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mika-no-sekai-blog · 2 days

Text

Part X

Word count: 2200+

Warnings: mentions of trauma and burns

Autumn themed divider by tsunami-of-tears

Part IX | Part XI

Waking up was laborious and it needed several tries, but when you finally managed to keep your eyes open, you were greeted by familiar surroundings of your cozy room. You let out a shuddering breath. For some reason, you expected to wake up back in that dark room with those two disgusting males above you.

No! It was nothing. It won't happen again. It won't. It's over, you forbade yourself to think about it. There was no doubt that these unpleasant memories would haunt you day and night, so you did the same thing that you did with all bad memories - you pushed them deep down where nobody could find them, not even you and closed the door. The moment it was done, the tremor stopped and you just lay in bed blankly gazing out the window.

After few minutes you inhaled deeply, ready to start all over. It was nice to find out that you could again breathe normally and even the pain was mostly gone. You raised an arm that was certainly broken before, carefully spinning it and trying to move it. It didn't hurt at all. Next you touched your face and hissed. It was still quite sensitive, but you didn't feel any wounds nor swelling.

Closing eyes you took another deep breath and another, enjoying the feeling, the fact that you could do it. You didn't worry about the scars or any temporary bruises that could mark your skin. For some reason you never had any left, your skin perfectly intact, porcelain white.

You rolled to your side and bumped into something solid and warm lying next to you. Slowly opening eyes, you found your husband still deep asleep on his stomach, covers pulled up to the ends of his short hair. Someone had cleaned him up, the bruise under his eye was almost healed, too. A layer of sweat glistened on his forehead.

Several strands of silky red hair were falling to his face, so you gently brushed them back, founding out that the ends on his right side were burnt as well as tip of his ear. Your heart clenched in pain.

"Eris?" You didn't want to wake him up. You just needed to make sure he was real, that he was alive.

His eyelids trembled slightly in answer and that was it. He didn't even move.

"It will take more to wake him up," an amused voice called from the door.

Groaning you sat up and frowned. Killian with tray of jars and bandages in hands was heading to Eris's side of bed, his face unreadable.

"Healers had to properly dope him to keep him asleep, you know. He was trying to get to you, so we dumped him into your bed, but even that didn't work much." He put the tray on bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed.

It took awhile for his words to completely sink in. Despite of Killian's rambunctious voice, his brother didn't even as much as stirred. Swallowing hard, you gently wiped sweat from his brows.

"Is.. is he hurt? How bad is it?"

"Do not worry," he smirked but it didn't reach his eyes. "He will be fine in day or two. It's just easier when he is calm and stays still."

He reached out and took your hand, gently squeezing it. The warmth spread in your chest in a second. "How do you feel? You looked pretty bad. It's really miraculous how fast and well you heal."

"I'm fine," you shrugged, your gaze again fell down to your husband. Is he fine though? He had to fight with his own brother, even killed him. All because of you. And Killian? It was also his brother.

Killian narrowed eyes on you. He leaned over Eris and grabbed your shoulder, making you look up at him. His other hand cupped your cheek. There was something so warm and brotherly in his touch and the way his sad amber eyes burned up.

"Don't even dare to think that this is your fault. Do you hear me? Volkan was asshole and deserved it. Not me nor Eris feel sorry for him. Believe me. I'd kill him myself for what he has done to you," his voice was grave. More than anything he seemed to be mad at his other brother, Volkan.

He held your gaze until you nodded, then flashed a smile. His attention moved to his older brother.

He pulled the covers off of Eris's back and revealed his shirtless form with the bandages on right scapula and shoulder and on his left side above the the hem of trousers. However that wasn't the reason why you gasped. Whole his back was covered with whiplash scars and burns of different sizes. Your lower lip quivered as your eyes watered at the sight of such cruelty.

"I was wondering whether you two already did it or not and here is the answer," Killian snorted. Despite his attempt at a joke, there wasn't even a hint of amusement in his voice.

"He doesn't want people to know about this. He tried to hide it even from us, his siblings, and especially from mother, but she always knew," he added lowly and began to loosen the bandages with fresh burns under.

"Who-.." You couldn't finish the sentence.

"Who did this? Well.. we have more in common than you think. For start, our fathers were monsters. Yours at least covered up all the traces. Ours loved to show off his work."

You recoiled, pulling the covers to your chest. "Have you seen my body?"

He shook his head. "Only healers and your maids. Don't worry. I went only so far as staring at you while you were sleeping, but you already know that," Killian winked and blew you a kiss. He took one of the jars, dipped finger into the ointment and began to spread it carefully.

In silence you watched him to repeat the process until the wound was all covered. Then he took clean bandages and wrapped the burn. Your gaze moved to Eris's face. It was painful for sure, but he didn't even as much as frowned in this state.

"Can I do the other one?"

Killian looked up at you with raised brows. He hesitated for a moment and then handed you the jar with ointment. "I think that inside he would be so happy to know you took care of him, but he would be also angry that you've seen him like this, you know."

You swallowed hard and moved closer. "Do I just.. spread it?"

"Yeah," Killian answered softly, moved into the chair by the bed and eyed you thoughtfully. "He hasn't told yet, right?"

You tilted head to the side curiously. "Told me what exactly?"

"Nope, nothing," he shook his head. "My bad."

You frowned and focussed on the task at hand.

The outlines of the armour plates were burned into the flesh on Eris's shoulder. This wound was bigger and more severe than the other one. It must have been so painful when they undressed him. Touching him as lightly as you could, you spread the ointment and bandaged it.

When you were done, Killian took the tray, muttered something about the food and left.

Sitting there you watched your slumbering husband, biting on your lower lip anxiously. You suddenly needed to touch him, be closer to him, feel him, so you simply reached down and with feather-light touch traced the lines of his face with tip of the finger. He looked so young and vulnerable in sleep, his features soft and relaxed. You leaned down and kissed his cheek, inhaling his pleasant scent. You snuggled to his neck mindful of his wounds and stayed like that until your heart started to stutter.

You couldn't resist any longer and counted the freckles. Twelve cute little freckles on the right cheek. You smiled, satisfied, hoping that some day you would get a chance to count even the ones on the left side, now hidden in pillow.

Then you weaved fingers into his soft red hair, combing them back again and again, soothingly. Slowly moving to the back of his neck and down the spine, you mapped the scars, wishing you could erase them together with memories that were tied to them. Some of them were really deep and big as your palm and you didn't even want to imagine what could have caused them. It was breaking your heart onto pieces.

"It's gross, isn't it."

You startled at the sound of his hoarse voice clouded with emotions. His eyes were still closed, now wet with tears, but he was undoubtedly awake.

"My back.. It's gross, right? You don't have to-"

"No, it isn't. It just.. hurts to see how much you had to suffer," you sobbed. When did you started to cry? You wiped the tears into a sleeve of your nightgown.

"Not more than you," he finally looked up at you, his amber eyes calm, resigned.

"I'm sorry if I made you angry. Killian told me that you don't like others to look at your back. I shouldn't have touched you without permission.."

"I'm not angry," he sighed heavily. "To be honest, I quite enjoyed it before you got to the scars."

He was awake all this time? You didn't know what to say to that, too embarrassed.

"Do you usually cuddle with unconscious males like that or am I the exception?" he teased you, chuckling when he noticed your blazing cheeks.

You gaped at him, mortified to the bone. You never heard him joke around with others let alone with you. Eris was mostly a serious male, it was hard to believe he had it in him. "I-I don't touch others," you stammered. "How could I? I-"

"I know," still laughing he took your hand and pressed it to his cheek. "I'm sorry..

"I love when you are touching me," he murmured into your palm barely audibly, his cheeks tinted pink.

He closed eyes, his breaths slowed down after awhile. Minutes ticked by and he didn't move even slightest. Thinking that he fell asleep again, you pulled up covers on his bare back and caressed back of his head. Amber eye opened, watching you with a strangely sad glint in it.

"How do you feel?"

"Such small burns can't hurt me much," his smile didn't reach his eyes. "And what about you?"

"Some spots are sensitive to touch, but otherwise I'm completely fine."

"Really?"

"Really," you nodded.

"I saw what they did to you, what they were about to do.."

"I'm fine. Thanks to you." You smiled at him gently while mentally checking the door. Intact yet you felt uneasy all of a sudden.

Nothing happened because Eris was there. He came for me. It was nothing.

He closed eyes and heaved a sigh of relief. "I wanted to kill them all again and again when I saw you on the ground." He exhaled sharply through his nose.

"So little was missing and I wouldn't have found you in time. Just this little," he indicated with his fingers. He slowly got up, grimacing and sat facing you. He seemed to be angry or maybe worried. It was hard to say, but you felt guilty nonetheless.

"I needed something personal for my hounds to track you down," he gestured to the vanity, "but there's nothing solely yours in this castle. Thanks Mother that you haven't thrown away that birthday dress. Why didn't you say anything? It's no trouble to get you some combs, hair clips or whatever you need."

You felt so small. With every word your shoulders slumped more and more. You looked down on hands clenched in your lap, avoiding his piercing fiery eyes.

"If it's uncomfortable for you to tell me, you can.. I don't know.. write me down a list.. or tell your maids.."

"I'm sorry, but I-.. I have everything I need," you muttered, feeling like a child scolded by parent.

"Bullshit," he snorted humorlessly. "You can be selfish with me. Ask me for things you want. I'm begging you. I will give you anything your heart desires."

Anything.. A certain thought flashed through your mind and you bit on your lower lip.

"What is it?" His index finger hooked under your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. You swallowed hard, hesitating.

"Anything," he reassured you when you didn't speak up right away, his voice soft. "Just name it."

His hand moved to your cheek, thumb gently caressing you, while his burning amber orbs were searching the depths of your soul for answer.

You moistened your lips, your palms began to sweat. "What if.. What if I said I want you?"

He gaped at you and then burst out laughing. "I'm here literally offering you a moon on string and you ask me for something that already belongs to you. Other females wouldn't hesitate to ask for jewellery, more dresses and who knows what but not you." Eris shook his head in disbelief and his features once again softened. If you didn't know better, you would think that you saw tears shining in the corners of his eyes.

Your heart skipped a beat and you blushed fiercely.

"From now on you'll wish you could get rid of me," he winked and flopped down into sheets, making himself comfortable on your bed.

#acotar #sarah j maas #acotar fanfiction #eris vanserra #ghost of love #gol #eris fic #eris fanfic #eris acotar #eris x reader #eris vandaddy #pro eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #high lord of autumn #autumn court #autumn

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nekovmancer · 2 days

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overwatch headcanons: how they say "I love you" with Ramattra, Reaper, Reinhardt, Cassidy and Hanzo

a bit angsty and some curse words ahead, but still sfw. don’t blame me, I enjoy the suffering and since you're still reading I bet you also do

also silly little juno was SMASHED by writer’s block again, please help sending a headcanon request, but read rules first

Ramattra

doesn’t say it at all, actually

he was shaped for violence, hands carefully constructed to murder

the sentience came with grief, sorrow, rage… but love? this big fella doesn’t even love himself, to begin with

it’s hard for him to cope with affection, to learn the aspects of it, mostly the very subtle nuances of reciprocation

but it’s you, and since you came along, this foreign feeling haunts him

and when you say “I love you” first… he’s so silent you’re scared you’ve broken him with this three words alone

“How is it possible for you to love a being as myself?”

he feels the urge to say something back, but simply can’t vocalize the words he’s dying to say

you know he’s overwhelmed already, his pride contrasting his feelings, so you don’t push him too far: Ramattra shows you enough

but your words echoes in his systems for days

in one of these, he’s with you as he always do before you fall asleep, and the words just came out

“I may not have a heart, and even if I did, it wouldn’t be mine: it would be yours. It always has been.”

it’s not an explicit I love you

no, it’s much better

Reaper

you know what happens between you two must stay secretive

it’s… casual, if you can name it such

I mean, he comes to you every damn night, and most of them aren’t for sex, but for company

and the cuddles, of course

you see him past the scars, the shadows… what lies beneath it as the ghost of a man

and you love him nonetheless

despite all the danger that comes along with him being one of Talon’s counselors and a declared enemy to Overwatch

until one night, when he doesn’t show up and never let you know why

and this one night turns into tons

you’re broken, to say at least

he avoids you, not even a single stolen glance through briefings, no more missions together

you don’t know where you manage to find the courage to confront him, but somehow you do, so you’re cornering Reaper himself and demanding an answer

“Isn’t it obvious?”

well, of course: you were dumb enough to get to attached

but he steps closer, so surprisingly close you can hear a shallow breath muffled by his mask

the shadows engulf you both before you can blink, and his ghostly touch stops just inches away from your cheek

“I’ve risked too much so far… but not you, not anymore”

you know what he means, you just wish you didn’t

he departs with a last glance over his shoulder, to never look back again

if he wasn’t who he was, maybe things would be different

yet if things weren’t the same, you two wouldn’t even met

in the end, you’re left to grief in the graveyard he paths on his way away from you

Reinhardt

he’s a hero and will always be

but that doesn’t mean Reinhardt is invincible

that’s why you’re laying by his side, taking extra care to not accidentally touch the bandages covering his torso

you’re little injured from the last mission, a few scratches maybe

thanks to him, who jumped right into the moment to keep your head glued to your neck

per usual, he would be flourishing the battle tales and his epic acts, his thunderous laugh echoing through the HQ, but now?

the sadness contorting his face breaks your heart

he stares down at you, one calloused thumb tracing under the thin line of the stitches on your cheekbone

“I’ve let them hurt you”

oh… so that’s it

“If I was a second late… I hate to even think of what could've happened”

he groans, retreating his hand and looking away

if he could ever be more dearing, you would’ve exploded

you cup his face and make Reinhardt look at you once again, reassuring him you’re here, safe and sound, thanks to him

it takes a bit of convincing, but soon enough you hear one of his deep chuckles resonating in his chest and know that you’ll be just fine

“I will always be there to protect you, liebling, no matter what it takes. For I could never live in a world where there is no you by my side.”

Cassidy

he’s always flirting and teasing, so you would assume it’s all a joke

despite him throwing his arm over your shoulder and resting his head on yours every goddamn time he has a chance

and if you’re quiet and close enough, you can hear his fast heartbeats pulsing

maybe… he’s just affectionate, yeah

not that you see Cole like that with anyone else, but

you could never take him seriously, because he can never be serious for once

it’s always a wink here, a smooth darlin’ there

yet he never makes a move on you that gives you the clarity you need

so it’s it, an eternal what if

until one days he comes from a mission, all dirty and hurt

you’re surprised to see he came straightforward to you, still trying to catch his breath while holding to his injured side

but before you can drop any question, Cole smashes his lips against yours

and it feels holy

he keeps you close when you break the kiss, trying to remind yourself how to breath

his breath is so warm against your face, and that familiar scent of smoke makes your knees weak

“I fucking meant everything I’ve ever said, doll”

for the way he just kissed you, you’re now sure he does

Hanzo

Hanzo isn’t one to speak about his feelings openly

you’re actually surprised you’re now tiptoeing around some sort of serious relationship

at least, you think it’s serious since you barely leave each other’s side

it’s extremely hard for him to be vocal about his affection, though

sometimes, he would still flinch when you touch him out of blue

but he loves to run his fingers along your hair, your face…

your body is his to worship

and there’s this lazy morning, where he’s kissing your knuckles and embracing your waist…

you just feel you could melt right here, into him

until something cold circles your finger and your eyes snap open

a ring

a FUCKING ring

you stare at him in pure disbelief, eyes so wide they must pop out by any second

Hanzo shows the most loving smile you had ever seen, kissing your ring finger

that now has an actual engagement ring

“Being with you everyday is still too little time. I wish nothing but foreverness with you”

#overwatch 2 #overwatch x reader #overwatch headcanons #ramattra #ramattra x reader #hanzo #hanzo x reader #cole cassidy #cassidy x reader #reinhardt wilhelm #reinhardt x reader #gabriel reyes #overwatch reaper #reaper x reader #gabriel reyes x reader

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novamariestark · 2 days

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Can I get a Dean Winchesterx reader using prompts 9 and 10 off list one and prompt 46 off list two, please?

Summary: A quiet date night with Dean gets interrupted.

Warnings: proofread but there's always a mistake after posting 🤣

Word count: 1229

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Prompts: “LITERALLY EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS IS ILLEGAL!” “Did you just... agree with me?” “I'm actually going to kill you”

[A/N] hope you like 😁

How did we even get here? Sometimes, life takes a strange turn, almost as if the universe decides to have a little fun with you—except you’re not laughing. The night had started so differently. It was supposed to be simple—normal even. Sam had dropped the two of you off at that tiny, run-down bar a few miles outside town, giving you some space for your long-awaited “date night.” You were supposed to have a quiet evening, maybe a few drinks, some laughs. No monsters. No hunts.

But, because some idiot stumbled into the bar, raving about a “monster” they’d seen outside town that meant date night was over. You’d barely finished your drink before you were dragged out, headed straight for where the alleged sighting had taken place. The kicker? Sam had taken the Impala to pick up some supplies, promising to come back later. So here you were, stranded without Baby, crouched behind a row of garbage bins like a couple of amateurs. This is not how you imagined your alone time with Dean would go. You had hoped for something more... normal.

Dean was in front of you, so at least you had something nice to look at. You’d be lying if you said he didn’t look good, but seriously? This was the worst idea he’d had all week—and that was saying something. At first you thought you had heard him wrong but oh no. You had heard him right.

You glanced at him, unable to believe what was coming out of his mouth. “Are you seriously suggesting we rob a cop car?” you asked, trying to keep your voice calm, even though you were two seconds away from smacking some sense into him.

Dean turned to you with that infuriatingly casual grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Borrow,” he corrected, like that made it better. “It’s not illegal if we give it back.”

You stared at him for a moment, your brain struggling to comprehend the sheer level of Dean Winchester logic you were dealing with right now. He had to be joking. But he wasn’t. He was dead serious.

“Okay,” you shot back, your voice dripping with so much sarcasm that it could be visible, “maybe next we can walk into the nearest bank and help ourselves to the entirety of the vault. You know, for funsies.” Dean’s only response was to roll his eyes, still not seeing the problem. You took a deep breath as you waved your hands around for emphasis. “LITERALLY EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS IS ILLEGAL!”

Honestly, you weren’t sure whether to laugh or scream. You were a hunter—a damn good one. You could handle ghosts, demons, and all manner of monsters that most people couldn’t even fathom. And yet, here you were, stuck with this idiot, debating grand theft auto like it was something minute like, who’s turn it was to wash the dishes.

You gave him the deadliest deadpan look you could muster, hoping he’d catch a hint of how ridiculous he sounded. “I’m actually going to kill you.”

Dean’s grin only widened, those green eyes glimmering in the dim light. “But you’ll look good doing it.”

You rolled your eyes, though you could feel the faint heat creeping up your neck. His charm was both your kryptonite and your fuel—it was hard to stay mad when he looked at you like that, but then again, it also made you want to throw something at him. Preferably something heavy.

Glancing back at the cop car, you sighed. This was ridiculous. Utterly insane. The rational part of your brain screamed at you to shut this down, to come up with a better plan. But the other part—the part that had been on countless hunts with Dean, the part that trusted him more than anyone else—knew you were probably going to go along with it anyway.

“Fine,” you sighed, the word leaving your lips before you even knew you thought it.

The second it slipped out, you mentally kicked yourself. Seriously? Fine? Fine? Really? That’s all it took? One look from him, and you were ready to throw common sense out the window? You weren’t fine. Yet somehow, here you were, agreeing to what had to be the stupidest plan Dean Winchester had ever come up with. And that was a long list.

Dean’s voice cut through your spiralling thoughts, pulling you back to the present. “Did you just... agree with me?” His tone was laced with mock disbelief, but that smirk—oh, that damn smirk—said it all. He was enjoying this way too much, and it didn’t help that the glint in his eyes practically sparkled.

You hated that look. The one that always made your stomach do flips, like a rollercoaster you swore you’d never ride again, but kept getting back on anyway. It wasn’t just the smirk. It was Dean. He had this magnetic pull, and no matter how much your brain screamed No!, your heart—and apparently your mouth—tended to betray you in his presence.

“Don’t get used to it,” you muttered, crossing your arms, trying to regain some control over the situation. You weren’t completely rolling over here. You’d follow him into the fire, sure—but you’d still give him hell for it.

Dean winked, already turning his attention back to the car, pulling out his lock-picking tools and started to unlock the car, “Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you,” he whispered, shooting you another wink and that cheeky smirk of his that sometimes you wanted to smack and others, kiss until you both looked like smurfs.

Your heart fluttered in spite of itself as you tried to ignore the way he seemed so damn... charming while committing a felony. His words floated around your head. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you.” Oh, you knew exactly what he was implying. Your lips twitched involuntarily. Damn him.

You crossed your arms, glaring at the back of his head, “What? My criminal record?”

Dean finally got the lock to pop, a click breaking the silence. He stood up, turning back to you with that grin, “See? Easy as pie.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you love it,” he said, with the cocky tone in his voice because he knew he wasn’t wrong. You hated how much he knew it, how much he knew you.

You took a step closer to him, eyes narrowing as you shot him a pointed look. “Just get in the damn car, Winchester.”

Dean chuckled as he pulled the door open, “After you, sweetheart,” he said, gesturing to the passenger seat.

You climbed into the car, the faint smell of cheap air freshener and coffee mixing with the cool air of the night. Dean slid in beside you, looking far too pleased with himself. The engine roared to life, and as the tires crunched over gravel, you couldn’t help but shoot him another sideways glance.

“So, what’s the plan, genius?” you asked, crossing your arms as if that might protect you.

Dean shrugged, “Find the monster, kill the monster, return the car—no harm, no foul.”

“If we end up in jail, you’re explaining this to Sam.” You said, leaning back into the seat, propping your elbow on the door, and resting your chin on your palm.

#female reader #reader insert #supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester imagine

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aayakashii · 1 day

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❤️17 fluffy towa please!!

i LOVEE your fics so muchh keep up the good work!! :D

17❤️ An upside-down "Spider-Man" kiss

21❤️ wildcard

This is very short but I hope you guys like it! It's not proof read, so forgive any grammar mistakes ;w;

You braced yourself as you approached the pathway that led straight to your dorm, holding the straps of your backpack tightly. You breathed deeply and steeled your resolve, gathering all the courage you had in you.

That night, you were going to put an end to that. That night, you wouldn’t get spooked. That night, in fact, you planned to act on your revenge plan once and for all.

You would NOT let Towa jump at you from the tree branches and startle you out of your skin like he had been doing for the past week.

It started innocent, it truly did. The first time he just wanted to show you the tree he loved so much – the one with dimming colored lights.

But apparently, your reaction was so interesting, that Towa simply couldn't have enough of it and what was supposed to be one silly little prank, soon became almost a daily routine.

“Boo!” Towa dropped from the tree, legs firmly holding him on the branch as his upper body was upside down and dangling in front of you.

“WAAH!” you jumped in place, almost colliding with his face.

“Hehehe! Dandelion, your reactions are so cute. I love them!” he said, blushing furiously as all the blood from his body went straight to his head while he dangled in front of you like a Christmas tree ornament.

You tried very hard to look him in his eyes instead of the exposed skin of his tummy. He had a mole right next to his belly button and it took all your self-control not to touch it nor pinch that apparently soft skin.

You put a hand over your racing heart and sighed, shutting your eyes tightly.

“Towa! This is the fourth time in, like, seven days! You're gonna give me a heart attack!”

He quickly sat upright on the branch again and leapt down, walking leisurely towards you as if he didn't just show insane core strength and aerobic prowess.

“I can't help it, you're so cute. I like seeing you surprised.”

You pursed your lips in a thin line. There it was. His flirting. You still weren't used to it after all that time.

“Well it's not that fun for me, you know… I get scared.”

Towa pouted, giving you his killer puppy eyes.

“Awww… but I like it.” He shrugged, completely ignoring your complaints, and grabbed your hand. “Now let's go see the tree!”

It was basically a new routine you'd have to be prepared for at that point: Towa would spook you, grab your hand and pull you towards the tree. Then you two would hug it and lay down to watch the stars until he'd begin to fluster you whenever he hovered a little bit too close for comfort from your lips. And your poor heart would beat faster and faster once again.

You just had to give your frazzled nerves a break.

So, you had planned to knock him off his feet and surprise him just as much.

The problem was, you didn't know when he would show up.

Two days had passed since your last spook and you've been bracing yourself ever since. The anticipation was causing you so much anxiety that you feared this would be his biggest fright yet, since you had been on edge all along.

You walked slowly, giving yourself a pep talk in your mind about how he'd be just as surprised (and probably delighted) with your idea as you were spooked every single time he dropped from one of those trees. You also hoped that would give him time to arrive and act on his little prank.

As you kept on walking, you heard leaves shuffling on the tree a few steps in front of you. It was either him or some of the many cats that lived on campus. You crossed your fingers and moved forward, hoping it was him, so you'd be done with your anxiety.

And sure enough, after you took a few steps, a familiar mop of lavender hair dropped down in front of you.

“Boooo!!!”

“GAAAH!!” you yelled, your voice going up pitches you've never reached before.

“Hahaha!! Dandelion! You yelled so loud today! That was so cute!” Towa reached out his arms towards you and placed them on your shoulders as he giggled uncontrollably, closing his eyes and scrunching his nose, finding your distress absolutely hilarious.

You took a few deep breaths, trying to calm your heart down as much as you could, as you stared straight into his eyes.

At your silence, Towa stopped giggling and opened his eyes. He tilted his head once he saw how serious you looked while you quietly observed him.

“Hm? What's wrong, Dandelion? Did you get too scared?”

You exhaled slowly through your mouth and stepped closer, awkwardly placing your hands on his cheeks. He just tilted his head again, to the other side that time, clearly curious about your weird actions.

“What are you doing, Dandelion? Are you still sc–”

You interrupted his question by hastily crashing your lips on his – his upside-down position making for the weirdest kiss you have ever given in your life. You didn't know what to do nor where to move, so you just held his face tenderly and placed your lips against his as comfortably as you could.

Once you broke the kiss, you breathed deeply once again, heart still racing but mildly satisfied to see his mouth agape and eyes wide open.

“N-now I've surprised you too.” you mumbled, furrowing your eyebrows and pouting.

Towa blinked at your words and, in half a second, he had gotten down the tree and stood straight in front of you.

His cheeks were still flushed while a small smile began tugging at the corner of his lips. His hands rested comfortably on your neck and he leaned forward, brushing the tip of his nose against yours.

“Can you do that again, Dandelion?” he whispered, voice full of glee.

You gulped before nodding and placing a small peck on his red lips.

Towa licked his lips, eyes closed as if he was savoring the taste of your mouth on his, and you felt a shiver run down your spine while you observed his actions.

He opened his eyes, iris barely visible around his dilated pupils.

“Again.” he whispered, and you complied, lips resting a little longer on his.

“Again.” and you ran your hands through his hair, bringing him closer.

“Again.” he said, diving back into a kiss before you could even register he had whispered that word once more.

“Again. Again… Again, again, again” he kept on whispering, placing a kiss on your lips for every word he repeated.

You turned into a flustered mess in his hands and your heart drummed loudly while he held you tightly and flush against his body, suffocating you with his kisses.

But, this time, you definitely weren't complaining.

#tokyo debunker #ask #drabble event #towa otonashi #tokyo debunker towa otonashi

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penkura · 3 days

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I don't know how to word it properly but I want to request, Penguin and y/n (who are currently not dating) go on a Wano festival date.

Dressed in yukatas, playing games, winning prizes for each other, hand feeding food/takoyaki to eachother to try, watching fireworks near a cherry tree, a petal falls on one of their heads and they brush it out flustering the other a bit ☺️💕 That classic anime/manga trope.

Omg yes, the classic anime trope with Penguin, my heart. 💚💚 This is so cute thank you for this! I can see Penguin in this situation so well!

When Penguin asked you to be his date for one of the post-battle Wano festivals, you were quick to accept with such a bright smile that he couldn’t help but return it. He didn’t think you’d actually agree at first, but when you did, he was ecstatic! He was worried you didn’t feel the same way or would just say no thanks, but even Law could see how much the two of you liked each other. It was a wonder you hadn’t gotten together yet.

He figures the two of you will just see what happens the day of your date, there’s no definite plan apart from the end of the night. There’s going to be fireworks again and Penguin fully intends on bringing you to the hill with a cherry blossom tree to watch them. He does realize there might be other couples there, but it doesn’t matter. He likes you so much, he wants to make this first date special!

Penguin is so nervous though when he leads you through the festival stalls, holding your hand to keep from losing you in the crowd. He was nervous before you two even took off on your own, but when he sees you in your yukata he felt the blush creep up his face as you smile at him and tell him he looks nice in his blue yukata. He stammers out a thank you and replies in kind, which makes you just as happy.

Penguin watches you stare at a stuffed animal that one of the game stalls has, it’s a cute little penguin, making him grin over it. Maybe you’re thinking about him, or maybe it’s just a cute plush to you. Either way, the way you’re looking at it tells him you want it more than other toys or prizes you’ve seen tonight. When he offers to play the game to get it, you try to tell him not to worry about it.

“I don’t want you to waste your money on it! It’s just a plush, I can—”

“No, it’s not a waste at all!” Penguin’s grin is more then enough to make you relent, as he leads you over to the stall and puts down the money for the game, receiving three balls to throw at the bottles set up in return. “Just watch, I’m great at this!”

He might have over exaggerated his skills, but Penguin gets so close the third time, the stall runner gives him a smaller stuffed penguin as a prize. He feels a little bad that he could get you the bigger plush prize, but the second he hands it to you and tries to apologize, you just give him a kiss on the cheek that makes his face redder than before as you smile.

“This is perfect, thank you, Penguin! He’s adorable!”

You both decide to get some food after that, agreeing on a takoyaki stand nearby the game, Penguin stays to wait for your order while you wander off to another stall for a moment. When you meet back up, Penguin takes your hand again and starts to lead you somewhere you can sit to eat, picking a spot near a cheery tree so you can wait for the fireworks too.

“Did you find something at the stall you went to?”

“Oh, I did!” You give him a grin while you pull a small package from your sleeve and hold it out to him, “It’s a good luck charm for you!”

“You…you didn’t need to spend money on—”

“Well you got me the plushie…it’s only fair you get something too!”

He really can’t argue with you about that, he might even need that good luck charm after tonight. He feels like all his luck is gone anyway, just because you accepted his invitation. Penguin thanks you while he takes the charm, before offering your share of the takoyaki to you. His face goes bright red when you don’t take it from his hand and just eat it right off the skewer, still in his hand, telling him it’s one of the better takoyaki you’ve had. You laugh a bit at his embarrassed face when you offer a piece to him, which he eats in the same way.

He's so cute.

The rest of your food gets forgotten at you start talking, both glad everyone made it through the fight against Kaido and Big Mom, relieved nothing happened to Law or the other captains, or any of your friends. There so much to be done before your crew takes off, but you’re happy to have a small break, a night to relax and do whatever, especially with Penguin. Once the fireworks start, you watch them for a bit before looking back to your date, smiling as you watch him instead.

You’re beyond happy he asked you out, you had planned to do so before he got to you the day before. The fact he actually asked surprised you, after all the mutual flirting and a few close first kisses, he finally decided to ask you on a date, you went to Ikkaku squealing and non-stop smiling the rest of the day. After the last few years of having a crush on him, it’s nice to see it’s returned, you aren’t worried you’ve wasted time getting to know him better.

You surprise Penguin by brushing a few cherry blossom petals off his hat before placing a kiss on his cheek and laying your head on his shoulder. He knows his face must be redder the candy apples being sold, but he doesn’t mind, not when he puts his arm around your shoulders and kisses your forehead in return.

“This was a nice first date.”

“Yeah…?” You nod as Penguin realizes something, “Wait, ‘first’?”

“Well, yeah,” you glance up in time to see Penguin’s face is red but he’s starting to smile, “I expect we’ll have another one in a few days or something, after we leave Wano. Seems like Captain doesn’t mind it so.”

You shrug while Penguin laughs a bit, nodding.

“We’ll definitely have another date.”

#one piece x reader #reader insert #fem!reader #op penguin #penguin x reader #op penguin x reader

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creepswrites · 1 day

Text

MASK OF HATE (CH 3) | Michael x Reader

just when i was finally starting to feel better physically, i tanked mentally :') so i'm sorry it's taken me so long to update. i hope this was worth the wait though! i promise i Do plan to work on other stuff besides just MoH but rn i just. needed to write Michael for a bit

MICHAEL MYERS x FTM!READER (he/him)

SUMMARY: You internally cursed Dr. Loomis for tormenting this man for so, so many years. Embodiment of evil your ass, he was so obviously desperate for love and care that he'd practically thrown himself at you as soon as you'd proven you would love him no matter what. He was more than the traumas he felt compelled to reenact. He was so, so much more and you loved every part of him.

PREV || NEXT

Halloween in Haddonfield was always a high-strung time for the town.

Ever since the Halloween killings a few years ago, the town had taken a hesitant approach to the holiday. Parents made a point to accompany their kids everywhere or just simply stay home with them. If phones went down or power went out, babysitting teens were told to cross the street and get help, no matter what. Despite the horrors, people still dressed up, still went looking for candy, and still snuck out to make out with their respective partners.

Halloween for you had been quiet. You'd gone to a small costume party with your friends and tried to stay busy. You knew Michael was out working since news of his crimes reached your party, people whispering and gasping at the reported murders coming from the televisions.

You tried not to think about it.

By the time you got home, it was nearly 2am and you were exhausted. As though sensing your arrival, the Boogeyman stepped out of the shadows of your kitchen, bloodstained and breathing heavily. "Busy night?" You'd called to him with a tired smile. He tilted his head in lieu of any response.

With the holiday over, you wondered what Michael would do next. For many nights after, you lay in bed and bore holes in your ceiling as you tried to come up with a plan. Would he leave? Go back to Smith's Grove? Surely he couldn't keep killing, right? There'd be no people left in Haddonfield eventually. But was that the point?

You didn't know. You didn't like not knowing.

But he didn't do any of those things. Instead, he'd sit on your couch and watch television, intrigued by the cartoons, or follow you around the house. If you left, he'd stalk you from a distance just out of sight. He joined you for dinner and movies in front of the television and seemed to enjoy watching horror films when you put them on. You knew him well enough to notice he had a soft spot for The Thing so you tried to put it on as often as possible.

It became the new normal. Domestic and quiet.

Months passed. Fall oranges faded to browns and whites as winter approached. You'd leave out food for Mayhem in hopes he'd come home but you began to lose hope. All you could do now was pray he didn't suffer or that he hadn't been eaten by some other animal.

Michael always watched you when you did this, stood in the doorway of the backdoor while you sat on the narrow steps, hoping your kitty would come home. It might've looked silly to him but he never tried to stop you. You appreciated that.

During all this, he didn't kill anyone. At least, not that you knew of. You tried to avoid the news and, with your dad gone, you didn't have much insider information anymore. Who knows if they were even still looking for him.

So you made a Thanksgiving feast. Michael was familiar with the concept but you knew it had likely been a long time since he'd actually gotten to participate. So you went all out - turkey, mashed potatoes, corn, green bean casserole, gravy, the whole nine yards. The two of you ate together on your couch and watched Charlie Brown episodes, eating your weights in food and falling asleep on opposite ends of the couch.

When you'd woken, you had been taken aback by how peaceful he looked when he slept. Curly hair ruffled from the awkward angle he lay against one of your throw pillows, his face still but not tense. Pretty, you thought to yourself not for the first time.

It was nice. Everything felt perfect.

One afternoon when you'd gotten back from work, you saw Michael masked up and standing on your front porch cradling something wrapped up in an old towel. "What is that?" You gasped, fearing the worse as you hurried closer.

But you broke down into tears, immediately recognizing Mayhem. Cold, trembling, and most certainly sick in so many ways but alive and home. You'd taken him to the vet's office, a sobbing mess in the waiting room. He'd need surgery for his infected wounds and have to be on antibiotics for a long time but you were just relieved he was home and safe now.

Michael never told you how he found him. You didn't ask, just baked him a pumpkin pie as thanks.

November browns turned to December blues as snow and frost began to make appearances. The first snow day, you'd bundled both yourself and Michael up and dragged him outside to see the falling snow. He wore the mask much less now, often leaving the thing in the corner of the closet, hidden away like a bad memory.

You didn't really understand that. Your best theory was that the mask compelled Michael to kill and now that Halloween had come and gone, he was back to some semblance of normal. He still wore masks from time to time - rustic paper mache ones crafted at your kitchen table on quiet afternoons - but significantly less now. Maybe it was just a Halloween thing and he was relatively normal the rest of the year? You weren't sure. Obviously, you knew better than to push about what happened with his sister but you wondered if the killings were a reenactment of the trauma.

Psychology has always interested you.

It wouldn't surprise you if the great Dr. Loomis neglected to acknowledge that Michael was traumatized, quick to demonize him rather than provide him proper care. That he didn't put together Michael went from a normal boy to suddenly completely nonverbal and monotonous after killing her. It had affected him, even if people didn't want to admit that. Michael himself included.

But wearing the classic mask a little less meant you could slip a cute wool hat on his head and drag him out, mitten-clad hands clasped together as you charged outside. "Come see, come see!"

Michael looked up at the falling snow, squinting against the snowflakes that began to freckle his face. You'd laughed and nudged him. "Try this," you said before opening your mouth and letting the snowflakes fall on your tongue.

He'd given you a bewildered look but tried it. Only because he'd grown so fond of you, you assumed.

Days passed. Mayhem made a full recovery and now spent his days lounging in the winter sun. Sometimes he'd brush against Michael for attention and the man had gotten better at returning it, fingers brushing soft black fur occasionally. It was sweet, you thought, how he'd slowly begun to reintegrate into your life.

When you caught him drawing on looseleaf papers, you decided to get him paints and canvases as an early Christmas present and cleared out your dad's old room to let him have an art studio to paint and work on his masks in private. You'd layed down old newspapers to keep the floor relatively clean when you revealed it to him. He'd spend hours up in there, painting or making masks. You'd helped him hang some up on the wall of the room with little thumbtacks as hooks. He was getting good, you'd thought as you examined a bright orange mask that resembled a jack o' lantern.

Michael didn't show you his paintings very often. That wasn't really the point anyways so you didn't mind. But there had been a few times when he'd leave a dried canvas outside your bedroom door or atop your bed like a cat offering dead animals. Your favorite so far was one of the winter sky painted with fluffy whites and cold blues with your own profile looking up at the sky. The way he painted was streaky, like his hands shook, but it was still beautifully detailed despite the messy lines and bleeding colors.

It was interesting seeing yourself through someone else's eyes translated to art. You'd kept the painting in your room and you'd trace your fingers along the raised streaks of paint, fingers running along the lines of your face. You wondered, fleetingly with bright red cheeks, if he painted you often and just never showed you.

There was a chance. You liked to think he did.

It was around the middle of December as you attempted to get ready for a holiday party. Attempted being the key word. “Michael,” you sighed, adjusting your elf hat. “I told you, I’ll be back later tonight. I’ve left dinner in the fridge and I promise I’ll call when I’m coming home.”

It was nearing Christmas when you'd gotten invited to a holiday party. You were attempting to get ready, dressing up as a cute little elf. Attempting being the key word. "Michael," you sighed, adjusting your stupid looking elf hat, "I told you, I'll be back later tonight. I've left dinner in the fridge and I promise I'll call when I'm coming home."

Michael glared at you behind the accursed Halloween mask. He had a habit of being a bit of a brat and you found it equally annoying as you did endearing. He'd put the mask on when he'd learnt you were leaving but you'd expected that. Whenever he was generally stressed out or upset, you'd find it covering his head. The symbolism there wasn't lost on you but you had more pressing things to worry about then the possible metaphor of Michael masking himself literally and figuratively.

"If you're so upset, why not come with?" You snorted to yourself as you focused on doing your eyes in a dark green with white mascara. "I can do your makeup, dress you in a cute sweater, no one would know it's you. Could be fun, yeah?"

You paused to do your lips in a dark red. Makeup wasn't really your preference but it suited the costume you wore - a dark green tunic with red and white striped knee socks with brown boots. The hat was a matching green and jingled stupidly from the little bell on the end. You'd done your face with a heavy blush and had drawn little white snowflakes in liquid eyeliner. It was cute.

The sound of heavy footsteps approaching you had you spinning around. Michael stood directly behind you and tilted his head when you made eye contact. "Wait, are you serious?" You blinked in surprise. You'd gotten good at reading him in the few months you'd spent living together and you could tell he was accepting your offer.

He gave you a blank stare before putting a hand around your neck and squeezing. You noted his tense shoulders and tried to relax. A few months ago, this gesture would have terrified you. Now you knew that it was just his way of expression. A knife and a violent hand was all he could use to convey things so you'd learnt to just roll with it, knowing that his intent wasn't to kill you.

So you didn't panic.

"I'm not making fun!" You insisted, lifting a hand to push lightly at his chest. "I just need to be sure you're actually interested in going. There'll be people there, you know that right?" Silence. "People you can't kill." More silence. "I'm not kidding either, you can't hurt or kill anyone if you come with me." It had been a long time since he'd killed anyone but you could never be totally sure of his motives. He could still be unpredictable from time to time.

Michael let you go and marched towards the dresser. You watched curiously as he fished out a black shirt and black jeans - clothes you'd gotten for him when he couldn't be in the jumpsuit - before offering them with outstretched arms. He gave you a curt nod and you smiled.

He didn't do that often so you knew he was serious.

"Alright then, c'mere big guy," you motioned for him to sit on the bed as you began gathering up makeup supplies. You kept your head turned away as he changed to offer him some semblance of privacy. Growing up in an institution meant he didn't have a lot of shame left but you always felt bad when you thought about that.

You missed the way his hands shook as he took off the mask, too busy searching for a colored contact for his injured eye. You found a pretty jade green and figured that'd work. Heterochromia was uncommon, not unheard of. Some red eyeshadow for his eyes would help cover up the scar and would also be cute for a Rudolph nose. You collected your supplies and turned to Michael with a wide smile.

That smile fell when you saw him sitting on your bed, dressed up nice as he stared at the mask clutched tightly in his hands. He stared into its face with wide, terrified eyes and that made you freeze. You'd seen that look only once before: when you held each other in the bathroom after you'd saved him from being shot.

"You don't have to go." Your voice was soft and reassuring. He looked up at you slowly and you continued. "I know this isn't something you normally do, but-" Michael blinked slowly as you rambled. "I don't want you to feel like you have to do this for me." The last thing you needed was him snapping and killing people at the party. You'd both be in trouble for that.

But you also wondered if he was unfamiliar with being given choices. You never forced Michael into things he didn't want to do and it was possible he wasn't used to that.

He stared at you for a long time, fingernails digging into latex, before he unclenched long enough for the mask to fall to the floor with a soft crunch. The two of you stared at it for a long time and he blinked rapidly as he stared. You could tell by the clenching and unclenching of his jaw that he was fighting something off.

You wanted to make it easier for him.

So you took a seat beside him and reached for his face with slow hands. His flinch made your heart break and you cooed to him softly. "It's just me," you soothed as you clicked open the container with the contact lens inside. "I'd never hurt you."

Michael relaxed slowly, watching you with something storming in his eyes. You cupped his cheek with one hand and his eyes fluttered briefly. "Have you ever put contacts in?" You asked, smiling warmly at him.

He shook his head once. This was going to be tricky.

It took some time to get the contact in. Neither of you really knew what you were doing and you kept worrying it'd roll back to his brain. But, with your combined efforts, it now sat comfortably in his eye. Pretty green-hazel heterochromatic eyes that you fought to not get lost in. Even with the scarring he looked… normal.

"Should I even ask if you've ever worn makeup?" You teased as you took out the eyeshadow. "I'll be brushing your face and around your eyes. Is that okay?"

Michael blinked slowly, which you took as a yes.

"Stop me if it gets to be too much, okay?" You said softly before dabbing the brush in the dark red and swiping it gently over his lids, relieved it covered the scar pretty well.

You weren't sure how familiar people were with his actual face. When people thought of Michael Myers, did they just see the pale, masked face of the Boogeyman? Or did they see his mugshot, televised on the evening news as they reported his escape and recapture?

When you moved to his next eye, his hand shot out to clench your hip tight. He hated feeling vulnerable. You were the only exception to his no touching rule because you'd proven your loyalty. In exchange, he'd given you protection. But he still disliked giving over control and holding you like a stressball was the only thing he could do to abate his anxiety.

You dusted some red on the tip of his nose and smiled to yourself. "So a few of my friends will be there," you hummed as you added the finishing touches on the raccoon-style eyeshadow you'd given him to hide a lot of the scars. Since he was wearing darker clothes, you reached for the black eyeshadow next with the intent of dusting it around his lids to give him a smokier look. It made him a tad intimidating, black soot that petered out into a dark red. "They'll probably try to talk to you but I'll try and take over. If they ask, we'll say you got in a car accident when you were young and haven't been able to talk since."

He gave your hip a squeeze in confirmation.

You brushed some red on the tip of his nose with a hum. "My friend Leslie is the chattiest so at least we won't have to worry about him. He's always rambling on and on about the horror novel he's writing. To his credit, it's really interesting." You began to brush a heavy blush on his cheeks, chuckling at the way he squinted against the sensation. "It's about some boy who was thrown over a waterfall before rising to take revenge on the town? I think? I mean, he'll certainly tell you all about it. I think he's calling it Behind the Mask or something, I'm not sure."

Michael opened his eyes when you finished with the blush and you froze. He looked good and you couldn't help but stare. Tight fitting shirt, half-lidded eyes decorated in smoky colors, and messy brown curls that you made a note to fluff up before you left. He looked painfully normal and pretty and you wanted to-

You cleared your throat and grabbed the white eyeliner pen. "This'll be colder but try not to move." Gently, you held under his chin to keep him steady as you began to dot little freckles along his cheeks and nose, pausing to draw larger snowflakes at the corners of his eyes. That way you two matched!

When you pulled back, you realized he'd been staring at you.

There were a few times in the time of you knowing Michael that you wondered if he could read minds. If, in order to be the scariest thing possible, he knew exactly what scared someone. But, you reminded yourself, this wasn't some Stephen King novel. Still, it unnerved you to consider he knew what you thought of him privately.

"Oh! I know!" You hopped up and hurried back over to your vanity, grabbing a brown headband decorated with felt horns wrapped in tiny bells. They were painfully cute and you spun to show him.

He squinted at you and you giggled. "Trust me, it'll look super cute." Sliding it atop his head, you finally got to fluff his hair out to disguise the band better. When you stepped back, you gave him a once-over and a smile.

Michael fucking Myers dressed up as a reindeer. Cute little nose, horns, and all.

"You think we should use nicknames to be less suspicious?" You hummed, tilting your head - a habit you'd picked up from him. "I could call you Mike." He glared at you and you smiled with a faux-innocence. "Aw, don't like it?" He glared harder and you laughed. "Well, if they ask for your last name, I'm making something up!"

He got up wordlessly and made his way to your vanity, examining himself in the mirror. As expected, he didn't say anything. But he did touch lightly at his eyes, curious when the powder came off on his fingers. You joined him, looking you both over in the mirror. From the outside, you two looked like any normal young couple heading for a Christmas party.

“Well Mikey,” you said as you grabbed your bag, “Shall we?”

You laughed at the slow, unimpressed blink he gave you.

You were honestly impressed Chrissy managed to get so many people to come. She'd been very popular in high school - a cheerleader who'd dated the quarterback of the football team, well-liked, and clearly still riding that high despite graduating out of high school cliques. Chrissy had been a year above you but had always been one of those girls to try and invite everyone she knew to any events she threw. So you weren't exactly close friends but you'd helped her with a school project once and apparently that was enough for her.

The house was decorated to the nines, lined in little white lights that glistened against the freshly fallen snow. Little reindeer animatronics made of the same lights "grazed" in the front yard and little candy cane lights lined the pathway. It all felt a little magical. A small flurry had picked up when you and Michael got out of the car and made your way up to the front door.

Michael paused to look up at the sky while you rang the doorbell, listening to the melodic chimes ring out inside the house. You swore he almost smiled, his hair dusted in little white flakes when he looked down at you. Your heart seized at the sight and you were struck with the urge to k–

Chrissy opened the door, smiling wide and dressed in an inappropriate Mrs Claus outfit. She surveyed you both and let out a surprised gasp, the corners of her mouth curling in delight. "And who's this hottie?" She whispered at you while giggling like a schoolgirl. "I didn't know you knew any cute guys. No offense." She twirled her hair, shamelessly looking Michael up and down.

Jealousy shot through you like a bolt of lightning. "He's my boyfriend."

"Oh," she seemed almost disappointed, which you tried to brush off. She'd always felt a little entitled towards whomever she determined was the most attractive guy. It was just how she was, even if it pissed you off in the moment. "Well, I'm happy for you!" She spun on her heel and led you both into the house, gesturing for her butler to take your coats. "Feel free to mingle, lovebirds! We've got drinks, food, and our chef made a bunch of cookies."

Michael seemed to notice the lovebirds comment and you flushed, giving a nod and smile to Chrissy while trying to ignore his stare boring into the back of your head. "Thanks. Oh, um, here!" You reached into your bag and held out a small, nicely wrapped gift. "For the Secret Santa."

She lit up and took the box enthusiastically. "Ohmygosh, thank you! I was just going to ask." Chrissy added the box to a nearby table and clasped her hands together excitedly. "Alright, perfect, you're free to go!"

You led the way to the kitchen, dodging a few familiar faces with smiles and waves and promises to return once you'd gotten some food and drinks. Michael held your wrist the whole way there, squeezing harder and harder the more people spoke to you.

The kitchen was huge, white, and perfectly pristine. The maid who cleaned everything always made their house look like an interior design catalog rather than an actual home. A large plate of highly elaborate sugar cookies lay atop the countertop, a large amount already missing with only trails of crumbs indicative of their place there.

You grabbed a candy cane shaped cookie and gestured for Michael to grab one. "I think you'll like these." He just stared at you, eyes widened ever so slightly. "What?" You asked through a mouthful of cookie. His head tilted slightly and you swallowed nervously. "Sorry for the, um, boyfriend comment. It just, uh, it felt like a safe alibi, y'know?"

Michael stared at you, eyes calculating. You prepared a million apologies in your head before he reached for a snowman cookie and bit into it, never breaking eye contact. You weren't sure if that was approval or disapproval so you both just stood there, staring awkwardly at each other and eating sugar cookies. Your fingers drummed anxiously on the cold marble tile of the kitchen counter as you tried to stand your ground.

When he finished his, Michael stepped closer to you and placed a hand at your waist. He leant forward and pressed his lips to your forehead, making you gasp in surprise. It wasn't exactly a kiss but the intent was there and the message was clear. You swallowed when he pulled back and you swore his eyes softened. "Okay, okay, cool," you said quietly, trying - and failing - to hold back your smile.

Standing on your tiptoes, you pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek and smirked to yourself about the faint lipstick stain there. You snagged another couple cookies and a glass of cider. His cheeks were a soft pink when you passed him one of the cookies. "Shall we brace the music?" You grinned as you took his arm and led him out the door back into the party.

Everything went perfectly, all things considered. Of course, everyone you knew wanted to meet your new boyfriend. "It's a recent development," you'd say as Michael took a drink to avoid talking. "I met him when my car broke down and we just… hit it off, y'know?" You'd smile as though recounting the memories through your pleasant buzz from the cider.

"How long have you been dating?" You were asked a few times.

"Oh, a month and a half now, I think. It feels like it's been longer." You'd say while Michael chewed on cookies.

It had been, if you thought about when the starting point of your relationship could've been. Maybe not long after he'd gotten sick and you'd cared for him in a way he hadn't had since he was a child. Or maybe after you'd both made a wordless pact to each other while your father lay bleeding on the kitchen floor. Hard to say. But calling him your boyfriend had come so easily that you questioned how long you'd considered him that in your subconscious.

When Chrissy announced her parent's arrival with a few of their friends in tow, you went to greet them without a second thought. You froze in fear when you caught sight of her father: John Kallas. Officer Kallas. A friend of your father's who had been part of the team searching for Michael around Halloween.

You clutched Michael's arm and steered him to a quiet hallway of the house. "Don't let her dad see you," you whisper-yelled. When he tilted his head, you ran a nervous hand through your hair. "He was one of the cops looking for you. He might recognize you."

Michael didn't visibly react but you did notice him clenching his jaw. "I didn't know he'd be here! I hadn't thought of it until I saw him." You sighed, frustrated with your own anxiety rising. "I'm sorry. Do you want to leave?"

He seemed to think it over but you were interrupted by heels clicking on the tile floor. In a panic, you grabbed his wrists and put his hands at your waist. "Act like we were kissing." You whispered as you leant in, bumping your foreheads together.

His head tilted askew slightly and gave you a moment to mess up your lipstick a little. The footsteps came to a halt and you heard a familiar laugh that made all the anxiety in your body melt away in an instant.

Kalei stood with their arms crossed, looking you both over with an amused expression. "So is this the guy you were telling me about back in September?" They laughed at seeing the way you hid your face in your hands in embarrassment.

Michael gave you a quizzical look and you groaned. "Yes, yes, he is." You confessed with an exhausted sigh. "But shh!" You waved a hand at them to try and quiet them.

They didn't back down though. "He would gush about you at work to me all the time," they drawled out, ignoring your flustered protests.

"I didn't-!"

"You better treat him right!" Kalei said, crossing their arms over their chest. "I may not look it but I can pack a serious punch."

Michael blinked slowly before looking back at you. "What do you need, Kalei?" You sputtered, trying to change the topic before your impromptu boyfriend decided to make a scene.

"Oh, the Secret Santa's starting. Came to getcha." They gestured for you both to follow with an impish smile growing on their face. "Better hurry up before people start making assumptions." They teased with a waggle of their eyebrows.

Your face lit up like a torch and you gently pushed Michael away to march down the hall. "N-no, wouldn't want that, yeah." Your voice sounded far away to your own ears, too much blood pounding through your head.

Michael followed on your heels like a loyal dog and you tried to ignore the way that made you feel.

You and Michael took a seat on one of the couches and you held his arm almost possessively, especially when you noticed some of the other girls at the party kept looking at him with bashful faces. It pissed you off just how shameless they were even when they knew he was dating you. Was it that hard for people to believe?

The absence of John Kallas made you think that he and his buddies had gone into one of the other rooms. Which put your mind at ease, at least a little.

The Secret Santa was relatively uneventful. You clapped politely as people opened their gifts and were surprised when Chrissy handed you your gift from her. A book on growing vegetables with a tab already inside on a picture of a tomato plant. "You think I should grow tomatoes?" You gave her an amused smile.

"Well, duh! It, like, suits your whole vibe, y'know? I'm surprised you don't grow more vegetables." Chrissy had nudged you gently as you began leafing through the rest of the book, skimming the words as Michael watched over your shoulder.

As it finally came time to leave, you were saying your goodbyes to Chrissy when you spotted Officer Kallas leaving the kitchen. You pulled Michael out of there quickly, hoping that the stumble the officer gave was simply him tripping and not because he'd seen The Boogeyman as your date to his daughter's party.

Your walk back to the car was brisk and silent. White snow was like stars as it fell overhead before coming to rest on your shoulders and the ground below. "Thank you for coming," you said, reaching over to squeeze Michael's hand. "It was nice having you there."

Before you could pull your hand away completely, he gave you a squeeze of his own before climbing into the passenger seat.

Oh, you thought to yourself. Oh.

For Christmas, you'd gotten Michael a drum set.

It had been an impulsive buy, a decision you had made while walking past a thrift store and noticing a decently priced set on display in the window.

He enjoyed doing things with his hands - be it painting, making masks, or, most recently, helping you decorate Christmas cookies. So you figured he'd get a kick out of drumming. You lived far out enough that he could afford to be loud without worrying about waking the neighbors up and you had a detached garage he could play in. Maybe when the weather got warmer, he'd move outside.

And it might help him to let energy out. You'd caught him giving death glares to random postmen who came to your door and he'd already begun the habit of wearing the accursed Halloween mask around the house again. So you didn't want him to get bored.

“Here,” you said as you passed him the drumsticks. He examined them curiously and you gestured to the drums. When he gave you an empty stare, you took one of the stucks and whacked on the cymbals. That made Michael’s eyes widen and he moved around to take a seat. “You can be as loud as you want with them. No one’ll hear soooo… go crazy!”

Michael took the stick back and held them both in hesitant hands. With a few bangs that seemed exploratory coupled with getting the hang of pressing his foot to make a lower noise, he seemed to catch on pretty quick. His banging grew in speed and volume as he gained confidence and you laughed, covering your ears when the sound echoed off the walls of the small space. "You got it!" You called over the crashing cymbals.

A loud bang signified the end of his "song" and he stared at you with wide, crazy eyes, panting heavily. "Fun, right?" You smiled at him. "They're all yours so you're free to come play them whenever you want."

His lips curled into an almost feral smile that made you smile back. You'd never seen him smile before, much less like that.

Over the next few days, Michael continued sneaking – literally sneaking, like he'd be in trouble if you spotted him – into the garage to play the drums. His disorganized, chaotic banging was slowly starting to take form. Organized chaos, you smiled to yourself. The loud sounds and movements gave Michael a chance to express himself with noise which was quite the contrast to his usual quiet self.. You also found it exceptionally cute when he'd go play and come back inside hours later with his wild brown curls disheveled and a crazed grin on his face.

It had been unsettling at first seeing him smile the way he did but now it just made your heart seize. His fingers would drum on things to a tune you couldn't hear and he was painfully human now, relaxed around you and genuinely happy, from what you could tell.

So you made a mixtape for him that focused on heavy drum sounds, steady but loud beats the way he liked. At first he didn't seem too interested in it but you'd since caught him listening to it a few times, eyes closed and posture relaxed. Music wasn't something Michael had a lot of exposure to so you had fun introducing him to various bands and musicians.

Metal music seemed to be his preference, which made a lot of sense.

It was New Years when things really changed.

You and Michael had the television on with the channel turned to watch the ball drop. It wasn’t typically a tradition you cared about but you could tell your housemate was intrigued. He’d been upstairs painting for most of the day while you cleaned the house up a bit. "Spring cleaning," you said to Michael as he watched you from the kitchen. "Cleaning makes me happy. It's nice to get everything back in order after the holidays. 'sides, it's still too cold out for gardening."

Michael tilted his head but retreated back upstairs with his water jar for his paints.

Once the sun set, you made hot chocolate and ordered pizza. Michael preferred just plain cheese but you’d gotten yours with olives - something Michael always gave you looks for. "Don't knock it 'till ya try it," you'd snickered through a mouthful of pizza.

His brow furrowed in distaste as he took a bite of his own pizza.

It was cute. He had a lot of personality once you knew where to look. And he’d clearly gotten very comfortable with you during the time you’d been living together. It felt like a great honor to get to see Michael Myers do something as mundane as eat pizza in lounge clothes.

The two of you watched cartoons for a few hours until 11:57 hit. You flicked to the news channel and let your head loll to the side and rest against the back of the couch. "It's not the most exciting thing in the world," you said as you glanced at Michael, "But it's fun. It's nice to see everyone around the world get together for something like this."

Michael had just stared at the television with a slight tilt to his head. 11:59 struck and you felt your throat tighten as an idea came to mind. You recalled a conversation you'd had with Chrissy a couple years back where she'd told you about her favorite New Years tradition.

50 seconds…

It couldn't hurt to ask, right?

45…

“Hey, Michael?” Your voice was barely a whisper. You kept your eyes trained on the TV even when you felt his eyes on you.

40…

Swallowing was a challenge for you. “There’s, um, a kind of New Years tradition. That, um, it means-”

30…

“-you’ll have good luck for the rest of the year.” Your words were slow and methodical. It felt like you had to really sell him on the idea, even if you were afraid to tell him what it was. You weren't even sure you wanted to admit to yourself how badly you wanted to-

25…

“Want to do it?”

Michael just stared blankly at you. His eyes darted between yours, calculating. It made you feel flayed open despite the fact you were pretty sure he didn't know what you were talking about.

20…

He gave you a single nod. You quickly darted your tongue out to wet your lips. Now or never, you sighed internally.

“Trust me,” you said more than asked. His eyes widened slightly but he didn't pull away. You knew he trusted you and all you could do was hope he didn't react poorly.

15…

You swallowed around the heavy lump in your throat and tried to not look too worried. If he got the impression it was something bad, you may lose your chance. Lifting a gentle hand, you let your fingertips graze his cheek before slowly settling to cup his face properly.

It was like you could hear the sound of your own heart pounding even over the cheering on the television.

10…

"This okay?

9…

Michael's eyes softened and he gave a slight nod, as though worried he'd dislodge you entirely.

8…

You scooted closer, the both of you adjusting so you were sat facing each other, opposite shoulders brushing the back of the couch. He sat perfectly cross-legged while one of your legs braced against the floor.

7…

Slowly, you reached over with your free hand to tangle your fingers together in a loose hold.

6…

His eyes widened more and his lips parted. A look of realization flashed in his eyes and for a moment you worried you'd overstepped.

5…

"Still okay?"

4…

Michael gave a small nod again, eyes darting all over your face as he searched for…something. You weren't sure.

3…

2…

1…

You leant forward and pressed your lips together in a sweet kiss. The sounds of cheering that came from the television felt far away and underwater. Every sense in your body was focused on Michael - the warmth of his hand, the residual taste of hot chocolate on his lips, and the soft intake of breath you heard when your lips met.

It felt like the cheering was for you two.

At first, Michael didn't seem sure what to do with himself. With some gentle guidance, you tilted his head to the side to let him lean into the kiss better. He was clearly trying, so you scooted closer and let him set his hands on your hips to lift you into his lap without breaking the kiss.

When you parted to catch your breaths, Michael was staring at you with half-lidded, glassy eyes. It felt like your heart was going to burst out of your chest

You pulled him back in, tangling your fingers in his hair to keep him in place. His arms wrapped around your waist and you sunk into his hold. Being with him felt warm and safe.

So yeah. Things changed on New Years. But neither of you were complaining.

The snow finally began to clear up, being replaced smoothly by sleet and rain. It was honestly far more preferable to you, since it made walks in the forest more enjoyable. You'd always preferred the rain.

It had been a few weeks since the New Years and you and Michael were in some type of relationship. The word "dating" had come to mind but it wasn't really accurate. It was more than dating. You were partners in crime - literally and figuratively - as well as good friends, housemates, close confidants, and, more importantly, you saw each other. Really and truly. You'd both picked up on the others wordless sentences and slight shifts in your bodies were like loud declarations. Sure, you two held hands and he let you touch him more but that wasn't what was important to you.

Michael smiled more. He'd watch you with soft, sleepy eyes, stopped tensing whenever you cut his hair, and you'd caught him dozing off on the couch a few times.

You internally cursed Dr. Loomis for tormenting this man for so, so many years. Embodiment of evil your ass, he was so obviously desperate for love and care that he'd practically thrown himself at you as soon as you'd proven you would love him no matter what. He was more than the traumas he felt compelled to reenact. He was so, so much more and you loved every part of him.

Today, you needed to run down to the store to grab a few things. The rain had finally let up enough that you felt comfortable driving. "Michael? I'll be back around 5:30, alright?" You called into the house as you fastened your shoes.

Ever since the Christmas party, he'd gotten better about you leaving the house for short periods of time. So long as you promised to come back, that is. If you didn't, you knew he'd hunt you down with a knife and a bloodstained jumpsuit. Of that, you had no doubt.

Michael appeared in the doorway of the kitchen staring at you. You shot him a grin and grabbed your bags. "Be back soon!" You called over your shoulder as you ventured outside.

Looking back on it, you wished you'd stayed home…

You were examining a box of cereal for dents when someone approached you. "Hey," Chrissy's voice came from behind you. When you turned, she looked tense with her arms around herself and her smile was tight. Forced. Alarm bells began ringing in your head but you smiled back.

"Hey, Chrissy. Uh, you okay?"

"How's your boyfriend? What was his name, um, Michael, right?" She looked like she'd be sick and you felt white-hot adrenaline shoot through you like a bolt of lightning. "He, um, is he around?"

You swallowed, keeping your movements slow and casual. If you cracked, then she'd know. So you made a show of putting the cereal box into your cart and took the chance to look around. The aisle was empty but you caught the sign of movement near the end. Blue police uniforms, likely Chrissy's dad and his partner.

"No, he's traveling." You gave Chrissy an exhausted smile. "Y'know I'm not gonna pass your number along, right?"

She looked pale but her smile got wider and she took a small step back, like you terrified her. "Did, um, did someone die?" Her fake pout made you want to punch her in the face. Her faux sympathy oozed from her tone and you couldn't help the way your eye twitched. "Maybe his sister-?"

You froze in place. She knew. You don't know how she found out but there was no doubt she knew. Why the hell Officer Kallas had waited so long to act, let alone use his daughter as bait, was beyond you. Had he seen pictures from the party and asked Chrissy to identify him? Had he compared it to his mugshot? The thought of that made you irrationally angry.

"His dad is sick." You grit out through clenched teeth.

"You're sick," Chrissy shot back like a viper. "You've been sleeping with the fucking Boogeyman! You brought him to my house, oh my god, what if he killed-!" She choked back a sob, having the audacity to look betrayed.

Like a Barbie doll with mascara tears.

Enough was enough. You spun on your heel and marched away from a sobbing Chrissy like a man on a mission. You heard Officer Kallas call your name and you took a steadying breath before spinning, swinging the metal cart full of boxes and cans behind you and watching the two officers stumble and trip. Chrissy shrieked in fear and you took off towards the sliding glass doors. The crackle of a walkie talkie behind you was loud, too loud for you to make out any words being said. Everything in you was hyperfocused on running.

You heard heavy footsteps hot on your heel and you wished, momentarily, that you had a weapon of your own.

All you had to do was get to your car, the little piece of junk like an oasis in a hot desert. All you had to do was get in and you could get away, get to a phone booth and call Michael. Tell him to get Mayhem, pack bags, and get out. You'd promise you'd pick him up. Something. Anything.

But you’d never get the chance.

The officer tailing grabbed you around your middle and lifted you up like a bratty child hauling a cat around. “Put me down!” You shrieked and began to slam your fists on his arms.

"You're under arrest for disrupting justice, harboring a criminal, and assaulting an officer," his robotic words fell on deaf ears as you continued to fight for your life. Cornered animals bit and he was finding that out the hard way as you twisted to claw at his face.

But he easily overpowered you, shoving you into the backseat of his police cruiser and slamming the door. Tears began to fall down your face as you began to panic. Michael wouldn't know they were coming. They surely knew to check your house. They'd catch him there and then what? Would they kill him? Shoot to kill, like you remembered hearing on the radio all those months ago?

You felt like throwing up. All you could do was curl up on the leather seats and sob your heart out.

All you could do was hope he'd be okay.

Dr. Samuel Loomis considered himself a brilliant man.

He was assigned to Michael Myers' case when the young boy had first been admitted to Smith's Grove when he'd just been a young, non-speaking child. His mother had brought him in, her eyes red rimmed and pleading to help her son.

And Dr. Loomis always loved a challenge case. Every 'difficult' patient he ever had while working in this institution had eventually cracked under his methods. So he studied Michael, subjecting him to various medications, talk therapy, and tried everything to trigger any kind of response out of him. At first, Michael seemed to truly want to be helped. His mother visited every week and talked with him about home, about his life after the institution.

Michael took well to art therapy, much to Loomis' frustrations - he had strongly advised against giving the young boy access to making masks - and he started to make progress in sorting through what happened to him.

Then his parents died. It was like everything in Michael shut down after that. Walls were built up high and became impenetrable the longer Dr Loomis poked and prodded for a reaction.

Years went by and no more progress was made. It was like talking to a brick wall. A brick wall with eyes like the devil, as far as Loomis was concerned. There was no way a child could commit such atrocities without an ounce of guilt, no confession of sin. He'd advocated strongly against Michael being released on parole, insisting he was soulless and dangerous.

So Halloween came and Michael escaped, killing teenagers and reenacting the horrors he'd committed to his sister fifteen years ago. And now he had escaped yet again. This time was different though - Michael had gone missing for several months now. Too long had passed without any new murders and Loomis was becoming anxious and impatient. Police had let the case go, grateful at the idea Michael moved on to terrorize a new town.

But Dr. Loomis knew Michael Myers all too well.

He stood in his dimly lit office, watching a police car drive up through the large open window. Watching you get unloaded from the car and observing the way you fought so viciously, Loomis felt like he hit the jackpot. It was no wonder Michael was so obsessed with you. There was a darkness to you that had yet to grow anywhere. Surely he was just biding his time, playing house with you while he waited for you to snap and join him in his killing sprees.

He couldn't have that though. Michael had to be returned to Smith's Grove before he caused any more devastation.

“Doctor?” Officer Kallas’s voice broke the psychologist from his stupor.

“Come in.” He turned, looking over his shoulder and smiling when he lay eyes on you.

There you were. In handcuffs with tear tracks on your face. Your lip was split from where you'd nicked it while trying to bite Officer Kallas. “We apprehended him like you asked. We’ll head to the house to retrieve-”

“Don’t,” Loomis held up his hand to still the room. “No. We’ve got all we need right here.” He approached you slowly, like you were something to behold. You felt slimy under his fascinated stare. “Michael will come looking for him. Then we’ll catch him. We can’t give him any home-turf advantages.”

Officer Kallas nodded and shoved you forward into the room before closing the door behind him. You felt like a muzzled dog, glaring down the doctor with such hate that it reminded him of Michael.

Dr Loomis took a seat at his desk. “Tell me,” he hummed, “What was it like being held captive by Michael?” You looked at him, brow furrowed. Held captive? Was that the narrative they were running with? He seemed to misinterpret your confusion and gave you a sympathetic smile. “I know you were held by him for quite some time. Your friend Chrissy told her father about it. You were seen-”

“I wasn't a prisoner.” You spat, almost offended.

“So you were simply afraid.” The doctor clicked his pen, beginning to write something down. His scribbling felt grating on your nerves and you felt the urge to strangle the man, cuffs be damned.

But you just glared at him instead. “What is this, an interrogation?”

Dr. Loomis lifted his head and you could see the arrogance in his eyes. “I’ve studied Michael for sixteen years,” he said slowly, “And I’ve never seen him so fascinated by another human being.”

“Maybe you’re just shitty at your job.” You scoffed.

If you weren't already glaring daggers, you would have missed the disapproving look Loomis gave you. "In good time, my theory will be proven." He gave you a smile and gestured to one of the chairs sat in front of his desk. "Michael will come for you. And when he does, I will finally rid the world of that potent evil." He said with a menacing, teeth-filled smile.

You wish you’d stayed home.

#🔪 creeps writes #slasher x reader #slasher fanfiction #slasher x s/o #halloween 1978 #michael myers #michael myers x reader #michael myers x you #mask of hate

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anonymityisfunwriter · 2 days

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Question...? The End - “It’s just a question.”

Pairing - Steve Rogers x Reader Summary - After years of back and forth, years of unknowns, a lifetime of questions, it's time for answers.

Question...? Mini Series List | Steve Rogers Masterlist

"Looking back on it..." Steve can't quite find the words to finish the sentence. He shakes his head, "Jesus."

You slightly tip your glass, "We've been through a lot together."

He knows that you're too nice to say what the reality of it is. Steve put you through a lot.

And sure, you two have been through a lot together. All the awkward phases, the growing pains, romantic mishaps, miscommunications, circumstances.

Looking back on it, you were his constant.

Most of the time, you were his only constant.

Rather than staring at the glass in his hand, he keeps his eyes locked on you. There was so much history there. You were right, there were so many times that he could've done more, tried harder. He could've fought for you.

He swallows the lump in his throat, “I don’t know what to say.”

You shrug, swirling the lonely ice cube in your glass, “I think that was always part of the problem. It’s why we never worked.”

“I - I’m sorry.”

And just like all those times before, you fight to tamp down those feelings that never fail to arise when Steve is near. You've come to accept this. You know this. You and Steve don't work. Accepting that is so much easier than pushing him out of your life. “It’s not like I told you how I felt.”

Steve knew it wasn't the whole truth. Sure, you'd never out right said that you had feelings for him, but you'd given him so much more than he gave you. And every single time he was too scared of ruining everything that he ran like a coward.

"But you were the one that held us together. You gave me so much."

You snort, "Like your first kiss?"

"I would've waited a hell of a lot longer if it weren't for you. I didn't kiss a single girl in high school."

"Bullshit."

"It's true," Steve insists, tipping his glass in your direction. "Ask Bucky. Besides, I was too hung up on you to even look at another girl."

You shake your head, rolling your eyes, "That's not true."

"It is. I was just - I was so damn scared of ruining our friendship."

"Then why did you kiss me at our college graduation?"

Steve wasn't sure. To this day, he couldn't decide it is was his ultimate moment of weakness or moment of strength. "Better question: Why do you think I broke that dickhead guy's nose last year?"

"Male ego?"

"I was jealous," Steve deadpans. "I was so fucking jealous. I was upset because some asshole that was nowhere near good enough took the girl I wanted my whole life. And worst part, I still wasn't brave enough to tell you how I felt."

You slowly exhale, "I think that maybe things worked out the way that they were supposed to. Maybe we just - we weren't meant to be."

His eyebrows pull together, "Do you really believe that?"

"I don't know."

“I just - I wish I would’ve put up a fight. I wish I would’ve told you how I felt - how I feel.”

Your eyes snap up, you heart stuttering. “Feel?”

His heart pounds in his chest. This was likely his last chance. His chance to not be a coward. A chance to finally get the girl. “Feel. Present tense.”

Your eyebrows pull in, demanding and curious, “And what do you feel?”

“I feel like I should’ve gone after you after we kissed the first time. Like I should’ve told you that the reason I got so angry you kissed Bucky in high school was because I wanted to be the only person that you kissed. Like I never should’ve left your house that night in college. I feel like I’ve been in love with you since I saw you that very first time.”

“Steve…” you whisper, too choked up to say anything but his name.

“I’ve looked for that feeling everywhere. I’ve looked for that meteor strike everywhere and the only place I’ve found it is with you. You lit up my life. Everyone else, everything else, is second best compared to you.”

“It shouldn’t be this hard, Steve.”

“Then let me carry us for a while. Let me hold us together. Let it be my turn.” He reaches out, his hand gripping yours from across that empty bar stool. He sucks in a soft breath, clearly warring with himself. In this moment, he feels like he did all those years ago. The best friend that was never good enough for the girl. The girl he watched and wanted more than anything. This was his chance to be brave for once, to finally speak now. “I think I've always known.”

You quirk an eyebrow, “Known what?”

“I think I’ve known it since we were kids," he continues. He stands up from his bar stool, closing the distance between you and him. He reaches out, his fingers ghosting over your cheeks. "You’re my forever. You’re my endgame. And I’m sorry I didn’t treat you like that. I’m sorry I let things come between us. But I’ve always known that. Even if it scared the shit outta me sometimes. I belong with you. You belong with me. It’s us. That’s how this story ends. It’s us.”

"Steve..." you whisper.

"Can I kiss you?" You suck in a sharp breath as he cups your face, lifting your jaw until your lips ghost over his, "It's just a question."

You know it's not just a question. Not really. Not anymore. You lick your lips in anticipation, "Is it?"

"No," he finally admits. "It's an answer."

Question...? Mini Series List Inspired By Taylor Swift Steve Rogers Masterlist

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sparklingmineraltequila · 2 days

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American Wasteland

Note: Sorry this took so long. I moved city and pretty much have a new life. Still obsessed with Rust, though, so some shit sticks

Warnings: 18+, talk of war, alcohol, drugs, sex work, talks of past domestic violence, smut, just genuine misery between the two of them

America venerates suffering, that's what Travis had always told Rust. Sacrifice isn't pure if it isn't coated in a blood so red and so hot that your family can smear over their words, for centuries to come, excusing their comfort, their indulgence, their ignorance. They are afforded that comfort off of slaughter beyond their imagining. At least, that's what had happened after 'nam. A hero for his fucking country was the propaganda they had fed Travis; squash the bug of communism and, along with it, massacre millions of innocents, because what is America without its sons who are willing to fight for it.? Yeah, a fucking hero for a father, who's night terrors kept both of them up at night and who kept his engraved lighter saying High Speed Low Drag in his hunting jacket, always. That same lighter that Rust had used to light his first cigarette: rolled up flimsily in newspaper with the leftover tobacco and tufts of filter that he'd scraped from Travis' cigarette butts. The same lighter that Cassandra is now using to light her Marlboro Gold, hands shaking,

'Rust. That's all I get, huh? Not even a fucking surname?!' she spits, through a shaky exhale.

'I ain't gonna give you my surname. The less you know about me, the better,' Rust says back, his stoic demeanour attempting to mask that churning in his stomach. One that he has realised isn't for him but for Cassandra.

'Is Rust even your actual name?'

'You want a fuckin' social security number, too?' Rust drawls dryly.

'Don't you-Don't,' Cassandra's head shoots up from where it's been in her hands, her shaking tone now gaining a momentum of uncontrollable anger, 'Jesus-fuck. You men are all the fucking same. I-I ain't staying in this fucking place, anymore. Fuck it, fuck you, fuck every goddamn person in this wasteland of a place!'

Rust regards her with an even look,

'You ain't going anywhere. Not tonight. You ain't in the right state.'

'You ain't my daddy, motherfucker.'

'Goddamn right, I ain't but I'm also the only person you have who doesn't want to take advantage of you. So, hedge your bets tomorrow, baby, but tonight you're stayin' here,' Rust's voice is lapidary, stopping Cassandra in her tracks as she starts to shove clothes and books into her duffel bag.

'I said: you ain't my daddy and you sure as hell ain't keeping me in a place where I don't want to be,' Cassandra says in a tone equally as gelid, throwing her duffel bag over her shoulder. That elegant, fine-boned shoulder tinged with its bronzed hue; some of the love bites that Rust had left a few nights ago decorating Cassandra's collarbone. Rust fears that the sentiment festering under his skin is nostalgia. A nostalgia that scares him and, then, makes him cruel,

'No, Cassandra. I ain't your daddy cause all he did for you was get heavy handed with you and cut you up with his empty liquor bottles when he really wanted to teach you about mouthin' off at him.'

The colour drains from Cassandra's face,

'How the fuck do you know about that?' a sudden spark of spite reaches her as she sneers, 'Pull my file in your spare time, huh?'

Rust grabs her arm and yanks up her tank top, ignoring her yelp. He nods to the fine, white line along her ribcage,

'I ain't a fuckin' idiot, Cassandra. Skateboardin' fall, my ass,' Rust snarls, holding her ribcage with a calloused hand. Cassandra viciously claws at his hand, tears threatening to spill from her eyes,

'Get off! Get the fuck off!' and Rusts lets her go cause in that moment, the smooth, sultry cadence made slightly husky from after-sex cigarettes reverts back to the pleading of a little girl. Cassandra's words are devoid of any real bite, Rust notes. All that rage has been stripped away and all that she is left with is the panic of a little girl's voice turning into burning sobs in her throat; the stale cookies in her stomach turning sour from terror. There's that wide eyed looked, too. He can see it as Cassandra hastily covers herself back up and rearranges the duffel bag back onto her shoulder.

'Fuck you, Rust,' she says his name like it's a poison that she needs to spit from her mouth before it corrodes the flesh into a pulpy mess. Corrosion. Rust. That's what he is, it's what he does because sometimes corrosion is needed to get to the bone of things; to see what everyone else in too caught up in their delusions or affectations about fucking Natural Law to truly comprehend.

'Don't you fu-Cassandra!' Rust's voice boils up from his chest in a rough bark, watching Cassandra explode out of the trailer door, almost stumble down the rusted metal steps and collapse into the red dirt. He thinks he can't get any angrier until he realises that she's pocketed the keys to his Harley, on her way out, and sees her bolt over to where it's parked, behind the trailer. A cloud of dust rises up as the bike rumbles out of neutral and Cassandra desperately revs on the accelerator; her legs hardly off of the ground before the Harley tears away. In other circumstances, the dramatics of the exit would have made Rust scoff and chalk it up to youth's thirst for impact: the flurry of a scene. Not now. Not when this kid is tearing down a highway in a bike that doesn't have enough gas to make it to Liberty, let alone wherever the fuck Cassandra thinks she's headed. A kid, Rust thinks, A fuckin' kid that I've pulled into the abyss with me. Rust calls her a kid now but knows that when he finds her, he'll treat her like she's grown. A sentiment that propels him into his truck, cursing to himself as the engine splutters.

It doesn't take long to track Cassandra down; there's only one road from the trailer park that lead to the freeway. No doubt, where Cassandra is headed to. Ride fast and hard, and get the fuck out when the heat starts to sting: the classic cocktail of self-preservation cooked up by kids who've already been burned. There are too many of them down here, below that Mason-Dixie line. Rust would know. Fuck, if he hasn't spent his entire career on the force witnessing the aftermath. Drugs, abuses, assaults, homicides: you name it. The abuser becomes the abused; Nietzsche's infinite return has those poor kids falling flat on their faces into the nice shit storm of generational maladjustments that their parents left for them. Shattered dreams, skin sucked dry from mosquitos, teeth black and rotting from sweet tea, underneath that sticky southern sun. Rust wants to believe that it's an innate sense of duty towards these kids is why he's currently violating every Highway Code there is. And for part of him, it is. The other part, however, won't allow himself the comfort of what he knows is a lie. What started as pure sex appeal has started to morph into something deeper, messier.

The bike has even less gas than he thought as, the first Texaco that he sees, has Cassandra next to the pumps trying to wrench open the bike's gas lock. She wants to be caught, Rust knows, Wants me to chase after her, show her I give a shit. If she didn't, she would've gotten a hell of a lot more reckless. He watches her, almost with pity, as her pulls into the gas station and slows the truck to a halt, the breaks groaning with their lack of galvanisation. Rust shoves the car door open, his leather boots landing heavily on tepid asphalt,

'Get your ass over here,' his voice rough, as he strides over to Cassandra.

'I told you to get the fuck away from me,' she whips around, her fury making her abandon her previous task.

'Get in the fuckin' truck, Cassandra. I ain't doing the whole scorned boyfriend act for these nosey fuckers,' Rust deadpans, his ice blue gaze conveying to her just how fucking pissed he is.

'Did you hear me, motherfucker? I said to go back to your junkie biker brothers, find some hooker so that you can fuck out your half-baked emotional needs and leave me the hell alone,' Cassandra says with such venom dripping from her mouth that she almost fully means it; warm milk out of hand, she resorts to spite. Not fully, though: Rust can see the tears glazing her eyes and that's enough for him. A firm hand comes to grasp Cassandra's arm and put her in what is practically a headlock as Rust drags her to the truck. Cassandra's duffel bag slips off of her shoulder as Rust holds her firmly against his chest, bicep right up against the column of her throat. Some old man up from his pump, spit collecting at the corners of his mouth as he calls over,

'Everything alright over there?' Not from the area, Rust notes. Not solely due to the licence plate and milky arms but the slight wariness of his expression. A man unacquainted with the imperatives that the arrid terrain commands. The violence. Cassandra takes it upon herself to drop the unwanted attention as she chokes out,

'They don't teach you to mind your own fucking business in Iowa?!' the rage in her voice stemming from a deep humiliation in how she must look, Rust's arm tight against her neck. Rust takes in the man's mortification and grits into her ear,

'Shut the fuck up.'

He opens the truck door and shoves her in, slamming the door and heading over to the driver's side to catch her as she climbs out. Rust concedes her a heavy slap to the face before getting in, essentially crowding her back to the passenger's side. As he starts the ignition and pulls out of the gas station, Cassandra is eerily quiet, tears leaving hot tracks of salt and mascara on her cheeks. Rust debates on whether it's shame at getting caught or just pure desolation at, once again, finding herself completely fucked over, until he feels his jeans' waistband go slack. He feels the air hit that sweaty patch of back where the barrel of his .38 S&W was pressed and licks the inside of his cheek in an almost smirk. There she is, Rust thinks, knowing full well Cassandra's loathing of acquiescence as she points the gun at his temple, sweat curling his caramel hairs.

'Pull over or, I swear to God, I'll put your brains all over your goddamn car windows,' Cassandra's voice is firm but Rust sees her fingers trembling. Red. Her nails are lacquered the same colour as a Shirley Temple, poised on cool gun metal of the safety.

'You don't want to shoot me, Cass,' Rust says, his tone flat.

'Oh, I don't?' Cassandra scoffs.

'Nah, you wanna make a fuckin' scene so that I'll burst into tears and beg for your fuckin' forgiveness or some shit. That ain't gonna work on me, baby. I'm around too many pussies who ain't man enough to pull a fuckin' trigger, as it is. I can tell when someone's bluffin'. And you, Cass, I can sure as hell tell when you're bluffin'.'

'How are you so sure?'

Rust looks at a small trail leading off of the main road before sparing a sideways glance,

'That gun ain't even cocked.'

Cassandra narrows her eyes and pulls the hammer back,

'Happy?'

Rust steers the truck off of the road, onto the rocky country road, before stopping and turning to her,

'You wanna go? Go.'

Cassandra's gaze falters before she contrives it into that practiced indifference,

'You're kicking me out?' she says, her voice so fragile that Rust almost feels bad for putting her in this situation but tough shit: wisdom comes hard.

'Nah, just callin' your bluff. You got 30 seconds to go, if you want to,' Rust says, not even facing her but staring straight out ahead.

Cassandra stares at him, lowering the gun, and looks around helplessly. The tears come back, not when she looks at Rust's stony expression or the destitute surroundings, but when she looks at her duffel bag. All her life fitting into some beat up gym bag and, now, she's about to throw away the one thing that can protect her. A gun isn't shit compared to his hand on her ass and his fingerprints bruising her thighs; not to these fucking animals. Rust gives her the mercy of two minutes of silence before speaking,

'You ain't movin',' he says more as a statement than a question.

'Don't mock me,' Cassandra murmurs out.

'I ain't mockin' you.'

'You know that I ain't gonna go. I don't think I'm ever gonna be able to.'

'You can and you will, eventually.'

'I ain't sure, Cra-Rust. You ain't either.'

'Use Crash. I don't need you gettin' confused and fuckin' this up,' Rust says, gruffly.

'You sure that's it?'

'Am I sure 'what's' it?' irritation starting to creep into his tone.

'That the reason you don't want me using your real name is cause I'll jeopardise your cover.'

'I thought you were smarter than that, Cass.'

'What the fuck's that supposed to mean?' Cassandra suddenly straightens, her voice hard but still slightly tremulous.

'I thought you were smarter than to get your emotions mixed up with what is gonna keep your ass outta the crossfire.'

It's a low blow but it hits home. Cassandra looks down at her scraped knees, gravel and raw skin, before looking up again; her voice now a whisper,

'Do you feel sorry for me?'

Rust clenches his jaw, the simple juvenility of the question making him feel sick. He knows neither of them will be able to bear whatever tidal wave of sentiment is about to breach their carefully instated distance. The partial revelation of his true identity has already been more of an unmasking than he can stomach; especially to someone he cares so deeply for as Cassandra. Her knowledge of 'Rust' throws whatever the fuck they are doing with each other into something that goes beyond sex and protection, and Rust can begin to feel everything veering off track. He won't allow her to expose herself to him like this, not when he's already emotionally fucked her over so much, today. So, Rust finally turns to her and says,

'Take off your top.'

Cassandra falters, her voice still that hoarse whisper as she ask,

'What?'

Rust wills himself to turn his pity into scorn,

'Did I fuckin' stutter? Take off your top. Those shorts, too,' he says, his tone unnervingly even and made rough from his Camels. Cassandra stares at him for a moment before indulging him: shirt discarded first before she lifts her hips and awkwardly shimmies out of them. Rust notices her holding her side, her hand cradling the scar; something she's never really done until now. Not until Rust had forced her shame into the searing white light of recognition. He knows what Cassandra must be thinking, grouping him into that homogenous, male blob of ill-intent: her next job, her next dance, her next humiliation. He tries to pretend that it doesn't slightly tear him the fuck up when she looks at him with those eyes, now cold.

'What now?' Cassandra asks, sitting up with her spine long and upright, shoulders terse.

Rust pats his lap,

'Come here.'

'Rust, I-'

'I ain't ever remember sayin' you could call me Rust, Cass,' he says harshly, completely disregarding whatever appeal Cassandra's about to make over how to treat her. Pretty words that don't mean shit to Rust nor to this godforsaken part of the country. A place where women bring guns in their purses to hookups and there are wards for the babies born hooked onto opioids, has no use for floral, storybook sex. Here, it's fast and it's hard and it's painful and it's often paid for. Cassandra knows this type of sex, or rather its corruption. So, she shuts up and sits in Rust's lap; swallowing the bitter pill of docility.

'Move 'em to the side,' Rust taps the waistband of her panties with his knuckles. For a moment, a light tinge comes across Cassandra's collarbones at the crassness of the act. She hooks her fingers into the waistband, moving to pull them down, before Rust grabs her wrist,

'I say to take 'em off, Cass?'

'No,' Cassandra murmurs, trying to asses if Rust is pissed beyond belief or on some pretty loopy downers.

'So, you can hear me. I was thinkin' otherwise, given some of the shit you've managed to pull,' that dangerous mix of anger and worry begins to seep into Rust's tone. He can feel her wet heat through the lace of her panties; almost disappointed that she can get turned on by this shit. Old habits die hard, Rust thinks, lighting a cigarette and leaning back into his seat,

'Undo my belt.'

Cassandra stares at him, holding unflinching eye contact as she unbuckles him and unzips his fly. It's like a game of fucking chicken: which of them is willing to degrade the other more, for the sake of self-preservation. Rust exhales a slow stream of smoke watching Cassandra's thighs tremble from the exertion of holding her position. He quirks an eyebrow,

'You gonna tap out on me, baby?'

'No.'

'You wanted this shit that bad, didn't you, Cass?' Rust says, the forcefulness in his tone coming out of the pit in his stomach when he thinks what he's done to her.

'I did. I wanted this shit. Don't paint me out to be some dumbass little girl who opened her legs to the first man who reminded her of her daddy. That ain't what this is. I'm tougher than that, you know I am,' her voice starting to tremble again. Her hands absentmindedly wrapped around her midsection., as if to protect herself from the next laceration.

'You want it? Then move those fuckin' panties to the side.'

Cassandra stares at Rust with that fucking stupid bravado of rapacity, before gripping the crotch of them to the side; the tepid truck air mixing with the heady scent of her arousal and Rust's cigarette smoke,

'Go on. Fuck me like a man.'

Rust looks up at her while he pulls down his boxers, before grabbing her bruised hips and slamming her onto him. Not giving a fuck about the sharp, shuddering inhale. The lamb must learn to run with the wolves and Cassandra is far from a lamb. Especially as she is now, gulping down her whimpers of pain, desperately rocking her hips against his coarse hair to stimulate her little nub. She buries her head into the crook of his neck, nose rubbing against his jugular as Rust lands a firm slap on her ass,

'Don't get sentimental on me now, Cass,' he manages to grit out, feeling her arousal literally drip down him, 'Fuck am I gonna do with a weak lil' thing, huh?'

Cassandra tries to nod, her eyes squeezed shut and her groans muffled into the leather of Rust's jacket. Rust wraps his arms around her, holding her in a vice grip for the third time today, all of which have been some form of degradation or excavation of the dirty, nasty shit that Cassandra keeps hidden under sultry, bedroom eyes and that cutthroat tongue. At least this time, the aggression of the act is more tangible; neither of them are allowed any delusions. Not with how Cassandra's spit smears against Rust's stubble when he fucks into her especially hard or the cutting of taught lace on her hipbone or Rust's still lit cigarette burning dangerously close to Cassandra's dark waves. Apt symbolism, Rust thinks, as she angles her head to inhale from the tip; eyes starting to roll slightly at the mixture of in adverted friction of her bundle of nerves, and Rust's angry, frantic pace. She turns to look him right, as she leans her head in him, exhaling the smoke right into his mouth. Rust catches some powdery grey wisps, shoving Cassandra down once more onto him. As she groans, her hands never loosening, Rust leans in to mutter into her ear,

'You never fuckin' learn. Do you, baby?'

#rust cohle x reader #rust cohle #rust cohle x original female character #american wasteland

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thecuriousbeauty · 10 hours

Text

Edging- Harry Styles Blurb

Warnings: Oral(f receiving), fingering, pussy slapping and edging, of course.

Word count: 657

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He was driving you crazy.

You should have known he was up to something when he flashed you a cocky smirk the minute that he got you alone, and tugged your tight little shorts down your thighs. You knew what those shorts did to him, and you had been teasing him in it, all day.

But now, you regret it.

“Harry..”, you whine, trying to buck your hips to meet his mouth that’s hovering over you. He gets you close and pulls away just when you’re about to release.

“What’s wrong baby? Can’t take it?”Harry asks, who had you spread open for him on the bed, his large hands holding your thighs apart, fingers digging into your skin as he devoured your pussy. He looked beautiful with his pink lips moist and dripping with your juices. His head was a mess of curls because you kept tugging on them and running your hands through them. You felt like you could cum with just the sight of him pleasuring you.

That is, if he lets you.

“You shouldn’t have walked around in those tight little shorts around me all day, darling.”, Harry says, grinning at you with hungry eyes. He could keep going at this for a long time. He loved how you were a shaking, whimpering mess under his mercy. He loved that he could make you feel like that.

“I-I’m sorry babe, p-please..”, you beg, trying to move your hips and Harry brings one hand down to your lower belly to keep you in place. “You look so hot like this.”

Your cheeks were flushed, chest heaving up and down quickly, making your breasts bounce a little. “Now lay still and take what I give you. You’re my good girl, aren’t you?”

You nod fervently, hoping that he would let you cum at least this time as he brings his mouth down to your weeping hole again. “Fucking perfect pussy.”, he groans, nudging his nose against your mound, inhaling your sweet must. He brings his tongue down on your clit, making you moan and throw your head back against the pillows. Harry strokes his fingers over your swollen pussy lips before slipping them inside your hole.

“Feels good, baby girl? Tell me how bad you wanna cum.” Harry curls his fingers inside you, stroking your g-spot and you let out a small scream from all the sensitivity. It might just have been minutes, but you feel like you’ve been here for hours.

“P-Please, Harry, please..I-I need to cum..ah!” He works his fingers faster and laps his tongue over your sweet little bud, sending massive waves of pleasure crashing down on you. You could feel the fire-like sensation at the bottom of your stomach and you arch your back, lifting your bottom from the bed, moaning his name.

Harry pushes you down immediately, moving his face away and giving your pussy a sharp slap with his hand. This makes you scream, not with pain, but with the pleasure it leaves behind.

“Told you to lay still, baby. Do that again and I’ll leave you right here with your tight little pussy aching all night.” He wouldn’t, but he likes how it makes your eyes widen and your lips jut out as you mumble apologies. “Sorry..sorry. I-ll be good, p-please I’m s-so close..”

You gasp as his fingers go back inside you and his mouth leaves vibrations on your clit as he speaks. “You know, I’m having so much fun watching you beg and scream..I don’t know if I wanna let you cum yet. I know you can take it for some more time, can’t you, pretty girl?” He kisses your inner thighs, pulling his fingers away just when you’re about to climax, again.You’re sure you’re about to cry.

“Yes, you can.”, he answers for you, shushing your whines with a kiss as he brings his lips to your mouth. “Such a good girl for me.”

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Taglist:-@livypops12352568 @harrydeary, @harryswifee, @harrysbxtchh, @gracelovesethan, @kiwitsayedsugar, @angeldavis777

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valerie-is-in-the-cupboard · 14 hours

Text

Make you mine - Part Two- Lucifer x fallen angel!fem!reader

Go to part one Words: ~2250 TW: swearing, mentions of sex

"You don't stay?" you asked, as you watched Adam getting dressed, your breath still feeling heavy. You've heard many angels say he was a busy man, but you at least hoped he'd spend the night with you.

"Nah. Got better things to do than watching you sleep, sweetheart." He gave you a cocky smirk as he got up, pulling his shirt on over his head. He took a couple of steps towards you, his gaze drifting over your body for a moment longer. Your heart ached at his words, a feeling of vulnerability washing over you, your eyes getting a bit teary.

"Hey, hey, what's with that look? You didn't seriously expect me to cuddle up with you and stay the night, did you?" he asked.

"Well... I hoped you would stick around for a while..."

He sighed at your words, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Ok, here's what we're gonna do. Extermination Day is in two fucking days, babe. I have a lot of things to do." he explained, studying your reaction for a moment, before speaking again. "I might be able to stay longer after that. Just two more days. I'll stay a little longer afterwards, okay dollface?"

You smiled a bit at his words, nodding slightly as you covered your body with your wings. He turned around to leave, but something still bothered you, something you desperately needed an answer to.

"Adam?" you asked your voice low, almost a whisper. His hand stopped on the doorknob as he turned to face you, his eyebrows slightly furrowed.

"Yes?"

Your wings wrapped tightly around you, almost like a protective shield as you thought about the right words to ask him.

"What are we?"

He raised an eyebrow at your question, a bit taken aback by it. "We're... having fun, you know," he said with a forced smile. "Does it really need a label, doll?"

You thought for a moment, not really knowing what to make out of it, but the sickening feeling in your gut surely told you it was not the answer you expected. "I... I guess not?"

"Right. Then there's no need to complicate things, is there? We're having a good time, and that's all that matters, right?" You nodded slightly, trying to force a smile so he wouldn't question you anymore, so he would finally leave you alone. "You sure you're fine? You look like you're about to cry or something," he teased, his tone more playful than concerned. You nodded again, the answer good enough to make him leave you alone in the cold room.

You weren't sure if you expected this to happen or not. You weren't even sure if he was gonna come back. But even if you expected it or not, it still hurt you like hell. You pulled your wings closer as if shielding yourself from the cold emptiness he left behind. You told yourself it was just a fling, but it never felt like that to you.

You couldn't wait for the day to become a proper exorcist. Maybe just then he'll finally give you some more credit...

You couldn't help but smile as you listened to Charlie explaining the whole purpose of her hotel. Adam did tell you some things, but you just now realise how much he kept you in darkness.

"I want them all to have a chance to redeem!" she said excitedly, but a sudden hint of sadness replaced the look on her face. "If only Heaven would listen to me..."

Her eyes widened as you placed a hand on her shoulder, your smile genuine. "I didn't know all these... They... kind of keep us away from the truth up there..." Her smile returned slightly. A part of her knew this would be the case. It was kind of hard to believe that no one in Heaven would share her dreams if they knew.

"Yeah, they usually like doing so..." Lucifer's voice echoed in the room, making your body tense slightly as you both turned to face him. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked at the two of you. There was a hint of a smirk on his face as he spoke. "I see the two of you are getting along." He said, his tone slightly sarcastic.

"Dad, I have the perfect idea!" Charlie said, the stiffness in your body slightly disappearing. "I have that meeting with Heaven tomorrow. Why don't we tell them (Y/n) is here? She told me she had some friends there so maybe-"

"Absolutely not." He said bluntly, the smile on both of your faces disappearing completely.

"But... maybe they'll take her back to Heaven..." Charlie protested.

"And punish her for betraying them?" You and Charlie looked at each other, the hope you might have had left slowly fading. He sighed, stepping closer, his eyes fixed on you. "Look... I know this place is... not your cup of cake, but trust me when I say it is better than what those exorcists would do to you." He said and you could tell there was a hint of remorse on his face. "Besides, Adam-"

"Adam?" you asked quickly as you heard his name, a glint of hope reappearing on your face. "Will Adam be there too?"

Lucifer looked at you, his expression hardening as you mentioned Adam. He had a feeling he knew where this was going, and he didn't like it one bit. "Unfortunately, yes." He said with a slight sneer. "He'll be there. All the higher-ranking angels are obligated to attend those meetings."

"Adam will listen!" you protested, the sudden pain in your back as you tried to move, making you calm down a bit. "He will tell them to get me back."

Lucifer chuckled darkly at your naive belief. "Oh sweetheart, you're quite naive, aren't you?" He said, his tone condescending. He leaned closer, his eyes studying your face intently."Do you really think Adam—or anyone up there—cares enough to even notice you? You're a deserter, a traitor to them. They won't hesitate to destroy you if they get the chance."

"No... you have to listen!" your gaze shifted between them, frustration building up inside of you. "I knew Adam. We... We have a history." you said, even though a part of you wasn't sure if you could call it that. But you really hoped he cared about you enough to take you out of this place... He used to say it, at least. "He'll come after me, please!"

You noticed his eyebrows furrowing slightly at your words, as he sighed."Even if Adam were to care about you, and that's a big 'if', what good do you think it would do? The Archangels would never allow your return to Heaven, and Adam certainly has no power there."

"Dad... I'm sure Adam defending her will surely... have some impact." Charlie said, knowing this might be your only way out. "We have to try at least."

Lucifer's irritation only seemed to grow, but his face slightly softened as he saw his daughter so determined. His eyes met yours once again. He saw hope in them - a very naive, but honest hope. He knew it would be in vain, but he couldn't help but think - what if you were right?

What if Adam changed and actually cared about someone? He knew he was very much able to, but were you, a simple exorcist, this important for him?

He sighed, clearing his throat. "Fine. But I will do the talking." his eyes shifted to Charlie. "You two stay here. This is a... delicate subject and I need to think how to approach it."

Charlie smiled, and you couldn't help but feel extremely grateful too. Your mind already wanders at how you will return and how the pain will disappear. But something in Lucifer's eyes intrigued you. It was a look that crushed your soul just a tiny bit. A look of doubt. And for a moment even you stopped to wonder -

Did Adam really care?

Adam stood in the chair in the meeting room, when he heard the door opening. "You're kind of late, Princess Morningstar," he said, a pinch of annoyance in his tone as his eyes were still concentrated on some golden papers.

Lucifer walked into the meeting room, his steps measured and deliberate. He took a few steps toward Adam, a hint of disgust on his face as he eyed his 'old pal'. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Adam." He said sarcastically, his tone dripping with false pleasantry. "You know how it is. Royal duties and all that."

Adam's eyes opened wide as Lucifer's voice echoed in the room. "You? What the fuck are you doin' here?!"

He smirked at Adam's reaction, clearly enjoying the look of surprise on his face. "Oh, I just thought I'd grace you all with my presence." He said, twirling his cane in his hand. "After all, it's not every day that Hell gets a chance to chat with Heaven's finest."

"You fucker! You're lucky I'm not actually down there or else...." he began, his hologram glitching slightly as the frustration built up inside of him. He stopped, a bad feeling coming his way. "This is not about your brat's hotel, is it?" he asked, sensing something more behind this meeting.

Lucifer chuckled darkly, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Adam. "Oh, you know me too well." He said sarcastically. "But no, this isn't just about the hotel. I have a different matter I want to discuss with you."

Adam took a bite of his ribs, as he sat back down into his chair. "What is it?"

"I think you miss an exorcist, Adam."

Adam's eyebrows furrowed as Lucifer's words sunk in. He was about to take another bite of his ribs, but he froze midway. "What the hell did you say?" He dropped the ribs onto the table, his gaze turning sharp and focused on Lucifer. "Lute! Get yo ass here!" He shouted and the exorcist quickly entered the room, tightly holding her spear. "Are any of the exorcists missing?"

Lute shook her head firmly. "Absolutely not. I had them all assembled this morning for inspection. They all-" she stopped for a moment, thinking. "Shit..."

Adam's eyes narrowed as he saw Lute hesitate. He sat up straight, his mind racing. "Spit it out. What's going on?" he demanded, his voice harsh and impatient.

"There was one rookie missing..." She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, realising she'd been so busy in the past few days that she completely forgot to announce your disappearance.

"And you forgot to mention this until now?" he said, a hint of frustration present in his tone.

Lute winced. She hated to admit that Adam was right - she was slipping on the job. But she straightened up, trying to maintain her composure. "I had a lot on my mind, okay?! I've had to keep all those rookie exorcists in check while you've been busy with those Virtue chicks!"

"Not the point!" Adam intervened, his attention back on Lucifer. "So what if there's a rookie missing? We have plenty of more," he said, his voice nonchalant about the whole situation.

Lucifer smirked as he saw Adam's reaction. He had a feeling this would play out exactly like this. "Ah, but this isn't just any rookie." He said casually, a hint of mockery in his tone. "She told me that you were quite... acquainted."

Adam thought for a moment about all the rookies he talked to recently... too many possibilities. "Who exactly are we talkin' about here, Lucifer? What's her name?" His voice was now filled with a mix of intrigue and tension.

"Oh, you know her quite well, actually. She goes by (Y/n). Sounds familiar?"

"(Y/n)..." he repeated, a lightbulb lighting up. "Oh... Yeah..." he said, giggling a bit. "Eh, whatever."

"W-What?" Lucifer said, surprised by his nonchalance.

"Look, don't get me wrong. The chick's fine. We fucked a few times, but, hell-" he snorted, an amused smirk on his face. "I ain't gonna come down there for her."

"Is that so?" He said, his voice laced with a hint of anger. "You don't care about what happens to her? Despite your... history?"

"History? Slow down a bit... Did she tell you all these stories? About us?"

"Well, I-"

"Um, no." Adam interrupted. "Tell her I'm not coming down there to get her ass. If she survives until the next Extermination... I might consider it, but still, no." he said, getting up to make his way out of the room.

"Wait! You... You really don't care?"

Adam stopped for a moment, thinking. "Nope, not really. I have plenty of others up there." He turned to face him, a smirk on his face. "See? Take it as a gift. I know you have a kink for things that I fucked." His laughing echoed through the room as he disappeared, leaving Lucifer alone in the darkness.

"You little... insufferable..." He clenched his hand tightly around his cane, the veins in his forehead standing out.

The words Adam spoke echoed in Lucifer’s mind, gnawing at him. He’d seen it before—angels who cast aside loyalty like old robes. But there was something about you, something familiar in your heartbreak, that made it sting even more.

How was he going to tell you? How could he tell you that the only person you seemed to trust discarded you so easily?

How could he possibly look into your eyes, just to see the hope leaving them? How could he do that when every time he looked at you...

He saw himself.

Tags: @ratsematary @littlebluefishtail @diffidentphantom @helreyy

@athanasthos @selfship-and-fandom-shenanigans

@xghostnuggsx @vxllys @ustulia

#hazbin hotel #fem reader #female reader #x reader #x female reader #fanfic #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin #lucifer morningstar #hazbin lucifer #luci #lucifer magne #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x reader #angst

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hanahaki-disease · 1 day

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Beyond the Farthest Reaches

Hell or High Water - Percy Jackson/DC crossover

“The Line that Separates Us”

Summary:

Even gods are bound by law.

Set After “Driven by a Holy Force” (a future upload that can be enjoyed without spoilers)

*******************************

“Hello Bruce,” Diana smiled and gave him a hug upon their greeting. He wasn’t much of a tactile person, reserving his physical affection for his children or his lovers, but Diana was a warrior goddess and Bruce was a mortal. He simply let her do as she pleases. “It has been a while since I’ve visited the children, how are they?”

“They are well,” He led her through the manor to one of the many sitting rooms, this one was tucked away in one of the far corners of the manor. Some of the furniture still has dust covers over them and the air in the room was stale from no circulation. And he would chose a more used place to converse, those were more susceptible to listening ears.

“Hopefully I will able to see them after our conversation,” Diana sunk into one of the old couches. “I can tell that this isn’t just a social conversation, is it?” He shook his head. “I thought so, go ahead, speak.”

Bruce paused for a moment, shuffling through the questions in his head to determine which one should be first. “Did you know my sons were demigods?”

She nodded and took a sip of tea. “I knew your sons were children of the gods the moment I met them, I could feel their power challenging mine in a way I had not felt since I lived on Themyscira. Who their parents were, I do not know, but regardless,—” she set her cup down. “Had I told you who there were all those years ago, they would have been in danger that could have been easily avoided.”

“Explain.”

“Demigods live normal mortal lives until the age of twelve or thirteen, that’s when the powers their godly parent passed on to them begins to develop more rapidly causing a shift in their scent. It varies on the god mostly, but the stronger the god, the stronger the scent, even before the reach that age.” She said. “Once a demigod realizes their heritage, their scent grown stronger. It attracts monsters, and without the proper training, they could be killed.” Bruce opened his mouth. “And before you ask: no, mortal weapons cannot harm or kill the monsters. They are deemed unworthy and lesser than them, only celestial bronze can hurt them.”

Bruce absorbed the information for a second. Percy had told him this the other night, though not as detailed as he would have liked. He had sat them all down and told him what had been happening to him the past three four years and what was going to happen next summer.

“If you were aware of his status as a demigod, why could you not have helped him on his ‘quests?’ Couldn’t you have gone with him to ensure his safety?” Bruce questioned.

“If I was allowed to help him, Bruce, do you think he would have that many scars on him? If I was allowed, do you think he would have lost his brother? His friends? Do you think I would have let him or his friend hold the weight of the sky as they fought a titan?” Diana snapped at him.

“By the gods, I wish I could aid him, wish I could enter the camp they stay at to help them train for the fight against Kronos, but I cannot!” Tears began to well up in her eyes and Bruce dropped his head in his hand. She was just as helpless as he was, wanting to go and protect them all, protect Percy, but they couldn’t. He was in a world they just could not enter. “And I love them Bruce, they are more than simple nephews to me, and it pains me as much as it does you that I am useless in helping Perseus, in helping Jason.”

“But I don’t understand why you could not tell me who they were. I’m their father, my job is to protect them!”

“You cannot protect them Bruce! This life, the life of gods and monsters and all the things I face, what Perseus faces, you cannot help.” Diana moved to sit beside him. “I know they are your children. I know you will stop at nothing to keep them as safe as they can be, but Apollo strike me should I lie when I say that you and I simply cannot aid him in the way we want.

“The life of a demigod is difficult, it is dangerous, and most often they die far too soon.” Diana cried. “We can help as much as we can when he returns from his quests, train him as best as we can, teach him as much as we can, but in the end we are meant to stand behind him as he rises to his glory.”

“What about Jason? He’s a demigod too, isn’t he? Why hasn’t he been attacked by monsters or sent to that camp Percy goes to?” Bruce stands form his seat, pacing in the light of the window. “What makes one child different than the other?”

“The difference is the prophecy and who the fates deemed worthy to take on that burden.” She answered. “It is also because of the oath the sons of Kronos had taken.”

“Percy told me about that before, but I don’t understand it. It is just a simple oath.”

She shook her head. “To swear on the Styx is to swear on your very existence, and to break that oath, the consequences are dire and extreme.”

Bruce stopped his pacing. “If Jason is believed to be a son of Poseidon as well, then his death is most likely influenced by the Styx. The same of Perseus becoming the prophecy child and the death of their mother.”

“A god cannot be punished so it falls onto the others.” Diana wiped her tears on one of the napkins. “It falls on the mother for temping the god twice. Punishes the sons for the sins of the father.”

“So the death of my son and the sanity of the other are sacrificed because the god that fathered them cannot be punished?” she nodded and Bruce felt like punching the wall.

He could feel his anger rising within him. A fire that burned in the pit of his stomach and channeled through his veins till in reached his hands. He knows his anger isn’t with Diana for she was held back like him, helpless against the cosmic forces that kept Percy and Jason an arm’s length away. His anger, his rage, the wrath he hasn’t felt since the death of his parents, was all for the sea god who forced his sons to live a life of pain and anguish.

Bruce has fought gods. Bruce has battled against beings as old as time and stronger than any earthly deity. He wonders if Diana could arrange a meeting between him and their father.

“So what can I do? How can I help Percy with all of this?” Bruce asked.

“You provide him with a home, remind him of his humanity,” Diana answered and gathered her things, making her way to the door. “You show him he is loved.”

*******************************

TLDR; Diana, as a minor maiden goddess of war, cannot interfere with quests/prophecies since it’s against divine law. The olympians were being very generous by letting her interact with Percy becuase a) if you hurt Percy, you anger Poseidon, and no one wants that, and b) she’s Zeus’s kid. Special privileges and all that.

So yeah…basically

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

#percy jackon and the olympians #dc comics #pjo x dc #batman fanfiction #percy jackson fanfiction #batman #bruce wayne #diana prince #wonder woman #percy jackson #jason todd

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iolaussharpe-24 · 1 day

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Barbie in the Mojave - Chapter Two

Thank you to everyone who supported chapter one! You're all lovely!

❤️Taglist❤️

(Let me know if you want to be added or taken off for chapter three. No feelings will be hurt.)

@waywardrose, @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction, @lunar-ghoulie, @ominoose, @reallyrallyauthor

@steven-grants-world, @clemdango04, @have-you-seen-my-sanity, @missdictatorme, @angelitawings

@outey-spacey, @autismsupermusicalassassin, @mandytrekkie

Feel free to ask questions about anything as well. I'm happy to talk about my process with anyone that's interested.

Chapter Two: Bad Smells and Worse Ideas

Barbie and Ken stopped and sat down, exhausted. Both of them were tired and panting. Both of them had sore feet (though Barbie’s were considerably worse because of her heels). Both of them were soaked in water despite never being anywhere near water. Both of them were mourning their perfectly styled hair. Ken’s was drenched and stuck to his forehead, dripping in front of his eyes. Barbie’s had gotten frizzy and wild, sitting on her head like one of the dried out brown bushes they walked past. Her headband wasn’t doing much to keep it under control either. Each and every blonde strand had gained sentience and turned against her.

They had walked a long way. The car wasn’t anywhere in sight anymore. It hadn’t been for a long time. The sea of sand had slowly but surely started to become solid rocky ground with dry plants sprouting from split stones and small animals and bugs scurrying into little holes at their feet as they came near.

The sun was setting behind them, making their shadows stretch out several feet in front of them as the air turned cold and the sky began to change colors overhead.

“Barbie, shouldn’t we have found the speedboat by now? This place is like an endless beach without the beach!”

“It’s called a desert.”

“Are you sure this is the right way?”

“I think so.”

“Well what did Weird Barbie say?”

“We’re doing what Weird Barbie said.”

“Wandering aimlessly?”

“For the last time, she didn’t give me directions! I was told to drive a sports car to a speedboat to a rocket ship to a tandem bike to a camper van to a snowmobile to roller blades and then I’d be in the real world where I’d find my kid by equally unspecified means! I don’t know what I’m doing or how I’m supposed to do it, but I want to get it done so that we can go back home and everything can go back to normal.”

He contemplated that for a minute, then smiled brightly. “And then, when we can do boyfriend girlfriend things together. Right?”

She nodded, just to make him stop asking questions. “Sure Ken…. It’s getting late,” she added with a sigh. “We should probably camp out… somewhere. Get some rest so we can keep walking in the morning. I was hoping to be done and home by now, but nothing’s been going right, has it?”

It was annoying. Very, very annoying. All of it. She felt like she was going crazy. She knew that there were going to be differences between Barbieland and the Real World. She did. It was a logical inevitability that only made sense. After all, they are two different worlds. Different realities that were affected by one another, but still very much separated from each other. It sounded absolutely insane, but it did, for some bizarre reason, make a weird amount of sense. Like old sitcoms with a supernatural or otherworldly element that everybody treated like a completely normal thing.

Ugh.

Ken was crouched down with a pile of sticks in front of him, hitting two rocks against each other repeatedly. Trying to start a fire. Fair enough. Just like how the sun had seemed hotter than they were used to in Barbieland, the night air, in turn, was colder. Even in the winter, when everyone tended to bundle up in thick coats and fuzzy boots, the cold never really affected them. This did. It was making Barbie’s skin break out into a thousand tiny bumps that gave her a weird tingling sensation as they appeared.

Must be another human thing. Another problem to fix. Like the cellulite on her legs. She shivered at that thought. Would this spread too? At least the cellulite was easy to hide. It was just on her thighs and was easily covered up as long as she wore longer shorts and skirts.

Their clothes sat in a heap near the place they’d decided to call their campsite, despite not having a dream camper or a tent or a backpack or even a sleeping bag – which was the absolute barest minimum of camping gear they could have possibly had on hand. They’d been forced to carry everything while they walked who knows how far for who knows how long and when they finally decided to stop, they’d just dumped everything unceremoniously in the dirt and used their skates, pads, helmets, and Barbie’s hairbrush to hold down their clothes.

She reached up and felt her frizzy tangles. Felt like a bird’s nest. Probably looked like Weird Barbie’s hack job of a haircut. So, just to feel like she had some control over something, she picked up her brush and started trying to tame the beast on her head.

“I think I saw a spark!”

Ken did not see a spark.

Barbie didn’t have it in her to tell him though. Instead, she praised and encouraged him to keep trying. Saying, “You’ll get a fire in no time,” and genuinely hoping that he would. Maybe that was what was so wrong with everything. Fear and negativity. Maybe, if she just tried to keep a positive attitude, and kept smiling, and tried to go on like her world wasn’t turning upside down, she’d manifest that reality and everything would go back to normal on its own. Or, at the very least, they might get lucky.

It took hours before either one of the two dolls could start a fire. And, by the time they did, it had already gotten cold. To keep warm, the two of them mixed and matched the clothes they brought to cover up as well as they could since they tiny flame they made wasn’t providing them with any kind of warmth whatsoever.

Barbie was in a pair of hot pink ankle boots that didn’t match her pants, and a baby blue long-sleeve shirt that didn’t match anything. Ken had closed his jacket, put on a pair of low waisted jeans, and swapped his sandals for his neon yellow roller skates, though he removed the neon pink wheels from the bottom to make it easier on him to walk in the morning.

After a few moments of sitting side by side to keep warm, Ken lifted his head and sniffed the air. “Do you smell that?” he asked, his brows furrowed.

“Smell what?”

“I don’t know. Something smells… bad.”

Automatically, Barbie turned her head away from her friend, breathed into her hand, and sniffed. Not great. Not terrible. But not great. Think that this wasn’t what Ken was smelling, she lowered her hand and sniffed as well. That’s when she noticed it. A sour smell in the air.

She scrunched up her nose at it at first.. and then realized that it seems awfully close.

For no real reason at all, Barbie lifted her arm and smelled the underside.

Oh. My. God.

She retched and lowered her arm so fast she was impressed that it didn’t snap clean off at the joint. Ken looked at her, confused, and she forced herself to smile and pretend that it was nothing. Even as she dug her nails into her biceps just to make sure that he arms stayed down in an attempt to keep the smell from coming out.

She didn’t understand what was happening to her. Why was her body doing all these things it wasn’t supposed to? First, she was leaking water, her hair was messed up, then she started getting bumpy, and now she smelled?! And that wasn’t taking the fact that she got lost or the wrecked car into account, or any of things that happened before she left Barbieland. This was all in the past few hours.

What could possibly be going on in this little girl’s life to change her like this? It didn’t make sense. How could anything be so wrong with a human that it punched its way through to another world just to drastically alter a Barbie in so many awful ways? It was like time and space and fate had it out for her or something! Worse than Raquelle at her most infuriating. Worse than-

Her thoughts were cut short by a sound in the distance. It was loud and shrill and, like so many other disembodied noises in the dark, was both familiar and strange. It sounded like a dog’s howl in the middle of the night, but it was twisted. It was wrong. And it wasn’t alone.

More howls accompanied the first like a choir singing a chaotic chorus together. One by one they sounded off, the noise echoing in the distance. Barbie looked out into the darkness ahead, unable to see anything at all. Ken did the same, though for a very different reason. He started walking away from her.

“What are you doing?!”

“Dogs! I want to pet the dogs!”

She stared at him, incredulous. “Ken! We don’t know anything about this place! And that doesn’t sound like Skipper walking a group of dogs to me. There’s no one around. We’re out in the middle of nowhere! This is a bad idea.”

“Hey, when it comes to petting dogs, there are no bad ideas.”

“If we were still in Barbieland where we know all the dogs!”

He wasn’t listening. He was just marching off blindly into the dark, his silhouette growing darker and darker. Blending into nothing.

“Don’t go too far! I don’t want you to get lost!” she called out desperately.

Ken didn’t answer. He might have been too far already.

Despite how annoying he could be, Ken was still her friend. She cared about him. Didn’t want him to get hurt. As of right now, he was the only piece of home she had with her. Well, him and a small pile of stuff she had been forced to carry since the car crashed, but she couldn’t talk to a cute skirt the way she could Ken.

She hoped that he had enough common sense to stay close.

Despite poor Barbie’s warning, Ken couldn’t see any harm in wanting to pet a dog. Or a cat for that matter. Or a horse. He loved horses. More, he suspected, than Western Stampin’ Ken did. Animals in Barbieland were always friendly and cute easy to handle. Always. And the Real World counldn’t be that different from Barbieland. It just couldn’t. Their world was made to resemble the Real World. To fix all of the problems the humans faced. That’s what the Barbies and Kens were made for in the first place. An unfriendly animal, especially a dog, felt nothing short of unnatural to him.

She was just being paranoid. Had to be. He’d never known her to be paranoid before, but he’d never known her to have any malfunctions either. This must be one of them. Yeah, that made sense to him. In fact, it made so much sense that it might have just been the reason why Barbie wanted to do this alone. She didn’t want anyone to see how bad this problem could get! He could understand that. If there was a chance that she could end up like Weird Barbie living away from everyone else in the Weirdhouse with all of the recalled Barbies and Kens, it only made sense that she wouldn’t want anyone to see that. In her position, Ken wouldn’t want that either.

Another howl sounds as he walks. That’s a good sign, right? Means he’s getting close. Like how being far away from something made it look smaller. But in reverse.

Excited, Ken walked faster. He thought about all the dogs he’d met in Barbieland and how cute they were. With their big eyes and black noses and little smiles. He even loved the old Taffy dog with her three puppies. Two of them had bobble heads, and the third one needed to be potty trained. That’s why the Barbie that owned them all always had a few newspapers in her dreamhouse. She always let him pet and play with them when he saw her.

Just as he was starting to smile from the memory, he stopped in his tracks. There was a dog in front of him. A little puppy.

It had tan fur and a cream colored underbelly. Big black eyes that stared straight at him. It wasn’t smiling though, that was weird. But the same black nose he always loved nuzzling his own against. It stood perfectly still, watching him as he watched it.

“Hi there,” he said softly, sinking down to his knees. He slowly held out his hand and cooed, “It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. My name’s Ken.”

The puppy stared at him, then stepped forward, sniffing his hand. It yipped at him and two more puppies came out from around the corner to join the first.

In that moment, he just knew that Barbie was going to be jealous. He’d tell her that he found puppies and that he got to play with them, and she was going to look at him and say, “I wish I’d gone with you.” He just knew it. What else would she say? He was right. There’s absolutely no way that petting a dog can be a-

Grrrrrrrr…

That wasn’t a good sound.

Looking up at the rocky side of the plateau, Ken saw two more dogs. Fully grown ones. Their teeth were showing as they growled at him. The blond stood up straight, still smiling. “Hi! These little cuties must be yours.”

One of the dogs jumped down, still growling at him, it’s ears low, teeth bared. Then the other dog jumped down to join the first. And a third came from behind him.

His smile fell at bit as he watched. They reminded him of something… unpleasant. Something he’d seen in some of the older movies while at the theater with Barbie. Maybe she was right… maybe this actually was a bad idea. He hadn’t thought that was even possible until now.

Oh no.

Ken took a few steps backwards as one of the dogs started to snap at him, still snarling while it did. He raised his hands, showing the dog his empty palms. “Woah, woah, easy. Easy. I’m not going to hurt you. Or the puppies.”

A loud BANG! sounded from the darkness, echoing through the valley that Ken had been walking in. Almost immediately after, one of the dogs let out a pained whine unlike anything Ken had ever heard in his life. The others turned and ran away while the one that cried fell to the ground, a thick red liquid soaking its fur on one side. He’d never seen anything like it before and… wow… he was thinking that a lot lately, wasn’t he? The Real World was so different from Barbieland. Even the things that were familiar were different.

He looked down at the dog lying at his feet. It wasn’t moving. Wasn’t making any noise. It was more like the dogs back home that way. But in a bad way. A way that made him… not happy. Very not happy. It was like how he felt when Barbie turned down his attempts at doing boyfriend/girlfriend things to have a party with the other Barbies but it wasn’t that. This was different. Like everything else in this world.

He knelt down beside the dog and put his hand on it’s snout. It didn’t react. The fur was coarse and warm. But… it was getting cold. Fast.

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t even know what was happening. All he knew was that he didn’t like the way it made him feel.

Dirt crunched under heavy boots behind the blond while he knelt over the animal. He looked up to see a man wearing a long coat and a hat standing there. The first person he’d seen aside from Barbie since they left home.

“You lost, brother?”

#barbie 2023 #mojave 2015 #crossover fic #margot robie barbie #ryan gosling ken #barbie and ken #stereotypical barbie #beach ken #jack jackson #john jack jackson #the fic is still alive!!#cross posted on wattpad

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