#b) don’t go to class or anything at all today | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

after-witch · 6 months

Text

Death by Stereo [Yandere Chrollo x Reader] [Vampire AU]

Title: Death by Stereo [Yandere Vampire Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: You’re just a nobody living in a small town when a mysterious stranger with a leather jacket, good looks and a penchant for kissing your hand rolls in, just in time for the ever-popular summer carnival. Things are going great, until dead bodies start piling up.

Word count: 17,510

Notes: yandere, vampire AU, descriptions of dead bodies, some violence, gore, abuse

Thursday

Is there anything more wearisome than a small town? Small towns grind you down so slowly that you don’t realize your feet have been eroded into useless nubs before it’s too late, and you have nowhere to run, even if you had the inkling to get away.

A small town has its charms, as they say--but it has its burdens, too. You know all the faces, but all the faces know you; some of them have even known you since you were just an ultrasound picture carried dutifully in your mother’s purse, pulled out at coffee shops and book clubs.

They know when you got your first period (age 13, in the middle of gym class--you were wearing white shorts); when your first boyfriend dumped you (at the school dance, right before he made out with the third most popular girl in school); what colleges you applied to, and later--why you dropped out (your dad got sick) and how he was doing (not so great but getting better) and where you worked, how you liked your coffee, and all these impersonal and personal details that made up the monotony of your life.

It was a trap, this small town life. A faux bubble of intimacy that your parents embraced, but you’d never fully believed. Because despite knowing so much about you, no one here really knew you. They could tell you that you looked just like your mom at her age; they could sling down a mug with your coffee order without you opening your mouth (black, 1 sugar, 1 cream, no milk)--but they didn’t want to hear about how much you wanted to travel; how much you wanted to see.

Did it matter? You weren’t getting out anytime soon, anyway.

Like all small towns, yours had a claim to fame. While others might boast being the hometown of some B-list celebrity or the site of an all-you-get-eat seafood festival, your particular small town had one edge over the others: a summer carnival right on the beach, designed to appeal to nearby tourists who came to much larger, resort-friendly beaches for the summer season.

The tourists loved to flock here on that singular summer weekend, pretending they were enjoying a quaint local carnival where they got drunk on cheap beer and sampled funnel cake until they puked. And if the locals hustled them as much as possible, overcharging for drinks and parking and sightseeing maps, was that so bad? Small towns needed to leech off new blood once in a while, after all.

The carnival was four days long--Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday. Sunday was, of course, the grand finale. There was a massive fireworks show on the beach, a huge concert with local and sometimes vaguely familiar bands. A lot more booze traded hands on Saturdays, and the beach was lit up with more than just fireworks; the local volunteers always spent the next week picking up cigarette butts and discarded joints in the sand.

The carnival can be fun. Although like anything that happens every single year in a small town you’ve lived in your entire life (save the one year of college you managed before your dad’s test results came back) it gets wearisome.

Still--you go. What else is there to do? Besides, you’d be stupid to deny that it’s more fun to spend your summer weekend wandering the carnival, riding a few rides, speaking to people, than to sit at home or pick up an extra shift at the diner.

That’s why you’ve wandered into the carnival today--Thursday. Thursday is your favorite day of the carnival, because it’s the most quiet, relatively speaking. There are tourists here, sure, but they’re not rowdy yet. Not as overcrowded. There aren’t gaggles of kids running around with lobster-red faces and arms because they’re parents didn’t understand the necessity of sunscreen; there aren’t groups of women traveling in packs with matching sunglasses and hats, enjoying a summer break away from their rich and distant husbands.

It’s mostly locals on Thursday. People like you, bored coffee shop workers with nothing better to do on a Thursday evening.

Or people like Jake Jenson over there, currently aiming a colorful dart at a row of balloons in one of many carnival games that would hustle drunk tourists out of their money this weekend.

Jake was the town drunk--a title he gave himself, and others were only too happy to oblige him. He stuck to himself most of the time. During the carnival, he won as many carnival prizes as possible, and traded them to tourists with shitty aim for beers or cigarettes.

And over there--the early birds. They’ve come three years in a row, you think from somewhere in New York. They’re attached at the hip, constantly rubbing their noses together like some twee movie couple, and you’ve heard them complain that the boardwalks in their part of the country are a lot more “authentic.’

Sure, there’s the familiar faces, but unfamiliar ones, too. An older gentleman and his wife, who walks next to him more slowly, with a cane. He’s balancing a plastic plate with a fresh funnel cake in his hand. They’ll find a bench to sit down and enjoy it, maybe people watch, like you.

It’s time for one of your favorite games: making up stories for the various tourists you probably won’t ever see again. This couple--this is the last trip they’ll take together, because the wife got an awful diagnosis, and they’re spending what would have been the rest of their retirement savings on the dream vacation she always wanted to take. They met during the war, decades ago… he was a soldier and she was a nurse, and he hurt his leg, maybe, and wound up in a field hospital.

It would have been terribly romantic.

Your eyes shift away from the couple and onto a few other new faces.

Maybe that’s why you liked the carnival. It was nice to look at new people and imagine where they came from, what they did. The kind of life they had, which was surely more interesting and worldly than yours.

With people watching in mind, you abandon your bench in front of the games and head deeper into the carnival, weaving yourself in between snack and ticket booths, stepping over large black cables that kept the rides running.

Dusk had already settled in, and the warm glow of the summer had been replaced with a deepening sense of evening. The carnival lights had already begun to play against the darkening sky, creating that magical atmosphere that couldn’t be replicated during the day.

You don’t notice the stranger at first. It’s dark, the lights are a bit dizzying, and there are plenty of people simply wandering around and taking in the sights. What’s one more stranger, when over the course of the next few hours and days, the summer will be increasingly filled with them?

But this particular stranger shows up in the corner of your vision and immediately strikes you as… odd. He’s just standing there.

Watching you. Staring--right at you. What the fuck?

He’s wearing all black, and there’s some sort of scarf or cowl over his face. His eyes look impassive but there’s something awful in them, even in the brief glances you get from catching him from the corner of your gaze.

What a creep.

It sours the mood, and you decide to leave, or at least take a break and shake off whatever out-of-towner decided to pull off his best edgy horror movie impression to creep you out. It wouldn’t be the first time a tourist behaved like a jerk, or a weirdo, especially if they’d be drinking.

Something about nighttime at the carnival made people go wild.

So you head away from it all, from the couples trying to win stuffed animals, from the giggling shrieks of people on rides that spun them upside down until they wanted to puke. And maybe you should just head right home, but it’s not fair to waste a night of good weather.

Cool, but not too cool. Pleasant. The moon is out and the stars twinkle overhead.

Heading out on the dock might be nice. Tourists don’t bother with it, at least not on Thursday, when the beach isn’t lit-up and there’s no particular reason to head out this way.

But you’d been to this beach in the evening before; you weren’t scared of the dark. By contrast, you liked the way the beach sounded at night. The water moving in and out, slow and sure. The occasional sound of wildlife splashing in the water. And the din of the carnival behind you, all rainbow lights and indiscernible human happiness.

Your joy is cut off by the sound of footsteps. Your heart leaps in your chest and your hands slam into your pocket instinctively, fumbling for your keys. Fuck, how were you supposed to use these in self-defense again? Put them between your fingers?

Your heart hammers and you slowly turn around, squinting as you make out a figure approaching you in the dark.

“I’m sorry,” a voice calls out, penitent. “Did I scare you? I’m trying to get reception.” The man wiggles a small silver object in the air, raising it above his head. A small LED screen lights up and your heart rate begins to calm, slowly but surely.

After a few beats, he sighs, and shoves the phone in his pocket.

He turns, apparently to leave, but then looks back at you. “Are you all right? I really didn’t mean to startle you.”

You swallow, lick your lips. Feel stupid for the keys in your fingers. He seems nice enough. A typical tourist. “Um, yeah.” You laugh, an empty sound. “I guess I’m just a little jumpy tonight.”

The moonlight doesn’t give you a clear view of the man’s features, but you can see him tilt his head a little. “Jumpy?”

The keys in your pocket rattle when you let them go, and pull your hands out to point back towards the carnival. The man follows your finger with an almost studious interest.

“Someone was following me, maybe? Or he just seemed a bit creepy.” You laugh again, a habit ingrained after years of dealing with men in odd situations--defuse, tread lightly, always. “He was staring at me, but I couldn’t see his face. He had a scarf over it, I think.”

The man in front of you hums in acknowledgement after a moment. He almost seems a little amused, which is both irritating and relieving in its own way. You were just being silly, jumpy, overreacting, weren’t you? Maybe the guy wasn’t even looking at you in the first place.

“Can I walk you back to the carnival? It doesn’t feel right to leave you here alone.”

Ah, no, you think. Sure, the man in front of you might just be a tourist in search of reception, but that doesn’t mean you’re stupid. This is how people get murdered. Or attacked. Or like, hoisted into white vans and never seen again.

“No, that’s okay. I was going to stay out here longer and look at the stars. I’m going home soon, anyway.” Not a complete lie, since you did really want to go home. Something like this is usually enough for most people to take the hint, right?

The man doesn’t turn around. Instead, you see the shape of his smile, lit only by the moon in the sky above.

“You want me to walk you back to the carnival,” he says simply, and offers his arm out, like some kind of old-fashioned gentleman.

Oh. Of course you do. What were you thinking, staying out here on the dock at night? Mosquitoes would eat you up, anyway.

You smile in return and take his offered arm, stepping lightly as you make your way back to the carnival with a complete stranger.

Only by the time you make it back to the threshold of the carnival, which seems to be eaten up by the darkness surrounding all of the twinkling lights, he’s not really a stranger, is he?

And as you get closer to the carnival, the natural darkness of the beach gives way to an abundance of artificial lights that allow you to see him better. He’s cute--no doubting that, with dark hair that frames his face, and a bandage around his forehead. Maybe an accident, or an unfortunate birthmark.

Even if you weren’t familiar with most of the town’s residents in one way or another, you’d know he was an outsider from the way he’s dressed. A slim motorcycle jacket and dark jeans… not the type of guy that hangs around here for long.

As you stop at the border of the carnival, he asks where you live, and you tell him--”around.” He admits that he’s only in town for the carnival week.

“I figured,” you say lightly enough.

He raises his eyebrows. “Is it that easy to tell?”

You put your hands into your pockets and look around you.

“I mean, it’s a small town, right? Everyone knows everyone, after a while. A new face stands out pretty easily.”

His smile is charming. Practiced, but charming. Or maybe being practiced is how it’s so charming in the first place. “That makes sense.” He considers you for a moment. “You like to watch the tourists, then?”

You shrug and gesture with your chin towards a mom with a toddler clinging to her hand, pulling her along towards one of the games with enormous stuffed animals.

“I like people watching, I guess. Sometimes,” and as you’re saying it, you don’t know why you’re telling him this so openly. “Sometimes I like to make up stories about people I see. Like, where they’re from or what they do or a backstory like they’re from a movie or whatever.”

Your cheeks feel suddenly, stupidly hot. Christ, you meet a handsome stranger on the beach and your first major conversation involves you admitting you make up stories about people? You’ve got to get out of this town more.

But he doesn’t seem like he’s judging you. If anything, he looks interested.

“And what would you imagine for me?”

The question is unexpected.

“I think…” You try to force your mind to wander like it does when you people watch organically. What would you imagine, if you came across him walking around the carnival in the evening? He’d be on his own, surely, maybe his hands in his pockets. Quiet. A soft smile on his face, maybe?

“I think you’re some sort of… librarian. Or a curator. A collector?” You shake your head, unsure of exactly where you want to go with this one. “The point is, you’re traveling around the country, looking for things to add to a museum or library or something like that. And you came across an ad for a summer carnival and thought you’d take in some local culture.” You gesture towards the carnival--the lights, the crowd of people, the humanity on display. “But walking around here makes you feel lonely. So you walk down to the beach in the hopes of distracting yourself. Only,” you add, with a cheeky grin. “To come across the most amazing small town waitress in 100 miles standing on the dock like a weirdo.”

He doesn’t smile at your story. Not exactly. Instead--and you look away when you notice, feeling too rude for staring--his eyes widen just a smidge and he purses his lips in a thoughtful way.

“My name is Chrollo,” he says. “May I have yours?”

Chrollo is kind of old-fashioned, you decide. Perhaps you were more spot-on than you realized with your story.

Maybe you shouldn’t give your name. But there’s a giddy feeling inside your chest. Something akin to what you used to feel when you were a teen and you snuck out in the middle of the night for bonfire drinking parties.

I mean… a handsome stranger in a motorcycle jacket who escorted you back from the beach wants your name? You’d be stupid to say no.

So you give it.

At that, he finally smiles again.

“Well, then,” he says softly, saying your name in such a way that makes you hope he’ll say it again in the future, “I hope I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“Help! Someone help me! For God’s sake!”

Jake Jensen cried out these words as loudly as he could--as clearly as he could, with booze slurring his words and making his mouth all mumbly. But he wasn’t loud enough. No one heard him. Not over the music and delighted screams of the carnival.

He had been chased away from the beach, past the dock, into a little storage shed used for kayaks rented to tourists during the summer. His worn out body protested with every movement, his lungs hacking from years of cigarettes.

His attackers, who blocked the door frame, said nothing. They only looked at one another, silent words passed between them, and the taller of the two grinned in the darkness.

Jake Jensen died screaming.

Friday

You tell yourself that you’re only sitting here on this bench, munching on fresh hot popcorn, because you had a hankering for carnival food. Definitely didn’t come here in the hopes of seeing a certain someone. You tell yourself this even as your eyes dart here and there, looking for any sign of the not-quite-a-stranger from last night.

The sun has just set, and it’s a bit hard making out faces in the glow of the early evening. There are a lot more people here tonight, a new wave of tourists drowning out the familiar faces. Not that the locals shy away from the carnival--you spot your former best friend from high school, your old math teacher, one of the regulars at the diner… Jake Jensen isn’t in his usual spot at the games, but maybe he’s sleeping off a hangover. He never misses a summer carnival.

“Hello again.”

Oh--you choke on your current handful of popcorn just as Chrollo appears suddenly in your line of sight, hands in the pockets of his motorcycle jacket, a casual smile on his face.

“Hey,” you say, coolly, like you didn’t just nearly spit chewed popcorn kernels in his face when he approached. The silence between you doesn’t last long, but you fill it anyway. “You um, want some popcorn?”

But when you hold out the now half-filled container, Chrollo only looks at it curiously. Like he’s never seen popcorn before or something? But then he takes a small handful and pops it in his mouth. Chews--but he might as well be chewing broccoli, for all he seems to enjoy it. Oddly, he watches you while he chews, seemingly studying your face. Did you have popcorn in your teeth?

Better to fill the silence again.

“Well, what do you think?” You ask, grinning, popping another handful in your mouth. “It’s my favorite because it’s fresh, and that booth actually uses real butter. Not the fake oil stuff.”

Chrollo hums in agreement. “I see. I thought that tasted like real butter. Thank you for sharing.”

You decide on the spot that you’re going to make the most of this evening, popcorn-in-teeth or no. So you shrug and give your best smile. “No biggie. Buuut… you will owe me.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Oh? And what will I owe you?”

It’s your turn to hum as you look out towards the carnival, scanning past the numerous faces, the booths, children running with balloons and sticks of cotton candy. “A ride on the Ferris wheel once it’s properly dark would be nice.”

A snort, though his nose. “I think I can manage that.”

He offers his arm again, and you take it, not minding how old fashioned it was. Somehow, despite his jacket, his sleek hair, the hint of motorcycle oil mixed with cologne, old-fashioned seemed to suit him.

Lots of things seemed to suit him, actually. You learn this as the evening wears on. He’s great at carnival games, choosing only a select few that he claims to be an expert in. He wins you a few stuffed animals that you pass on to little kids, save a smaller teddy bear that you can shoved inside your purse.

You learn other things, too. Like, he’s a great listener. He lets you talk--about yourself, about the town--and doesn’t interrupt or tell you that you talk too much or make it clear he’s not listening to a thing you say. He even asks you questions, which shows he’s actually listening, and not just thinking about other things and waiting to ask you to go somewhere “private” like some other guys.

It’s nice, surprisingly nice, to find someone from out of town who’s so thoughtful.

The line for the Ferris wheel is always long once the sun goes down, and you’re one of the last rides of the night.

When the carnival worker locks the bar down over your waists, you kick your legs and wait for the strange rush of adrenaline and pleasure that comes with the Ferris wheel. It’s a beautiful sight--all colored lights contrasted against the night sky, whisking you high into the air and giving you a view of the entire carnival and the ocean beyond.

But your body always reacts to the imagined danger of being carried so far away from the safety of the ground, and when the Ferris wheel reaches the top and begins to circle over for the first time, your stomach lurches and you gasp.

“Are you scared?” Chrollo’s voice is low--you could swear he’s teasing, but there’s something else in there, too.

“Yeah,” you say, breath catching as you're brought back closer to the ground, only to be whisked away again. “Of course. What if something goes wrong, and I fall off and break my neck?”

Chrollo tilts his head. “You’d be dead.”

You can’t help but grin. He’s so to-the-point sometimes. It’s charming in its own way, although you can’t exactly describe what “its own way” means with Chrollo. It’s like he stepped out of some old fashioned film but also came out of a cooler city. A biker who carries around an embroidered handkerchief, or something like that.

“And I don’t want to die, hence--the stomach flipping.”

Chrollo looks ahead, then, taking in the view as the Ferris wheel carries you over again. “No? How long do you want to live, then?”

The snort is involuntary. A philosophical question on the Ferris wheel--not exactly what you expected from tonight. But maybe it’s not so bad. He’s good company. And Chrollo looks earnest in his question, too, which makes you feel guilty for snorting in the first place.

Maybe it’s the lights of the Ferris wheel that dazzle you; maybe it’s the way being on the Ferris wheel at night makes you feel like you’re in some wonderful haze of a dream.

Whatever it is, you fling your hand into the air, towards the carnival, towards the stars.

“Long enough to achieve my dreams,” you breathe out, earnest, almost sing-song. “Whatever they might be. I haven’t figured them out yet.”

Chrollo turns his head to look at you. His eyes almost seem magnetic against the night sky, with the lights of the carnival playing in them.

Then, as the Ferris wheel brings the two of you down towards the ground, you see him. The man from yesterday, with the cowl over his face. He’s looking right at you, and it’s no mistake or figment of your imagination.

Your head swivels to the side and you grip the bar of the Ferris wheel until your knuckles hurt. You jerk one hand out and point to the stranger on the ground with a trembling finger.

“There--look! Look!”

Chrollo takes a moment to respond, and follows the sight line of your finger.

But now--there’s no one there.

“What do you see?” He asks, clearly unknowing that the object of your terror has vanished into thin air.

“The man… the man from yesterday. He was right there. I swear.” Your chest hurts; fear hurts.

Unbidden, Chrollo pulls you close to him, and you let him hold you tight.

“You’re all right. I’m here.”

He holds your chin in his fingers. “You’re safe, do you understand?”

The fear in your chest seems fuzzy now, like it had almost never been there in the first place. How silly of you to be scared, when Chrollo was right here. It doesn’t even seem strange that he’s touching you so intimately, does it? So you nod--yes, yes, you understand.

Chrollo smiles.

“Let me kiss you,” he says simply.

And you will. Of course you will. What else would you want to do?

But as you lean forward, eyes already closing, he pulls himself away.

“Wait.” You blink, head clearing, and he continues, words slow, careful. “Would you like to kiss me?”

Now, you think about it. Maybe it was too hasty. But the lights of the carnival are beautiful and Chrollo is beautiful, and he’s been so thoughtful all day, and now he’s here, holding you, promising to keep you safe from carnival creeps.

A summer carnival is the time for a flirty romance, after all.

“Yes,” you answer, simply. “I would.”

Chrollo’s finger strokes your chin as you lean in and share your first kiss on the Ferris wheel, glittering lights and carnival music dancing in your mind.

The wife died first. Too quickly, but perhaps it was all the alcohol in her system; $1 margaritas at a local watering hole on a Friday night did nothing to make her more agile when being chased by predators while running in black city heels that had no place in a small town carnival.

Well, to the dying woman’s credit: it was the heels and alcohol and the sliced tendons in her ankle. Taut wires cut through her flesh like butter and she was down for the count, crawling, sobbing, begging for her husband, for God, for anyone to help her.

No one did.

Those pitiful cries, too, were cut down by a wire pressed into her throat; silencing her vocal chords, yes, but spilling blood over her neck that was as pretty as a sight as anything to those watching her choke and scrabble her hands against the ground, eyes wide, gaping, wondering--how is this happening to me?

The margaritas may have hindered her before her unfortunate ankle accident. But they did make her blood taste sweet and tangy. Metallic, rich, with a twist of lime. All that was missing was a miniature umbrella.

This joke was said aloud, once everyone had a taste of her. A few laughed, blood on their teeth.

Her husband didn’t seem to find it funny, but perhaps he was more preoccupied with his own current slow death. An arc of his blood spurted into the air--”Don’t fucking waste it, Uvo”--before a greedy mouth latched onto the wound, beginning to suck him dry.

The husband, like the wife, would be shared.

Soon, though, there would be no need for sharing.

There would be enough for everyone to have their fill--and beyond that.

There would be enough to gorge.

Saturday:

Three people are dead.

You didn’t know them know them, but the shock is still there, making your hands tremble a little as you pour morning coffees and deliver plates of steaming eggs and overcooked bacon to tables of locals and tourists in almost equal measure.

Jake Jensen is one of those people. The identities of the other two are unknown--”Due to the state of the bodies, no identification could be provided at this time,” said the sheriff, above a rolling news ticker that had been on the diner’s singular TV all morning--but they might be a couple. A man and a woman.

People die all the time. Sure. But… dead bodies are not often found in your small town, where gossip typically revolves around couples breaking up or a local store not putting up enough holiday decorations to appease the older crowd.

Yet now, in one morning, there are three.

Jake Jensen, who was found near the beach.

And an unknown man and woman (John and Jane Doe) who were found in a wooded area near the carnival.

“Mighta been a bear,” says one of your regulars, gnawing on a piece of his burnt bacon. He liked it that way.

“I heard they were drained of blood!” Your head--and others’ too, you suspect--turns to the voice. It’s not a local. Someone who’s far too dressy for the diner, sipping on a coffee they brought from home while they sample your diner’s less than stellar fruit salad option. He’s oblivious to the stares, to the eye rolls, to the immediate dismissal that his outsiderness earns him. “Two puncture wounds on the neck. Heard it from a cop while I was walking in this morning.”

Someone murmurs a joke about vampires and the locals chuckle, then go back to their coffee, their eggs, their eyes now and then glancing up at the old TV screen.

Your eyes roll, too, but then you wonder.

If they were murdered--and it’s an if, of course, because it could have been animals and Jake Jensen could have gotten so plastered that he fell off the dock or something, murders just don’t happen in your town--then… could it have been that creepy guy from before? The one who’s been following you around the carnival?

Shit, maybe he was waiting for the chance to get you alone, so he could drag you off to the dock or the woods and slit your throat. The thought gives you goosebumps, and acrid coffee tries to climb its way up your throat, before you swallow it down.

It was a good thing you had Chrollo around for the past two days.

And you’d be seeing him again tonight.

They weren’t canceling the carnival--it brings in too much money. And while a part of you is all sore and soft for poor Jake Jensen (who was never mean, just drunk) you try to brush it away. It’s sad. But life is sad.

You don’t want to be sad tonight. You want to look nice--for Chrollo? He wasn’t the first out-of-towner that had flirted with you, that you’d flirted with back. He was the first one that you’d ever genuinely looked forward to seeing again, though.

So.

You want to be wearing your best smile when you meet Chrollo again tonight.

And you can’t do that if you’re thinking about Jake Jensen’s body washing up on the beach or if there’s a small, tickling question dancing through your mind--

What sort of animal leaves two pretty little puncture wounds on the neck?

You sit on the same bench as before; the bench, in your mind, where you and Chrollo have taken to meeting up these past few days.

There’s no room in your stomach for popcorn tonight, though. Or rather, there’s room--your stomach growls--but you can’t imagine chewing anything rich, hot and buttery right now. Your thoughts flit between horror (poor Jake Jensen, one time, when you were younger, he helped you fix a flat bike tire) and romance (Chrollo’s lips on yours, warm, the breeze tickling your neck, the lights of the Ferris wheel twinkling around you).

You feel bad for wanting to enjoy tonight. But that’s not fair, is it? Another small town tragedy: caring too much about someone you didn’t really know as anything more than a passing familiar face that you can’t even focus on a hot date.

Fuck.

“Daydreaming again?”

The evening sky above you is a wash of deepening colors, devoid of actual sunlight but clinging to the last vestiges of it like a child refusing to let go of his mother’s hand on the first day of school.

He’s holding up a stick of bright pink cotton candy in one hand, while the other arm is offered for you to take--the contrast between his leather jacket, the ball of fluffy sugar he’s holding, and the way he sometimes acts like an old timey gentleman out of the movies is enough to make you smile.

Perhaps there’s bitterness in it, because as soon as you’re standing, Chrollo regards you with a measured look.

“Are you all right?”

Well. You don’t want to ruin your evening, but it would be stupid to pretend everything was all sweetness and sunshine, wouldn’t it? It’s better to get it out of the way.

“Sorry, it’s… I don’t know if you saw the news?” He says nothing, and you continue. “Those people that they found dead this morning.” Your lips press together. “I mean, the guy--I knew him, sort of? Everyone did. He was drunk all the time, yeah, but he wasn’t a jerk about it.”

Chrollo hums.

“I can imagine that would be shocking for you to hear.”

Your smile is shaky, and you nab a piece of cotton candy from the stick and shove it in your mouth. The sweetness contrasts awfully with the words that pass through your lips. “For you too though, right? I mean, it’s not every day three people turn up dead at some small town carnival.”

Chrollo raises an eyebrow in a way that seems to say that he is not particularly shocked by the news.

“Shit, really? What are you in your non-touristy life, a mortician or something?” A sudden realization washes over you, that Chrollo has an entire life outside of you and these carnival evenings; he has a past, and family, and friends, and a job. Hopes, dreams, the whole nine yards.

“Something like that,” he says. When you move to apologize, he shakes his head. “It’s alright. I’m not terribly shocked by these things, I suppose, because of what I see in my day to day.” He looks at you a little curiously. “But I can see how it would rattle you.”

You open your mouth, but you don’t know what to say. Sugar sticks to your teeth.

“Come on.” Chrollo drops the cotton candy into a nearby trash can, and leads you towards a row of carnival games. “I know what might take your mind off things.”

For once, you’re glad to see the carnival games; the fast-paced spitting words of the barkers trying to hustle money from kids and couples, the sound of darts popping balloons, the triumphant music that plays before the obnoxiously difficult water shooting game.

You’re even glad to see the tourists in all of their Saturday glory, which isn’t so much “glory” as it is a sort of restlessness. Saturdays were always a strange day at the carnival; the last middle day before the grand finale. An unusual mixture of sleepiness, anticipation, and a buzz that held everyone together until tomorrow.

Strange day, strange faces. Some stranger than others. Staring up at the bell at the top of the Test Your Strength game is an exceptionally tall man with wild dirty blonde hair. By the size of his muscles, he might just break the game, which hadn’t been replaced in the many years you’d been coming here in the summer.

You tug on Chrollo’s arm and point the man out. “What do you want to bet the carnie will try to get him not to play? He might just break the thing…”

“I don’t doubt it.” Beside you, Chrollo snorts, but doesn’t linger on the man as he leads you further into the carnival.

The two of you walk, and talk. About nothing and everything. He asks you to come up with stories for a few tourists, and you do. Light ones. It really does take your mind off things. At some point, Chrollo buys you fries, which taste slightly sweet; probably cooked in the same oil as the funnel cakes.

You dig in your heels in front of the fun house, but Chrollo shakes his head, and won’t go in.

“Are you scared?” You tease. At night, the fun house was all lit up, and the clowns painted on the front had a ridiculously sinister air to them.

But Chrollo doesn’t smile or laugh. “They make me dizzy,” he says, quietly. There’s something behind his words, but you don’t know what. A medical problem? A bad experience? You apologize and then he does smile, shaking his head, at himself, or you, you’re not sure. “Think nothing of it, dear.”

Dear.

You want to hold onto that bit of affection like the sky holds onto the sunset on summer evenings. At least as long as you can, which tonight, seems to be until Chrollo takes you on the Ferris wheel again.

This time, he holds your hand as soon as the attendant locks the bar down. Your fingers interlock and squeeze and it sends butterflies rushing through your chest. What was there to worry about, to think about, when you were sitting next to him?

It takes a few turns around the Ferris wheel to remember what you were supposed to worry about, because on the trip down, your stomach fluttering from romance and gravity alike, you see him: the strange man. The stalker. The maybe-serial-killer-on-the-loose.

He’s standing still in the crowd walking here-and-there around the Ferris wheel, couples intent on getting in line, children running from tired parents as they beg for another carnival game.

And he’s staring straight up at you.

You don’t think this time. You grab Chrollo and point straight down and practically screech out the words: “There! He’s there! Look, look--look!”

And the stars must be aligned, because Chrollo actually sees him. His grip on your other hand tightens and he pulls you closer to him as you make your way back around the Ferris wheel and the man goes out of sight. By the time the two of you are at the top again, the stranger is gone.

Your goosebumps remain.

“We should talk to the police,” you murmur, a quiet, scratchy whisper.

Chrollo turns towards you. You recognize the look. The “Do you really think the police will do anything about this?” sort of look.

“I’ve been thinking…” You squeeze Chrollo’s hand and he squeezes back and that’s all you need to keep going. “That maybe he might have something to do with those people? The ones they found this morning?”

Chrollo’s eyes widen just a little. It’s both comforting and worrying to see him look taken aback, even if it’s only a bit.

“I heard…” You feel stupid saying this. But you shouldn’t feel stupid, not with Chrollo. He hasn’t given you a reason to feel like you can’t tell him things. “Someone at the diner today said they were found with puncture wounds on them. I was thinking, maybe… like an ice pick? Or a screwdriver or--I don’t know. But maybe they were killed.”

“Perhaps he’s a vampire,” Chrollo offers, voice low, lips curled into a smile, and your face must reflect the flash of offended shame that rushes into your chest, because he immediately apologizes. His sigh flutters against your cheek. “Well. He wouldn’t be the first killer to prey on crowds or small towns, would he?”

At least he didn’t say you were crazy to connect the two things, vampire joke aside.

He keeps you close once the ride is over, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I’ll inform the police,” he insists, when the two of you finally stumble on a pair of deputies patrolling the carnival. He leaves you standing next to the Test Your Strength game, where the carnival barker has agreed to keep an eye on you. It made you feel like a child, but for once, maybe that wasn’t a bad thing--to be watched and protected.

You watch, biting your nails now and then, as Chrollo and the deputies talk. In the end, they shake his hand, and you feel cool relief in your stomach. The police will know what to do with the information. If this guy’s a killer, they’ll catch him. If he’s not, well. The carnival was almost over, and you wouldn’t have to worry about him much longer.

Things will be normal soon.

When Chrollo returns, you take his arm without hesitation, but this time he begins to lead you away from the carnival.

“I was thinking,” he says, “that we might go for a walk. Get away for a bit. If you don’t mind, that is.”

You don’t mind at all.

“Do you like trails?” You ask, steering him towards a trail that leads from the beach to a popular hiking spot for locals. “It’d be a bit more private. As long as you’re not scared of the dark.”

Chrollo chuckles. It’s a warm, dark, rich sound, and it sends a delightful thrill right through you.

“I’m not if you aren’t,” is all he says, and that’s enough for you to point out the way.

Thoughts of dead bodies and stalkers fade away with the carnival, whose sights and sounds fade bit by bit as you and Chrollo leave the beach and begin making your way into a wooded area with a paved hiking path lit on the other side by electric trail lights.

“I’m surprised to see these,” Chrollo says, quietly. He pulled his phone out at the start of the trail to give the two of you more light, though the trail lights were decent enough, especially since you’d been up here more times than you could count.

“Mm,” you murmur. “Locals come up here all the time at night. Especially teens. Usually to make out and stuff.” Chrollo gives you a look and your cheeks hit up, but you don’t elaborate. He doesn’t need to know about your high school escapades. “They added them to avoid the inevitable lost-teen-in-the-woods-at-night rescue scenario, I think.”

“Clever,” he says.

The waterfall is loud when you’re this close; so loud you can’t hear anything in the moment but your own thoughts, which have grown louder and louder somewhere between the hiking trail and this popular waterfall spot. So popular that it’s lit with a flood light near the top--supposedly a teenager slipped in one night and drowned in the shallow pool, though you’ve never been certain if it was a true story or not.

Regardless, you’re not sure you want to stay. No--you know you don’t want to stay.

This is a bit much, is what your thoughts are starting to scream. Chrollo is nice, but you don’t really know him, do you? And you just walked somewhere alone with him in the dark after being surprised by a maybe-stalker, the day that three people were found dead around here.

Yeah. A bit much might be an understatement. You should really get back to where there’s more lights and people and civilization in general. If Chrollo is a nice person (and he is, you insist, you’re just being smart!) he won’t mind.

“I think we should go back,” you say, but Chrollo can’t hear you. So you cup your hands around your mouth and lean closer to his ears. “I think we should go back!”

You expect him to nod and take your arm and lead you carefully down the lantern-lit trail, perhaps still using his phone to guide the way. Instead, he takes your chin in his hands--you move to jerk it out, you’d rather wait until you’re back at the carnival to kiss again--but his grip is impossibly strong.

“It’s all right,” he says, and it’s the strangest thing, you can hear him so clearly despite the roaring waterfall just a few feet in front of you. “You know that you’re safe with me. You don’t want to go back yet.”

How strange. How silly. Why did you want to leave, when you just got here? You didn’t even show him the best part yet.

“Come on!” It’s your turn to pull him along as you carefully walk the path leading to the front of the waterfall, which has already begun to soak water through your clothes.

“Is there a cave?” Chrollo asks--and again, you’re struck by how easy it is to hear him, despite the water rushing down in front of you.

“You sure know your way around local watering holes,” you jest.

He merely smiles. “I travel a lot.”

With that, you grip his arm tighter and run through the waterfall, shrieking in delight. Both of you emerge on the other side soaked; you, grinning, and Chrollo, looking around with interest.

The inside of the cave was lined with endless rows of fairy lights, courtesy of a local high school group. They had also brought in the two couches--used leather, frayed and flecking, but good enough for a hang out. When you were younger, there were only folding chairs; which were great for sitting, not so much for much less.

“Do you like it?” You ask, then feel stupid. Why do you care so much what he thinks of some local hang out spot, especially one you hadn’t been in for ages? The same reason why you’d spent all day telling him about your daydreams, about small town memories, bits and pieces of local lore that he didn’t brush aside but seemed to enjoy hearing.

Chrollo was so different from the others you’ve met at the summer carnival.

Maybe that’s why your heart begins to beat fast the moment you catch his eye again. His skin looks almost dewy in the glow of the lights, thanks to the water; his eyes shine, reflecting a soft, warm twinkling glow.

It’s just the two of you. No tourists, no locals, no would-be stalkers. Even the carnival itself seems far away; the lights blocked from view by the rushing water and canopy of the forest, even the wafting smell of popcorn and stale beer was long gone out here.

It was just you and Chrollo in a cave at the end of the evening.

But… it didn’t have to be the end of the evening, did it?

You ask him, this time.

“Do you want to kiss me?”

“I do,” he says. “Very much so.”

This time, your kiss is tinged with the tang of river water.

Five bodies lay scattered in the grass. Young men, young women. Teens that had been giggling and stumbling through the forest, flasks of pilfered whiskey in their bags.

Now some dead and going cold, their limbs twisted, their mouths open in silent screams.

Two were still alive, whimpering, weak hands beating against monsters’ chests as open mouths hungrily lapped up their life blood. They had screamed, all of them, but no one could hear them in the woods--over the water.

“This is a lovely spot,” said a woman, brushing back her blonde hair. A bit of red gore had stuck to the strands and she tsked at the sight of it. “The waterfall adds a nice touch.”

The man hummed, and stuck his hands in his pockets. The slightest touch of red showed on his lips; like a woman pressing her lipstick-covered mouth onto a bit of tissue to get rid of the excess.

The carnage made him indifferent; the whimpers of the dying, even more so. But as he looked around at the carefully placed lights on the trail, the way they flickered against the waterfall and its hidden cavern like delicate stars, he smiled.

“It came highly recommended.”

Sunday: The Final Day

Chrollo was in your bed last night, and you thought he’d be there in the morning. But when the sound of birds pulls you delightfully out of a restful sleep and you blink your eyes open to dappled sunlight through your blinds, you realize that the bed is half-empty.

Just you and the sheets and the leftover smell of Chrollo--cologne and, more faintly, sweat and sex.

You freeze, listening for the sound of someone meandering about an unfamiliar kitchen. He could be up and about already--making coffee or breakfast. The image of him serving up a plate of bacon and eggs almost makes you laugh.

But the apartment is silent, save for your breathing, the sound of a clock ticking in the living room.

Your heart lurches and shame pricks at the back of your eyelids. He fucked you and ran, didn’t he? Just like the others, just like--

But just when you’re about to give into the temptation to scrub yourself all over with hot water and erase every trace of Chrollo that ever existed in your presence, you see it: a piece of paper, torn from a notebook you keep on your dresser. Carefully folded over and placed on the side table next to the bed.

Your name is on it, written in a surprisingly beautiful, scrawling hand.

Curiosity and leftover shame-tinged dread curl together in your stomach as you sit up and slowly pick up the note.

Dear--

Your heart lurches again, for a different reason this time.

I apologize that I did not give you a proper farewell. I had an urgent matter to attend to. Forgive me, won’t you? We will see each other tonight, I hope, for a memorable and unforgettable evening.

Of course he didn’t fuck and run. He wouldn’t do that. And tonight would be--well, memorable and unforgettable, just as he said.

The pitter-pattering inside your chest takes on a new delightful cadence as you get yourself ready for the day. No work--you had Sundays off, thank God, maybe literally, for that. It was a shame Chrollo didn’t tell you where he was staying; presumably, the only hotel in town. But maybe he was at one of the B&Bs or was shacking up at a room for rent.

It would be nice to see him in the daytime, too.

But he didn’t, so you’re left with nothing to do but flick on the TV and make yourself a cereal bowl. Well, that’s wrong. That’s not the only thing you could do. You could go to your parent’s house and help out your mom; she could use a break with caring for your dad.

But… was it wrong to be selfish, just a little, for just one day? You didn’t want to see Chrollo tonight with something unpleasant sticking inside you, on the potential chance that your dad was having a not-so-great day.

It was better to approach your last evening together with a sunnier attitude.

Although you don’t really have a choice, because the first thing you see when the news returns from a commercial break is a giant banner scrolling across the screen: TWO MISSING TEENS FOUND DEAD AT LOCAL WATERFALL. POPULAR TRAIL CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

In the background, the sheriff recites familiar lines about respecting the privacy of the dead, about putting the full energy of the police force into finding the investigation, about how there is no need to panic. He says that it may not have even been foul play.

Somehow, you don’t believe that. You just know.

Sugary cereal seems to lodge itself inside your throat. You were just there. You were just there, kissing Chrollo, holding his hand, and now two teenagers are dead and lifeless and, and--

And if it was that same man… the one who was staring at you, stalking you… how close did you and Chrollo come to dying last night?

Tears prick at your eyes and you grab your purse. Maybe you would spend the day with your parents, after all.

You should be more excited to see Chrollo. And you are, truly. But between the news this morning and the dull realization that this would be your last evening together ever, it’s hard to feel too enthused.

Chrollo would be going home after tonight. Tourist trap over, no need to stick around. Something childish in you thinks: maybe I can convince him to stay a little longer. And if he stays a little longer, he’ll see how nice it is here (it’s not) and maybe he’ll want to settle down (he won’t).

Oh, how stupid. It’s like when you’d meet the endless stream of New Best Friends every summer weekend as a kid, and you’d beg their parents together to extend their vacation.

It wasn’t going to happen. You’ll never see him again after tonight, and you’ll go your separate ways, and that’s that.

Reality sucks sometimes.

You’re still stuck in the dreary shit cloud that is reality when Chrollo’s now somewhat familiar footsteps approach you on the bench. The bench, your spot--your spot? As if you and Chrollo had anything that could be called an actual relationship that warranted the use of “your” plural.

You shake your head, hoping it shakes those silly childish delusions, and force yourself to smile.

Chrollo, to your surprise, doesn’t smile back.

Instead, he leans down, and takes your hand. His eyes roam over your fingers like they’re something special and it makes your stomach flutter stupidly.

“You seem a bit sad,” he says, bringing your knuckles to his lips for a kiss. The way that makes you feel is something you love and hate in almost equal measure. It’s not fair, is it, that he makes you feel this way--when he has to leave, and you’ll never see him again.

Perhaps it’s the knowledge that you will part ways after tonight that makes you speak freely.

“I’m just sad that you’ll be leaving.” He blinks at you, and turns his head a little. “That we won’t see each other after tonight,” you clarify.

You expect him to nod and agree, and perhaps say something trite but comforting, like, “We’ll just make the most of it.”

Instead, he gives your hand a squeeze.

“We don’t have to part, you know.”

It’s your turn to blink. A silly, little-kid-in-you hope does a twirl. He could stay--and this could maybe, possibly, in some far off millimeter of a chance, turn into something more serious than a summer fling. “You could extend your vacation? Your job would do that?”

Chrollo finally smiles at you.

“My life is flexible. But,” and now he pulls you up so that you’re standing. It’s a fluid, easy gesture for him, almost too easy--he’s stronger than he looks. “I was thinking that instead of staying here, you would come with me.”

The world around you is not silent. The carnival is always producing an eternal cacophony of sounds--screaming patrons hung upside down on the more thrilling of rides, cheery carousel music, laughter, popcorn endlessly beating like a fast paced drum, everything and anything all mixed together into a swirl of sound.

But it might as well be silent, because you feel like all you can hear is your heartbeat in your eyes for a few stretched moments.

“What? You’re not serious.” You smile, too, but it feels fake. Like it’s plastered on and cracking underneath. There’s a brief thought--maybe he means, like, for a weekend?--but you instantly know that’s not what he’s talking about.

This is too much, too fast. Too out of the blue.

Chrollo looks at you in a way that almost makes you uncomfortable. Like he wants to see something inside you that you’re keeping for yourself. Then that gaze is gone and he’s smiling softly, charming, a little bittersweet.

Bittersweet is familiar territory, and the ringing in your ears fades in favor of a carnival barker offering 2-for-1 prizes on the Test-Your-Strength game.

Chrollo’s voice cuts through it all, jovial, unassuming.

“We can talk about it later, if you’d like. Let’s go enjoy the carnival a bit more before the concert.”

That would be nice.

“I’d like that.”

And you mean it--you do. You shake your head and let Chrollo intertwine his fingers in yours, and it doesn’t take long for his question to fade away from your mind as you weave in and out of the crowds.

If you weren’t so distracted, so disarmed, you might have noticed an uncomfortably familiar figure clad in black watching the pair of you intently.

The Ferris Wheel worker should have kicked you off several spins ago, but Chrollo had slipped him a twenty as he buckled the safety bar down. It’s nice, this extra time with him--it’ll be the last time you ride the Ferris wheel together, after all.

What did it say about the state of your love life--or your life in general, actually--that slipping a carnie 20 bucks made your heart soar (and twist, and ache) even a little bit?

The night is prettier from the Ferris wheel. The world, too. Up here, you can’t see the grit and grime. The fermenting candy apples littering the ground, dropped two days ago by careless kids; the too-drunk couples arguing about whether they should stay for the concert or not; the exhausted carnival workers smiling hard no matter how much they get yelled at for their rigged games.

All you can take in from up here is the broad vantage point. Crowds and happy sounds--squeals and music interplaying above crowds of people, including a growing crowd on the beach in front of the black stage, waiting for the concert to start.

Chrollo’s grip on your hand tightens and draws your attention back to him. Even he looks more beautiful from up here, with the rainbow lights of the Ferris wheel playing on his face.

“I’ve enjoyed our time together,” he says softly.

Ah, you realize. The extra spins were for the inevitable “we’ll never see each other again but it was a blast” speech. You knew it was coming. Doesn’t make it any less bitter in your mouth. But what good is holding bitterness against your tongue?

“Me too,” you say, and it’s not a lie, even if you hate the way the conversation must end. You try to focus less on the sourness and more on the sweet that came before. After all, Chrollo was… well. Handsome, yes, magnetic, yes. But more than that. He seemed thoughtful. He listened to you prattle on about yourself and your small town, and he didn’t even make fun of you for knowing so many local stories.

He was good in bed, too, wasn’t he? You blink and realize you don’t actually remember all that much about last night, except that he wasn’t there in the morning. Vague snatches rush through your memory. You remember his mouth on your lips, his hand trailing against your skin, removing your clothes. You remember his mouth against your neck, then this teeth, nipping, and--

It’s all fuzzy. But you weren’t drunk. So why--

“Have you thought about what I said?” He asks, and once again you’re pulled away from your thoughts, although this time you’d like to focus on them. Why couldn’t you fully remember last night?

When you don’t answer, he raises his eyebrows.

“About coming with me,” he says, a bit louder, as if you can’t hear him over the carnival din.

You let out a soft puff of a breath, then, and force yourself to focus on the current conversation. For now.

“You’re serious?” You don’t mean to sound so flippant, but you do. Chrollo frowns, just a little, and you feel like a bitch for it. “Sorry. I just--I didn’t know if you really meant it.”

“I am,” is all he says.

You didn’t like the idea of the conversation headed towards Chrollo leaving, but you like the idea of him genuinely asking you to come with him even less. Partly because you know you never could, and partly because there’s some small, stupid, fantasy-of-your-hair-blowing-in-the-wind-wearing-a-leather-jacket-on-a-motorcycle part of you that wants to say yes.

“Chrollo, I can’t do that. I have a job here. A life.”

Chrollo doesn’t let go of your hand, but you can sense the way his muscles tense.

“A job at a local diner slinging hash browns,” he says, voice dry and almost hurtful. You must look offended--are you? You can’t tell--because he turns a little in the seat, trapping you with his gaze. His voice is earnest now, drawing you in.

“Don’t you want more out of life? The ability to pursue your dreams--to figure out your dreams?” One hand goes to your cheek, and his knuckle brushes against your skin. “You could travel. See so much more than your little town. Imagine it.”

An image starts to build in your mind. Unbidden by you, but there, somehow, nonetheless. Of you riding behind him on a motorcycle, holding onto his waist as he takes you wherever you want to go--wherever he wants to go, together. Life would be wild and unpredictable, but easy and fun and--

“My family,” you murmur, and Chrollo seems surprised that you’ve spoken.

His lips press thinner. “You could write to them, call them. No matter at all.”

Whatever fantasy has built in your head gets swept away and the Ferris wheel finally comes to a stop. The seat rocks back and forth and the bored (but $20 richer) carnie lets you off. Chrollo helps you as he’s done every time.

You wait until he’s escorted you away from the Ferris wheel to turn and address him.

“Chrollo, I can’t--” You try to find the right words, but there are no right words. “I don’t know you. Not… really. Not enough to give up my life here.”

Chrollo is quiet. He considers you, turning his head a little. You feel awful--maybe you should just end the night here, on this shitty, sour note, because you’ve probably ruined the rest of the evening anyway. You wish he hadn’t asked again before the night was over, but there’s no way to fix it now.

You’re ready to leave, to bite your cheek so tears don’t come. You’re prepared for Chrollo to say something low and insulting, to dismiss you, because why should he waste another minute on someone who would rather stay here in this shitpot of a town than--

“Come along,” is what he says, finally, holding out his hand--to your utter confusion. He still wants to go to the concert? With you? Now?

But you take his hand anyway.

“It would be wasteful to end our evening early and miss the concert.”

His grip is harder than it has been, but maybe you’re imagining it as he pulls you along, weaving in and out as the crowds grow larger and a little more drunk the closer the pair of you get to the beach.

This doesn’t feel right, suddenly. He’s upset, that’s why he’s holding you so tightly. Or maybe you’re upset and imagining it. Either way, it doesn’t feel good. Your primal gut instincts are telling you that it’s better to cut your losses and leave now, then to spend the night with a flipping stomach.

“Maybe I should just go home,” you yell over the crowd.

Chrollo stops, and you stumble forward a little, but he catches you in both arms before you make an ungraceful acquaintance with the ground. The hand not gripping your own gently grasps your chin and he leans in, not quite kissing you. His breath smells off, like rust.

“And miss the grand finale?”

You should insist on going home. Everything’s gone shitty. It’s too crowded and the music will be too loud, and Chrollo is clearly irritated with you--

“Come to the concert,” he whispers, and none of that seems to matter anymore. Of course, you’ll go to the concert. What else would you do?

He keeps his grip on your hand as you walk onto the warm, crowded sands of the beach, even though you have no intention of leaving.

Booze, sweat, and popcorn. That’s all you can really smell now, surrounded as you are by crowds of people jumping and swaying to some rock band you’ve never heard of before; but no one really cares what the music sounds like on a night like this, when alcohol has been flowing and summer is at its peak.

Even Chrollo seems to be enjoying himself, although he’s not dancing. Just holding you, his arm around your waist, pressing his lips now and then to your forehead.

You feel bad. That must be why there’s a pit in your stomach. You were being rude to him. Of course he’d ask you to come with him--if he’s the type to live so freely, he wouldn’t think twice about making the offer. He just doesn’t understand what it means to be rooted down, willingly or not, the way you are.

You can’t hold something like that against him, so you don’t.

Instead, you sway to the music, hips bumping against Chrollo now and then. Maybe after this, he could come back to your apartment again, for one last…

All thoughts in your head are stomped into the stand when you spot the strange man with the cowl in the crowd. He’s standing stock still while everyone around him jumps and dances and flaps their drunken arms.

And he’s looking right at you.

“Chrollo--” There’s no time to waste, and you grab his arm and jerk him towards the direction of the stranger.

But he’s gone. He’s just fucking gone. Cold terror seizes your chest.

“What is it, love?”

The nickname doesn’t even register.

“That--the man--the guy from before--he was there.” Your voice begins to tremble, frightened tears welling in your eyes. “Can we leave? Please?”

Chrollo pulls you closer to him and you feel dim comfort as he wraps his arms around you and presses his lips against your head. But he doesn’t tell you that of course, we’ll leave, of course, I’ll get you somewhere safe, of course, let’s talk to the police.

“Hush.” One hand begins to pet your hair. “Not much longer now. It’ll be over soon.”

“What do you…”

Behind Chrollo, you see another familiar face. Vaguely familiar. The tall man with wild blonde hair, the one who looked like he could snap the Test Your Strength Game in half if he really wanted to--he’s standing still, like the man from before, while everyone jostles happily around him. He’s not looking at you, but that doesn’t make it any less unnerving.

Your eyes dart over the crowd.

There are others, standing still. Others who seem out of place immediately, either because of their appearance or something awful you can’t describe. A woman with pink hair looking impassively as she scans the crowded beach, keeping her body perfectly still. A man with long black hair and something shiny and thin strapped to his shoulder. A woman with blonde hair in a smart black tailored suit that no one in their right mind would wear to a summer night carnival concert. Others, too, all out of place and making you want to be anywhere but here.

And then in a few blinks, they’re all gone. Like they were never there.

Dizziness overtakes you, along with a strange sort of fuzzy fear. Is this what a heart attack feels like, maybe? No, it’s just panic. Understandable but undeniably awful panic.

“Chrollo,” you manage, voice shaky. “Something’s wrong. There’s people, they seem--it’s---I don’t know how to explain, we should--I think we ought to--”

Chrollo doesn’t say anything. Instead, he turns you around, keeping you in his arms as he makes you face the stage.

“You’ll miss the concert,” he whispers in your ear.

Helpless irritation courses through you. Who cares about the concert right now? You have half a mind to ask him why he’s not listening to you, but that impulse is gone the moment you see the tall man with blonde hair and impossibly large muscles leap onto the stage.

The guitars and drums come to a confusing, stuttered halt. The lead singer, clad in an oversized black t-shirt with a skull on it, looks like he wants to throw his guitar at the intruder.

“Dude, what the fuck, we’re playing up here, you can’t just--”

Even from your vantage point, you can see the large grin the blonde man sports on his face as he raises his fist and knocks the lead singer’s head off with a single punch.

The body remains standing for a moment before collapsing without grace onto the stage. Blood spurts from the wound, spritzing high enough that it sprinkles the faces of those closest to the stage.

There’s a noise from the crowd that almost, for a moment, sounds like a burst of startled laughter.

And then the blonde man leaps onto the corpse, opens his mouth until it’s gaping far too wide to be human, and begins to suck on the headless neck like a crawfish.

It’s that moment when people finally begin to scream.

Your head jerks towards one of the screams, and she’s there--the woman with the pink hair. Latched onto someone’s neck while blood dribbles from her mouth and the person, eyes bugged out, cries out in wordless pain. His body is cross-crossed with strange cuts, like someone pressed him through a sieve.

You spin around, looking away from horror, only to see it again: the man with the long hair swings something out--a sword?--and strikes someone’s arm clean off his body, then pins that person down and begins to suck at the spurting blood.

That’s not all he hit. The person in front of them, a woman holding two drinks, staggers to the ground. Half her face slides off, revealing bone and brain. Lukewarm beer and gore meet the ground together.

You’re not entirely sure if you said Chrollo’s name, or when he let you go, or what you should do. All you know is that when you finally pull yourself together enough to look at him, he’s simply watching the events around you like a boring television show.

Like people aren’t screaming and running and bumping into you. Like blood isn’t flying. Like you aren’t seeing things that you’ve only seen in shitty horror movies.

He’s in shock. Fuck. So are you, maybe? But it will be up to you to get the pair of you to safety, so you grab his arm and shake him hard.

“Chrollo! We have to go! Now!”

He doesn’t move. You shake him again, and he finally looks at you.

He smiles, and holds out his hand, ignoring your jostling.

“You’ve had time to think about it, haven’t you? Will you stay with me?”

Oh, he’s definitely in shock. That doesn’t stop the impulsive words that flee your mouth as quickly as the people around you are trying--some not successfully--to flee the beach.

“You’ve lost your fucking mind. Let’s go!”

You don’t register what’s happened until you’ve hit the ground. Someone finally ran smack into you, and something--their elbow, maybe--strikes your head, hard. Pain blossoms in your knees and the side of your head when you hit the ground, then explodes when someone steps right on your hand.

There’s a feeling of lost gravity when someone yanks you up--Chrollo--but when you’re on your own two feet, he’s not there anymore.

You call his name. Once. Twice. Three times, four. He might not be able to even hear you over the din, if he’s nearby. Maybe he got swept away by the panicked people. Maybe his shock wore off and he ran to get help. Or ran--and left you.

There are a few moments where you almost run deeper into the crowd to look for him. A stupid thought. But then the wild, shock of fear inside you turns to complete ice and you’re not sure of anything in the world because he’s there.

Standing in front of you.

Close enough to touch.

Your stalker. The man with the cowl. Only the cowl is down, now, and his mouth is covered in a smear of blood. He smiles at you, and it’s not a nice smile at all. His smile grows wider, and you have to blink several times to realize what you’re seeing.

He’s got fangs.

Two of them, red tinged. Sharp enough to puncture your neck.

They’re vampires. Actual vampires. Actual, damn bloodsucking vampires.

There’s a brief, panicked thought--where’s Chrollo?--before your flight kicks in, and you’re scrambling through the crowd like everyone else. You stumble, of course you do. Over bodies, some dead, and you almost fall flat on your face when you make it off the beach and your ankle rolls on the uneven grass-covered ground.

If you were thinking logically, you might have run to the car park, and hopped into your car. You might have run in the direction of the crowds thinking the same, and gotten lost in them.

But there was no logic. Only pure primal panic, the realization that you people were being murdered all around you like animals, and you were one of those animals because one of the monsters was chasing you.

You didn’t dare to look back to see how far away he was; you just knew, deep down, that he was following you now. Running wouldn’t work: you couldn’t run forever, not with the pain in your ankle, and he’d catch up with you even if you weren’t panicked and in pain.

You had to hide. But where? The carnival was all lit up at night, and the beautiful lights that had been fun to see just a day before now made you want to scream. He could see you, just about clear as day, no matter where you ran.

Unless you can find somewhere to hide inside.

It’s this thought that pushes you to dash inside the fun house, sneakers pounding on the silver ramp leading into the entrance painted over like a mouth devouring any children who enter.

The stillness inside startles you more than anything else. The lights are on. The music is playing, quiet, delightful. It’s hard to hear it over the dulled screams coming from outside, and from the awful, pounding rush inside your ears.

You follow the short hallway until it leads to something which you’d forgotten about; but it wasn’t your fault. Panic made you stupid, and you hadn’t actually been inside a fun house in years.

The glass maze. All-see through panels that you’d smash into on an ordinary day, much less this one, where your mind is fried from panic and adrenaline keeps your body from coordinating properly. You smash against the panels a few times before you see it… something, behind you.

No. Not something. Someone behind you. Or near you. Or far away.

You can’t tell exactly where this person is, because of the fucking glass maze, but the fact remains:

He’s there--he’s here--he’s going to get you and kill you and it will hurt so bad.

You scream, at some point, and it’s dumb because the sound simply bounces off your current glass predicament and hurts your ears.

Maybe panic pushes you through, or maybe you’re just good at completing mazes when you’re in fear for your life; whatever the reason, you make it out. You stumble through a hallway made of rollers that nearly send you sprawling, until you’re at the end of the hallway.

A small red spiral staircase, barely usable for adults, is your only hope.

You don’t try to be quiet now and the metal stairs clang under your feet as you run up them, feeling dizzy, feeling like this might be the last thing you ever do in your short, stupid life.

The second floor isn’t entirely enclosed. It opens out onto the carnival in the front, and there’s a slide to take you down near the end. The wall behind you is covered in a series of mirrors--the kind that make you tall or short or wide or impossibly thin.

It’s not the mirrors that catch your eye, though. It’s what’s down below.

They’re all down there. The monsters from the beach. All covered in various amounts of blood and gore. Splatters. Smears. Like they’ve all gotten into different scrapes--killed people different ways.

All of them have blood around their mouths.

Fear rings in your ears. You want to wake up, more than anything. This is a nightmare and you want to wake up.

You don’t wake up.

Instead, you hear a metal clang.

Then another.

And another.

Someone is coming up the stairs.

Thoughts dart here and there, but there’s nowhere for them to go. If you go down the slide, well. There’s a gang of monsters waiting to kill you down below. If you stay up here, well. There’s still a monster waiting to kill you.

The metal clangs again, and again, and again.

He’s coming up the stairs and he’s going to kill you. You’re going to die. Today. Now.

Warm urine runs down your leg and thoughts come, too quick to really process: Mom-dad-school-work-never-did-anything-my-childhood-dog-that-one-time-we-went-to-Canada-to-visit-my-aunt-I-kissed-a-boy-under-the-bleachers-I-forgot-to-tell-dad-I-loved-him-yesterday-I-I-I--

It’s not the monster with the cowl who comes walking up the landing of the stairs.

It’s Chrollo.

It’s like you blink and you’re in his arms, clinging to his shirt and sobbing like a child. He presses a kiss to your hair and you realize, gratefully, that he doesn’t look hurt. No blood on him, no scrapes, no bruises.

“Thank God you’re here. Thank God you’re okay,” you say, reflexively. “Thank God, thank God, thank God.”

Chrollo pulls you tighter against his chest, and murmurs, “God? An interesting choice, my dear, considering…”

You aren’t even really listening. You’re just happy. Delirious, even. Chrollo’s here. He’ll help you. You can make it out together. Somehow.

There’s an almost giddy sort of hope in your chest--until you hear the metal stairs clang again. And again. And again.

You whimper stupidly and pull on Chrollo’s arm.

“We have to get out of here. Somehow. I don’t--maybe we can distract them?” Your eyes glance down at the monsters below you, who only seem to be watching more intently. The man with the blonde hair, which is now caked in blood, has an awful grin on his face. You imagine you can see his fangs, even if he’s too far away for you to properly make them out.

Chrollo doesn’t move. Shock again? Or he sees them, too, and knows the two of you won’t make it a step off the slide before being attacked.

The footsteps on the stairs stop. You look behind you, and your bowels clench at the sight of the monster with the cowl, pulled down, that same small, mean smile on his face.

Your hand tightens on Chrollo’s arm. A sentimental, if selfish, thought: At least I won’t die alone.

Chrollo turns, too, and looks at the man who’s been haunting you for days. Looks at the monster who has already killed people and feasted on their blood; at the creature who will now undoubtedly kill the both of you. Lovers for only a few days, but forever in death.

Chrollo sighs, and inclines his head towards the man.

“Wait a moment, will you, Feitan?”

There were many things you might have said in this moment. Eloquent things. Meaningful things. Things borne from inner betrayal and horror and anger. But all that comes out of your mouth, which gapes ridiculously, is:

“Huh?”

And then something clicks, and realization dawns like a morning you don’t think you’ll live to see. The idea comes naturally, somehow. Borne of a childhood reading books and watching movies about vampires. Bloodsuckers.

Your head turns, and you look over towards the wall of mirrors. You’re stretched thin like taffy about to break, your features a jumble in the dirty, cheap material.

In the mirror in front of Chrollo, which should make him ridiculously short, there is nothing at all.

When you look back at him, your eyes wide and pupils blown, he’s no longer the person you met a few days ago; the person you took to your bed, the person you were lamenting leaving. The person who kissed you and made you feel good, inside and out, if only for a while.

He’s a vampire.

“I advise you not to run,” he says quietly, if not, perhaps, a bit sympathetically.

You do, because you aren’t a fucking moron. Though you don’t make it far, as it doesn’t do you any good to run towards the staircase. You run right towards the other monster--Feitan--who grabs you with ease.

He’s faster and stronger than he looks. Maybe they all are. Your body and brain don’t care about that, though, so you struggle with all of your might.

In response, your arm is deftly twisted behind your back and you expect this monster to stop, you expect your arm to meet its natural resistance while you struggle.

He doesn’t. It doesn’t. Your arm snaps and the pain is so sharp, so sudden, that your vision goes blind for a few seconds. In those few seconds, you scream.

When you’re aware of the world again, there’s still the pain. Sharp and awful and renewed every time you jostle your body in any direction.

Chrollo, walking up to you, hums in sympathy.

“I know it hurts, dear. But this is what happens when you don’t listen to my orders. Do you understand?”

The strangest thing (and in a world where the man you fucked last night is currently standing in front of you with fangs, that is saying something) is that Chrollo’s expression is not wild or monstrous at all. If you thought about it, and you’re having a hard time thinking with the pain of your arm and fear of impending death, you might say he looks hopeful. That you will understand. That you have learned something.

And you have. You’ve learned that he’s a liar, that everything he ever said and did was just to keep you around long enough to literally eat you, that he has no morals, no empathy, that he’s not even a person.

“I understand,” you manage, voice tinged and weak with pain, “that you’re a fucking monster.” You spit at him. Or try to. Your mouth is too dry to manage more than a stringy dribble that sticks to your chin.

At this, Chrollo sighs. He shoves his hands in his pockets and frowns.

“You didn’t speak so crudely to me earlier this week.” A little smile. “Last night notwithstanding.”

Bitter tears well up in your eyes. It was all just a game to him. Cat and mouse. Every smile, every thoughtful word. Every kiss. Your bodies pressed together, his mouth on yours--

“I didn’t know you were a… a… fucking vampire earlier this week.”

Chuckles, from down below. Feitan, behind you, snorts.

Chrollo doesn’t look angry, but you can feel a flash of it ripple through the air. It quiets the chuckles. Feitan tightens his grip on you, and the flash of pain makes you groan and slump forward.

“Regardless,” Chrollo says, “respect must be maintained. I expect you to refrain from these little outbursts. Do you understand?” There’s still a tinge of cooing sympathy in his voice--it makes anger bubble up in your chest.

“Fuck you.” This time, the spit flies, and hits his cheek.

The gestures are slow. Unassuming. He wipes the spit off with the back of his hand. He wipes the back of his hand on his pants. And then he nods at Feitan.

Feitan’s hand reaches around your throat and when you glance down, you see that his nails grow. And sharpen. Sharp enough to cut, sharp enough to--

He drags his hand down your collarbone, and you feel the awful, deep sting of it before you see the blood spill out from your flesh. It coats the bare skin between your collar and the top of your shirt like some sort of morbid camisole.

You cry out, you shriek, but he doesn’t let you go until Chrollo gives him another nod. You’re shoved towards Chrollo, who doesn’t grip you, but merely lets you stand, swaying, in front of you.

When you finally get the courage to look up at him, his pupils are blown up like a shark’s.

“I’d like you to stay put this time,” he tells you, voice deeper, richer, at the sight of your blood. “And not run away from me. I’d like you to listen, and refrain from being… impulsive.”

He leans in, and the scent of rust hits you, but this time you know what it means. “I could make you do it, you know. I don’t have to ask.”

Realization hits you again, and it hurts even more this time. That night, on the dock. And on the Ferris wheel. And how many other times he’d told you to do something, feel something. What was really you, and what was him?

And now, despite all this, despite the scent of blood in the air and the wails of horror coming from the beach, he wanted you to listen to him? The audacity of vampires--it might have been funny, if you were in the mood to laugh.

“Like hell,” you mutter.

Chrollo breathes out through his nose. Impatient.

“I don’t believe I heard you, dear.”

You look up at him, gaze sharper. Heart sharper.

“Like. Hell.”

The slap you give him is weak. You’re surprised your good arm even managed it, all things considered.

But the shock of the act that ripples from Chrollo to Feitan and even down below is what gives you a few microseconds to escape, to run, ears ringing from the pain of your jostled broken arm, and throw yourself down the slide.

You don’t have a plan. How could you? As soon as you get to the bottom, you’ll just run. Run and maybe die but maybe you’ll get away, someway, somehow.

You don’t get more than a few steps before you fall. Not fall, exactly. Trip. You trip over something that shouldn’t be there, something taught and thin. A wire?

You see, from the corner of your vision, the woman with pink hair yank her hand backwards and the wire that shouldn’t be there slices deeply into both your ankles. Blood seeps through your socks before you even hit the ground.

Your ankles burn and bleed, and new sparks explode behind your eyes when your broken arm smacks the ground at the worst possible ankle. You think you scream, but it’s hard to tell, over the pain.

Chrollo and Feitan jump down from the second story of the fun house. It should break their ankles--it does not.

Someone turns you over on your back with their boot and you’re left staring up at the sky, ink black and throbbing with stars. It was such a pretty night, before all this.

Above you, Chrollo and Feitan look down with decidedly different expressions. Chrollo regards you coolly, with no real expression on his face; it’s like a porcelain mask, indifferent, never-changing. Feitan, on the other hand, is smiling--he’s looking not at you, exactly, but at your blood.

It’s Chrollo who speaks.

“I would like an apology for your behavior.”

If your eyes were not safely attached to their retinas, they might bug out of your face entirely. You are laying on your back with bleeding, mangled ankles; your arm is broken, flopping, useless; a collar of blood adorns your neck. Vampires are standing above you, fangs at the ready, having already spread carnage through an entire beach of concert-goers.

And he wants an apology?

You want him to go away. To not be real.

You want your mom, and your dad, and your childhood bed with covers big enough to hide you.

So you shake your head, helpless, like an infant lying on their back.

Above you, Chrollo says your name. Sternly. Just once.

When you muster up the words, you taste copper. You must have bitten your tongue after tripping.

“F…fuck you.”

Stupid words, you know. But you’d rather your last words be this than pointless begging. Now that would be stupid, begging for your life in front of grotesque creatures who want nothing more than to devour your blood.

Somewhere above you, a gruff voice says, with a hint of glee in his voice:

“Want me to do it, boss?”

Your eyes dart around, but you can’t see anyone else. Even Feitan seems to have stepped back, leaving you with no one but Chrollo in your line of sight.

Chrollo tilts his head a little, considering.

“No,” he says, finally. “Feitan will handle it. I appreciate your methods, but you might break something a little beyond repair.”

Whoever spoke chuckles, but doesn’t disagree.

The words reach you, but you don’t take them in for a slow moment.

Break… break… what else can they break, what else can they possibly do--

There’s a weight above you. A dark one that smells of blood and metal. It’s Feitan. He blocks out everything else, just for a moment, staring into your eyes with their big pupils and blurring tears.

When he pulls back, you see him move, but don’t know what it means until you feel an explosion of red hot pain in your hand--the hand you slapped Chrollo with. Your fingers crunch and break and you try to pull your hand away, but Feitan’s boot keeps it pinned down, grinding his heel until you shriek so loud that you think the inside of your throat will blister.

Time itself is hot and painful. You’re not sure how long it goes. You’re only sure that when you try to move your mangled fingers, they don’t move. Hot, thick pain shoots down them and it makes you stop trying to get up.

It’s not like you could run, anyway.

At some point, you hear a new sound. Sirens in the distance. Police? Ambulances? There’s no hope in your chest, no thought that they’ll save you. Even if they got here in time, the monsters would kill them.

Somewhere above you, Chrollo talks, though his words sound like they’re being spoken through water.

“Take care of them, will you? We’ll meet up near the waterfall before we head out.” A question from someone. A pause. “Yes, I’ll handle her.”

The voices fade away. Either because they’ve walked away, or you’re finally going to die from the shock. That might be a mercy compared to whatever grisly end Chrollo has in store for you. Is this how he planned for you to die, after all? Or was it meant to be swifter? You might have screwed it all up with your running and spitting.

Before Feitan broke your hand, you might have been proud of the spitting. Now you just wish you’d let them kill you quick.

Finally, Chrollo returns to your line of vision. He’s a bit blurry from your tears, from your pain. Probably a bit from your blood loss, too.

He kneels down next to you, and you tense. Even tensing hurts, and you whimper.

“Are you going to kill me now?”

Beside you, Chrollo coos. A soft, sticky sound. He takes your broken hand and your voice wants to shriek, but all you can manage is a strangled cry. He kisses your broken fingers like a gentleman.

“Kill you? Of course not.” He presses a last kiss to your mangled hand. “I do want to see that sweet girl from before.. the one who daydreams about strangers and holds onto my hand so tightly on the Ferris wheel.” An indulgent look crosses his face and he gives your broken fingers a painful squeeze that has you groaning.

“She’s still in there, no doubt.” His thumb brushes against your cheek, pushing away the dried salt of your tears. “Buried under fear and pain and newfound knowledge, no doubt.” He smiles nostalgically. “But those can be remedied with time.”

He’s crazy. I mean, you know he’s a vampire, sure. But he’s also fucking crazy.

“I want to go home,” you croak. Even though you can’t reason with crazy. “Please. Please.”

His eyes blink down at you. How old is he, anyway? Centuries? Longer? To him, you must be nothing. Insignificant. Ridiculous.

He doesn’t mock you, though. He only continues stroking your cheek with his thumb. “I’ll be your home now, wherever we go. And we will go so many places.” There’s some sort of dulled excitement in his expression that turns your stomach. “And from now on, you’ll do what I say, won’t you?”

Tears spill over your eyes, trickling down over his thumb. You don’t have the energy or the lack of survival instinct to say no. But you won’t say yes, either. You can’t.

“Well. I can make you obedient, if you’d rather be stubborn.”

You’re about to ask--”What?”--when he kisses you, shutting you up entirely.

You’re afraid to move. Your lips tremble against his, thinking only of death--of his fangs. His lips move and brush against your neck, and a mocking forgotten memory of last night flashes through you. He kissed your neck last night, too, a wet, sucking kiss that had your toes curling. Your toes curl now, too, out of fear. The blood from your ankle makes your toes slick inside your shoes.

And then his fangs sink into your neck and hot, searing pain shoots through your entire body, masking everything else. Your ankles. Your broken hand. Your brutalized arm. The cut on your collar. None of them matter compared to this pain, which is not localized at the sight of the bite but spreads throughout your bloodstream, making it impossible to think of anything but how much it hurts.

You’re dimly aware of your screaming. A helpless sound you heard from countless others tonight. Your legs kick, and you realize, vaguely, that you can’t really feel them anymore. They hurt, yes, but there’s a numbness behind it. Are you really moving them at all?

There are more screams now--from the beach. You don’t know how you know, but you do. It’s like you can see it in your mind although you’re flat on your back in front of the fun house with a monster draining you of blood.

The world spins as you imagine how the first responders must be dying right now, while you’re dying. Are they wishing they never responded to the emergency calls? Are they thinking about their families, their friends, and their little dogs, too?

Chrollo’s mouth is against yours again, and you taste yourself on him. Bitter metal, still warm. He’s blurry as he pulls back and bites against his wrist. What should be vivid red blood is dark and ugly--dead. He hovers his wrist above your mouth and the substance drips onto your lips. It’s cold, vile.

A final insult before you die, making you drink this nasty stuff. Vampires have a sick sense of humor.

But what did you know about vampires, anyway?

You black out as Chrollo murmurs something above you.

At least, you think, this is finally over.

You do not wake up in heaven or in darkness, either.

You wake up in a man made clearing, sitting against a tree, with a blanket draped over you. In front of you there is a fire, not roaring but alive enough in the night; a pot with spilled chili lay on the ground. Behind the fire is a camper van with its door wide open.

The corpse of a man is propped against the door of the van, keeping it open. His mouth is slack and ah, he’s not dead yet, is he? There are two glaring puncture wounds on his neck, but he’s still around. His fingers twitch and seem to register you with tired eyes, that drift from your face over to the far end of the camp.

You follow the look, and oh. There are two dead teens piled next to the fire. Already drained, already dead. His children, you think.

The world seems to come into more focus then.

You are, as far as you can tell, alive. You’re propped up against a tree. It’s night time. The people--the monsters, the vampires--are here, in this campsite. Some of them glance at you once they realize you’re awake, but no one says anything.

Strangely enough, you’re not in much pain. Soreness, yes. But you should be in agony. Your hand feels okay--sore fingers, but no longer blinding pain, and you can bend them almost normally. Your arm, too, feels sore but mended. Your hands reach up to your collar, your neck, but there’s no trace of the wounds except a thin scar on your collar and two small bumps on your neck.

How did it heal so fast? Did they bring you here to hurt you again? Keep you like some sort of blood bag?

Your eyes travel down to the blanket draped around you. It’s heavy, comfortable, and stained with blood.

You jerk like you’ve been electrocuted and throw the soiled blanket from your body.

Someone nearby laughs. “Picky princess, huh?” You vaguely recognize the voice--the tall man with wild hair. The one who knocked a man’s head off at the beach.

Just as renewed panic begins to awaken inside you, Chrollo appears from seemingly nowhere.

“You’re finally awake, I see.”

You shrink against the tree, and look around. Could you run into the woods? Were you still in the trail by the beach? How far could you run?

Chrollo smiles, and sits down next to you like this isn’t horrifying or unusual at all. “Don’t be ridiculous, dear. There’s nowhere to go.”

Your throat is dry and your words stick to your mouth several times before you can speak.

“Where… are we?”

If you’re close enough to home, you might still get out of this. Somehow. Find a gas station or a rest stop and beg for help.

“Far away from that little town, I assure you.” Chrollo jerks his head back and you finally see the row of motorcycles parked near the campsite. “We won’t stay here for long. We rarely do. Just long enough for you to get healed up, this time.”

Which means he plans to take you with him--with them. For how long? And where? And why? Why take you? Why not kill you, why not drain you dry in front of the fun house and leave your corpse for survivors to find?

You could ask all of these things, but you’re not sure you want the answer. Instead, you give the only answer your mind can manage, which is to curl up against yourself and cry.

“I want to go home.” You whisper, out of practicality more than anything. Your mouth is so damn dry.

“None of that,” he says, a little sternly. His expression softens when you flinch, and he brushes the hair from your face. “Don’t waste your breath on such a silly sentiment. You’re not going anywhere I don’t want you to go.”

“You said you didn’t know me well enough to leave with me,” he continues, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek, then a warmer one to your unwilling lips. “You said you hadn’t had time to figure out your dreams. Now, you can take all the time you need for both of those things. We’ll have eternity, after all.”

Dull, cold horror pools in your gut.

Eternity.

“Did you… am I… did you make me--”

Your hands shoot to your mouth, to your teeth, feeling for fangs. But there’s nothing new inside your mouth, unless you count the awful cotton dryness that blankets your tongue and teeth like film.

He smiles indulgently, and you hear someone nearby snort.

“No.” A pause. “Not yet, not quite.” He smiles at your ignorance and takes your hand away from your teeth, giving it a kiss that feels like mockery even if you get the sense that he isn’t trying to make fun. “That may come later, if you behave. For now, I’ve made you…” Another kiss, this time with a smile on his lips, as he seems to debate on what to say. “… let’s say, mine.”

You shiver. From fear, and from cold.

Chrollo presses another kiss to your lips, until he can shove his tongue in between your teeth and run it against your own. You taste yourself on him, still, that rusty taste. It makes you gag, and he pulls away.

“You must be cold. I don’t want you catching a chill so soon. Why don’t you go sit in front of the fire and warm up?”

You shake your head, wanting to spit out the taste in your mouth, but not having the courage to do so.

He watches you for a moment. Calculating, cold. He makes you think of an animal, in this moment. An animal thinking on what to do when his prey does something odd in the wilderness.

“Go sit in front of the fire,” he tells you.

And without wanting to, without meaning to, you do. Your body jerks up and you walk over to the fire, with its spilled chili and corpses left in its wake, and sit down.

It’s like before, at the carnival, but different now. There’s no warm suggestion, no soothing manipulation. Only an order that you obey, and that’s that. When you try to push yourself up, you find that you simply can’t make your body do it. You can flex your fingers, your toes. You can move your arms up and down. But you cannot, in any way, stop sitting in front of that fire.

“I’d prefer you to do things willingly,” Chrollo says from his spot near the tree. “But I don’t mind giving orders either, love.”

Love.

You’re not sure he knows the meaning of the word.

But neither do you.

Despite the fact that there are two dead kids and their dying father just feet away from you, you find the fire comforting. It’s warm. It’s bright. It’s everything that the monsters around you aren’t; and you aren’t one of them, not exactly (not yet, your brain screams, he said not yet) and maybe you can cling to that. Cling to your humanity, to get you through this.

The fire crackles in front of you. At some point, Chrollo sits down, and offers you a bowl of chili that they must have set aside for you before knocking the pot down.

It’s lukewarm, and a bit bland. The dying man wasn’t a great cook. But you eat it, slowly, carefully, while Chrollo watches with an almost serene expression on his face. Like watching you eat was the most endearing thing in the world.

Above you, the night sky watches the scene with indifference.

#yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere #afterwitch writes #this fic is my baby /wraps it in a blanket

1K notes · View notes

yandere-daydreams · 1 year

Text

Title: Predetermined.

Written for the very lovely @mars-syndrome.

Pairing: Yandere!Azul x Reader (Twisted Wonderland).

Word Count: 3.0k.

TW: AFAB!Reader, Non///Con, Tentacle Sex, Unprotected Sex, Nonconsensual Drug Use, Implied Long-Term Stalking, and Unhealthy Relationships.

For everyone except you, the Monsto Lounge closed at ten.

It was an unofficial rule. Octavinelle freshmen would try to turn you away, but it was a mistake the Leech twins made sure to correct by the next morning, and everyone who’d ever worked more than a shift at the lounge knew better than to kick you out at the end of the night. That was why you were allowed to get away with something Azul would usually blacklist a customer for – staying balled up in the corner of a booth until midnight, your attention either on your nearly-dead phone or the untouched milkshake Floyd had wordlessly put in front of you when he came down to make one for himself, like a zookeeper offering a pound of meat to a caged animal. Riddle was absolutely going to kill you for staying out after curfew, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care about how many sugar cubes you’d have to add to your lemonade tomorrow or how many roses you’d have to paint. You were tempted to spend the night here, to beg Azul to let you use one of the unoccupied rooms and just sleep your misery away, but you’d end up collared for the next week if you didn’t come back at all. The price of being in the best dorm in NRC – you were at the mercy of the strictest dorm leader on campus.

Sometimes, when you couldn’t help yourself, you wished you’d been placed in Azul’s dorm instead. He’d let you get away with anything.

With a heavy sigh, you pulled your legs into your chest and buried your face in your knees. You felt the bench shift under someone else’s weight and raised your head just enough to see Azul sitting in front of you. He’d already discarded his jacket and scarf, his glasses propped low on the nose of his bridge and his shirt more unbuttoned than he usually cared to keep it. He’d probably just wrapped up his own work for the night. You thought you remembered him mentioning a study guide, but it was hard to tell with Azul. He always had something up his sleeve – it was hard to keep track of which scheme he was on, today.

Silently, he slid a mug of something dark and murky in front of you, steam still rising from the top. Although Floyd’s offering went neglected, you took Azul’s up without protest, letting the warmth seep into your hands. You’d been through this a thousand times. You knew better than to ignore his little remedies, by now.

After you’d taken a healthy sip, he spoke. “Who is it now?”

“Muscle-tee guy, from Savanaclaw.” You groaned, shutting your eyes. “He promised we’d be exclusive, but apparently, he thought that included his roommate, and a girl from Pomefiore, and some idiot from Royal Swords. A boy from his class had to tell me – he had pictures and everything.”

Azul offered a skeptical look. “You’re crying over him?”

“I’m not crying!” You hadn’t cried over anyone since middle school. He should know that – he’d been there then, too, to watch you sob your eyes out when your newest crush tore up your confession letter before so much as opening it. You were a third-year, now. If you were going to cry, you were going to do it alone in your closet where no one would be able to judge you.

You were more tired than anything. You could already feel today starting to weigh on you, your shoulders held at an odd slant and your remaining energy dwindling further by the second. Reluctantly, you uncurled, letting your legs fall over Azul’s lap and taking another drink before going on. “I’m just so exhausted. It feels like it always ends like this. I let my guard down, meet a guy I really like, get him to really like me, and then I find out that that he’s an asshole and somehow, I’m the only one who didn’t know.” You groaned, shaking your head. “I don’t know how this keeps happening. Are all men this bad, or just the ones I choose to date?”

“Unfortunately, your taste is the only common factor.” You let out a dry laugh, shooting Azul a narrow glare. He only shrugged, as composed and as disinterested as always. “Honestly, it’s your own fault. How can you expect to find a quality product when you’re latching onto items you’ve only known for a few days?”

Another groan, this one louder than the first. You really were tired – it was a struggle just to keep your eyes open. “I don’t sulk in your restaurant ‘cause I want to be lectured, y’know.”

“And I didn’t open a restaurant because I wanted people with pathetic love-lives to sulk in it.” It was his turn to sigh, now, to settle closer to you. A hand came to rest on your back, rubbing small circles into the space between your shoulder blades. He was never especially touchy – you’d caught him cringing after shaking hands with a business partner or being nudged by another clumsy student in an overcrowded hallway more than once – but you could tell he tried to an exception, for you. You appreciated the effort, no matter how much it apparently hurt him. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but it wouldn’t hurt you if stopped rushing into relationships with people you barely know. Taking your time might save you a little heartache.” He paused. You weren’t looking at him, but you could picture the thin frown playing over his lips, the way his eyes narrowed in concentration rather than anger (because when Azul was angry, hr only ever smiled). He was smart, but predictable. Maybe it was just because of how long you’d known each other, how long you’d spent standing at Azul’s side while he looked down on everyone else, but either way, you could read him like the back of your hand. You didn’t have to see him to know exactly what he was thinking. “Or, if you really have to rush into something, you could try starting a relationship with someone you actually know. It might not be as much fun, but it couldn’t be worse than—” He gestured to you, your hunched posture, your wrinkled uniform. “—this.”

You perked up, letting out an airy laugh. It was rare for Azul to hand out advice without asking for a healthy fee, so you tried to nod, to smile, to look like you weren’t on the verge of passing out and forcing him to carry you back to your dorm. “I… I’ll think about it. I’ll try.” And you would. You’d try, at least, like you always did when Azul pulled you aside and told you to stop embarrassing him with your week-long flings. “If I wait long enough, I might even be able to find someone like you, Azul.”

There was a long, silent lapse.

Then, Azul’s hand fell to the small of his back, and you felt your strength snap and give out. You thought, distantly, about batting his hand away, about teasing him for how uncharacteristically affectionate he was being tonight, but you just couldn’t seem to make yourself move, to keep yourself upright. You felt your body slump against Azul’s side, and without missing a beat, he caught you, wrapping an arm around your waist and letting out a shallow sigh.

“Right,” he muttered, as your eyes finally fell shut. You felt like you’d been hollowed out, sapped of something warm and vital and left to gently float into an unwelcome unconsciousness. You tried to scream, but your mouth wouldn’t open, your lips sealed and your tongue useless. You tried to wake up, but that only seemed to drag you down farther, to pull you that much deeper into that awful, exhausting fog.

“Maybe one day, love.”

You woke up to the feeling of something inside of you and cold water lapping against your skin.

In your drugged daze, the latter somehow seemed to take priority over the former. It wasn’t just cold, it was freezing, worse than the Coral Sea in the dead of winter, when the ice drifts blotted out the sun and a stray current alone could send you into hypothermic shock. It only came up to your waist, but you felt the chill run up your spine, spreading through your veins and turning your blood to ice. If you’d been able to move, you would’ve been shivering. If you’d been able to think clearly, you would’ve been more afraid.

But you could move, even if you couldn’t think. You managed to lift your hand, bringing it into your line of sight only to find a slick, pitch-black tentacle wrapped around your end, its suckers latched onto your skin and its dull point tangled around your fingers. You recognized it in an instant – Azul’s, down to the lilac-grey underside and the permeant compression marks etched into the tip, earned through countless hours of writing up contracts. You hadn’t him in his true form since you enrolled in NRC. You wondered what would be important enough for him to break his streak now.

Another wave of frigid water broke against your midriff, and you felt something quirk inside of you. It was a tight, bad feeling – a string of tension wound tight enough to coil in on itself, to ache and throb as your cunt stretched around something thick and awful and a soft, blunt head rubbed and flicked against your inner walls. Wait, that was right – something was inside of you, thrusting as it curled and twisted and thrashed. You felt it curve in on itself, the base rising to grind against your clit as it moved, and you bolted upward, taking a gasping breath. It didn’t stop you. The tentacles wrapped around both your wrists and draped over your legs weighed you down but offered no resistance as you straighten your back, as you panted and blinked and ran your hand over your stomach, half-expecting to feel a bump where it was stabbing into you. You didn’t find what you were looking for, though, or maybe you did, you couldn’t tell, your attention already moving on to the wading pool you were laying in, shallow but wide and full enough for the water to spill over the sides, and then the thing on top of you, your eyes eventually land on–

On Azul.

Azul.

Your mouth fell open, a plea for him to help you dying in your throat. He looked as strung-out as you felt; his hair pushed away from his face, giving you a perfect view of his half-lidded eyes, his parted lips, the dark blush painted across his cheeks. His hands were braced on either side of you, edging too near to your hips for comfort, and you were suddenly aware of just how close he was to you, his chest a breath from pressing into yours. Even that distance was a temporary luxury, gone as soon as your eyes met and he let out a hitched groan, falling forward until his face was buried in your neck and you couldn’t so much as imagine getting away from him.

Your hands flew to his shoulders, your legs thrashing weakly as you attempted to push him away, but now, now he chose to restrain you, his spare arms dragging yours down until they were pinned to your sides. Your legs were caught up in his tentacles, too; a pair wrapping around your thighs and spreading them apart, dragging you deeper into the water and leaving you unable to hold yourself up. His breath was as cold as the water, fanning over your skin and making the heat beginning to drip down the inside of your thighs that much more unbearable. You heard him whine, the noise pitchy and desperate, going on for seconds before he seemed to find the will to actually speak. You weren’t sure which would’ve been worse – hearing his voice in a place like this, or watching him abuse your body without so much as an apology.

“You’re tight.” There was a stilted inhale, a trembling groan. “I— Fuck, I knew you would be, but it’s like your body’s been waiting for this as long as I have. It’s like—” His voice gave out, a manic smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “It’s like we were made for each other.”

He sounded so happy. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen him excited about something other than schemes and contracts and profit margins measured down to the last stray cent. Usually, the closest you got was a sense of smug condescension – a certain light in his eyes and a manic zeal in his grin. This was different. This was so, so much worse.

You felt his mouth latch onto your throat, pointed teeth nipping at the skin just above your jugular before burrowing into you, drawing enough blood to drip down your chest and tint the water pink. He wasn’t satisfied with a single mark, either; his attention falling lower, to the curve of your shoulder, then the vulnerable flesh just above your collarbone. As his concentration wavered, you were allowed to slump forward, but yet another tentacle found its way to your neck, wrapping loosely around your throat, applying just enough pressure to keep you upright. It reminded you of how Azul would correct your posture when he caught you hunching over your desk, or how he’d tell you to stand just a little closer to his side while he was talking to the other dorm leaders, to sit next to him rather than across the room while he was meeting with a student who spared anything more than a stray glance in your direction. He’d never been afraid to pose you. This was just an extension of that, really – a more honest version of the same bad habit.

The rough underside of the tentacle inside of you rubbed against the walls of your pussy, and you imagined digging your nails into his cheek, clawing at his eyes, kicking and thrashing and yelling until someone heard you, until Azul decided the risk wasn’t worth the reward, but you couldn’t bring yourself to so much as attempt to move, to fight against his bondage. It was all you could do to watch him from a distance, to force yourself to be vaguely aware of what he was doing to you. The tentacle inside of you fell into a steady rhythm, and Azul’s hand fell to your clit, clumsily circling the hypersensitive bundle of nerves. His inexperience was apparent, his usual air of confidence discarded in favor of seeking his pleasure and forcing the same misplaced bliss onto you. You didn’t resist, but you jerked away from his touch. If he noticed that you were trying to get away from him, though, if he could see your pained expression or grit teeth, he didn’t seem to care, to think of it as anything other than you bucking into his hand. He tilted his head back, his pale eyes flickering towards your face, a wide smile plastering itself across his lips. Slowly, joltingly, he pulled himself back to your height and before you could brace yourself, his lips were crashing into yours. Teeth scraped against teeth, his tongue pressed into yours, and you thought, through the daze, that this might’ve been his first kiss. You couldn’t remember him mentioning anything, ever telling you about a pretty girl or cute boy who’d caught his eye. In fact, you couldn’t remember him ever mentioning anything about love or romance at all.

Huh.

It made sense, once you took a step back.

You didn’t kiss back. Obviously, you didn’t kiss back. Azul didn’t seem to care. He was panting by the time he pulled away from you, his blush darker and his pupils blown out with lust. You felt the tentacle inside of you twitch, and thought for the first time that it might not be a tentacle at all but something too terrible to name. You were almost thankful when the tentacle around your neck slipped past your lips and forced your teeth apart, giving you something to think about aside from that awful, slick thing inside of you, aside from the revolting heat slowly beginning to curl and flicker in your core. The tapered tip brushed against the back of your throat and you gagged violently, the air hitching in your throat and your body lurching against his. Azul’s grin grew broader, his pace rougher. “You’re going to cum.” It wasn’t an order or a question, just an assessment, an observation. A prediction you could only hope wouldn’t come true. “That’s alright. That’s perfect. I want you to. I’ve waited so long to—”

His voice cut out with an airy groan. He pressed himself closer to you, his stare boring into skin and his lips ghosting over yours. You tried to turn away, to clench your eyes shut, but his hands came up, cupping your face and pulling you back to him. The tentacle assaulting your mouth jutted deeper, forcing you to open your eyes, to meet his. He was crying – you could see the tear tracks running down his cheeks, carving trails across his pale skin. He was smiling, wider than you’d ever seen him smile before.

“I tried to give you a chance.” He was muttering, now, the words barely audible and entirely deafening all at once. “I tried, but this is what you drove me to.” He rested his forehead against yours, drove his nails into your jaw. “This was the only way I could show you that we were made for each other.”

Made for each other. Made for each other.

The conviction in his voice was so steadfast that, maybe, in another scenario, you probably would’ve believed him.

A tight, searing heat washed over you. Your body went rigid, tensing up as your vision burnt white and your cunt clenched around his tentacle. At the same time, something burst open inside of you, filling you with something hot and horrible and so much worse than the water you were still submerged in, the water you wished would’ve drowned you minutes ago. Rather than pull back, you felt Azul draw closer, wind around you tighter, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t.

Going limp, you leaned against the edge of the pool and closed your eyes, letting your mind drift far, far away. Azul let you, his hands falling away but his tentacles persisting with their grinding and groping and invading. It didn’t matter. It was like Azul said – you were made for each other, right?

You could only wonder how long ago he’d decided that.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland masterlist #twisted wonderland imagines #yandere twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #yandere twst #twst imagines #twst x reader #twst #azul x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x reader #yanderecore #yancore

1K notes · View notes

chaengluva · 4 months

Text

Don’t Be Fooled By The Pink

Regina George x Fem!Reader: 2.4k words.

Requested: No

Regina hasn’t laid eyes on you before but one day she noticed that you were feeling sad and she couldn’t help but feel bad for you, so Regina decided to he human for once.

WARNINGS: Slight mention of a bad life at home and bullying

You walked into class with your head down and your hoodie up. You tried your best to hide your face from the people that you knew would make fun of you for crying at school, but you couldn't help it. So much was going on in your life that you couldn't take it anymore.

You were so tired of being the second choice, in the eyes of everyone, everything you do is compared to what your sister does, if you get a B, you should do better but when you get an A, your parents blame you for cheating, but when its your sister, they treat her like she just found a cure to cancer.

Nothing like what happened this morning, it was the worst fight and your sister just let your parents attack you. Your mom went in to your room when you were sleeping, and being herself, she went threw all your stuff. She opened your note book, the one were you confessed your crush, on a girl.

You tried to tell her that you didn't like that girl anymore, and you told her that it was all just a phase (which is a lie), but you didn't want her to be mad at you.

It didn't work; she wasn't happy; she started yelling at you, which started you awake and made your father and sister rush in; they also yelled at you; and your sister just watched and smirked while it happened, which broke your heart.

Your mom told you to pack your stuff and not come home after school today, you felt so broken and you didn't know where do go, so that's why you were upset at school.

You look up for the first time, and you notice that Regina Geogre is staring at you. You sigh, looking away, knowing she is probally juding you for crying, when you look back you notice she is still looking at you, which makes you more embarssed.

You look away, then you feel a vibration on from your phone, you pull it out to check and you were really confused when it said that Regina had texted you through instagram.

@TheRegina_Geogre

Hey, I know we have never talked but why are you crying?

@Y/n.L/n_

Just personal reasons.

@TheRegina_Geogre

Do you want to talk about it?

Just leave the classroom; meet me in the janitors closet next to the classroom.

She didn't say anything else; she just got up and left. You were so confused about why Regina was being nice to you, but you didn't want to argue with her, so you just got up and followed her. You opened the door and saw Regina sitting down, doing her nails.

"Hey," you say, sitting down next to her. "So, why are you crying?" She asks, and you look down, saying, "Well, my parents kicked me out because..." You panicked, realising that she could also be homophobic, but you sighed, pretending not to care and saying, "I'm lesbian." You finish.

She pauses, looking at you. There was no shaking on her face; she was just quiet. "Oh." She said quietly, and you get up to leave, knowing she probably doesn't want to deal with you anymore, but she grabs your wrist and pulls you back down.

"Stay." She says, "Tell me more." You sigh, "Well I'm always second in my parents eyes, my sister can't do anything wrong, but I can't do anything right." She gives you an apologetic look, and pulling you in for a hug. "I get what your going through, I do."

You nod your head. The bell rings, meaning class is over, but none of you moved. It wasn't like your parents were going to do anything; you weren't going back.

You stayed the whole time in there until it was lunch time, and the two of you were hungry. You didn't think she wanted to eat lunch with you because of her reputation, so you quickly got up, not noticing that she tried to chase after you, but she lost you.

"Watch out, loser!" One of the jocks said he was throwing a football at you, making everyone around you laugh. You quickly tried to escape the sense, then you felt cold liquid drip down your body, and when you opened your eyes, you noticed people around you recording you and your sister pouring milk on you.

You left all your stuff and walked off. You shoved past people as they tried to trip you over and humiliate you even more. You walked until no one could see you, but you were still on campus.

Regina had been looking for you and was just deterred to go sit with her friends. As she walks to the table, she notices everyone's eyes on a phone, laughing at the video of you being bullied. This makes her mad.

She was about to sit down on the table, but Gretchen's voice stopped her. "I'm sorry, Regina. You can't sit with us." She says it loudly, and everyone looks up from their phones and puts their eye on the plastic table "What?" Regina asks with a small laugh. "You're wearing sweatpants. It's Thursday." Gretchen continues, and Regina rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Those rules aren't real."

"They were real that day I wore a vest." Karen says, and Regina rolls her eyes again. "Yeah, because that vest was disgusting!" Regina exclaims, and everyone goes quiet.

"You can't sit with us!" Gretchen yells. More silence. "These sweatpants are all that fit me right now." Regina whispers, not wanting many people to hear her.

"What do you think, Cady?" Gretchen asks Cady, and Regina looks at the strawberry blonde. She turns around with a smirk on her face and says, "Sorry, Regina. Rules are rules." She says it with a smirk in her voice. "Fine." She says this, turning away from the table. Everyone's eyes were on her, and she just rolled her eyes. "Take a picture, losers. It'll last longer." She says, walking away, throwing away her lunch as she goes.

She leaves the school, and she notices you sitting behind a tree, making her sigh. She walks up to you, kneeling down, pulling you in for a hug. "I'm sorry I wasn't there." Regina says she is picking you up and taking you back to her house.

The two of you did everything you could to distract you from what was going on in your life; you watched movies, talked, and she even showed you the burn book that she wrote about girls in the grade; you weren't in it, which you didn't know how to feel about.

"I told Gretchen not to put you in it, she wanted to." Regina says, You give her a confused look, "Why?" You ask, and she sighs, looking down and sighing, "Because I like you." Regina says, and you blush, not wanting to believe her if she is lying. She notices this and rolls her eyes, grabbing your neck and pulling you in for a kiss.

You kissed back, slowly changing your position on the bed so she was hovering over you, as you made out, you got lost, you forgot about everything and for once in your life you felt wanted.

You opened your eyes, and you were shocked to feel Regina's arms around you. She was holding you close. You moved slightly, waking the girl up. She yawed before getting up and moving to her closest. She threw you some clothes to wear, not saying a word. "I need to get my status back." Regina says, nodding her head, "How come you only talked to me when you saw me crying?" You ask, making Regina sigh.

"I've always been so shy; I know that sounds stupid, me? Shy?" Regina says, giggling, making you smile back, and hugging her, "Thanks, Regina." You smile, letting go of Regina, grabbing the clothes she gave you, then changing, leaving Regina standing there with a stupid smile on her face.

When you finally got changed, you came out to see that Regina was now sitting on her bed, eating a kalteen bar, which made you confused. "Regina?" You ask, she hums, looking up and into your eyes. "You know those make you gain weight."

Her eyes go from really soft to angry. She spits the rest of the bar she was chewing out and grabs the burn book, putting Cady's name inside it. (You thought so.) "I'm kicking her out today." Regina says you just nod your head, not wanting to argue with her.

The two of you go to school and sit on the plastic table like nothing happened yesterday. Gretchen and Karen were happy that Regina finally told you about her feelings; her arm was wrapped around you possessively, and the two girls sat opposite you and started to talk.

Cady made her way to the table, and Regina looked at the girl with angry eyes. Cady had no idea that Regina knew about the scheme she pulled off, and she wasn't happy about it.

Cady was about to sit down, but Regina spoke up, "You're not allowed to sit here." Regina said, and Cady gasped, "Why not?" She asked with hurt in her voice. "Because I said so," Regina said, hoping that was enough for the strawberry blonde to get up and leave, but she didn't move.

"So you're replacing me with some sore loser?" Cady says, rolling her eyes. Gretchen and Karen's eyes go wide, and they tell Cady to run away with their hands, but she doesn't pick it up. Regina drops the cheese fry that she was holding in her hand, then stands up. "Excuse me?" Regina says, and the shorter girl smirks. "You heard me."

Regina chuckles, walking closer to the girl, showing the clear height difference between them, making Cady slightly regret what she said and backing away. "Y/N is not a loser." Regina says, and Cady nervously nods, making the blonde roll her eyes. "Y/N is prettier than you; she has a personality. You were nothing before you met me." Regina said, pushing down the girl.

The whole cafeteria was laughing at her, which made the blonde smirk and feel satisfied enough to sit back down. When she sat back down, she noticed you were eating her cheese fries. Usually she would be mad if someone ate her food, but now she felt worried. "Y/N?" Regina said, making you jump and quickly putting the fry down.

"Sorry for eating your food," you nervously say. The blonde giggles, shaking her head. "It's okay; you can have the rest of them." She smiles, and Gretchen and Karen stare at the girl in shock. Regina never shares her food, but she did with you.

She allows you to touch her hair and eat her food. Karen and Gretchen knew that she liked you, but you didn't expect the two of you to move this quickly.

"Regina?" Gretchen said, making the girl roll her eyes, and she looked over at Gretchen. "What?" She asked with bitterness in her voice. "I have to pee, do you?" Gretchen said, smirking, and Regina knew exactly what Gretchen was doing. She groaned, getting up and then following Gretchen into the bathroom.

"What do you want?" Regina asked, crossing her arms. Gretchen gulped. "Are you dating Y/N?" Gretchen asks, and Regina gasps, "Not yet." She smirks and then goes to leave, but Gretchen grabs her and says, "You should take her out tonight." Gretchen suits, and Regina stops in her tracks and turns back to face her.

"You know what? That's a really good idea." Regina smiles, leaving. Gretchen has a massive smile on her face. She finally feels seen by her best friend. Regina goes back to you, taking a deep breath. "Y/N," she said, grabbing your attention.

You looked up, with a smile on your face, asking, "Yes?" Regina takes a deep breath before asking, "Will you go out with me? On a date." You happily smile and nod quickly, and she smiles, pulling you in for a hug and then walking away.

The two of you girls went home later that day and got ready in different rooms. When you walked out and saw Regina, she looked amazing.

She took you out to this very fancy restaurant that was very expensive; you almost felt bad watching her pay. When the two of you got back home, you held each other close and watched movies.

When you woke up, Regina wasn't with you; she wasn't by your side, which made you confused. You asked her mum where she was, and she told you that Regina had gone to school already, which made you frown. You had to catch the bus.

When you got to school, it was insane. Every girl was attacking each other, and you didn't know why, but then people turned to look at you and started laughing. You were confused by what they were laughing about, but then you got a text from someone.

"Y/N is a slut who craves attention from girls because her parents don't give her any."

You felt tears come to your eyes, and you knew exactly who wrote this, and she told you that she wouldn't write your name in the book. You look up, and Regina is making eye contact with you. She is trying to say something, but you ignore it.

You rush into the bathroom and put your hands in your head, feeling the tears come through, thinking of how dumb you were to trust Regina George.

Just as you open the door, Regina comes in, and you look away. "Y/n." She says, You roll your eyes, "What?" Regina sighs deeply. "I didn't mean anything I wrote about you. I had to write it." Regina says, making you roll your eyes again. "What do you mean you had to?" You ask.

Regina looks down at the ground. "I didn't want you to get framed, so I wrote you and me in it," Regina confesses, and you look down. "Oh."

Regina pulls you in for a hug, praying that you will hug back, and thankfully, you do. "Let's skip the rest of the day." Regina asks, and you nod with a smile on your face.

#regina george x reader #regina george #mean girls #mean girls 2024 #reneé rapp #wlw #angst #janis imi'ike #gxg #lesbian #fluff #regina george 2024 #regina x fem!reader #regina x reader

389 notes · View notes

remotewatch · 1 month

Text

no class, some integrity!

Jack Schlossberg x reader | 1.3k wc

Summary: All Jack wants is a round of golf, what a bore!

cw: shameless smut, fingering, outdoor recreation, sorry to the landscapers, and the ducks, unprotected sex, cum eating, if you want to safely reenact this get your ass up and VOTE, reader is on birth control but what’s a little plan b nausea for peace of mind, try to guess how serious I am about that, hate sex kinda sorta, this is a comedy

this one is for my oomf in editing! see you at the greek island queen out!

minors dni! get out! fuck off! shoo!

“Jack, fuck! Slow down!” Not because it hurts, but because he’s pounding you so hard he’s pushing you downhill, and any attempts you make to ground yourself against the grass just tear up the fresh sod in chunks. He’s bent and pressed flat against your back, panting whiny little “sorry-so sorry-I can’t, sorry-god”s into your ear as his hips piston uncontrollably.

You should’ve known better than to be all over him when you hadn’t seen each other in weeks; really, you should’ve expected this back when you selected your outfit.

-45 minutes earlier-

“Is that a skort?” You give him a half-glance over your shoulder from in front of the foyer mirror.

“No?” Jack leans back to peer under your hem in a way that only he can do without looking sleazy.

“You’re going to golf in a regular skirt?” God, he’s so simple, but you refrain from rolling your eyes.

“I didn’t pack anything else to go with this top. Does your course have a new dress code I’m not aware of?” With a practiced flick of your ponytail, you trot outside to the waiting golf cart before he can ask any more stupid questions.

As if Mother Nature herself means to mock you, the wind picks up as soon as he starts the engine. You spend the first few holes failing to hold your skirt down as Jack effortlessly outscores you, clearly not distracted enough to be beaten. If anything, the fluttering fabric is messing up your game as he watches from the drivers seat.

“If only someone would invent some sort of contraption with built in shorts, then you’d really be set.”

“Oh, fuck off!” he makes you miss your swing, sending the ball careening off to your left into a ditch. When you settle back into the cart, he’s wearing that mischievous little grin you hate to love.

“No, no, I’m serious. You should design one, bet it’d be a hit,” Alright, that’s enough of that. You swing your left thigh over his right, letting your skirt ride up enough to show off your underwear.

“Yeah, you’re always trying to get me to wear more clothes,” Jack suddenly appears very interested in the nearby duck pond despite the unmistakable tent in his chinos.

“We’re only on hole three, you know.”

“Ooh, the magic number!” He turns and squints into the sun, confirming you’re still very much in view of a security checkpoint, but you’re quick to stamp out his concerns.

“You’re seriously going to waste the one time we get the place to ourselves?” Another scoot and you’re practically sitting in his lap. “Or are you just worried about grass stains?”

“You’re ridiculous,” he mumbles, but he’s steering the cart out of sight nonetheless.

The second there’s a cluster of trees between you and the checkpoint, Jack is yanking your panties off hard enough to threaten rug burn. He’s grumbling all the way down to kneeling on the grass, like you’re asking him to repaint the whole property instead of rail you.

“You better spray all over these fucking seats if you want to act like this. I actually wanted to play today.” The leather squeaks as you slide fully onto his seat and place your feet on his shoulders. Your sneaker playfully nudges his cheekbone.

“That really depends more on you, you know.”

There’s a nearly imperceptible tic in Jack’s jaw, confirming you’ve pushed the right button.

For better or for worse, his hands simply don’t get tired. One presses on your pubic bone, pulling the skin just taught enough that every perfectly metronomic stroke on your clit sings through you uninhibited. He’s two knuckles deep and humming along to his own rhythm like an asshole, and maybe you’d say so if he wasn’t yanking your thoughts out with every hook of his fingers. Under any other circumstances, you might feel some type of way about the obscene squelching being the loudest sound on the course, but Jack has been gone for two weeks, and nothing in your toy box matches his fingers. He could make you sound like a foghorn without inspiring a lick of shame.

True to your word, the chair is utterly soaked, and Jack delights in the little bit that his fingers force out of you on each reentry. His tongue is snaking under you trying to clean every drop as it works its way up to your clit, but you more or less kick him to the ground before he can settle in.

“You still want to finish the game, right? We’ll be here all day if you keep playing with your food.” Jack tilts his head to one side like he’ll try and bicker back, but he elects to lunge for your waistband and drag you down with him instead. It would look fucking ridiculous if you were visible to anyone but the wildlife: both of you rolling around trying not to gain momentum and tumble downhill, kneeing each other and ripping up your cute little outfits like kids fighting for the remote. When you let your guard slip enough to fish his cock out of his pants, he takes the opportunity to pin you facedown to the turf and flood your nose with the smell of cut grass. You throw a weak elbow trying to flip him back over, but you’re no match for his years of paddle-boarding. A muttered “-can’t fuckin’ stand you-“ finds its way to your ear, and then he’s in and immediately slamming stars into your vision as your knees divot the green.

Jack always talks your ear off when you derail plans like this, complaining to the time of his thrusts in a way that nearly sounds convincing.

“We’ve never-completed-a whole-game! Never!” The breathiness of it deflates any sense of conviction from his words. Somehow you manage to crawl forward enough to get back onto your elbows, and it takes everything in you to keep your voice steady as you turn back to scowl at him.

“Get up and keep playing if you’re so upset.”

There’s that jaw twinge again. Before you can think to regret your words, he’s twisting one hand into your ponytail and pulling hard enough to make your grip slip.

He nearly knocks the breath out of you when he follows your collapse down to the ground, loose bits of grass sticking to both of your faces as he drools down your cheek. The new angle slots him even deeper, and the ducks resting by the pond’s edge actually fucking take off when they hear the moan he punches out of you. Despite it all, Jack is still a gentleman, one hand worming its way underneath you to paw frantically, sloppily at your clit. You’re driving him insane in the process of grinding down on his fingertips and bouncing off his pelvis in the little wiggle room you have, and soon he’s squeaking out little half syllables as his composure unravels. Any attempts at telling him to cum on your back are thwarted by your orgasm crashing through you and dragging his along with it. The way you’re twitching under him would be humiliating if he wasn’t matching you spasm for spasm. When he moves to scoot back, you grab a fistful of his ruined shirt and dig your nails into his oblique striations.

“Don’t even think about it. Clean that shit up, and then you’re driving us to CVS.” Jack snorts in annoyance, but he carefully pulls out to bend down and tuck in to his meal. The vibrations of him slurping his own cum out of you are almost overwhelming, but he switches to lapping you clean before you have to tap out. One last lip smack around your clit, and he’s leaning back on his heels to catch his breath. By now, the sun is just low enough to start stretching your shadows, and he looks nothing like the menace who just destroyed your outfit when he lies down facing you to pout about finishing up the game. You don’t bother to hide a giggle when you see how green his trousers are.

“That’s up to you. Do you feel more like changing or avoiding a speeding ticket?”

#this looney tunes ass smut omg #jack schlossberg #jack schlossberg x reader #wrap it up #don’t be like y/n be smart!!!!#idk anything about golf who cares he’s yummy

164 notes · View notes

cottonlemonade · 6 months

Text

Plan B

word count: 1015 || avg. reading time: 4 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Kuroo x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff, pining

warnings: none

synopsis: he is trying to convince you to go out with him

The café was in its typical morning lull when you came in. After the coffee rush of the business crowd and students on their way to class there were now only a few people seated comfortably around the small round tables, chatting idly and enjoying a piece of quiet in the hustle of a new Monday. This was your favorite time of the day. The early spring sun was shining happily through the large front windows, making the dark wooden walls appear as if dipped in honey. The smell of freshly brewed coffee mixing with the soothing scent of cookies, all amidst the faint sound of traffic humming underneath the soft clanking of spoons gave you a deep sense of calm.

After the daily round of hellos and how-are-yous, you put on your black apron and got to work in the kitchen, starting on the preparations for lunch.

“Manager?”, an hour later as you just put the finishing touches on a batch of orange drizzle muffins, one of your baristas poked his head through the door and gave you a look. You sighed and joined him in the front by the cash register. Sure enough the tall man waited for you, a wide grin across his handsome face.

“No.”, you told him before he even got the chance to say anything.

“And good morning to you, too.”

“No.”, you said again, beginning to prepare his usual order of simple green tea.

“Just one cup of coffee, we don’t even have to leave the premises.”

“400 yen, please.”

He counted out a small stack of coins on the counter and crossed his arms.

“Where is your cheer squad today?”, you asked, referring to his usual companions of a broad guy with spiky gray hair and a smaller one whose smile rivaled the sun in brightness. Needlessly supervising the last drops of hot water in the to-go cup, you made sure to add the exact amount of tea leaves to a little bag, just so you didn't have to look at him and his ridiculously confident smirk.

“Eh, I think they got tired of you rejecting me.”

“Interesting, any chance that’ll happen to you, too?”

“Sure, I’ll stop”, he slid over to where you were finishing up his order and lowered his voice, “when you stop blushing whenever I ask you out.”

He accepted his order with a wink. “Thank you. See you tomorrow.”

When the door closed behind him, you found your barista leaning against a counter with a cocked eyebrow.

“That makes seven!”, he announced, pointing to a small blackboard on the back wall where you usually wrote down the groceries needed that week. In the lower left hand corner he and the rest of the staff had begun to keep a tally of how often the guy had asked you out so far.

Seven times in three weeks. You smiled against your better judgment. You knew not to take him too seriously. Knew it was just a game to him. When he came in for the first time you had almost dropped a mug, because how could someone look this casually seductive?!

It wasn’t that you didn’t have the urge to say Yes just for the hell of it. But you weren't in the mood to be a short-lived plaything for a guy who probably only thought chubbies were easy. And thus began a regular routine of rejecting him. You didn’t know whether you actually wanted him to stop or if saying No to him had just become a reflex. A wise one probably.

Kuroo groaned and gently hit his head against his desk. Of course the thought that he might be an actual creep for asking you out so much had occurred to him but when he made his initial attempt, you had said Yes at first before immediately changing your answer to No. How on earth could he prove to you that he wasn‘t kidding when he told you that you were on his mind all day? Your smile, your voice, your exceptionally squishable body all brought new amounts of cute-aggression into his life.

At this point he was running out of options. Maybe… maybe he should just wait until you approached him instead - if you ever would, that was. He needed a new idea.

And so, one misguided day, he listened in on the gossip of his coworkers who talked about what mundane things they found attractive in a guy. And that’s how we got here:

Kuroo sat at a large four seater table in the corner of your café. Papers were strewn about, magazines lay open for references. He had loosened his tie and opened the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt; his reading glasses were pushed back onto his nose in regular intervals. It was warmer today. So warm that he had discarded his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, wristwatch glinting in the soft glow of the afternoon sun. He gave a little frown and absentmindedly bit his bottom lip as he consulted one of the articles, sometimes silently mouthing along to paragraphs he read, twirling the pen in his long fingers. He lifted a page to read the next, making a note on a separate sheet, the muscles in his forearm taut while he wrote.

He looked up at nowhere in particular, then closed his eyes and stretched his tired neck, the open shirt tightening around his broad shoulders, the line of his jaw highlighted by the golden light beaming through the large windows…

"Sir.", a waitress stepped professionally to the table, a towel neatly tucked in the waist cord of her apron, hands politely folded in front of her stomach.

"Yes?"

"The manager isn’t here today."

His cheeks started to burn, "Why- I mean… what?"

"And while we do appreciate what you do for the ambiance", a subtle gesture pointed out the girls, women and the barista staring, some even holding up their phone camera, giggling behind their hands, "this isn’t a library, so please order something or free the table."

"…O-of course."

[part 2]

#kuroo x chubby reader #haikyuu x chubby reader #kuroo fluff #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #hq kuroo #kuroo testuro #haikyuu kuroo #kuroo tetsurou #chubby reader #what an idiot #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x curvy reader

280 notes · View notes

idanceuntilidie · 9 months

Text

I have no idea- I was thinking about this yesterday and today in the end I wrote it

chaos chaos enjoy and Im gonna go shower and mir mir don’t commit crimes when Im gone

Tw: slightly suggestive themes, yandere behaviour

Yandere classmate x male reader

Requests are open.

You know where to find me And I know where to look

They boy hummed, his fingers gently playing with your hair. It felt like the finest silk; just like he imagined. A small smile appears on his face,

You were so blissfully unaware, sleeping like a baby and missing out on lectures again.

He twirled the lock of your hair before cutting it off. His smile widened, admiring it, another part of you that he can add to his collection.

He never thought that he could find a boy attractive, but here you were, blissfully unaware of him watching your every step.

You stole his heart, ripped it out of his chest. Still beating, for you.

He laid his head next to yours, and closed his eyes. Your scent enveloping his senses as he slowly drifted to sleep.

The bell rang.

You sit up, mind still half awake, you stretch.

Your eyes widen as you realize the class is already empty. You quickly stand up, swaying a bit due to not being fully awake. Wiping off the droll, you pack your things, you hear a soft click and when you look up you see one of the most popular boys standing in front of you, phone in hand and smiling. His pale blue eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Hi hun! Look how cute you look in this photo!”

He chirped, waving the phone in front of you.

He fucking took a photo of you.

„Celeste delete it!” You desperately lunged at him to get his phone, you failed. He stumbled back and thanks to stupid luck he dodged your attack.

Celeste giggled like a child, correcting his sweater.

“Celeste I beg you! Fucking delete the photo” you begged, eyes glossing over.

“Only if you give me a biiiig kiss” he clapped his hands.

Your face twisted into a grimace, you tried to see if the two of his friends came with him to record this. You couldn’t really see them, but it didn’t mean that they couldn’t be here.

“.. Go fuck yourself.”

You grabbed your bag and rushed out of the classroom.

Celeste huffed as he watched you run out of the classroom.

He sat on the nearby desk, unlocking his phone.

Celeste scrolled through the new photos of you. His pale face dusting with pink, a shy smile formed on his lips. Too easy. He added the photos to his wide collection.

Scrolling through the photos, his smile widens. Some of them are blurry but Celeste doesn’t mind, every photo he takes of you is perfect in every aspect.

He sighs, he wanted that kiss. He bought the cherry flavored chapstick for nothing.

You walked through the halls and checked your bag. Few things were missing from your bag, you must have forgotten them somewhere.

You lost too much of your stuff already, you can’t believe you started being so forgetful.

At least Celeste didn’t follow you.

Finally you found a safe corner and sat down.

Running your hand through your hair you notice some of it is shorter than the rest.

You curse under your breath. Goddamn it, you feel like you are in elementary school all over again.

“Y/N?”

“Marceline oh my God thank Gods you are here I-“

„Listen, we can’t be friends anymore.” she interrupts you.

You look at her in disbelief. She didn’t even look at you, she played with her fingers. Her back hair covered her face and you couldn’t make out the expression.

Your mouth opened, to say something, anything but nothing came out. You felt hurt, betrayed. Marceline didn’t budge for a bit, you could feel her stare on you. Unfocused, hot and burning.

You felt dizzy, this was too much.

Marceline, seeing you had nothing to say, muttered a small apology and walked away.

You didn’t even have the energy to go and run after her.

You felt tears build up. You sniffed and hid your face in your arms.

Celeste grabbed Marceline's hand, she looked at him with pure hatred.

“He is crying because of you”

“Hm, no, he is crying because of you, because you wanted to save your ass” he says, giving him a painfully obvious fake smile.

Marceline felt her blood boil. She roughly pulled her hand away and before storming off he heard her yell insults at him.

Celeste smiled and waved at her, he pulled out his phone and stopped the recording. He will edit it later, it could be useful.

He slowly walked to you, you were crying eh? Man, he needs to take some photos! And God, if he could find your used tissues. Celeste felt his face get hot at the mere thought.

When he finally reached you, he thanked whatever was out there. That you didn’t notice him.

You were such a mess, sitting on the floor sobbing. It was all thanks to him, he smiled widely. His breath had gotten heavy, he rubbed his thighs together and took out his phone. Time for a few new photos.

#yandere classmate #yan classmate #yandere male #yandere #yandere oc #male yan #male yandere x male reader #yandere x male reader #yandere classmate x reader #yandere classmate x male reader #tw yandere #oc yandere #yandere blog #yandere x darling #x reader #x male reader #amab reader #male reader

445 notes · View notes

rainylana · 1 year

Text

“Yeah.”

Eddie Munson x reader

summary: eddie calls reader a b*tch

warnings: language, angst, tears.

a/n: i know these past fics have been short, i’m sorry, but i’m still trying my hand at getting back into this! they’ll get longer, i promise! feedback is appreciate!! :)

Eddie was not in a good mood. You knew this the moment you saw him through the window of his van when he came to pick you up for school. He ranted all morning about how he needed money for new tires, money he didn’t have. Work was cutting him hours and he couldn’t afford it. He was tired of not having money, tired of not getting what he wanted. He was having a damn bad day.

And of course, you listened graciously, but after four hours of watching him sulk in class and be a dick to his friends, it was starting to take it’s toll. He was pouting and you understood why. He came from a poor family and he wouldn’t let you help out financially in anyway whatsoever, no matter how hard you begged. You didn’t want to seem rude and make his bad day seem unappreciated or invalid, but he was treating his friends, and you, poorly to a degree. Not so much you.

Lunch was almost unbearable. Everyone walked on eggshells. Eddie was one of the most dramatic people on the face of the earth and everyone had to suffer for it. Hours past and he’d taken you home from school. Your plan was to go over to his house for a movie night, hoping that a few hours apart would help him settle down and cool off. It done no good. He was absolutely enraged when you got there. The hood of his van was up, smoke flying overhead and his dark curls pulled up away from his face. You didn’t even really know what was wrong with it. It didn’t make sense when he told you. Cars were his detail.

Dinner was no change. You sat and listened to him complain about how none of the guy’s were apparently taking the new campaign seriously. He had a hole in his last pair of good jeans. You felt guilty being annoyed by this, but he hadn’t once asked you how your day was or even kissed you! You were going to loose your mind. Without thinking, you snapped.

“Oh, my god!” You wailed, throwing your silverware down. “Jesus, christ, Eddie, take a breath!”

His eyes were round and wide. “Pardon me?”

You took a breath yourself, forcing yourself to not snap and say something you’d regret. You placed your elbows on the table and rubbed your face. “Baby, I’m sorry you’re having such a bad day, but holy shit you’ve not stopped talking for one second!” You really did have a pounding headache. “You’ve been talking about money all day! Can’t we just have a change of topic, please.”

He looked taken back. Shocked. “Oh, I see. It’s all gotta be bout you, right? Fucking forgive me for having a bad day!” He threw down his fist, clinking the dinnerware together.

“That’s not what I’m saying, Eddie.” You sighed tiredly. “I’m saying that you’ve not acknowledged me at all today. You’ve not kissed me or asked how my day was. I’m sorry you’re stressed out about money, but you’ve been taking it out one everyone, Eddie. You need to calm down.”

His eyes narrowed into slits. “Calm down? Well, last time I checked you were living in a grand castle on daddy’s money, right? You have no idea the kind of shit Wayne and I have to got through to make ends meet, y/n.” He stood abruptly and yanked open the fridge for a beer.

“Hey,” You raised your voice. “I’m not trying to belittle you, Eddie. All I’m saying is that you don’t need to take your frustration out on everyone, out on me. I’m sorry I snapped at you, okay-”

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” He took a long swig after he threw the tab in the sink. “You’re my girlfriend! You’re supposed to be supportive and shit. Only thing you’re being is a bitch.” He sneered like a snake, pointing at you like you were his worst enemy.

Your face dropped at the curse, and as stupid as it felt, your heart sank. Eddie had never said anything like that to you before. Your face burned red and the room got eerily quiet. You felt your eyes immediately blur with tears of embarrassment and humiliation. You had tried to help him, offer solutions. You tried to lend a hand, offer him money and look for jobs in the newspaper at lunch. He acknowledged none of this.

You bit your lip to keep from crying, a lump building in your throat that made you feel sick. You had your head turned to the wall so he wouldn’t see you, but you couldn’t keep it in. You let out a quiet sob, tears falling down your face as you looked down. Your face was red hot, and you brought up your hand to your chest. “I’m sorry, Eddie,” You cried. “I’ve been t-trying to help, I-” Your voice broke and you couldn’t speak as tears escaped, your face twisting into tears. You sat there and cried for a few minutes before you felt the seat dip next to you.

“Hey,” His voice cooed softly, turning your shoulder to pull you toward him. You allowed him to, and you looked eyes briefly before climbing into his lap, wrapping your legs around his torso, your feet dangling off the bench. Your arms were tight around his neck, your face buried in his shirt where you sniffled. He smelled of cologne and dirt.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized, voice low and sad. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He rubbed your back up and down, kissing the side of your head when you let out a whimper.

“I’m sorry you had a bad day.” You said tearfully, holding him like a teddy bear. “I wish you didn’t have to worry about money.”

You felt him sigh heavily. “It’s okay. I got the most important thing in the world right here with me.” He pulled you away so he could look up at you. His eyes were brown and full, his lips pulled into a frown at your tear stricken face. He took his thumbs and wiped them. “I’m sorry I called you that. You know I didn’t mean it, right? You know I didn’t.”

You nodded slowly, wiping your nose with your hand. “Yeah.” You creaked.

He tapped your chin. “Yeah.” Then your nose and to wipe away another tear. He leaned up to plant a tiny kiss on your lips, then one on the corner of your mouth. You leaned down to kiss back, deepening it with your tongue and a hand locking in his curls. Your noses pressed together like puzzle pieces. Perfectly fit.

#eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things season four #eddie munson x reader #joseph quinn #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson blurb

1K notes · View notes

joeys-babe · 1 year

Text

Joey B Imagines: Boze Babe

___________________________________________

Summary: you see Joe’s Boze commercial for the first time and can’t help but give him a hard time over his dance moves.

Warnings: pure fluff, just some cussing, and one sexual joke.

Pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

Imagine Universe: Baby, I Love You

___________________________________________

September 14, 2023

Today you were just out shopping with your friends at the outlet mall, enjoying the day together.

your best friend, Taylor, brought her sixteen-year-old sister Hailey along as well. while you loved Hailey just as much as her older sister, she had a slight obsession with your boyfriend.

your boyfriend of six years, Joe Burrow. you and Joe had been together since he was a backup QB at Ohio State. you met in a shared class when you were partnered together for a project. to you, he was an incredibly sweet and cute nerd, who over time you developed a crush on.

one day Joe asked you to get lunch with him after class, which led to many more dates, which led to you moving to Louisiana with him when he transferred to LSU. now here you were, living in Cincinnati and watching Joe live out his NFL dreams.

joe was in his fourth season with the Cincinnati Bengals and you couldn’t be more proud of him. The first game of the season didn’t go as planned, Joe didn’t play his best and he was super mad at himself. you hated seeing him be so critical towards himself and you tried your best to cheer him up but nothing would work.

he was a superstitious guy no doubt so after that game Sunday the hair he’d grown out over the off-season had to go. you were a teeny bit upset at first since you loved his long hair (especially with the headbands) but you loved the fresh fade nonetheless, it was the hairstyle he had when you first fell in love with him so you had a certain attachment to it.

Hailey had already complained to you a couple of times over Joe cutting his hair and even asked you to beg Joe to grow it out again. you thought her obsession was funny and didn’t get annoyed by it, but you were not gonna relay that message to Joe.

you and Taylor were discussing your upcoming game day fits when Hailey let out a grimaced “Ohh.”

Taylor gave you a confused look after seeing her sister watching something on her phone before turning to her sister.

“what’s up?” - Taylor

“y/n have you seen Joe’s new commercial for Boze? - Hailey p

“uh no, I’ve only seen the outfits he wore over Facetime. why?” - you

“you need to put that boy in a dance class because that’s bad.” - Hailey laughed and handed you her phone

you pressed play on the video and didn’t see anything out of the ordinary at first but when you first saw Joe “bust a move” you couldn’t help but copy Hailey's previous grimace before giggling.

“he’s trying! That’s not his element at all and I think he handled it well. even if it is kinda cringe, he’s adorable and quirky at the same time.” - you

“and hot as hell” - Hailey

“hailey! shut up, and stop thirsting over my best friend's boyfriend!” - Taylor

“she’s okay Taylor, I know that joes attractive and other girls are gonna like him.” - you laughed

“It's a little disrespectful for her to say that in front of you though..” - Taylor

“I mean this in the nicest way possible, but I don’t feel threatened.” - you shrugged

“good for you girl. how about we all get some pretzels before we leave?” - Taylor

all of the girls agreed so you all went and got pretzels before making your way back to your respective cars.

you were pretty tired by the time you got home, shopping always tuckered you out so you were looking forward to cuddling with Joe till you guys went to sleep.

when you opened the front door the house was mostly quiet, the only light on downstairs was the living room lamp so you figured Joe was upstairs.

you took your shoes off of your feet and put them on the shoe rack next to Joe's much bigger pairs of Nikes. the small detail made your heart warm and all you wanted was to be close to your man after a long day.

once upstairs it didn’t take you long to find out where Joe was, you could hear the slight football sounds coming from his office meaning he was still watching the film. you slipped into your bedroom put a pair of sweatpants on, including one of Joe's shirts, and made your way back to his office door.

you barely knocked, and through the crack of the door, you saw Joe's head snap towards the direction of the door with a smile forming on his face.

“come in!” - Joe

you gently opened the door and when your full frame was in view, Joe's eyes lit up.

“Baby.” - Joe smiled

“Hi Joey, still haven’t given yourself a break, huh?” - you

Joe sighed as you made your way over to him, he was sitting on the leather couch while watching play reruns on the TV. you were worried about him, Joe had told you there was no reason for you to feel that way but you didn’t want him to be so hard on himself.

“I’m just trying to figure out what went wrong, don’t need a break.” - Joe

you plopped down onto the spot on the couch next to him, his gaze softened when he saw the look of worry on your face.

“y/n, I promise, if I need a break I’ll take one. I don’t right now.” - Joe

“I know you will, I just hate seeing you like this it makes me sad” - you

“Like what?” - joe

“you’re being so hard on yourself. I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. To me you are the most talented boy in the world, while you focus on your mistakes.” - you

Joe looked at you for a few seconds without saying anything, he wasn’t mad at you, he was trying to figure out how he deserved you.

“c’mere” - Joe patted his lap, and you happily obliged

you were now straddling him, your legs on either side of his muscular thighs while your arms were around his neck. Joe's hands were placed on your back as he looked up at you with so much admiration in his eyes.

“I love you so much. you’re the best girlfriend ever, I’m so lucky to have you, baby.” - Joe hugged you close

your heart swelled when he laid his head on your shoulder and nuzzled his face into your neck.

“I love you too, honey. I’m so grateful to have a man like you next to me.” - you

you were startled when Joe abruptly pulled his head off your shoulder.

“Okay enough sappy shit, how was your day with the girls?” - Joe

his change in mood made you laugh before you answered his question.

“it was nice to catch up with them, but I have a question” - you

“I might have an answer” - Joe smiled

“When did you get your pilot license?” - you giggled when joes face contorted with confusion

“what the hell? what do you mean?” - Joe

“I saw you flew an airplane” - you laughed

“What are you talking about? Are you high?” - Joe

“no, Joey! I’m talking about your boze commercial, you did a little dance.” - you grinned

“Ohh. don’t make fun of me!” - Joe rolled his eyes

“I’m not making fun of you! I thought it was cute and funny.” - you giggled

“I tried my best..” - Joe grumbled

“I know you did, baby. I mean you’re an absolute boze babe I'm proud of you for getting out of your comfort zone.” - you smiled as you hugged his neck

“oh yeah? enough for a reward?” - Joe smirked

“Joseph Lee” - you rolled your eyes playfully

Joe laughed as he stood up with me still in his lap, he carried me into the bedroom and threw me onto the bed.

“boy I'm too tired to mess around.” - you

“oh I am too, I was hoping to cuddle” - Joe smiled

you had to blush at that. Joe never initiated the cuddling, so when he did it was always extra sweet.

he crawled into bed next to you and got comfortable before laying his head on your chest.

“Goodnight, baby. I love you” - Joe

“goodnight, joey. love you more.” - you ran one of your hands through his freshly cut hair, before placing a kiss on his forehead.

as long as Joe was by your side you knew you’d always feel happy and safe, he truly was everything you could ever want and need in a partner.

———————————————————————

authors note: my first imagine! hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it! ❤️🥰

being 0-2 deserves a fic 😭

#joe burrow #bengals #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow series #joey b

383 notes · View notes

wakeup01 · 6 months

Note

Hey, is it still open ? If it is, I've got something to ask. See, the university that I attend is apparently quite focused on sports, when compared to degrees such as mine in linguistics. It means that, on my way to class, I see a lot of hot men with great hairstyles, and I've always felt a bit jealous at that. Don't get me wrong, I love the eyecandy, but it always made me wonder what would happen if, one day, I entered the wrong building. Could you help me to see what would happen ? Just as an experiment, of course, I want to go back to my degree nice and easy after that...

Team Player

Linguistics? Oh dear, oh dear. I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you won’t be getting anywhere with that. But don’t worry, I’m feeling generous today. Okay, listen up. It’s very simple, all you have to do is follow that hot jock with the gelled blond hair to the left. No, no, not the right, the left. Take note of his smile. The way he laughs at literally nothing. Why? Oh, no reason…

Whoops. The locker room you say? What a blunder. Egg on my face, I tell ya. But while you’re there, maybe it’s worth taking in the sights and….smells. Every step is like walking through the humid air of the jungle, a breeze of sweaty jockstraps assaults you from every direction as the Football team get changed. You fail to avert your eyes from their hot glistening bodies, the display of pure strength and testosterone.

The jock you followed in notices you, notices certain inadequacies that need amending if you’re gonna be on the team. The team? Yes, the team. That messy hair for one. You barely get the opportunity to argue as he sits you down and scrapes the clippers across your skull. The buzzing sound makes you shiver. An overwhelming lightheaded feeling allows him to easily tilt your head down and mow the back. Running his hands through what little remains as he gells it up into a spiky jock style. Patting your strapped rear and padded thighs as the dirty, preused tight leggings pull up your legs and cover your cupped crotch. Your mouth opens, opens before your brain has engaged, just hanging ajar for several seconds. “B—bro.” The word is more of a proclamation than anything else. You impulsively adjust your junk, a clear shadow visibly outlines where your big balls push the cup outward.

He tells you that the newbies are liable if the team loses. That would be you. Taking one…or many, so to speak, for the team is the accepted punishment. He tells you this while stroking at his own cupped groin, a rather large bulge growing as you swallow hard.

Before you know it, you’re completely kitted out in the heavy uniform, a thick helmet lowering over your head - silencing those niggling doubts in the back of your increasingly tiny, sports obsessed mind. It’s like a deprivation chamber for your head, your inner monologue being blocked. The only thing that matters to you now is the game.

The game.

The ball.

The team.

The… punishment.

The twitching of your cock and ass makes you wonder if losing would be all that bad. You stand up and admire yourself. You barely recognise what you see, uncontrollably getting turned on by your own appearance. Were your arms always that chunky, that tanned? Like prime cooked beef hanging from your wide shoulders. Looking like a proper jock boy…smelling like one too. Huhuh. You turn, smiling dimly back at your bro. Laughing out loud for a reason you don’t remember. Uhh, I’m sure it’ll come to you…eventually.

I mean, you’re just trying out something new, right? No harm done, you rationalise as you sprint and achieve your first touchdown, your memory of…le..lin….lingizztics? Completely knocked loose from your ‘bro’d out, empty head.

Of course, the team loses anyway. Though you, and the rest of the team have suspicions about how accidental your ‘fumbles’ really were. Never-mind, that didn’t matter so much anymore, not while the whole team form an orderly queue behind your bent over rear. Your blonde bro is first up, he spreads your sweaty cheeks wide, spits on your crack and lines himself up for the ‘shot’. “You ready to learn how to handle some balls dude?”

“Hell yeah brah!”

#dumbing down #jock #frat bro #brainwashing #request

144 notes · View notes

liteyagummy · 1 month

Text

𝖰𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖮𝖻𝗌𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖯𝖺𝗋𝗍 2

TW: yandere behavior, cnc, r4pe, abductor and captor, (the characters are aged up let’s just act like they stayed in dorms so everyone is around 19-20) NSFW

ignore any typos please and thank you, this is one of the longer ones so sit back and grab a snack ||fem reader nothing specified but gender and quirk

(let me know if you enjoy longer or shorter stories!)

your palms sweat as you’re nervous to walk back inside the classroom after weeks.. no MONTHS of absence.. you were unaware of all the cover ups kirishima had dished out you closed your eyes and sighed walking in the class just having a moment to discuss what Aizawa had just told them for todays lesson

Kiri right behind you, he was never going to let you guys sneak around and hide your relationship.. even before he was very open with his friends about how he felt about you just clearly never told him the plan of KIDNAPPING but.. nonetheless, your friends instantly bolted up to you, Jiro, hagakure, and midorya along with other but you weren’t too close to class A even though you transferred in your friends were mainly in class 1B but 1A was very nice to you still

“hey y/n how was your work study!” midorya said with his notebook out with a pen behind his ear

“yea! did you fight anyone outside of training??” denki chimed in

“did you learn any new moves??” Uraraka asked

“i doubt it’d be anything better than mine.” bakugo said from the side of the class having been shouting at sero about the assignment they’d just gotten.. after you looked at kiri confusedly he smiled brightly his red hair sticking up and his sharp teeth showing “y/n actually JUST got dropped off, im sure she’s tired maybe let’s ask about it later at lunch! as of now what are we doing in class?” he raised a brow as he guides you by your hips to your seat everyone seeing this, the girls giggling and the guys having a slight look of shock to their face you just sat down, even though he was lying through his teeth. he was right you were tired you weren’t used to waking up for school anymore you forsure had to get back into your routine

“we’re meeting up with class 1b, we’re going to be doing training together again.. i’m not sure why? it’s pretty random but” tsuyu said

“then again when isn’t our class assignments random” momo chimed in

“regardless we should start getting prepared we don’t want to be late and give class 1B another reason to dislike our class” ida said

after getting ready you walked next to the girls talking with them catching up as you entered the new training dome the old faces flooding back but one standing out.. who was he? you were never IN class 1b you would just meet them separately when walking around.. you’d thought you met everyone already but clearly not

“y/n!” kendo waved with a smile “where have you been girl” she asked as she put a hand on her hip to talk to you while also watching out for her classmates mouth

“oh i had- a last minute work study.. i um, since i came to the hero course late i needed to get that out of the way” you lied on your toes

she nodded “you’ll have to tell me about it! how cool is it that we get to train together “ she continues the conversation but honestly you were zoning in and out of it.. you were curious about the man you’d never seen before

“who is that” you accidentally cut her off while motioning to this guy

“oh that’s tetsu tetsu” she looked to him and then called him over, your cheeks started to get read as he was running over kirishima took a break from talking to his friends to look and see what you were up to, as he saw tetsutetsu running up to you he stood on guard

Kendo heard her classmate start to get a little too chatty, she excused herself walking straight over to monoma and snatching him up apologizing for him yet again

you were alone with this steel man infront of you.. he spoke starting the conversation off with a smile and trying to get to know you, you entertained it truthfully this made kirishima’s blood boil he tried to keep his composure not wanting to blow up here and now. why did this guy think he could talk to his babe?? you were HIS and HIS only not to be shared or easily acceded, he walked over with a fake smile and butted into your conversation, you looked at kiri then tetsutetsu.. then back again.. then again. why the hell were they so similar? kiri wrapped his arm around you “ hey babe! are you ready to train hard! not harder than me because the manly thing to do would be to train the hardest “ he smiled you nodded “ honestly i’m probably the only one who really needs this extra training “ you shook your head, kiri used this opportunity to turn you away and walk you back to their side you noticed this “i- “ you turned back to tetsutetsu who was waving with a chuckle, kiri balled his fist up as you both were away now he’d taken you back to his friends and there you were again not knowing what was going on but somehow still in the middle of the conversation what with denki and kirishima pulling you in for your input on topics here and there how could you space out

as you all stood in your hero outfits you crossed your arms waiting then a loud alarm went off you covered your ears quickly as villains ran out, but they weren’t normal villains they were teachers pretending but man were they being destructive ida and kendo were quick to call out plays and plans each class following the instructions of the most trusted

you all were off quick, you wanted to be a sidekick.. something like hawks you wanted to make someone else make their way to greatness so your training was a but different, you ran in jumping through the sky at fast speeds and teleporting in mid air getting all the play civilians out the way of harm

kirishima followed behind you using his quirk to break any rubble that flew your way as he took down the villains guarding those who you had to save, as soon as you got everyone back you were on the guard to watch them, making sure no one was harmed or injured you stood up grabbing your long swords putting some of your quirk energy into them to make the weapon more powerful, you watched the door to the safe haven that held the civilians

before you could even look over a kick was sent your way sending you down, you blocked it at the last moment but couldn’t stop the momentum, looking down at your arms where the blow had landed now being a bit of red “fuck” you mumbled as you jumped up in the tree where you had been knocked down from

You crouch on a thick branch, hidden in the shadows of the training dome’s artificial forest. Your katanas are ready, the familiar weight grounding you as you listen for any sign of movement below. Mirko, the Rabbit Hero, is somewhere in the underbrush—fast, you know it. you saw her. she was playing the villain today. You knew she wouldn’t hold back.

Your Quirk hums with energy, primed for teleportation and high jumps. A snap of branches below signals her approach. You catch a glimpse of white—a flash of her ears—before she rockets upward, aiming directly for you. Instinct kicks in, and you teleport just as her powerful kick obliterates the branch you were perched on. You reappear on another limb, high above, your senses sharp.

Mirko grins as she spots you, her relentless speed closing the distance in an instant. You teleport again, keeping her guessing, your katanas flashing in the dim light as you strike from behind. She’s fast, but you’re quicker, anticipating her every move. There’s something more at stake today—a subtle caution in your movements, a reason to protect yourself with even greater precision.

As you battle Mirko, another clash unfolds in the training dome. Best Jeanist, acting as the “boss” villain, uses his Quirk to control the fibers around him, manipulating the environment to ensnare his opponents. Six students—Bakugo, Ashido, and Sero from Class 1A, along with Monoma, Tokage, and Kamakiri from Class 1B—face off against him.

Jeanist’s fibers snake through the simulated city, creating barriers and traps. Bakugo blasts through them with his explosions, shouting, “Outta my way, you damn extras!” His relentless energy sends shockwaves across the battlefield, but Jeanist adapts, tightening his grip.

Ashido melts the barriers with her acid, clearing paths, while Sero swings through the chaos with his tape. Monoma, ever the strategist, copies Sero’s Quirk, using it in tandem to bind Jeanist’s fibers. “We need to coordinate better!” Monoma urges.

Bakugo scoffs, “Like I’m taking orders from you, copycat!”

As the battle intensifies, Tokage splits her body into pieces, scattering around Jeanist to create distractions. Kamakiri slashes through the fibers with his blades, trying to cut a path forward. But Jeanist’s control is overwhelming, and the group struggles to gain ground.

In the midst of the chaos, Tokage yells, “Bakugo, we need your explosions to disrupt him! Sero, get ready to tie him down!”

Bakugo sneers, “Don’t tell me what to do!”

Before Bakugo can argue further, Sero snaps at him, “Bakugo, focus! We won’t win if you don’t listen!”

Bakugo glares but knows Sero’s right. “Fine! But this better work!” he grumbles.

With a fierce explosion, Bakugo creates a massive shockwave that shakes the battlefield, forcing Jeanist to lose control of his fibers. Sero and Monoma act quickly, shooting their tape to bind Jeanist’s arms and legs. Tokage’s scattered body parts add confusion, while Kamakiri slashes through any fibers that attempt to regroup.

Ashido seizes the moment, dousing the area around Jeanist with her acid, weakening his defenses. Bakugo delivers a final, powerful blast, breaking through Jeanist’s control entirely.

Best Jeanist, impressed by their unexpected synergy, concedes, “Well done. You’ve shown real teamwork.”

The exercise ends with the announcement of their victory. The six students, panting but triumphant, exchange looks of pride. Bakugo scowls, though a hint of satisfaction lingers in his eyes. “Tch, you better not get used to me listening to you,” he mutters.

As the victorious team of students from Classes 1A and 1B stay on guard, the sounds of their fight ending echo faintly through the training dome. But in another part of the dome, your battle is far from over.

The clash between you and Mirko is intense, the training exercise pushing both of you to the limit

As she dodges and lunged again, you teleport above her, diving down with your katanas poised for a decisive strike. She barely has time to react, twisting to avoid the worst of it, but your blade still grazes her side. The impact sends you both tumbling through the branches, but you teleport just before hitting the ground, landing lightly as Mirko rolls to her feet.

She’s breathing hard, a grin of respect on her face. “You’re tough to pin down,” she admits, clearly impressed.

You lower your swords slightly, maintaining your focus. “Speed alone won’t win this,” you reply, your voice steady.

Mirko nods, hopping back with a look that says she’s noticed the change in your approach, even if she doesn’t understand it. “Keep fighting like that, and you’ll be unstoppable.”

As she gets away, you know the real challenge is just beginning. You’ve proven you’re more than ready for what’s ahead, your Quirk sharp, your resolve even sharper ready to hold your own in this damned class.

You make your way through the dense forest, each step feeling heavier than the last. The training dome’s artificial environment is convincing, but it’s the fatigue that’s all too real. You haven’t eaten anything today—only managed to keep down some water before throwing up this morning—but you push the discomfort aside. There’s still work to be done.

The small house where the civilians are sheltered comes into view, and you spot Kirishima at the entrance, standing guard. His eyes brighten when he sees you, and he quickly makes his way over. “Hey! You hanging in there?”

You nod, though the dizziness is getting harder to ignore. “Just checking on the civilians,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. The last thing you want is for him to notice how worn out you’re feeling.

Kirishima gives you a once-over, his expression softening with concern. “You sure you’re okay? You don’t look too great.”

You force a smile. “Just tired. It’s been a rough morning.”

He frowns slightly, still not convinced. “You’ve been going nonstop. If you need to take a break, I can handle things here.”

The offer is tempting, but you shake your head. “I’ll be fine. I’ll grab something to eat at lunch.”

Together, you check on the civilians inside the house. They’re safe, which is a relief, but you can feel your energy fading fast. The lightheadedness intensifies, and you have to steady yourself against the doorframe as you step back outside.

The sun is warm, filtering through the leaves, but it does little to chase away the chill that’s starting to settle in your bones. You take a deep breath, hoping it’ll clear your head, but your vision blurs slightly. You blink hard, focusing on Kirishima’s steady presence beside you.

“Training’s almost over,” he says, glancing around. “Looks like 1A and 1B really pulled together.”

You nod, though even that small motion feels like it takes too much effort. The teamwork between the classes has paid off, and the announcement over the intercom confirms it. “Good work, everyone. Classes 1A and 1B, please return to the main building for lunch.”

Kirishima grins, giving you a thumbs-up. “We did it!”

You return the gesture weakly, your thoughts consumed by the idea of food. “Let’s head back,” you say, your voice softer than you intended.

As you walk toward the exit, Kirishima stays close, his eyes never leaving you. “Seriously, if you’re not feeling well, let me help. I’ll make sure you get to the cafeteria, okay?”

You manage a small sigh your head throbbing “ill be fine i swear it” you softly say

He smiles, but there’s an undercurrent of multiple different emotions but the main one , concern. that he doesn’t dare voice. You’re grateful for him even letting you out the dorm today, even if you can’t quite place why you’re feeling so off. Right now, all you can think about is getting something to eat and shaking off this strange weakness. you’ve used up your teleportation for the day. one of the main reasons you hardly use that quirk

The victory in the training exercise feels distant as you focus on making it back to the main building. Lunch is next, and you know you need to refuel. Whatever’s going on, you��ll figure it out later—after you’ve had a chance to rest and recover.

After the intense training exercise, the students head back to the main building for lunch. The atmosphere is lighter, filled with chatter and the clinking of trays. You and Kirishima, freshly changed and looking a bit worn, make your way to the cafeteria. His hand is firmly on your hip, a constant presence as he guides you through the crowd.

The usual suspects from Class 1A and 1B have already gathered, their voices mingling in a cacophony of post-training relief. Kirishima steers you toward an empty table, where Midoriya, Uraraka, Jiro, and others from both classes are waiting.

“Hey, y/n!” Midoriya greets enthusiastically, notebook and pen still in hand. “So, how was your work study? Kirishima mentioned it was pretty intense.”

“Yeah,” Uraraka chimes in, “did you get to face any villains or learn new techniques?”

Bakugo, sitting with his usual scowl, adds, “Hope it wasn’t just some fluff job. Better be something worth your time.”

Kirishima, his arm around you, smiles brightly. “It was definitely a challenging experience! But y/n’s been working hard and could use a break. Maybe we should save the details for another time?”

Denki, leaning forward, grins. “Come on, just a little teaser? Was it as crazy as the stuff we did today?”

You give a tired smile, thankful for Kirishima’s attempt to shift focus. “It was... pretty demanding. I learned a lot, though.”

Jiro tilts her head, still curious. “Kirishima made it sound like you were in the thick of it. Any cool stories?”

You nod slightly, glancing at Kirishima. “Maybe I’ll share more later. For now, I’m just looking forward to some food and a bit of rest.”

Kirishima chuckles, squeezing your shoulder gently. “Yeah, let’s focus on enjoying lunch. We all worked hard today.”

As you settle into your seat, Kirishima finally releases his grip, though his hand lingers close by. The group’s curiosity remains piqued, and Midoriya presses further. “Come on, y/n, just a bit more about your work study?”

You take a deep breath, smiling to keep up the pretense. “Alright, fine. There was this one moment I fought a hero pretending to be a villain. It was pretty intense. I used some of the techniques I picked up to keep up with her.”

“Really?” Uraraka leans in, eyes wide. “What happened?”

You nod, picking up your fork. “Well, I was up against Mirko, the Rabbit Hero. She’s incredibly fast. I had to rely on my teleportation and high jumps to stay out of her reach. There was one time I was perched in a tree, and she charged at me. I teleported just before she reached me and struck from above. It was a close call.”

Jiro looks impressed. “Sounds like you had to stay on your toes. Did you use any new moves or strategies?”

You nod, keeping the details vague. “Yeah, I combined some of the techniques I’d been working on. Like using my teleportation to disorient her and then hitting her with a surprise attack. It wasn’t exactly easy, but I managed to pull through.”

Bakugo, with a skeptical look, mutters, “Sounds like you didn’t learn anything new but just got to show off your usual tricks.”

You shrug, a smirk playing on your lips. “You could say that. Sometimes it’s just about using what you’ve already mastered in new ways.”

Kirishima grins, relieved by the change of topic. “Well, whatever you did, it must have been impressive. I’m just glad you’re back and in one piece.”

The conversation shifts, with everyone eager to share their own experiences from the training. As you enjoy your meal, you let yourself relax, the warmth of the cafeteria and the friendly banter a welcome contrast to the day’s earlier chaos.

As the group finishes classes up and heads back to their dorms, you and Kirishima make your way to your “shared” dorm. The atmosphere in the hall is relaxed, filled with the casual chatter of students winding down after the day’s training.

When you finally reach the door to your room, Kirishima’s usual easygoing smile fades, replaced by a more serious expression. You notice the change, but before you can ask, he opens the door and ushers you inside.

The moment the door clicks shut, Kirishima’s demeanor shifts from jovial to intense. He turns to face you, his brows furrowed.

“Hey, what was that back there with Tetsutetsu?”

You look up, startled. “What do you mean?”

“You seemed pretty chummy with him,” Kirishima says, his voice edged with frustration. “He was all over you, and you didn’t exactly push him away.”

You quickly try to defuse the situation. “It wasn’t like that. He was just being friendly.”

Kirishima’s expression hardens. “Friendly? You were practically cornered by him. I saw the way he looked at you. I don’t like it.”

You shake your head, trying to explain.

“Kirishima, it’s nothing. We were just talking in barely even know the guy.”

His frustration doesn’t wane. “It’s not just about him. It’s about how he was acting like he had some claim over you, and it bothered me.”

Seeing his anger, you try to reassure him. “Kiri, it really was nothing. I wasn’t interested in him. He was just a bit too forward, and I was trying to be polite.”

“bullshit so laughing and talking and blushing is being polite.” he looked away growing more annoyed with the situation. “y/n don’t- make me.. do something i don’t want to.. it won’t be very heroic.” he said as he walked into the dorm more going to his closet to take his close off and change

you worried about that statement.. what did he mean..?

whatever he meant this anger needed to go somewhere.

“y/n.” he called from the bedroom..

PART 1 (part 3 coming soon)

86 notes · View notes

hauntedhokage · 11 months

Text

birthday boy

Diavolo/F!MC (no y/n)

summary: Even on his birthday, Diavolo works himself to the point of stress. But that’s where you come in.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: explicit sexual content (minors/ageless blogs DNI), non explicit depiction of thigh riding, semi-public office sex, m!receiving oral, unprotected sex, reader wears Diavolo’s shirt and gets carried by Diavolo (but he’s like massive and a strong powerful demon so he’s one size fits all), Dia calls reader “princess”

note: this is also dedicated to the other birthday bitch @silverrings-n-prettythings, have some demon prince smut and your cake babes

Waking up alone wasn’t abnormal, but usually the bed would be warm still and this morning it wasn’t- which constituted a major problem. Your auburn haired prince was not in bed, and based on how cold his side of the bed was you could tell that he had been out of bed for a while. That was, if he had even come to bed at all during the night.

And today was his birthday, which was supposed to be a day for him to be celebrated and not drown himself in paperwork. He wouldn’t even enjoy the day if he was exhausted, and that’s the thought that has you sliding from the large bed in search of your sweet prince.

You don’t have to look far; the door to his study is cracked open and soft music is coming from the room, telling you that he was definitely in there working, instead of anything truly fun. The sight of him hunched over the desk, pen furiously scribbling away in his notebook while surrounded by stacks of paper taller than you were, was pretty depressing.

“Did you go to sleep at all, birthday boy?” you ask as you shut the door to his study behind you, bringing his attention up from the papers for only a moment to take you in before he’s looking back down.

“I got some rest.”

“A fifteen minute nap in your chair isn’t rest, Diavolo,” you argue, coming to stand behind his chair and placing your hands on his shoulders. They were so tense, you hate how much stress he carried at all times. He didn’t deserve that at all. “At this rate you’ll kill yourself before you fully take the throne.”

“You sound like Barbatos, my love.”

“That’s how you know it’s a good point.”

“Maybe so,” he murmurs around a sigh, looking up over his shoulder to see you looking down at him with a concerned frown. “I left you all alone in that big bed, I’m sorry.”

“You had a lot to do, I get it.” And you do, even if you will never fully understand the position he’s in. He’s doing this because he feels he has to, considering the massive shoes he has to fill, and you can respect the effort even if you don’t like it. “But you need to take a break, baby. I’m sure Barbatos is up, maybe he can fix you some tea. I’ll go-“

“No, please stay here with me. I’d like to make up for leaving you high and dry last night.”

“You’re busy.”

“I need a break.” He counters while pulling you around to stand in front of him. You looked so cute in his nightshirt, better than he did in the silky garment, and he knew you weren’t wearing anything underneath by how your nipples poked through in the chilled air of his study. Another careful pull of your hand has you off balance enough that he could guide you to straddle his thigh easily, and the warmth of your arousal that he felt through his slacks makes him smile as you steady yourself using his shoulders.

“I’d like for you to use me to get yourself off. I’m all yours.”

“I’m saving your cock for later, then. You can have your present later if right now is about me.”

“You’re the greatest gift I could ask for,” he whispers, smiling when you kiss him as your hips begin their slow work of riding his thigh. It would be a wonderful start to the day, but you were definitely going to find more time for him to get some breaks during the day.

He doesn’t even make it to lunchtime before he’s dozing off. Not that anyone would say something bad about the future Demon King falling asleep during a class on curses, especially not on his birthday, but you certainly had plenty to say and intended to do so when he guided you into the Student Council chambers under the guise of needing to talk to you about "official business".

“You need to go home and rest, Diavolo.” Comes out of your mouth before he’s got the chance to say anything, and you watch as he slumps into the chair that was normally occupied by Lucifer during meetings. “You never fall asleep during class.”

“I was actually hoping you’d let me have you excused from the rest of your classes to help with some paperwork from the House of Lords.” That wasn’t what you wanted to hear, and the way you cross your arms over your chest makes him sigh tiredly while running a hand through his hair. “Please.”

“Can’t any of this wait until after the Devildom holiday that is Prince Diavolo’s birthday?”

“It’s not a holiday.”

“It is to me.” You hop onto the long table, your eyes fixed on his as he watches you. He was more interested in your skirt than your face, but you did tuck your panties behind the pocket square in his breast pocket before class started so you knew he was most interested in the fact that you weren’t wearing any underwear. “You should’ve just canceled classes, it’s not like you'll be awake for the rest of them, anyway.”

“We take a break now, you help me with these papers, and then during the last class hour I promise to take a nap.”

“Pinky promise?” Your extended hand curls so only your pinky finger is held in front of him, a playful grin on your face as he lets out a laugh of his own. The little things you brought to him from the human world never failed to amaze and amuse him, and pinky promises always brought some light to his day. “You can’t break a pinky promise.”

“I never would,” he assures, locking his pinky around your own and bringing your joined digits to his lips to kiss them. “May I ask why your panties were that wet, princess?”

“Was just thinking about you and how handsome you are and how I could reward you for all your hard work. It is your birthday, after all.”

“I have an idea, if you’re open to it here.” He’s palming himself through his trousers, the bulge there already prominent as he watches you watch him. “I’m already so hard it hurts.”

“And why, dear prince, is that the case?”

“You, my love. Only ever and always you.” He’s such a romantic, carefully helping you off of the table only to pout when you don’t follow his prompting to get onto his lap. That could wait, and you know that he knows what’s on your mind once you’re slowly lowering to your knees between his spread legs. “You spoil me.”

“It’s your day to be spoiled.” He undoes the fastenings of his pants for you, and you know your eyes light up when his erection springs to life once it's been freed from its confinements. The chamber doors don’t lock, which provides a bit of risk to the situation at hand but you also know that only two people would willingly walk into the Student Council chambers without there being a meeting called and both Lucifer would immediately turn around and leave at the sight of you leaving a trail of kisses along the cock of the Prince of the Devildom. Barbatos would handle whatever business needed handling, then leave with a pat to both your heads and reassurance that he’d keep everyone else out until you both were ready to be around others.

You wish you could take a picture of how pretty Diavolo looks when you’re sucking him off. How he’d watch with adoration as you took every bit of him that you could into your mouth and throat, how he liked to look you in the eyes and tell you how wonderfully made for him that you were that you could take him so well with minimal struggle. How even when he was keeping your head down on his shaft until you needed him to let you up to breathe, the look on his face is one of pure adoration and reverence as he takes you in.

“Please, I’d like to cum inside you. Let you carry me with you for the rest of the day, then after the party I can fill you again.”

“Are you going to come to bed tonight?” you ask, raising an eyebrow when he gives you a nervous smile. “I’m not going to let you fuck me after your birthday party if we’re not sleeping together tonight. And you deserve a full night of rest.”

What you get in return is his pinky extended towards you, and you lock yours around his as you stand.

“I promise, my love, that I will come to bed tonight and sleep with you through the night. Not leaving until you do.”

“Pinky promises hit a bit different with your dick out, prince charming.” He laughs, but still kisses your joined fingers when you lean in to do the same, his free hand coming to you back to push you into him. You’re grateful you opted for the skirt today instead of pants, allowing for no restriction to stop you from lining his tip up with your already dripping entrance.

“You’re already so wet for me. Does sucking me off get you going that much?”

“You have no idea. You’re so fucking pretty, birthday boy,” you comment as you sink down onto his length, carefully nipping at his bottom lip when he grins at you. “My pretty prince.”

“And you’re my beautiful princess, the sweetest girl in the three worlds.” You both release a mutual sigh of pleasured relief when you’re fully seated on his length. “Stay for a moment, please.”

“As long as you’d like.”

“I think I’ll take tomorrow off,” he murmurs, his thumb coming to rest on your clit and rubbing lazy circles that have your walls fluttering around him. “Keep you in bed with me all day, just like this. Maybe we can read a little, listen to some records, but this is what I know I need.”

“Cockwarming?”

“You.” The correction comes with a kiss, and you’re smiling against his lips as you start to ride him. Your pace is easy, slow and careful considering you have very little to worry about. Sound didn’t escape this room, so nobody would hear your prince when he started to get loud and come investigating. “Fuck, just you.”

Your hand finds itself on the back of his head, fingers interwoven in the soft auburn locks as he kisses along your jawline while your hips roll into his. And he’s talking, tired babbles whispering to you how much he loves you, how wonderful you are, how good you feel, how badly he can’t wait to do this all over again all day tomorrow until he has to stop. Your stamina wasn’t the same as his, considering your difference in biology, and that was something that he had to learn the hard way to keep in mind as he fucks you.

“Fuck, princess,” he groans, pressing his face into the crook of your neck as the grip on your hips grew tighter. He’s no longer letting you simply ride him, now rocking his hips up into yours to meet your pace. “Gonna cum for me? Gonna cum so I can fill you with mine?”

You can only nod, your own hand tightening in his hair to keep him close while he fucks up into you. You can hear the chair’s groans of protest to the frantic movements happening, barely registering Diavolo’s desperate babbles into your skin, and you know that you’re talking but you can’t hear the words tumbling from your lips into his shoulder as the coil in your gut continues to tighten.

“That’s it, princess. You can do it, please cum for me.” His mumbles into your neck only push you closer, your heart pounding and blood rushing through your ears the only thing that you could focus on as your legs tighten around his hips. You’re pressing your face into his neck when that coil finally snaps, your knees digging into his thighs as his hips still against yours and you feel the heat that came with Diavolo’s cum releasing inside you.

“Feel better?” you ask once you’ve caught your breath, kissing his jaw before pulling back to steal a peck at his lips. The dazed look in his eyes tells you everything you need to know, followed by a soft purr when you carefully scratch at the back of his head. Your sweet prince needed this time to simply breathe, and you’re happy to provide that for him.

“So much better.” Is all he says once he’s recovered, a dopey smile on his face before he kisses you. This kiss is just as sweet, but the laziness of it provides you with great pride in knowing that he was truly relaxed in this moment. There wasn’t a rush to give you what you were looking for before he could get back to his work, no desperate hunger fueled by distance or his need for distance so he could get work done in peace. It was just you and Diavolo, relaxed and satisfied together in this moment. “I really, really love you princess.”

“I love you, too. Now put your dick away, Diavolo,” you prompt, gently ruffling his hair as you remove yourself from him and the chair and straighten your skirt. “And get out of Lucifer’s chair before he learns that we fucked in his seat.”

“I’ll call Barbatos and ask him to bring us some lunch.”

“You’re the best. Now where can I help with this mountain of paperwork so you can shut your eyes for at least fifteen minutes?”

#obey me diavolo #obey me imagines #happy birthday diavolo #diavolo smut #obey me smut #i need to make a ml page for om but we'll do that LATERRRR #diavolo x female reader #diavolo x mc #om! diavolo #diavolo x reader #diavolo x you

333 notes · View notes

kitorin · 5 months

Text

LOVE ALL PLAY. - ITOSHI RIN

FOUR - SARDINES AND DEBT SARDINES.

contents. unproofread , reader is unhinged ( some dark humour , but i've said much worse tbh ) , written at the time of the 2024 thomas cup so there's stuff about that , sexual humour once again but really subtle

The chime of the bell finally announces break, your sign to finally sit up and to stop napping. With a groan or two accompanied by a groggy yawn, you stretch and you swear something in your back cracks. Multiple times.

“Shut up already, will you?”

Rin grumbles, and even from your peripheral vision you can notice him scowling while shoving everything in his pencil case with an odd fury.

Another yawn claws itself out of your throat, your insolence amplifies it, the exaggeration earns an annoyed but entertaining glare from Rin, and a cheeky grin from you. He doesn’t say anything, his chair yelling as it’s dragged along the floor when he leaves.

“Where are you going?” You intercept his path, pushing your chair backwards too.

Rin walks sideways, slipping between the back of the classroom and your chair. “Bathroom.”

“Can I come?” His features scrunch up in disgust, an amused sneer pounces on your lips as he stalks away with a firm ‘no’.

“Bye bye~” To which, Rin points up the middle finger towards you without so much of a glance, and soon he disappears out the classroom door along with other students.

You gaze remains on him until he’s completely out of view, then it’s rediverted to the bag resting under Rin's table.

With ease, the zip exposes its contents, you scoff to yourself while making use of this opportunity.

His money that he (tried) to pay back makes its return to his possessions, into a random pocket which held nothing but tissues and a box of mints. There goes his two thousand yen.

What part of ‘it’s my treat’ did he not get? You’ll acknowledge his timing and how he managed to slip the money into your bag without you noticing; maybe even applaud him, but if you say you’re paying, then you’re paying.

“Um.” Isagi approaches you, greeting you with the slight tug of your sleeve. “l/n, what are you doing to Rin’s bag.”

The worry on his face tells you that you’ve behaved too suspiciously (a fair reaction, you just snooped into another’s bag). “Givin’ Rin his money back.” Hands go up in the air, opened. “Don’t worry, I’m not stealing shit from anyone.”

To this, Isagi sighs with relief, his features relax into a polite smile. “Sorry for suspecting you.” You wave it away, leaning on your desk. “Speaking about money, I need to pay you back too.”

His hand digs around his pocket, but you interfere, placing yours on his wrist. “No you don’t.”

“But—”

“Shhhh.” A finger goes on his lip. “Pay me back with your time, I’ll be spending the money.” The wink was the cherry on top, and you swear Isagi goes pink.

“I knew you said you were acquainted with y/n, but not in that way.” Anri observes from behind Isagi, who yelps and immediately waves his hands.

“It’s not what it looks like, I swear.” You swallow a giggle, almost trembling from amusement. Anri still gazes at him with doubt, but nods anyways.

“I just came up here to ask you about how soccer’s been going. Coach wanted me to ask you about anything you wanted to improve on.”

Aaaand that’s your queue to leave. “I’ll see you later ‘ichi! I’ll leave you guys to it.” You skip out of the room, leaving a flustered Yoichi explaining the situation to a confused Anri.

Rushing past people and down the stairs (and barely dodging Yukimiya, who was carrying a large stack of books precariously), you make your way to class B, where Hiori resided. He’s your victim for today.

You peek through the open sliding door, and immediately met with a disgusted look from him.

“Do you sprint here or something?” He opens his lunchbox. “Don’t you have other friends to bother?”

A chair groans loudly as you drag it across the floor. “You’re my favourite.”

Hiori deadpans. “Great. What an honour.”

“Have you been watching highlights?” You unwrap your own lunchbox, noticing how Hiori had rested his phone against his pencil case.

"Yeah." Hiori turns his phone and its temporary stand towards you.

"You should've stayed up to watch it with me." Watching games live with Hiori was always a blast, screaming at the TV together through a phone call and placing bets (which consisted of free passes to yell at each other). But with Hiori insisting that he has to sleep more, you refrained from talking about the results. "I mean, you'd make it to school even if you slept in."

He unplugs his headphones, stuffing them into the pocket of his trousers. "I was exhausted. I would've passed out midway as well."

"I didn't even tell you about that—"

"You didn't have to. You sounded like you were going to drop dead during Malaysia and Japan's match last night."

"My bed was comfortable."

Hiori sighs as he gets out his chopsticks out. "Sure buddy." He frowns. "Maybe I should stay up next time. First result on youtube spoiled the result for me."

"Seeee?" China had emerged victorious, 3-1, a shame since the two of you were cheering on for Malaysia, after they defeated Japan the previous night.

"Was each game at least close?"

"Not really. In the singles games Lee Zii Jia seemed to struggle, and Leong was close in the first set." It was a shame, especially when Lee had been playing so well the night before, and was close to winning the first set. You also swore you noticed a point of his not being counted, but with Shi Yuqi's significant advantage, realistically, it wouldn't've made much of a difference. "I passed out for Goh and Izzuddin though."

Hiori shoots you a glare, one that screams I told you so.

"Shi Yuqi plays so well...even if Lee Zii Jia was in his best form I doubt it would've been easy." Hiori keenly watches his phone. "Makes sense because he's second in the world but wow."

You nod. "I should watch more of his games."

Watching full matches had never occurred to you, you viewed highlights and compilations of the sport's best shots, but watching the full game seemed like a hassle. You followed Coach's recommendation, and enjoyed it much more than expected.

The two of you watch in silence, while eating, as Shi Yuqi's score rose rapidly. "Shame they didn't add the part with his abs." Hiori chokes on his rice, coughing and gulping down tea from his water bottle.

"They're very nice abs." You add on, as if clarification was really necessary.

Hiori finally swallows, hand on his throat just to be sure. "We were told to watch professionals to learn. I don't think you're learning."

"I'm learning of this man's beauty. Besides there's no harm in appreciating how hot these people are as well."

"You only use 'as well' when you do both things."

"I did."

He doesn't seem to mind when you pull out your phone and vigorously type. "Name at least one takeaway then."

"Aim at the opponent's dominant side's hip."

The video gets paused. "You already do that."

"Not as well as the pros do." Your thumb eagerly taps the right constantly, in search of the point you were searching for. "I hit in the right side, but at the body or between the arm and hip is better."

"At least you learnt something." He mumbles.

You turn off your phone, placing it under your bottom lip and letting it rest there. "There was also how easy it is for someone to break."

Curiosity blooms across his features. "What do you mean?"

"When we played Malaysia, Nishimoto was in first singles against Lee Zii Jia."

"Right."

"And he didn't do that well. At first I thought it was just a significant difference in skill. But he's only one rank below him, and I saw a reel the other day and he only lost a set by two points and won the next one."

Hiori nods, letting you continue.

"He must've been flustered. And the next game Lee Zii Jia played the same thing happened to him. I guess Shi Yuqi was a lot higher ranked but y'know. There were a lot of shots I swear he could've returned. And in previous games even when he lost he was still close."

"I guess the same thing happened. Being nervous and losing confidence during a match. It's the sort of thing you'd only get through experience too. Or having a therapist that specialises in sports psychology." He absentmindedly plays with his rice, gathering the final bits into one bite. "There was a lot of pressure too, quarter and semi finals. Not to mention it's their career."

You nod, staring at the wooden floor.

"Why? Are you worried the same will happen to you?"

"I wanna do that to our opponents at national qualifications."

Hiori shoots you a disgusted look. "Oh my god you don't know how weird that sounds."

"What? The Stasi did that to political opposition and it worked—"

"Don't compare the fucking GDR secret police's psychological torture to a sport."

"Fine, fine—but my point still stands. If we can pull that off then it'll make stuff easier."

"We can talk to Coach about it. Also, did she tell you about the playing order?"

She hadn't. "Nope, what happened?"

Hiori sighs, as if it's difficult news. "We can't do doubles together."

"What do you mean??"

It comes out much louder than intended, as you stand up hurriedly and everyone turns towards the yell of your chair, almost capsizing. You mumble out a 'my bad' and an awkward slight bow.

"She wants to swap me and Nanase for first singles. Since he needs to focus on studying for college, and she reckons I can do well in singles as well." He counts off each member. "You're in first singles, Kurona's good at predicting stuff and setting up attacks, but he's struggling with offense. Kiyora's already doing third singles and only because he's the best option available. Nanase's done fine, he just wants to focus on getting into college so he asked to swap with someone."

Hiori also playing in singles simply means it's against the rules for the two of you to do doubles together.

"I see." It's been a dream for you to compete properly alongside Hiori, but there's nothing you can do about it, and you have plenty of opportunity as a first year. "It's fine, we have the next two years left."

"Yeah, we'll play together eventually. Plus, I'm looking forward to singles too. It's a win either way, Nanase can play and study and I get to learn more."

"Mhm, we're doing everyone else an honour."

"What do you mean by that?"

"We're the strongest. We should at least give others a chance before we go dominate the country."

Hiori blinks. "I can't believe you."

"C'mon, you know I'm right." You tease and prod, but deep down believe in. As long as Hiori's by your side, you feel as though nothing appears to be a challenge. "We'll give them a chance this year."

"I can't with you." But Hiori grins. "We'll win either way."

You nod, high fiving him in agreement. "Also, this is the highlight I was talking about." You had finally found the moment you were talking about, before discussing strategy; pointing the phone at him.

"Fine. He does look good though. Really good." You raise an eyebrow at Hiori staring for a bit too long, to which he shoos you away and mutters something about you influencing him negatively.

Why did I have to be separated from Hiori...?

You stare at the front without a thought, disappointed and still hungry (It's not your fault your mouth had better things to do), and dreading history. Your head goes back to rest on your arms, preparing for another long, nice nap before training.

"I thought you were a good student."

Rin comments, seating at his usual spot next you, a bit of sweat framing his face with his hair.

"I'm smart. There's a difference."

"A smart person would be listening."

"A smart person doesn't need to listen to a teacher waffle on about dead people and whatnot."

"There's more to history than dead people—" He's silenced by a familiar scold from the front.

"Itoshi, how many times do I have to tell you to be quiet?" You swallow down laughter, but don't bother concealing the proud grin on your face. "And y/n, you haven't even opened your book." Now it's Rin's turn to smirk.

"Sorry sir." Confident but not arrogant, you apologise, earning a mumble but sir returns to his lesson anyways. You'll do the bare minimum of pretending to take notes, you open up your textbook, then your pencil case. A two thousand yen note falls out.

You know exactly where this is from.

"Idiot."

"Fucking bastard." You mumble back.

You'd wrestle your way to his bag and shove it right back into his wallet, where it belongs, but with your teacher already sick of your shit you resort to something else.

With an annoyingly loud (but not too loud) rip, a page comes out of your notebook.

Take your fucking money you idiot.

its yours i owe you

I never said you needed to pay me back, did I?

and i never said i cared about that

I'm going to punch you.

sure have fun in detention and never competing

To be honest, he had you there.

You're a debt sardine.

Rin stares at your with disgust, as he continues to scrawl and pass the sheet to you. Quite aggressively, too.

what the fuck is that

Like a debt shark But reversed Since you keep thinking you're in debt And sharks are pretty fucking cool so you're not a reverse debt shark

Sardine isn't the right fish. At least those are yummy. If Rin were a fish he'd be dry, obnoxiously salty and bad for your skin (eating him would make you break out).

you sound like a kindergartener

And you sound like a debt sardine.

Rin's left fist tightens, lividly.

then your just a sardine no debt a miserable sardine

Of course he would. Of course Itoshi Rin would make such fatal mistake.

*you're just a sardine

He slams his fist against the table, and sir does the same with chalk against blackboard.

"Why are you like this?"

Hiori punctuates his words with light pants, whereas you don't find the breath to, thanking god for the final lap reaching it's conclusion.

"Not my fault he keeps trying to pay me." He gives you a moment to pant a bit. "I'm going to shove this right up his ass if he doesn't stop." As annoying as it is, bill remains in your pocket, you grip it from outside with frustration.

"You sound happy." Kurona murmurs. "I've never seen someone so insistent to not be paid back."

You grab him by the shoulders and gently shake him. "I told him it was my treat. It's not a treat if he pays me back."

Kurona agrees with a hum and a nod. "I guess that's irritating. At least you have good reason. Reason."

Kiyora peers over Kurona, doing a cross arm stretch with his racket in one hand. "It's a free two thousand yen. If you don't want it I'll have it." He eyes your pocket, and you instinctively turn your right thigh away.

"If I do anything other than return it then he wins—"

"Two thousand yen is two thousand yen."

"He called me a sardine—"

Kiyora doesn't counter, he's too busy stifling a laugh. "Really?"

"Yeah—"

"Whitebait suits you more. Sardines are too big for you."

He's lucky you don't have your racket, nor a shuttlecock. "Come here you little shit, you're only five centimetres taller." You lunge forward for a (gentle) kick but he dodges, delivering a flick to your forehead.

"Five centimetres is five centimetres. That's massive, no?"

Kiyora's fast, probably the fastest in the club. You counter it by pouncing on him. "Not even average."

He yells. "Coach, it's attacking me again."

"Kiyora, good luck fighting whitebait then." Coach Akiba doesn't bat an eye, checking if each net was set up correctly.

"Coach are you agreeing with him?" The betrayal. She's strict yet gets along well with everyone, but you never expected her to side with Kiyora.

"If it'll get you off of him yes, c'mon, you're here to practice. Go join wrestling if you want to jump on other boys." She calls everyone else other (in other words, Kurona, Hiori, and Nanase) and you release Kiyora.

"For someone so short you weigh so much..."

You shrug. "I like food."

"And I'd like it if you guys would shut up because I don't want to run anymore laps." Hiori says, not very quietly. "Hurry up you idiots."

Coach shoots a glare, that's more than enough for you and Kiyora to scramble towards everyone else.

"Right. Now that we're adjusting our playing order, we're going to get Hiori and l/n to try out different pairs." You and Hiori share a glance. "Play a set, write down who wins, then swap. I'll do drills with whoever's not on. Sounds good?"

Strong and united, a confident 'yes' echoes in the gymnasium.

"Hioriiiin I'm ready to off myself and go see jesus."

He ignores your whining, swallowing a large gulp of energy drink. "You're not even religious."

Hiori stares at you with disappointment, while you lie on the gym floor. You muster up the strength to roll over onto your stomach. "So it's you and Nanase, me and Kurona..."

You roll back around, sitting up and accepting a drink from Hiori's. "Called it. They're the most balanced options too."

Nanase's tactical and defensive style compensates for your impulsive offense, which makes up for his fear of risk taking. Getting into nationals should be in the bag, you cover Nanase's weaknesses and he covers yours.

The only worry is singles.

"Good job y/n, you did great. Great." Kurona pats your back, settling down next to you to stretch. "Summer really sucks, doesn't it? My hair feels all sticky 'n gross." He eyes his braid, holding it up with his fingers in disgust.

You lean forward to touch your toes. "You too, Kurona. I hate you for making me run so much though." The amount of trickshots he had under his sleeve was impressive, you'd sell a kidney to do them half as well as him, or at all. "Only two months until qualifiers start..."

"We'll be fine." Nanase joins the small circle of you, Kurona, and Hiori. "Haven't known ya long but ya improving a lot already."

"What are the opponents like?" Hiori pushes against Kurona's back after he asked. "How come our school's never been to nationals?"

"I've never been to qualifications. Before you two it was just the three of us."

"Actually?" You whip around to Nanase. "Then it's also Kurona's first time competing for a place at nationals."

Nanase nods. "Before Kurona there were a bunch of third years. They got close but Kamakura High beat them in semi finals."

"Are they the powerhouse of our province?" If that's the case then they would've went to nationals at least once in recent times. There should be something online to analyse if you dig around hard enough. You pirate plenty of shows, footage of national comps shouldn't be that bad.

"Exactly. We lost 3-2. Coach only put on the best members." Nanase takes off his headband, about to wring it out for sweat before deciding that'd be too gross for now. "There was a really good player that was my age though. He played in doubles, he's definitely going to be a big threat now."

"What his name, name?" Kurona pulls out his phone. "We could find something about him online."

"Ryuusuke? Ryuuji? It's been a while I've completely forgotten." Your senior scratches his head.

"Eh. We can ask someone else no?"

"y/n, ya know I'm the only person left from the club since three years ago."

Your jaw drops. "Actually?"

He nods. "Actually. I was the only first year that joined. That's why I was relieved that we just had enough to enter a competition thanks to you guys."

Silence prevails for a while. Kurona stares at god knows what in the distance and Hiori fiddles with his fingers. Nanase seems fine though, smile remaining without falter.

"Is our sport really that unpopular?" Hiori's brow furrows. "I know soccer and volleyball are massive but we only have the bare minimum. Which is like, crazy."

"And Kiyora had to go home early." Kurona adds.

"If we don't do well it'll be the end for us." You vocalise what everyone's been thinking, an uncomfortable truth. The school won't bother with a team that's barely counted as one and doesn't produce any results.

"That gives us more reason to train hard, doesn't it?" Nanase still grins without a sign of it fading soon. "Bare minimum or not I'm grateful to have you guys here, I want to the best we can for my upperclassmen's sake.

You slap your cheeks, to which Hiori flinches out of surprise. You jump to your feet. "Nanase's right, we have to make the most of what we've got. I'll destroy Kamakura High and that Ryuuji guy."

Nanase chuckles. "Pretty sure it was Ryusei."

"Ryusei's the energetic one on our soccer team." Hiori corrects. "But yeah, you're right. No point in sulking. Why'd you stand up to say that though?"

You shrug. "It just happened."

Hiori laughs, a giggle cascading into almost wheezing.

"Shut up." He doesn't, you're ready to tackle him.

"Oh, Coach!" Nanase waves to her, and never mind, tackling Hiori will be for another day. "Is everything okay?"

She hurries to where the four of you sat. "Just a couple of phone calls with other schools."

"About national qualifications?" You can't name anything else it could be, maybe joint training.

"You could say that." She glances at her watch. "I'll have to lock up soon, you all ready to go?"

"Yeah, we just finished with stretching." Everyone else nods in agreement, you stand up and they do the same. "Thank you for today."

"Good work today, take it easy and rest plenty on the weekend, okay? Get home safely."

"I don't like where this is going."

Hiori complains, but follows you to the classroom anyways.

"What are you on? Now is perfect. They're still in the middle of a practice match." And you're spot on, you can see them play from the window, tiny dots chasing around an even tinier dot; black and white blurring into grey.

Nanase and Kurona were long gone, going their respective ways while you went on your little side quest; returning the money.

"You look like you're trying to rob him." Yet here he is, accompanying you as you make your way to where you sit together. "You guys are lucky, the view's nice from here."

"Yeah but to look at the view I have to look at Rin, to look at Rin means to declare war against him." Rin had left his stuff on his table, so had Isagi, the muscular friend of Isagi and the hyper friend of Isagi (you never learnt their names).

Hiori nods, definitely to get you to shut up rather than out of understanding. "What's this?" He grabs the sheet of paper near the bottom of your desk, opening it. "Oh my."

Without looking up from Rin's bag, you reply. "That's what I was talking about. When he got yelled out then sent out."

"I can see why he's so angry all the time now..." Hiori skims through the 'conversation' you and Rin were having in class. "By the way, won't he know if you just put it into his bag again?"

"That's why." You pull out his lunchbox, wrapped in fabric. "I'll slip it into the fabric. So he won't notice until he gets home."

"Should I be impressed or disappointed at the amount of effort you put into this?"

You pack up Rin's stuff. "Disappointed. At Rin, not me." There you go, it's as if you never snooped around. "C'mon, let's get out of this place."

Hiori nods, readjusting the strap of his bag on his right shoulder in the hallway.

"Gimme that." Hiori tries to protest, but it's easy to take away from him. "My bag's lighter than yours anyways."

"But still—"

"Nope. You pushed yourself a lot during training."

"I wonder who's fault that was." You both know it was you; always aiming for any neglected areas of the court, forcing him to run and dive everywhere. You shrug, rushing ahead of him anyways. "Thanks though." He rolls his right shoulder a few times before catching up.

"No worries." It's not heavy, not remotely if it's for the sake of him. "By the way, didn't coach seem off today?"

"Yeah. But I'm not sure if I've known her long enough to make that sort of observation."

Good point, maybe you'll check with Nanase. "That's true."

"You look awfully happy." Hiori comments simply. "Was returning his money that important?"

"Nope! I just feel excited for qualifications. I mean we finally have a coach and have a team now. High school's so good."

It's thrilling, even if it's a bare necessity for any athlete it's a luxury in your eyes. Gourmet you've never tried, grandeur that you couldn't afford.

And there's Hiori.

You stare at the roof in awe, for no apparent reason; just caught up in fantasy. Scoring a beautiful match point and moving onto nationals, screaming in triumph and running into Hiori's arms. "I'm going to soar higher than ever and I get to do it with you."

"I like that." His pink lips curl into a smile, eyes squinting with joy. "We'll beat Kamakura High."

"Then to the nationals we go! Let's go get shaved ice today! We deserve it. Just because."

"Just because." Hiori echoes with a smile.

THREE | MASTERLIST | FIVE

pairing. itoshi rin x reader

synopsis. all itoshi rin ever wanted was a peaceful high school career, his plans go to ruin thanks to the school's badminton genius; entangling their lives—and emotions together.

contents. rivals to lovers, badminton player!reader, sports romance, fluff, high school au

a/n. malaysia v china has made me a shi yuqi fan (haven't watched him before but GOD DAYUM he's so cool and yes i'm projecting onto reader). also i tried to depict the kansai dialect the same way english manga does (idk what i'm doing)

taglist. @yuzurins, @silly-ez, @chigirizzz, @kaiserkisser, @httpshujii, @saesins , @yoimyas , @saetorinrin, @hxniplayz , @certaindreamchopshop , @rroxii , @jar-03m, @celestair , @satoruukisser , @kaitfae , @biaonww , @hellothere9597 , @its-ur-pillow, @saesofficialwife, @miyanaranagikenmal-intp , @popponn , @kascar-chronicle , @junberrry , @sereniteav , @raphsimp, @lectris00

137 notes · View notes