#ashs indecisivetober masterlist

[ashs-cardboard-box]

"Stay."

~ L Lawliet/GN!Reader ~ Whump (Day 7) ~ Implied romantic/crush ~ 2k words Mentions of death/bodies, slightly altered from canon. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

L didn’t get attached easily. In fact, it usually took him more time trying to get attracted to someone to start a “relationship” than the relationship ever lasted itself. Unfortunate but a fact. They were pointless anyway, especially during his investigations. From criminal to criminal, his work always came first. Maybe that was his biggest flaw. Somehow, some way, he got attached to you. Like a dog to a bone, like water to a dying man, like candy is to…him. He hated it. Ever since you were signed onto the Task Force in the early weeks to help with the Kira case, you plagued his every thought. You remembered just the way he liked his coffee. You rubbed the tension from his shoulders after the fourth consecutive night of both no sleep, and sitting in his crouched position. You brushed his, admittedly a bit greasy, hair out of his face when he was focused on his monitor. You weren’t the smartest of the Task Force, but neither was Matsuda and he was still around. Of course, everyone noticed how sweet you were being to him. How could they not? He only ever flirted with Misa when he was undercover at To-Oh University, not really the “ladies man” Light is. But you.. For some reason, unbeknownst to even him, you stuck around. Sure, he speculated. Maybe you were attracted to his smarts, or the possibility of money. Maybe you liked how quirky he was, deciding you wanted to “fix him”. Maybe you were just missing a few screws. It was one case he just couldn’t solve. The ONLY case he couldn’t solve. He never pushed himself away, but he never admitted he liked you, either. He was supposed to be focused on Kira. He was so damn close to solving his case, he could almost taste it. At least, as close as close could be, with a Shinigami watching over his shoulder constantly. She was a bit of a pest, but she proved to be useful to the case…somewhat. More so than those bells, at least. Ringing in intervals of three; a death knell. He wondered if Light finally figured out his name. If this is what years of work had all finally climaxed to. Him, seated at his computer, staring at the bright screen as he chews on taffy, feeling it get stuck to his teeth each time he pries his jaws apart. The words on the screens had to be burned into his retinas by now. He was sure that, when he closed his eyes, the text would be printed right there. He’d been avoiding you for the past few days. At least to him, “avoiding”, in this context, meant going out of his way to stop thinking about you. You were more of a pest than the Shinigami was. Though, you never stopped showing him affection. You even got his ears to turn red one time after you had to cross in between his chair and his desk to grab his empty coffee sweetener containers stacked high. That one action put your chest right in his face and he’d never felt more out of control since then. Even if his only reaction was a small hum at your apology for intruding, barely even blinking. 192 hours, 43 minutes, and 27– 28 seconds. That’s how long it took him to finally pass out from sleep deprivation. He’d never willingly go to sleep on his own, he had more important things to be doing. Yet part of him let himself rest, knowing he’d be up in two hours, maximum. But he soon realized that falling asleep was also a huge mistake, as always. When he woke up, the Task Force Headquarters was dark and still, and he was seated at his desk. A bright white screen across all of his monitors, with text reading “All Data Deleted”. Did Kira finally get to Watari? No one was around to check on the old man, which caused a single moment of panic to rise in his chest. He was L. He didn’t fret. Watari was probably fine and somehow hit the button accidentally.

Rising up out of his chair, his knees cracking out of protest for being curled up for so many hours, he shuffles right up the stairs to the first elevator, pushing the button to close the doors and Watari’s floor number. Despite usually enjoying a still environment for more work and less distractions, it’s eerie. There’s a pit in his stomach he’s unused to. He’s not used to being anxious. Pride? Sure. Maybe a little arrogant? Okay. But fear? Nervousness? Anxiety? Not likely. It’s been years since he’s felt that way. As far back as he can remember, it’s just been blank. He was logistical, not emotional. When the doors open, his hands slide into his pockets with ease, taking it upon himself to enter Watari’s surveillance room without announcing himself. But, even from in front of the elevator doors, he could see that Watari wasn’t there. Everything was in its perfect space, L knew just how much Watari liked to be tidy. With an annoyed sigh, he turns back around towards the elevator, figuring he might as well go start back up on getting his computers running again. At least, until he hears crashing behind him, followed by a body hitting the floor. Turning around quickly in both confusion, he stares down at..you? You weren’t supposed to be here. Face down on the floor, body entirely limp against the ground. The familiar rise and fall of your chest wasn’t there. There wasn’t any sign of blood at all. Gritting his teeth, L forces himself to approach you, crouching down right in front of you. His bony hand reaches out to press two fingers against your neck, feeling for a pulse. His blood almost freezes in his veins when he doesn’t find one. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to die so soon! He was used to seeing bodies and the horrors of humanity daily, but this felt different. Forcing himself to move, L rolls you over onto your back, your lifeless eyes staring back at him. You were supposed to outlive him and kill Kira! He didn’t know where all of this was coming from. For once, he wasn’t logistical. He was an utterly emotional wreck. Chest compressions in intervals of four, trying desperately to get your heart to start again. He can feel your ribs cracking from the desperate pressure he’s putting onto you. Leaning down, he pushes a thumb into your mouth to part your lips. Pinching your nose and breathing into your mouth firmly. How funny. That would’ve been your “first kiss”. He knew you loved sappy stuff like that. Even if he wasn’t trying to, he was always paying attention, especially when you spoke. You could talk about those overdone cop shows in Western media, that you seemed to find as an absolute “hoot”, for hours on end, and he would listen. Not because he cared, but because it was you. Moving back into position, one interlaced hand over the other, he resumes. 1-2-3-4– breathe..pause..continue. “Please..” He whispers, yet the words cut through the silence like a megaphone. L wasn’t sure what, or who, he was begging towards. Maybe for you to spring back to life and thank him. Maybe for a God of any kind to bring you back to him. Maybe for him to join you, knowing that after experiencing an affection like yours, going back to life without it would be miserable. Maybe for himself to stop doing compressions, to give up. He was uncertain, for the first time in his life. You weren’t breathing, he knew that. You were dead. He could feel your cold body beneath his hands, against his lips, but he wasn’t stopping. Why wasn’t he stopping? His muscles were beginning to ache with strain, he could feel his eyes pricking with tears and his nose began to run against his will. He couldn’t remember the last time he cried. 1-2-3-4–breathe..pause..continue. He’d never had much of a reason. He never got attached to anyone except for Watari. No one was trustworthy enough to stay in his life, but you were. You wanted him. He hated that. He hated the weight in his chest as he stared down at your lifeless body. He was sure his soul was cracking with each straining pop of the ligaments between your ribcage.

1-2-3-4–breathe..pause..continue. He wondered if you would still like him, seeing him like this. A mess, sobbing over your corpse. He could feel the dam inside him shattering into pieces. His tears rolled down his cheeks and right onto your nice, uniform blazer. It was no different from the rest of the Task Force, but on you, it was special. You were special. “Stay..” His face was a mask of stoicism, despite the new torrent of emotion crashing inside him. It was frightening. Alone, in the dark, trying to bring you back to life again. He knew it was the Death Note that caused this. Deep down, he knew Kira was somehow at fault. 1-2-3-4–breathe..pause… He stopped. Removing his hands from your chest with a defeated, shaky exhale. One of his hands coming up, swiping down from your forehead, over your eyes, forcing your eyelids to close. At least, if you died, you could rest in peace. He’d have to have Mogi take care of your body or something. Since that day you spun him out of control, he hasn’t felt that way since, until now. He could just barely hear your voice echoing in his head, growing louder and louder and louder until you’re shouting at him, and he finally wakes up with a jolt, meeting your panicked expression. “The Shinigami is gone!” You inform. L was confused. Didn’t you just die? His face felt wet, he internally groaned. His eyes darted over to the large monitors, the light piercing against his weary eyes. He could hear the other Task Force members panicking behind him, even if it’s mostly Matsuda, with Soichiro and Aizawa trying to coax him to use his head and not his heart. He could’ve used that advice a bit ago, even if his plea for advice would never leave his lips. He was too prideful for that. “Say again?” He muses, swiping a hand over his cheek and absentmindedly checking it for tears, but his hand came back dry. Yet, he’s put off when you abruptly pause. A small breath escaping you as you clutch your chest in pain, doubling over momentarily, only to collapse to the floor in an instant. The Shinigami was gone, you said. It registers to him in that very second. It was happening again. Only this time, he wasn’t given enough time to process as his monitors flash white. “All Data Deletion”, it reads. Didn’t this just happen? “Watari?” He questions, the name leaving his mouth before he could catch it. His eyes fall down onto you, watching you lay there on the floor. “Y/N..?” He mumbles. Finally coming to his senses as soon as Aizawa kneels to check on you. “Quick! We need to find that Shini–” He pauses, his breath getting caught in his throat. His chest hurts, like he can’t expand it enough. A numbing pain shooting up and down his left arm, his ears beginning to ring. He could feel himself start to sweat, just barely, as the pain in his body begins to fade into nothing but a slight buzz of his nerves. Kira. The bells were growing louder, so many at once, it was hard to think. He wanted it to stop, he couldn’t concentrate like this. He barely registers himself falling out of his chair until the weight of gravity is pulling him down, landing on someone. Everything feels so foggy, his brain trying to push into overdrive to keep his body working, but it doesn’t work. All he can see is Light’s face, the smug grin, and he knew he won, even at the cost of your lives. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ y'all don't understand how long this took just because I was fighting with Tumblr 😭 Return to masterlist

[ashs-cardboard-box]

Severed Innocence

~ Stanford Pines/Male!Reader ~ Horror/Gore (Day 3) ~ Implied fucked up romance. ~ 2k words TW/CW: DISTURBING CONTENT. Stanford yandere behavior, obsession, HEAVILY implied religious-esq worship, dehumanizing reader? kidnapping, suggestive comment, noncon kiss at the end, implied cannibalism. If Tumblr had a dead dove tag, this could probably classify. Proceed with caution. NOT CANON TO THE GRAVITY FALLS STORYLINE. An alternate AU. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

How long had it been since that night? You were perfect. You were His devoted creation. What ever happened to you? You couldn’t remember. Who were you? Furthermore, *what* were you? A possession. His treasure. His prized creation, that’s what. Stanford cherished you. He put in the effort to make you into something great; something that could withstand even the harshest of punishments. Ones that couldn’t harm your physical being, of course. He knew that. He had never dreamt of causing your pain, but sometimes things needed to happen in order to take steps forward. You knew that, right? It didn’t seem so. A flaw. One single kink in a wire to cause His charade to come crumbling to pieces. What a shame… you were so close to being perfect. Everything He’d put his life’s work towards, all for this? He was upset. But, not at you –*Never* at you– At his own failures. Of course wires were bound to kink once inserted into the muscular system. A simple mistake on His part. He’d just have to fix it and kiss away your tears later. You had known Stanford for a long while. At least, you think so. It’s hard to discern what’s real and what Stanford had put into your head. You vaguely recall meeting him and F[REDACTED] in…what was it again? Why couldn’t you just remember? It’s not like Stanford could tell you the truth. No.. that’d just be spitting in the face of all of His carefully crafted lies! Meeting some little weirdo, “Fiddleford”, meeting His brother hiding in some motel–the failure that he is–even going to college with Him. He’d made it all up. After graduating from West Coast Tech, going back to New Jersey to brag catch up with His family, especially to see how little Sherman was faring. Stanley had tried and failed to break His perpetual motion machine when they were younger, which almost got him kicked out, but Filbrick, for once, had mercy. Though, they never talked anymore. He decided to move to a quaint town in Oregon called ‘Gravity Falls’ in search of pure solitude. It was quiet..mostly. Right up until He met you. Truthfully, He didn’t remember the exact meeting. He was getting older now, but He knew you wouldn’t care. You couldn’t. You were unable to. Though, despite the fuzziness, He remembered becoming immediately enamored with you. The way you spoke, the way you gesticulated, your hair, your smile, your voice..and right then, He decided He needed to have you. He’d spent a fair few nights rutting into His pillow, just thinking about you, right up until He got the courage to finally break into your house one very special night. You were so cute when you slept, how was He supposed to just leave you there?

Ever since, Stanford had been nothing but loving to you. Keeping you fed, housing you, bathing you, holding you. Up until the night you found an old picture of him with a clone? ‘Stan O’ War’.. What a silly name. He looked so young then. But, deeper inside the drawer, there were notes. Things about human anatomy, notes on conductivity of wires and tubing, the boiling point of blood, the symptoms of shock, all sorts of prototypes on his crafts… you became aware of what you shouldn’t have.

Stanford thought you were trying to spite Him. How could you try to peel the wires out of your arm? The ones He’d meticulously put into you with such care? Didn’t you love Him? He hated having to restrain you, but it was for your own good. Why couldn’t you see that? Having to strap you down with a chain around your limbs and your throat, to the wide table in the center of His “lab”, as He calls it.

“Why do you make me do this to you, sweetpea? You know how much I hate hurting you...” Stanford coos as He gently pinches your cheek in His calloused, six-fingered hand. His other hand securing a leather strap over your forehead, keeping your head still. “Let me go!” you plead, but a harsh slap across the cheek forces you to shut up again.

Stanford’s brow furrows in irritation, tugging the slack of the belt to make sure the strap is tight. He wouldn’t want you escaping and accidentally hurting yourself, after all.

“Good boys remember their place, doll.” He scolds as He maneuvers His hand down to the base of your skull, burying His fingers in your hair, feeling around for something unknown to you. “Reprogramming you could take a while.” Stanford muses to Himself, a grin splitting across His lips as His fingertips finally locate His small microchip in your skin. It was the first time He brought your attention to it; knowing your sudden tendency to pick at His work to pull it out of your skin, He didn’t want to risk it whilst you were unrestrained.

“Reprogramming..?” You mumble with a thick swallow, feeling a lump in your throat as terror rips through you. Stanford only nods, as if He hadn’t inserted a chip into your spinal column. Admittedly, He’d made you more android than human.

After that first night He’d kidnapped brought you home, you fought like an animal. That’s no way for a pet to act, He felt. What, with all of your thrashing and biting and screaming, He couldn’t just leave you like that. He took time out of His life, time you never appreciated, to meticulously shape you back together. He made you perfect. You were nothing without His work. If He was everything, your Savior, what were you?

“I tried to be nice to you.” Stanford grunts as he moves just out of your field of view. You can hear the stretch of elastic, which you assume to be gloves, and the clatter of metal against metal. “I tried to treat you with care. I even tried to give you a little freedom to fully express what little humanity you had left.”

Tugging against your chains, your heart sped up. You needed to get out of here. This guy was nuts. Your head was still foggy, as if you’d just woken up from a long nap. You could hardly remember much of your past anymore, but it didn’t matter in the moment. Your breathing was ragged in your panic, your eyes stung with unshed tears.

“Still.” Stanford finally comes back into your view, pulling a metal service cart with him. A gloved hand wrapping around your forearm, His thumb digging in painfully into your skin, with intent to stop your writhing. “You were so close to becoming complete. Something desirable.” He spits harshly, lip curling back into a sneer. You were such a pretty boy. It was a damn shame you made Him do this to you. “Though, I’m not surprised you turned out this way. Always so defiant, you were…” Stanford mumbles under his breath, finally pulling His hand from your arm as you begin to freeze up, trusting you won’t struggle anymore. “But it’s okay!” He reassures. It was like a switch had been flipped. From being the nastiest man God you’d ever met, to washing away your woes in an instant. “It’s okay, because I can fix you again!” He explains, a prideful glint in his yellow eyes. Black pupils dilating immensely as a grin splits across His face. “I’ll untangle everything inside you. I can put you back together!” “But,” He continues. “It might hurt a little bit.” Picking up another leather strap off of His cart, He leans over and forces it between your teeth to bite down on. You don’t really have much of a choice. The feeling of your molars sinking into the fibers of the leather belt makes your skin prickle with goosebumps of discomfort, your tears starting to fall.

“You'll be fine, sweetpea.. You'll be fixed in no time.” Stanford whispers, swiping a thumb across your tear streaked cheek in hopes to comfort you. He can feel His heart clench in His chest, just wanting to hold you again, but that would have to wait.

Turning back to His cart, He picks up the shiny scalpel, running His index finger over the sharp blade scrutinizingly. He wouldn't want it to be dull when He begins to cut.

Moving His hand back down to your forearm, feeling exactly for the knot in your wire. His fingers trailing up and down your skin, gentle caresses in contrast to His intentions.

Finally sinking His blade into your skin, cutting through you with ease. In an instant, your blood begins to seep out of the burning wound. Your muffled screams ring out behind the belt stuffed between your teeth, trying helplessly to tug at your restraints, making your chains rattle around your neck and throat.

Stanford cuts into your flesh with ease, yellow eyes peering down at you scrutinizingly. His blade cuts through each layer of flesh with a surgeon-like precision. The sound of your blood hitting the floor echoes in your head, each drop falling into the blossoming puddle.

“Such a good boy..” He murmurs under his breath, not entirely sure you could hear Him over your thrashing. Your vision starts to tunnel as His blade sinks into your muscle, finally reaching the wires inside. The minute kink was enough to make you short circuit, it seems.

Your muscle spasms as it's cut into, your brain protesting against it but unable to stop it. From the bend of your elbow, to the inside of your wrist, gaped like a fish, down to the bone.

Stanford gingerly pulls apart your skin and muscle to see down inside you, it makes His heart race and pants tighten with a twisted satisfaction. Grinning madly as His finger tips caress your bone, He can't help himself. Leaning down and sweetly kissing your exposed bone, your tangy blood coating His lips.

“I could just eat you up, doll. You taste just as good as you look.” He whispers, His tongue darting out and lapping at your blood. Standing up straight again, His fingers prod painfully at your muscle, pulling the tendons apart like shredded chicken, spotting the wire much more easily.

Setting His bloody scalpel down, letting you bleed freely onto the floor, He picks up His tweezers, using them to press-bend the wire, straightening it out again.

“There we go. Now, was that so hard?” Stanford inquires rhetorically, chuckling to himself. His voice rings in your ears, your brain trying desperately to block out the searing pain shooting up your arm. You'd stopped crying by now, which definitely makes Him feel better.

Replacing His tweezers with a needle and thread, He pushes the needle tip into your tendons, working meticulously to sew everything back together. The pain is almost dull in comparison, your hand feeling like pins and needles stabbing into it from nerve damage.

His fingertips feel hot to the touch, melting right through His gloves, pressing right up against your exposed blood vessels, but you can hardly think long enough to understand what's going on. Searing your vessels back together with an inhuman ability. He's experienced, but not enough to fix *everything*.

Sewing your muscles closed around your bone, followed by your skin. Though, instead of wiping you clean, He leans back down and runs His tongue over your fresh stitches, feeling the cross pattern weaving in and out of your flesh.

Your frazzled brain can hardly register it anymore. Stanford's presence is one your brain tries to block out entirely, but His yellow eyes pierce your subconscious. Trailing slimy kisses up your arm, leaving bloody kiss prints up your bicep, over your clothed pectoral muscle, your cheek, then your lips, even if you don't kiss back.

One of His hands slides up your chest, to the back of your neck, then to the base of your skull, feeling for that same chip and pressing the tiny button. In an instant, it feels like your pain is swept away, returning to your numb, complaint state. The wires in your muscles connect back to your chip, your programming forcing you to remain obedient, like a good pet should, as you kiss Him back. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Tumblr was FIGHTING with me on this one gang Return to masterlist

[ashs-cardboard-box]

Fatal Preferences

~ Teen!Joel Miller/Teen!Male!Reader

~ (Light?) Whump/Angst (Day 9)

~ Platonic/crushing

~ 2.5k words

CW/TW; Minor homophobia in a religious context, use of "queer" in a derogatory manner (Written by a gay man)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fall of 1996, a simple time to be alive. At least, for you and Joel, your childhood best friend. School was the only thing you guys had to worry about. That, and Joel’s younger brother, Tommy, invading your conversations like a nuisance. You both were too young for a part-time job, being fifteen.

Your parents were lenient with you, unlike Joel’s mother, but you still had rules. Only an hour allowed on your new N64, inside before the streetlights come on, wash your hands before and after dinner, do good in school..etc. Joel’s mother, despite never really meeting her, you heard she was different. Extremely so.

Joel had to attend church on Sundays, only allowed to wear the clothes his mom picked out for him, no swearing, strict ban on Playboy, comics, and video games, no guitar playing after five in the evening, take Tommy with him if he were to leave the house, no media that paints Jesus in a bad light… Despite the overbearing-ness, he seemed to love his mother a lot, who were you to judge? Especially since that meant he got to spend more time with you at your house. Over fall break, he spent more time with you than at his own house, even if he was forbidden from staying the night with you. Something about “corruption of a young man’s mind”? You didn’t get it.

You had to let ten-year-old Tommy play on your N64 again to keep him quiet, when the brothers came over to your house again for Joel to hang out, but the boy promised to shut up and let you and Joel leave your house alone, heading out to the woods surrounding your neighborhood. Joel and Tommy lived a few households down from you, which definitely contributed to the amount of times you two hung out. The sound of walking more than a few houses amidst the Arlington summer heat sounded less than appealing, even if it WAS for Joel.

You’d do a lot for him, and he you. It was painfully obvious the two of you liked one another; it was part of the reason why Joel and Tommy’s mother hated them coming to see you so often. You were sinful in her eyes. You didn’t understand it really.

You and Joel had never discussed what you two truly were, even with all the times you two hung out alone. He especially liked when his mother was distracted with Tommy and he got to spend more time with you. He enjoyed when you two could curl up in your bed and rewatch The Fox and The Hound for the umpteenth time through your dad’s ongoing collection of VHS tapes. Limbs intertwined together, unwilling to be untangled, with hearts beating as one.

But he wasn’t queer or anything. That was wrong, his mother said. Sure, he thought your eyes were pretty and his gut got all warm when he heard you speak, but that wasn’t gay. That was just liking how pretty your best friend is! How pretty, and nice, and warm, and funny, and good at Mario you were.

“Hey, check this out!” Joel calls over towards you as he bends down to pick up a stick partially hidden in the dirt, the soil getting up underneath his nails. The wood had grown into a pointed angle, as if it were the handle to a gun. Pointing it towards you with a mischievous giggle, his hands wrapped around the “handle”.

Feigning surprise, you put your hands up near your head as you stop in place, a grin splitting across your face. “Yeahh.. That’s right. Just keep your hands up, mister. I ain’t plannin’ on lettin’ you go any time soon.” He states affirmatively as he glances around the surroundings rapidly, searching for something else to use, but ultimately finding nothing.

“Just-” Joel begins again as he approaches you, pushing the pointed end of the stick against your sternum, earning a slight grimace of pain from you. “Put your hands behind your back.” He continues, looking right back into your eyes. It was a bit stupid, the entire thing, but that lovely smile told you everything you needed to know.

“Please don’t arrest me, sir! I gotta family back home!” You exclaim dramatically as you turn your back on Joel, lowering your hands from your head to clasp behind your back. Glancing over your shoulder, you watch as he tries to figure out where to put his new stick on his body, but not wanting a lecture from his mother on getting his clothes dirty, he just drops it at his feet.

“Not anymore, you don’t!” Joel declares. The comment didn’t make much sense, and that was the hilarious bit about it. Prolonged jokes; they were a true joy. Joel’s hands reach down and wrap around your own, but he pauses for a singular second. Shifting his grip on your hands to intertwine your fingers with his own. The dirt on his fingertips rubbing off against you, the grains gently scraping against your skin, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You could feel your heart begin to race and your mouth go dry.

“Yeah? Why not?” You muse, gently prying your hands from his. Instead, turning around to face him again, grabbing ahold of his hands in yours. Joel’s thumb fidgets mindlessly with the skin between your forefinger and your thumb, creating a slight gap between your palms.

“I dunno.” He confesses with a lazy shrug. Snickering, you let go of him, playfully pushing against his chest. “You’re stupid.” You tease. “So are you!” Joel replies adamantly as he takes a step back. Only to follow up your shove with another against your chest.

“I am what?” You taunt, barely even budging from Joel’s lackluster push. You knew “stupid” was a bad word in his household. Along with other “swear words” like “hate” or “dumb”. Joel said his mother would make him bite into a bar of soap if he said them, so he tried to avoid those words and ACTUAL curse words.

“Shut up.” Joel huffs as he folds his arms over his chest like a petulant toddler, but you knew it was all an act and his words lacked any real bite. You’d been friends since preschool, of course you could read your best friend… boyfriend? ‘s body language!

With a small hum, you step closer towards him again, coaxing his arms from across his chest to drape over your shoulders. It was just like this. Alone time was rare on its own, but physical affection was just natural in your friendship, even if it made you question everything you’d ever felt before.

Joel, however, felt torn. He was sure his heart was spelling out your name every time it beat. His body and soul yearned for you. He used to freeze up with your touch, but now he couldn’t help but to miss it when he goes without. Yet, it was against his mother’s wishes. It was against God’s wishes. Her opinion was very important to him, and he couldn’t just disappoint her. He couldn’t choose between wanting to please you, or wanting to please her, even if that was an impossible task.

“You know she doesn’t want me hangin’ around you so much.. My mama.” He mumbles, right out of the blue. It makes you pause. Your hands stilling on his sides, fingers instinctively wanting to curl around Joel’s shirt and never let him go.

“I know. It’s why you gotta bring Tommy along everywhere.” You joke lightheartedly, but Joel doesn’t laugh. If anything, he looks pained. The earlier grin was nowhere to be seen. His eyes downturned to your boots caked in mud, only collecting more grime the longer you two are outside.

“She thinks you’re a queer…” He adds as he drops his arms back down to his sides. Part of him doesn’t want to, just wanting your touch to bring him through all of his troubles, but he’s smart enough to know it doesn’t work that way. “Heck, she thinks I’m a queer just ‘cause I wanna be a musician.”

“Well you ain’t.” You huff, clutching his shirt between your fists. Joel steps away from you and pushes your hands off of his shirt, only to smooth the fabric down, trying to prevent it from wrinkling. “Sorry.” You mutter. You’d forgotten all about his mom’s stupid rules. Your mother raised you better than to say you hated someone, but you did. You hated Joel and Tommy’s mom, even if you’d never said it out loud. You hated God. If it didn’t exist, Joel’s mom wouldn’t be all weird!

Joel doesn’t respond to your apology as his eyebrows furrow, a slow sigh leaving his lips. “Are you?” He prompts, nearly causing you to jolt out of your skin. It was such an abrupt conversation change, you wondered just how long this was bothering him for.

“Am I queer?” You question, earning a slow nod. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know. You’d thought about kissing boys before, yeah, and sometimes the male football players looked better than the female cheerleaders, but that was normal. Everyone thought like that. You knew Joel shared the same sentiment.

Months ago, you and him had a conversation, more akin to gossiping, about “who’s the hottest in school”. From the freshman, to sophomores, to juniors, maybe even a few seniors wormed their way into your lists. Being sophomores yourselves, you thought this was a normal thing every guy did at some point.

“I mean- I dunno.” You confess, automatically feeling anxiety boil bile in your throat, forcing it down with a swallow. “Never thought about it much, I guess. Like- I mean- I guess I’ve thought about you a few times, but haven’t you?” You add on as you stare into Joel’s downturned eyes, almost pleading that he understands where you’re coming from.

Joel remains silent, idly kicking at the dirt underneath his sneakers, squishing a clump or two beneath the toe of his shoe. “You said that Travis B. was hot. In your Chemistry class?” You remind, resting your hands on your hips.

“‘cause he looks like you…” He admits, wringing his hands together. He doesn’t want to hear what you think. This was sinful. He was broken for this. Boys couldn’t like boys. “You think I look like Travis B.??” You echo in slight offense, the comment going right over your head. To you, your classmate wasn’t the most attractive guy, there’s definitely better..like Joel.

“No, you don’t-” Joel pauses with a sigh. “I think you look…nice..” He rephrases as his eyebrows knit together with discontent. He didn’t want to be like this. He hated how he wanted your touch. He loved the way your skin felt against his own. The heat of your body absorbing him entirely each time the two of you cuddled in secret.

“B-But I can’t go against my mama like this. What would Tommy think of it?” He grits out, stumbling over his words slightly. “Your mama ‘n Tommy?” You repeat in confusion. You didn’t really understand. You thought you were having such a good day today and now a bombshell just had to come and ruin it? “Joel, what about you? I mean.. Do you really not wanna see me no more?”

Joel didn’t know what to say. The admission felt like acid on his tongue, but the truth was just begging to burst right out into the open. Awkwardly sliding his hands into the pockets of his pants, picking at the pocket lint inside. He can’t even look at you, and he’s not sure why. Maybe it’s the knowledge that he knows he’ll crumble, just like always. He couldn’t stomach the idea of hurting you.

“It ain’t that simple, Y/N. My mama expects better of me. I gotta set an example for Tommy. What would he think if he saw me lovin’ on you like that?” He clears his throat as his voice cracks, exposing the layers his dilemma runs through. His soul yearned to align with yours, but his mother’s expectations– his church’s expectations– they were holding him back.

“My mama will love you if yours don’t. You know she will. Y’all can just live with me and my folks and…not have to worry ‘bout all that!” You explain optimistically. Unable to resist, you step closer to Joel again, pulling him into a gentle hug, your hand stroking his back–resigning to down strokes only, keeping the shirt wrinkles in the forefront of your mind. You wanted to be selfish. You wanted Joel in your life because it was all you knew.

Joel falters for a moment, hesitantly wrapping his arms around your back as his chin finds its place on your shoulder. His eyes boring into a tree behind you, staring at an old carving in the bark you two made in elementary school.

“That’s…nice of you to say, but it’s different.” He mumbles as he grabs on just a little bit tighter at the possibility that you would part. You smell like a mixture of sweat, dirt, and your laundry soap, but he likes it. More than that, it’s addicting. Its distinctly you, and he craves to savor it.

“You ‘member ‘Jealous Jane’ back in middle school?” You prompt, to which Joel nods against you, shifting him just enough to nestle his face into your shoulder. “And when she got sent off to that camp ‘cause her daddy thought she was weird over her boyfriend?” You continue, earning another nod.

“She came back last year, I guess. She’s in my fourth hour now, but she’s changed. She broke up with her boyfriend and apologized to Molly for bitin’ her over him.” You explain. The memory of the start of the school year felt fresh in your head. “She’s all ‘bout God now. She’s different… and ‘m scared you’ll be like her too.”

“What’d you mean..?” Joel questions, voice slightly muffled by your shoulder. He doesn’t bother to correct himself, finding comfort in your embrace. “I’m scared you’ll get sent away and forget about me. I’m scared you’ll turn into some freakazoid and never talk to me again ‘cause your mama’s worried about us bein’ queer.”

“I’m not gonna just…forget you. That’d be stupid.” Joel scoffs as he leans back slightly, just enough to finally make eye contact again. “But ‘m not gonna disobey ma either..” He adds, leaning back into your warm hug. He needed this, more than anything. Even if his legs were falling asleep from standing still for too long.

Though, the two of you barely have enough time to register the crunching approaching you until the person is finally running away, narrowly missing Tommy’s stupid yellow shirt over the hill. Joel breaks away from you in a hurry, chasing after his younger brother back towards your neighborhood. You just hoped the little brat would keep his mouth shut after you let him play your Mario. You didn’t even want to imagine what would happen back at the Miller household.

With a huff, you slump down into the dirt, your eyes drawn to Joel’s “pistol” stick. You wondered if he would come back with you, or if Tommy just ruined the last chance you had with Joel. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ I KNOW IM LATE IM SORRY </333 been so tired recently and fighting with Tumblr every post stg Return to masterlist

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October 2024 Masterlist

Day 1: Fluff - Red Dead Redemption 2 - Hosea Matthews/Dutch Van Der Linde/Male!Reader; "Come back to me"

Day 3: Gore - Gravity Falls - Stanford Pines/Male!Reader; Severed Innocence Day 5: Kink - Monster Prom - Liam de Lioncourt/Male!Reader; "Pipe down" Day 7: Whump - Death Note - L Lawliet/GN!Reader; "Stay." Day 9: Whump - The Last of Us - Joel Miller; Fatal Preferences Day 11: Fluff - Attack on Titan - Erwin Smith/Male!Reader; Precious Treasures

Day 13: Gore - Call of Duty - Simon "Ghost" Riley/Male!Reader; Behind You

Day 15: Kink - Stardew Valley - Alex/Male!Reader; Seasonal Allergies

Day 17: Fluff - Supernatural - Dean Winchester/GN!Reader; Sweater Weather

Day 19: Kink - Red Dead Redemption 2 - Dutch Van Der Linde/Male!Reader; Betrayal

Day 21: Whump - Attack on Titan - Levi Ackerman/Male!Reader; A gut feeling

Day 23: Gore - Pressure (Roblox) - Sebastian Solace/GN!Reader; Corrupted Allies

Day 25: Gore - The Last of Us - Joel Miller/Male!Reader; It Spreads

Day 27: Kink - Call of Duty - John Price/Male!Reader; Fraternizing

Day 29: Whump - Red Dead Redemption 2 - John Marston/Male!Reader; Regretful Abandonment

Day 31: Fluff - Gravity Falls - Stanley Pines/Male!Reader; Stuck

List will be updated with links after fics are posted.

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"Pipe down."

~ Trans!Liam de Lioncourt/TransMale!Reader ~ Kink - "hate sex", minor spanking (Day 5) ~ Enemies to enemies with benefits (implied) ~ 2.5k words

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You didn't hate Liam. You just had a…particularly strong dislike for him and, judging by the constant glare on his face when he made eye contact with you, you suspected those feelings were reciprocated.

You two avoided each other like the plague; you couldn't be far enough away. It felt like he was everywhere. In the halls, judging outfits with his posse of girls..and Damien. In class, yapping away about how “unethical” things are and how HE would do things. You never wanted to strangle anyone more in your entire unlife!

Well, strangle was a pretty “broad” term, you surmised. Hold Liam underwater until he stopped kicking, assuming vampires could even drown, or to make him cum repeatedly with your hand around his throat until he was too stupid to run his jaw, even if that thought alone made you even more upset.

You could hardly focus on the auditions in the auditorium without glaring at Liam the entire time. If only you had seen yourself, you were sure you looked like you were trying to light him on fire by staring. That stupid blue overcoat and the way it hugs his thin waist. How his undershirt rides up ever so slightly each time he reaches up to push Scott's tree leaves out of his light. His pants are too tight, his boots are too high up; you could pick apart every single detail of what’s wrong with him.

Your leg bounces repeatedly as you sit in one of the audience chairs, arms folded impatiently over your chest. It wasn't your rehearsal day, and you weren't the one on stage, but for some reason, something in your mind told you to show up and watch. Maybe it was to catch Liam doing something stupid, or maybe something interesting was going to happen…yeah right. Not with that twink around.

Every part of you just wanted to make Liam shut up. He talked too damn much. He always acted like he was superior to everyone. You could feel his eyes on you each time he “adjusted his glasses from the glare of the lights overhead”. It was so aggravating! And that goddamn nonchalant attitude, you felt you could fuck it out of him. Make him writhe and squirm. Teach him to mind his manners for once.

Forcing yourself out of your chair, causing the seat to fold back up with a piercing screech. You make your way right up onto stage, abruptly stopping the rehearsal taking place. You could’ve easily just stopped and backed away now, but you didn’t.

Not bothering to explain yourself at all, you march right up to Liam, fists balled tightly at your side. Grabbing him harshly by the back of his collar, pulling him stage left. The rubber soles of his boots squeak slightly against the waxed wood of the stage, but you ignore the ear piercing sound paired with the confused stares you’re receiving.

“What- What the hell are you doing??” He questions, reaching up and tugging on the front of his collar being tugged up against his Adam's apple, to prevent it from choking him.

Pulling him through the door, you barely manage to drag Liam with you and shove him up against the opposing wall in the dimly lit exterior hallway. His back collides with the brick, staring wide eyed at you, his cheeks burning a humiliating amount.

“Do you have any idea just now goddamn annoying you are?” You prompt, pressing your forearm against Liam's chest, your knee slipping between his thighs.

For once, in 4XX years, he's caught off guard with a lack of words. His jaw agape ever so slightly, purple cheeks turned pink. His glasses were beginning to fog with your breath, heavy with exertion from having to drag him. Chests almost pressed together, if it weren't for your arm creating a slight barrier. You can just barely feel the tightening of his thighs around your own– if the quiver in his knees didn't give him away, that is. It made you pause for a very slight moment.

Feeling your heart speed up in your chest and a weird warmth spread throughout your abdomen to your groin, your glare into his yellow eyes falters just barely. Though, Liam's stupid face staring back at you like a fish out of water grounds you back into reality, pushing your forearm more firmly against his chest.

“Nothing to say?” You taunt, slipping your thigh a bit higher between his legs. You can feel the warmth easily through his thin slacks. Forcing himself up onto his tiptoes to prevent excess pressure from being put onto his crotch.

“Like you're any better.” Liam scoffs, finally finding his confidence again. Pushing his palms against your chest, shoving you back just enough to get you off of him. “At least I have self-control.” He adds, straightening out the cuffs on his sleeves, his nose bridge scrunched up in irritation.

Admittedly, you couldn't argue. You lacked a fair bit of self-control, especially around Liam. But it wasn't because you liked him or anything! You hated his guts so much you wanted to rearrange them.

Snatching Liam back up by his collar, pulling him up against your front again. “Watch your tongue.” You huff. It was the truth, but you didn't want to hear it. Liam rolls his eyes, unamused by your outburst. Lifting his hands in a placating manner, a smug grin pulling across his lips.

“I'm right, aren't I? As always.” He boasts, his initial shock and embarrassment wearing off completely. Straightening out his posture a bit too much, looking overconfident, like he was overcompensating for a lack of. Just being a brat at this point–pushing your buttons–even if he knew it was a stupid idea. One of few he had.

One intrusive thought. That's all it took. One–“would he kiss well?”–before you register your lips against his. It's not romantic in the slightest. It's raw. Raw and heady. Teeth clashing, spit swapping, pawing at each other's bodies without care to being caught. At least, for a minute, up until Liam pulls back with a sharp inhale.

Wordlessly, he takes your place in tugging him around. Pulling on your forearms as he brings you along with him to the nearest room, which unfortunately belongs to Crazy Martin - the Were-Bear janitor. You two were sure to get punished if you were caught, but that only made the energy in your body buzz faster.

Shoving you up against the door, causing it to shut behind both of you. Almost instantly, Liam's lips are back on yours again, one of his hands slipping behind your lower back to the door handle digging painfully into your skin, locking the door with a click.

Your hands grasp at Liam's stupid outfit, tugging at the bottom few buttons of his white vest, not caring if they fell off or not, just to give you access to his too-tight pants. The feeling of his own pawing at your hips like a desperate mutt. Groping, pulling, pinching..it makes you whine.

Growing lightheaded, you break the kiss, tasting his saliva on your lips. You barely give yourself time to catch your breath before your head ducks down into his neck. You can feel Liam shudder and tilt his head as you run the flat of your tongue over his sensitive pulse point, your hand slipping down unceremoniously into the front of his pants.

You weren't sure what you were expecting to be met with, but the dampness of his boxers against your fingertips makes your breath hitch. Liam stifles a moan, letting it falter into a breathy whimper.

“Gods..” He breathes, copying your motion and tucking his hand into your pants, groaning at your own slickness.

“Pipe down.” You grunt, sinking your teeth into the side of his throat, just wanting to take out all of this pent up stress onto him. Your knees nearly giving out beneath you as you feel his fingers gently circle around your clothed clit.

“Martin'll find us…” You whisper against his skin, your tongue trailing over the teeth marks left behind on his skin. “Unless you want him to see what a bitch you are.”

With a pouty huff, Liam stuffs his other hand down the back of your pants, right down into your underwear, grasping at the globes of your ass.

Though, instead, you remove your hands from him completely, much to his ire and confusion as he follows. Your hands dart down to your button and zipper, unfastening them and pushing both your pants and underwear down to your ankles, stepping out of them.

“Off.” You command with a lazy nod down to his slacks. You didn't much care for the shirts, even if his coat was an eyesore, they wouldn't get in the way. Your fingers finding your slick cunt as you watch him embarrassingly fumble. Your mouth going dry as he finally exposes himself to you, just as wet, if not more, as you are. 

Readjusting his glasses, under the façade of confidence, Liam looks you up and down with a look you've never seen before, and one you hope to never see again after this is done.

Using your free hand, you gently grab his wrist, tugging him down to his knees with your pussy right in his face. “Put your mouth to good use.” You pant. Liam's lips part in thinly veiled protest, arrogance crossing his face again, but you don't care whatsoever.

Grabbing him by his stupid ponytail-man-bun-thing, you force his head closer, grinding your slick against his nose and mouth, an involuntary moan escaping your throat. Rolling his eyes stubbornly, his tongue darts out to lap at your folds, humming with satisfaction.

The gentle sucking at your sensitive clit combined with Liam being unafraid of eating you out and the singular finger he'd slipped inside you, it makes you spasm. Your hand tightening in his hair, desperate for more friction.

“Cockysonofabitch..” You moan. You were just happy you didn't have to hear his grating voice anymore. At least, temporarily. Right up until you feel the sting of a snapping rubber band beneath your fingers, not realizing you were grabbing his hair that tightly. Letting Liam pull away from your cunt, you offer a slightly sheepish, breathless chuckle as you show him his snapped hair tie, as if the feeling of his parted hair sliding back into its place over one of his eyes wasn't obvious.

Annoyed, Liam reaches up and pulls you down to him roughly, your knees crashing into the thin carpet below, a pained hiss leaving your lips, but he doesn't give you a break at all. You broke his shit, after all.

His hands grasping at your shoulders as he pushes you back as far as you could, awkwardly propped up against the door, causing an ache in your spine. Gliding his hands down your body to your thighs, pushing them apart.

“You're too damn rough. Break everything I own, will you?” Liam grumbles, slotting his body between your legs. One of his legs draped over yours, the other tucked underneath. The small space makes both of you sweat more than you'd prefer, but you shudder as his clit presses down against your own.

“Shut up and move.” You retort, hands grasping at anything in reach as Liam rolls his hips into yours. Nails digging into the crunchy, thin carpet, to grasping at Liam's shitty coat, to clawing at his forearms, fingertips finding his bite mark accidentally, but Liam doesn’t stop grinding against you.

A hushed groan escaping both of you, the obscene sound of slick against slick practically reverberating inside the closet. Trying so fucking hard to remain quiet, barely managing to lean in enough to make out in a poor attempt to muffle the noises escaping your lips.

Tongues prodding into each others’ mouths, narrowly missing teeth aching to bite down and draw blood. Involuntarily bucking your hips in a needy attempt to seek more pleasure, it puts more pressure against Liam's sopping pussy, causing him to moan into your mouth.

Your first reaction is to reach out and choke him, to satisfy that urge to shut him up. But you can't bring yourself to choke him at that moment. Despite being entirely contrived of flaws, he feels damn good.

Alternatively, your hand slides down his back, following the trail of his spine, down to his flat ass. Raising your hand before bringing it right back down, striking him in a silent command to shut him up. But it only does the opposite. Liam arches his back as he breaks the kiss with a louder moan, grinding his cunt into your own a bit too rough, causing your clit to tingle and the nerves to send an unfamiliar coolness down your legs, to your toes.

“Shut. Up.” You finally demand through gritted teeth, your head lazily resting against the wood of the door behind you, peering up at him through the dim lighting. Lips all kiss-swollen and pink, covered in spit and your own slick, just from Liam's mouth.

“S-Sorry..” He breathes, pushing his hair away from his face to keep it from sticking to him more than it already has. “Just.. Do that again. I’m- fuck, I'm close.”

You didn't want to comply. Part of you just wanted to edge Liam mercilessly until he was too stupid to think about how high and mighty he feels. But, you need the release too. You actually deserve it, in your humble opinion.

Raising your hand again, you swiftly bring it back down to his ass cheek, causing it to sting and forcing him to grind down harder onto you. Watching as his eyes roll back, biting down on the inside of his lip, just to keep it down.

You can feel the ache in your belly as your thighs begin to twitch, toes curling, desperately after your own orgasm. Once again, you bring your hand down hard onto his purple ass, but instead of making Liam cum, your orgasm crashes over you unexpectedly, like a rubber band snapping.

Your other hand is quickly brought up to your mouth, sinking your teeth into your flesh as you moan into the back of your hand. Rutting right up against Liam's cunt to rid yourself through your orgasm causes Liam to be pushed over the edge shortly thereafter.

He wouldn't admit it, not to anyone nor himself, but you felt good against him. It was the ONLY time he wanted you near him. Maybe to get off some more.

Neither of you wanted anything to do with aftercare for one another, even if deep down, it would probably do your tense relationship some good. No words are exchanged as you part, slick coating each other's genitals and down ass cracks. You decide Liam probably has to go back to whatever it was he was doing. Rehearsal, you think?

Managing to finagle on your pants, you slip out the door, just in time to catch Crazy Martin rounding the corner of the hallway, definitely leaving Liam to deal with the aftermath. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Return to masterlist

[ashs-cardboard-box]

Precious Treasures

~ King!Dragon hybrid!Erwin Smith/Male Concubine!Wolf hybrid!Reader

~ Fluff (Day 11)

~ Secret Romance

~ 2k words

Royal + Hybrid AU :3 Size and rank difference mentioned and welcomed. No TW (unless you get upset by they/them Hange ??)

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In the expansive nation of Paradis, there lies a castle among the vast lands, run by hybrids from all sorts of species. Yet, for centuries, the dragons reign supreme, of course. Being a dragon was widely associated with strength, wealth and status, typically only seen in noble bloodlines. Whereas on the other end of the spectrum, most prey animals like rabbits or mice were what normally controlled the “lesser fortunate”. Everyone had their respective places, but you were the odd one out.

Usually, the wolf hybrids were deemed fitting for knighthood, regardless of background or gender. Their inherent need for a pack proved useful to past rulers in the instance of war or tragedy. Yet you were different. You were dubbed a concubine. Odd, yes..but to add insult to injury, you were the only male concubine in the palace.

King Erwin knew he had to have you the minute he laid eyes on you during an outing, spotting you whilst you were a squire, training to earn your rightful title as a wolf. His father before him, and his father before him, so on and so forth, they’d had many concubines, all women. But you? You were special to him. He’d requested you change your path from knighthood to be his concubine with no consequences. But surprisingly, you obeyed without the usual fear or defiance others would have.

He cared about you more than any noble should for a mere worker. He’d even gifted you the shiniest jewels from his hoard, dressing you up in them to really make you gleam. Shiny golden necklaces, bracelets, anklets, belts–purposefully avoiding any rings–all with his precious stones inside. In any other circumstance, he’d cut the arm off of anyone who tried to reach for his stash, but he loved you.

Your relationship with King Erwin was kept a secret. It had to be, even if you didn’t necessarily like it. No matter how obvious it was, just by the way your tail wagged each time he beckoned you into his chambers to fulfill your duty, it had to be kept silent. If the rumors were to be confirmed true, Paradis could fall to shambles with the knowledge that their king was courting not only a male concubine, but one out of his species. The King’s right hand, a black panther named Levi, strongly advised against it. He knew about your bond, albeit extremely grudgingly. He tried to stay out of it as much as possible…for his own sake.

During a particularly dreary morning, storm clouds overhead with the preparation for a heavy rain, your attention is pulled away from the window and over to the door as you hear a particularly chipper knock pattern, followed by a very familiar giggle.

Hange was the King’s stewardess, a hyena. There was talk that they’d made a deal with Erwin on his coronation that if they helped him out, they’d be allowed in the dungeon with the executioner for “experiments”, but no one could confirm nor deny. They didn’t even dare ask.

“I’m clothed, Hange. You can come in.” You call, turning just enough to face the door. Dressed in a lovely purple silken robe, gifted to you by Erwin himself, having just woken up after an absolutely restless night's sleep. Your room was one of many guest rooms inside the kingdom, since Erwin decided he couldn’t have you riding all the way back home in the middle of the night, especially if the people knew who you were to him. Each time you left, he kept himself up, sick with worry, before ultimately making a decision. One he knew would keep you safer in the long run.

It was a nice room, you had to admit. Probably larger on its own than all of the rooms in your entire house combined. Most of your personal belongings were taken from your residence and put into your new room with the help of a few cadet soldiers, who complained and dragged their feet, but you appreciated them anyway.

The large oak doors are pushed open with force, with Hange’s much smaller frame standing between them. Their tail was puffed up and wagging excitedly, causing any loose fur to fly off. “Y/N!” They beam, their voice carrying throughout the space, creating an echo that makes your ears twitch.

“Hi, Hange..” You grumble as you reach up to brush your hand over your ears, as if you could physically feel the tinnitus starting to blare. Your other hand remains around the strap that keeps your robe tied shut, not exactly wanting to flash them. “The King asked for you.” They inform, straightening themselves out despite the dramatic entrance. Their eyes locked onto yours over the rims of their glasses, a look you know that means “do this immediately”.

With a sigh, you nod, accepting your task and probably the punishment you know you’re going to receive. Watching Hange leave and close the doors behind them, you decide to head out as soon as possible, fully expecting a punishment for something you either did or didn’t do. Admittedly, dragon hybrids were a bit unpredictable, even worse during mating season; thank gods it wasn’t…you didn’t think.

Slipping your feet into your slippers by your door, adjusting your robe to make sure it’s completely covering your modesty, you pull open your door and step out into the grandiose corridor.

The long hallway stretched on both ways for what felt like hours, even if that wasn’t remotely true. The walls were made of various minerals like white limestone, with lovely marble flooring that Erwin likes to keep spotless and shining. Your room was fairly isolated from the others, since it was easier for Erwin to sneak in and out to see you without getting caught. Some of the castles’ daily keepers had their own spaces, with others needing to return back home for their families, but they weren’t nearly as grand as yours.

The king’s room was a floor above everyone else’s, heavily guarded by both experienced knights and soldiers, and less experienced squires and cadets. Usually, you had to shyly explain what you were wanting to enter Erwin’s quarters for if you weren’t being summoned, but to your surprise, the king was standing right outside the door. His arms folded over his chest and his spiny, scaly tail slowly swaying behind him. His face was a mask of indifference, as always. It was something you could respect. You found yourself having to grab your own tail just to stop its wagging from time to time.

“Your Majesty.” You greet, simultaneously calling attention to yourself. Stopping right in front of Erwin, you tuck your tail between your legs and bow your head, staring at Erwin’s feet. You could barely contain the grin spreading across your face, biting down on your inner bottom lip. You could feel the guards’ eyes on both of you, even if they tried to remain nonchalant about their eavesdropping.

“Y/N.” the king grunts, a plume of smoke leaving his mouth with an exhale, indicative of a dragon's irritation. Your ears flatten subconsciously. Part of you hopes he’s just keeping up the charade to take suspicion off of your relationship, the other part is rapidly racking your brain for any and all events you possibly could have missed.

“Come.” Without waiting for a response, Erwin steps past you and heads back down the hallway you just came from, tucking in his wings to prevent from accidentally hitting you with them. You follow along like an eager puppy, which technically, you were. As soon as you were out of eye and earshot of the soldiers guarding Erwin’s room, you let your ears perk up and your tail wag freely, if not a bit hesitant.

“You seem tense…sire…” You comment sheepishly, walking a bit faster to catch up with Erwin. You steal a brief glance up towards him, catching a sly look on his face underneath thinly veiled irritation.

“There’s just something I would like to show you in the garden.” He softens, glancing down at you momentarily before facing forward again. Despite Erwin’s softening demeanor, you tense immensely. You had planted an assortment of flowers that you’d purchased from the village market, just for Erwin. They were supposed to be a surprise for his upcoming birthday.

“Something?” You muse, your ears flattening again. You didn’t want to give away the surprise if Erwin hadn’t found out–you’d paid the gardeners to keep your gifts a secret–and found something else entirely.

Erwin hums in confirmation with a curt nod. His right wing expands just enough to curl up around you, keeping you as close as possible, discreetly taking your hand in his. Even if you two were a secret, he didn’t want any of his staff getting any funny ideas with you. Walking right through the throne room in silence, then out the open archway, right along the path into endless fields of land, just up the hill from the nearest Paradis village.

“Here– look!” He beams, his stoic demeanor crumbling entirely as he drags you along with him. Mentally complaining about your slippers getting dirtied from being outside, but it wasn’t like they couldn’t be cleaned. His tail begins to wag alongside yours, only slightly slower due to the large size difference.

Tugging you into the greenhouse, holding the door open for you, of course, he triple checks to make sure no one else is inside before ushering you over to the bed you’d tried to keep secret from him.

“Just look at them!” Erwin grins, sharp teeth on display. Kneeling down to gently caress the snowy white petals of a ghost orchid, his other hand interlaced with your own. “I can’t recall ever asking for the assortment, but they’re just beautiful.”

“Actually, I got ‘em for you..” You explain sheepishly as you slowly kneel down beside the king. With a brief glance down at your robe to make sure you’re not exposing yourself, you continue.

“Jade vine,” You point to a curved, bright turquoise legume. “Ghost orchid..” You pause on a bright red bunch of fire lilies. “I wanna say chile-something..” Erwin nods with a small huff of a chuckle, gesturing for you to continue regardless. While he was interested in your supposed gift, he also just wanted to hear you talk.

“Parrot’s Beak,” You wave towards an crimson “beak shaped” bud, followed by a turn to point at an unblossomed cactus flower that you also couldn’t quite remember. “That one blooms rarely at night.” You inform, returning your eyes to the king’s, only to realize he’d been staring at you all along.

Clearing your throat nervously, you give his hand a gentle squeeze as you stand back up, out of the curve of his wing. “I- uh.. I bought ‘em at the market a bit ago for your birthday… hadn’t really planned on you finding them before then.”

Erwin is silent as he copies you and stands up, pulling you into a sudden embrace, burying his nose into your hair. “Thank you.” He rumbles, his wings curling around you protectively as his tail begins to wag.

Slowly, you wrap your arms around him tightly, your face pulled right up against his chest. “You like ‘em?” You question, earning a slow nod that makes your own tail wag. “I love them..and you.” The king mumbles into the top of your head, hardly quelling the urge to bring you back into the castle and hoard you into his pile of jewels and gems.

“Love you too..” You whisper, just enjoying the warm embrace that you’d been craving all morning. You felt like you couldn’t get enough of Erwin, even if your surprise had been revealed a few weeks too early. “There’s also bismuth and garnet in my bedside table.” You add with a quiet chuckle, feeling the king’s muscles stiffen with excitement.

“Flowers and new additions to my hoard?” Erwin grins, picking you up with extreme ease and walking right out of the greenhouse with you in his arms, a bit dazed by the sudden move. “You treat me so well, my shining star.”

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Ive been craving to write a hybrid fic and this is my excuse 10/13 edit: I JUST REALIZED TOMORROW IS ERWIN'S BIRTHDAY </333 i've made a terrible mistake forgive me Commander happy birthday old man </3 Return to masterlist

[ashs-cardboard-box]

Fluff/Whump/Kink/Gore-tober 2024 Calendar

This is the first year I'm participating in the October prompts !! Though, I wasn't able to pick between one of four, so I combined them all into "Indecisive-tober"!! A, somewhat messy, list of prompts all pertaining to October !! :3

If anyone wants to, they're welcome to use the idea of "indecisive-tober", just credit me please !!