, causing you to leap to your feet.

Despite your assassin training, you hadn’t heard her approach.

The figure slowly removed her hood, revealing long, almost white blonde hair that seemed to reflect the moonlight. She was around the same age as you, her face perfectly sculpted but haunted, with dark circles under her eyes.

“I mean no harm,” she raised her ghostly pale arms in surrender.

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion but nodded nonetheless, despite the blood in your body pumping in a fight. It was obvious that this being was not entirely human, but you were in no condition to fight a monstrous being before the competition. The stone was what was important, so you were willing to do anything to avoid conflicts before the challenge.

The girl walked slowly towards you, her posture and grace as if she came from royalty, and sat down on the bench. She looked up at your standing figure expectantly, giving you a soft smile as you finally sat down.

You reached into your coat to pull out a small knife, and the girl immediately flinched. But you simply used the knife to peel the apple, before slicing a piece and putting it onto her hand.

“Thanks,” she muttered, before nibbling on the piece of apple.

You took a good look at the girl. She was thin, too thin, as if she would be blown away by the wind.

“You can call me Luna,” she said finally, still nibbling on the small piece of apple.

You gave a small chuckle at the irony of her name. She did indeed look like the moon goddess herself.

“What’s so funny?”

You shrugged, continuing to slice more pieces of apples for the girl. You saw her glaring at you from the corner of your eye, letting out huffs of frustration when you never said anything.

“Normally when someone introduces themselves to you, you do the same in return,” she said annoyed. Her annoyance made her seem human, and this eased your nerves a bit.

“I’m Hwang Y/N,” your lips twitched, trying not to smile at the way Luna chewed on the apple angrily.

“I like your name,” she said grudgingly, reaching over to grab your champagne without asking.

“What about it?” It wasn’t often that someone didn’t flinch when they heard your name.

“Hwang,” Luna explained as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, before chugging down half the bottle of champagne.

“It means bright, right? Like the sunrise.”

“Yeah, and?” you asked, reaching over to grab the champagne from her hands. “Stop stealing my shit.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen the sun,” she muttered. “Wish I could see the sunrise.”

“Why can’t you?” you asked, turning around to look at her.

Luna ignored your question, instead turning her body towards you.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?” she raised her big eyes to look at you, her eyes suddenly glowing a faint crimson in the honey-brown hues.

She was definitely not fully human.

You shivered slightly, both in fear and something else, attraction. No, it must be because you felt sorry for her. The poor girl seemed to not have access to much food.

“Thought I could get some clues here before the challenge,” you said honestly.

“Are you looking to win the princess over, too?” she asked with a hint of bitterness in her tone. “To control her as if she was a puppet?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

You hesitated, knowing it wasn’t smart to share anything with strangers, you knew that. But there was something about this girl that you couldn’t seem to put a finger on, it was as if her aura could power all your feelings. You couldn’t do anything but tell her the truth. It was as if she casted a spell on you, her glowing eyes controlling every move.

“I need that stone. I need to get that wish so that I can save my sister.”

Luna’s eyes softened slightly, the glowing red fading and turning back to the original brown color. You felt your body instantly relax.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s sick. She’s been sick for a few months and there’s nothing the doctors can do. Time is running out so I have to hurry.”

The image of your little sister lying in bed, her once lively face now sunken and yellow, her eyes devoid of their usual spark, sends a shiver down your spine. The very thought grips your heart. It was her condition that drove you to show your true identity and take part in this dumb challenge, revealing yourself to the public eye, and relinquishing your assassin status. Now that everyone knew what you looked like, it was inevitable that a bounty would be put on your head.

“I’m sorry,” Luna said, her voice gentle.

Her hand raised slightly as if she wanted to hold yours in comfort but thought better of it.

You shook your head and looked down at your knees. You couldn’t let anyone sense your weakness.

You heard Luna get up from you, this time finally being able to hear her movements.

“I hope you win, Y/N,” she said, her voice soothing, passing warmth throughout your body, instantly making you feel better.

She put a small black object in your lap, a compass.

You looked up and found her walking backward towards the metal walls, a smile playing on her lips. She looked younger when she smiled, innocent even.

"Take the path on the far right, then follow my compass," she instructed, her voice echoing faintly as she effortlessly passed through the metal bars and vanished into the dark mist.

"I'll lead you the way."

You shivered, utterly enchanted and spooked by that humanlike being.

After a moment, you finally shifted your attention to the compass in your hands. It was an exquisite piece, adorned with golden rings and silver arrows.

You flipped to the back of the compass, and there, engraved in elegant wording:

Minatozaki Sana

Next chapter

Been wanting to get this out to you guys for a while now! It's quite different from what I usually write, so let me know if you want to see more of this.

#gxg #kpop fanfic #kpop imagines #wlw #twice x reader #twice fic #kpop fic #wherethefireliliesgrow #itzy #twice #sana #twice sana #sana x reader #minatozaki sana #minatozaki sana x reader #sana imagines #fem reader

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