#i finally “beat” same face syndrome | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hencheri · 3 months ago

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▸ 18+ mdni.

What happens when Jeno is secretly obsessed with you and has a roommate as equally sick as him?

| pairing. jeno x fem!reader x haechan

| warnings. noncon, kidnapping, implied stockholm syndrome, perv!jeno, mean!haechan, unprotected sex, overstimulation.

| wc. 8.6k

| a.n.: it's dirty dirty dirty i am ashamed of myself!! (i love this)

You hate the cold and you hate winter. Especially when the weather goes into a frenzy like that; violent winds that make it difficult to walk through and snow covering the sidewalk that turns into slush.

You’re going back to your dorm after your last class of the day, now being 7 p.m.. You have to walk a couple of minutes to reach your dorm and you thank yourself for thinking to bring mittens because the tip of your fingers are already starting to get numb.

Finally getting to the sidewalk, you notice a car parked near the curb. It’s on, the lights illuminating the street, the driver still inside the vehicle, possibly waiting for someone. You don’t pay too much mind to it, passing by the car to get to your dorm.

But the sound of the engine stopping alerts you, though you don’t halt your walk, your heart accelerates a little.

When you hear the distant sound of footsteps hitting the sidewalk covered in thick sleet, you involuntarily speed up your steps, trying to remain somewhat calm. For some reason, you can’t help but get a slight negative feeling at the suspicious person behind you, thinking they might be following you towards the entrance of your dorm.

You’re soon reaching the stairs, but before you can even register what’s happening, you’re suddenly being pulled back by your bicep. You gasp out of surprise, your heart now beating fast in your chest, hearing it pounding painfully in your skull.

The person grunts when you try to escape from their bruising grip, but they’re too strong for you to do anything to defend yourself. You’re about to scream at the top of your lungs, hoping for someone in your building to hear you and maybe push your aggressor off of you, but as his face comes into view, you shut up immediately.

You don’t recognize him at all, but his features are distracting you from what is going on, giving him the advantage to cover your mouth with his palm. He turns you back around and slips his free arm over your waist, forcing you to walk to the same car you saw seconds prior.

You reach the vehicle in a few steps and tears run down your face as you feel totally helpless, the small translucent pearls piling at the base of his fingers. You squirm against his firm chest, attempting to hit him in the stomach with your elbows, but they’re too short to touch him.

He groans out of frustration, opening the back door and gripping your hair with his fist. He lowers your head so he can push you in, your torso hitting the leather seats first.

He immediately joins you in the backseat, crawling on top of you, his knees on each side of your body. He pulls something out of his pocket hurriedly as you kick your legs and scream for help when you notice him ripping a piece of the tape he just took out. He takes a hold of your hair once again, nails digging into your scalp, and muffles down your cries with the grey duct tape.

After that, he brings both of your hands behind your back, taping them together with the same adhesive he used for your mouth. You can hear the thumping of your heart in your rib cage and the tired sobs you let out, sensing something hard poking against your ass, eyes widening as you can only imagine it being his bulge.

He puts his two feet on the ground outside and you eagerly try to move your head so you can see what he’s doing. He’s wrapping the grey tape over your ankles covered by your black tights.

You can’t process what’s happening to you, not believing that this is reality, trying to convince yourself you’re just having an awful nightmare. The position he has you in is uncomfortable, throat hurting from all your screams and calls for help.

He gets back in, but this time he shuts the door behind him. He has you totally fragile and defenceless underneath him. You can’t do anything when a burning desire spurs him on to reach under your skirt and tug down on your tights and panties. It seems like he doesn’t want to waste any time, easily sliding your clothes down your legs, leaving them bare nude under his perverted gaze.

You cry and squirm avidly, shaking your head from side to side when you hear the sound of his fly being dragged down, pertinently knowing what he’s about to do to you.

You feel the head of his cock pushing at your entrance not long after. You let out a muffled moan of pain, the burning sensation between your legs hurting a lot. He only grunts, sinking his member deeper into your pussy, dismissing your loud cries.

He picks up your hips, bringing your ass flushed against his hairy pelvis.

“I knew it’d be a tight fit, but fuck,” he groans out, your tightness refraining him from going feral on your poor body. “How tiny are you?”

He plants a foot on the ground of the car, his other leg bent at the knee beside you.

You almost yell—if it wasn’t for the piece of duct tape on your mouth—when he first snaps his hips against your butt, reaching really deep inside of you. He can’t control himself as he drives his cock in you back and forth right away, his movements impatient and uncoordinated.

You bawl your eyes out, tears rolling over your cheeks and down to the grey tape covering your lips, making it less sticky. The side of your face is pressed down on the car seat, having no use of your arms since they are tied up behind your back.

He grabs your asscheeks from under your skirt, digging his short nails into your flesh, moaning out at the sight of your pussy swallowing his engorged cock, stretching your cunt impossibly wide. His erection is so big compared to you, it’s amazing how you manage to take him anyway, as if you were made for this, made to please him.

The skin of his thighs slap against yours, the lewd and vulgar sounds of him taking advantage of you echoing in the car. He loves how your hole gets so wet for him, welcoming him in despite his large size.

Your cries drive him insane, motivating him to go harder and harder, chasing his high like a mad man. The head of his cock keeps rubbing over your g-spot, almost impossible for him to not hit it. You shake under him and begin to cry louder, your walls clenching around him tightly.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he curses out under his breath, feeling his balls tightening. “Gonna make you cum and fill you full of me,” he promises and you know he’s going to stick to his words.

You don’t want him to make you feel pleasure, and even though the stretch of your pussy is immensely painful—his cock the biggest you’ve ever taken—you feel your orgasm building up at the pit of your stomach.

He drills his hard cock into you and it’s all it takes for your high to hit you, legs trembling.

He finally steadies his hips over your butt in a loud thud, his skin smacking your own. “Ah! Shit,” he grits his teeth, the spasms of your pussy around his girth sending him over the edge.

He keeps an arm around your waist to hold you up against him while his other hand comes to lay just beside your head on the leather seat. His cock spurts out thick ropes of cum in you, thrusting two and three times to get everything out, and there’s so much that you feel your tummy blown out.

You whimper under him, your hole still clenching around him avidly, recovering from your intense orgasm. He sighs above you, panting loudly as he stays inside of you, looking down at where your two bodies connect.

He slips out just a little, just enough for him to see the white ring around the base of his shaft and his cum threatening to escape your warmth.

“Mmh, fuck. So cute,” he says, his voice sounding almost desperate, so needy.

The car smells so much like sex it makes your head spin, the energy slowly leaving your body. You’re tired from everything, from all the crying and the horrible position he has you in; panties and tights pooling at your ankles, back arched for your ass to meet his crotch.

“You’re a little creamer, baby,” he coos, as if what he said is anything sweet. It seems like the messier it is, the more aroused he is. “Got my cock all slicked up in your cum.”

You moan out when he thrusts back in, and you restart to cry. He’s still fully hard and so he doesn’t want to waste any time, fucking his cock into your pussy again. He goes rough on you and you think he doesn’t really realize how his eagerness turns him almost violent.

He leans his chest down over your back, pounding his cock into your poor, soppy pussy, loud squelching noises coming from it each time he slides in and out.

“God, you’re so tight, I can't get enough…” He growls in your ear, his fleshy lips touching the shell of your ear. “Pussy’s too good.”

Your cunt is so sensitive, already swollen, and him sliding his dick into you is so painful, your glossy eyes making you look so pathetic and weak.

He overstimulates himself as well, being too deep into ecstasy to stop his hip thrusts. You can hear him hissing at the pain he inflicts on himself, forcing another orgasm from the both of you.

He cums a second time, and you do too just seconds after, cunt repeatedly closing around him. This orgasm feels more intense than the precedent, and it feels good, too shamefully amazing.

He releases himself in you and there is less cum than the first time, but still enough to dribble out of your pussy, running down your inner thighs and staining his leather seats underneath you.

His lips remain close to your face, murmuring vulgar things into your ear and mouthing on your jaw, descending to your neck, going back up to your damp cheeks. He even traces the shape of your lips above the shiny grey duct tape, kissing you everywhere he can, leaving wet trails behind.

He makes you orgasm for a third time, stimulating your puffy and aching clit till your high shoots through you. He does too later on, filling your pussy up to the brim. When he slips out, he can see how messy you are now, how he totally ruined your adorable princess parts.

He passes his middle finger through your dewy folds, loving the sight of you covered in his cum, acknowledging how his entire cock is smeared in your cream, too.

You sniffle as you hear him stuffing himself back up in his pants, zipping his fly up. You lay there uselessly, too tired to think about anything specific or attempt to fight for your escape again. That’d be foolish.

He pulls back up your black tights and panties, not caring that your underwear is going to be all soiled in both of your releases. “All better now,” he sings when your legs are hidden again.

He then steps out of the car and you take the opportunity to turn on your back with a lot of effort.

You perceive his silhouette getting around the vehicle through the window, getting in the driver seat. He starts the engine and you think only about the worse. You’re done for, this is your last few moments of life. This man is probably about to drive you to a deserted area and kill you.

As he drives away from the dorm building, you make eye contact with him through the rear mirror and your heart skips a beat when you see his face again.

His eyes are captivating, dark orbs looking at you like he knows this is just the beginning.

You don’t know why he chose you, why it had to happen to you, and you feel like you’ll never know the reason why.

He breaks eye contact and reports his attention to the road, driving you to an unknown location.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

After a twenty minute car ride of pure silence, the vehicle abruptly stops. You watch as he turns off the car, taking the key from the ignition.

He steps out of the car and you hear him pulling on the handle to open the door above your head. You feel the cold breeze hitting your skin, an uncomfortable shiver running up your spine. You don’t have time to see his face again nor the place where he parked the car before he covers your eyes with a piece of cloth, tying it behind your head.

You try to speak when you feel him picking you up, but of course your words are inaudible because of the tape muffling your voice.

The most you can do is thrash your tied legs around, which is completely useless at this point. However, you do earn a disapproving groan from him when you kick a little too hard into his abdomen.

“Stop it.”

You freeze at the sound of his voice, his husky tone making goosebumps appear on your skin. What freaks you out, though, is the mention of your name after his warning.

He knows you. It could have never been somebody else, he picked you because he had the intention to do so.

You imagine him carrying you in bridal style, feeling one arm under your knees and the other around your waist. It feels weird to be so close to him in a non-sexual way, sensing the warmth of his hands and the thickness of his winter coat against your side. You have no idea who he is, yet you can hear and feel the pace of his breath.

You guess he’s walking up stairs, then the jingling of keys and a door opening is being heard, a front of warm air hitting your freezing body. You figure that you’re in some sort of house or apartment. Or whatever place he’s decided to take you to.

You can clearly decipher the sound of his boots walking on a wooden floor, slightly creaking with each heavy step he takes, making the situation even more stressful than it is.

You’re tossed onto a mattress, your body bouncing as it hits the soft surface. The piece of cloth covering your eyes is being pulled off, your eyes attempting to adjust to your surroundings.

“There you go,” he softly murmurs.

A crease appears between your brows as you have a clear view of his face, as attractive as you remember him to be.

His jaw is perfectly sculpted, giving him a manly look with dark and straight eyebrows that sharpen his expression. His hair is a deep black colour, disheveled and messy, strands going in every direction.

He grins at the way you’re ogling at him, the corner of his lips lifting up, knowing you didn’t expect him to look like this. He’ll take that as a compliment.

You’re too entranced by his looks to notice him grabbing your ankles, slowly peeling the tape from your trapped legs. Your heart is beating faster, anticipating what he’s going to do. He’s freeing you, but you believe it’s only to do something else to you that you surely won’t enjoy.

Oh, that’s such a lie, you tell yourself, remembering the three orgasms he got from you effortlessly.

“We’re gonna get you rid of that, hm?” He proposes—talking about your two hands tied together—even though he’s still going to execute himself anyway. It’s not like you can give him consent, especially when your mouth is still taped.

He unwraps it easily, helping you remove your boots and coat after once it’s gone. He sneaks his hands under your skirt and his fingers touching your hips makes you jump. You grab his wrists and he pauses for a moment, staring at your hands that are much smaller than his. It’s the first time you’ve deliberately touched him.

But he rapidly recollects his thoughts, pulling your panties down your legs. He isn’t so careful while he undresses you, even more tears falling down from your reddened eyes. Your attempts to fight him are all useless, and you feel very defenceless against him, like you’re just wasting your breath.

“I thought I told you to stop?”

His voice reaches your ears, swallowing hard when he discards your black tights and your pair of underwear away on the floor. You form fists with your hands, closing your legs tightly so he can’t touch your private parts.

He tries to pull your thighs apart, but you shake your head from side to side, desperately showing your disagreement.

He catches onto it to your relief. “What’s wrong, pretty? Got something to tell me?” You then nod your head, glossy, red eyes looking at him through wet eyelashes. “Okay, okay…”

You wince when he rips the thick duct tape from your mouth, your upper lip stinging from the fast removal.

“Sorry,” he apologizes kindly, extending his arm up toward your face to rub your numb lips gently. They’re slightly covered by your saliva, but he doesn’t seem to mind, passing his large digit over your flesh. “Better, now?”

You sniff and bounce your head as a yes. His change of behaviour surprises you, but somehow you believe he really does care about you. Not in a particularly normal way, though.

You feel like you have to listen to him, be obedient because you don’t know what to expect of him and also because you clearly have no other choice. Your hopes of getting away are gone, and even if you do find the strength to fight again, you don’t know if it’s worth it. It’s like he already possesses a part of you that you’ll never get back.

“Can you not… touch me there? I- I’m really hurting, and I…” You babble out shamefully, looking down at your feet to avoid his serious gaze fixated on you.

“Are you really now? Poor girl,” he empathizes, faking a pout, or maybe he actually pities your condition.

He reaches for your thigh and separates it from the other. You let him manhandle you, biting down on your lip to hold back your tears that are threatening to fall once again.

He looks at your pussy and passes his thumb through your lips gently. He’s crouched down in front of you so he can see how your hole indeed is still stretched to the size of his cock.

“Shit, you really are swollen,” he says almost pitifully as if he isn’t the reason for your pain. You’re embarrassed at the fact that he’s openly inspecting your bruised pussy, his index finger running between your puffy lips. He occasionally rubs your gaping hole, your legs twitching from the sensitivity.

“Please,” you beg, having a little hope that he’ll spare you.

He hums pensively, still having his eyes on your cunt, a sentiment of satisfaction passing through him when he sees some of his remains leaking from you. “I have an idea,” he states, standing up.

Your eyes widen a bit at his words, not knowing if his idea will benefit your tired state or not.

You then watch him undressing in front of you and you gulp, guessing what his idea might be. As he passes his t-shirt over his head, he looks at you, frowning his brows. “You need to take off your shirt, too. Plus, it’s all wrinkled.”

Not again, you think to yourself. The thought of enduring another sexual act with him makes you want to sob. You stop giving him the benefit of the doubt that he’d be somewhat normal with you.

“Why…?” You question, your voice shaky and on the verge of tears.

He doesn’t seem to like that, but he keeps his composure nonetheless. “Why what? Come on, I'll help you, then.” He wastes no time in swatting your hands away to lift up your shirt at the hem, ultimately getting you naked for him.

He steps out of his pants, shrugging them away on the floor, joining his winter coat and boots. Only in his boxers, his bulge looks huge, and you know pertinently that it is. How he can still be hard and horny, you don’t want to know.

He slips out of his underwear pretty soon after and you feel anxious. Maybe it’s excitement, but you can’t really describe how you’re feeling with proper words. It’s so… abnormal. Nothing you’ve experienced before.

He backs up a little, keeping eye contact with you while he strokes his cock to be fully hard. “Lay back down on the bed,” he orders and you do so, pushing yourself to the center of the mattress to lie on your back, totally naked, hair sprawled on his grey sheets.

He bites down on his lip as he watches you get in this new position. Under the dim light of the room, his skin looks flawless, collarbones really defined and hollowed. His biceps are big and you know it’s why it was so easy for him to carry you from the car to the interior of this place.

Your stomach churns in a mix of anticipation and stress, wondering what he has in mind.

When he joins you on the bed, his knees dipping into the soft mattress, your hands become sweaty and you gulp down, nervosity settling in your body. You could try to fight him, or at least escape his grip, but you don’t.

He straddles your body, going up to your chest, his cock only centimetres away from your face. You then realize what he wants to do, and you doubt he’ll do it gently. He has no reason to be.

“I wonder what your mouth can do…” He says rather to himself than to you, his right hand holding his cock at the base and the left going to grip the back of your head. “If it’s as good as that tight cunt. Wanna let me find out, mh, baby?”

He guides the tip of his erection to your mouth and you reluctantly part your swollen lips, opening your mouth just enough for him to fit his bulbous head inside.

“Yeah… Just like that,” he approves, inserting more of himself in your warmth.

He lifts your head up so he can slide inside of you entirely, your sore lips meeting his pubic bone, the sharp hair on his pelvis brushing up against your nose. You look up at him with glossy eyes when he groans out loud at the sensation of his cock nestled all the way in your throat, gritting his teeth and his dark eyebrows knitting together.

He keeps your head in place over his shaft, your throat contracting around him when you gag a little from the deep intrusion.

You tap your hand repetitively against his naked thigh, signaling for him to let you breathe. He doesn’t look like he cares that much, growling at how warm your mouth is. You tap again, only for him to get your palm away with his that was previously holding the base of his cock.

“Shh, I know you can take it, pretty.”

You loudly whine as a protest, hoping it will at least get him to pull out. The saliva drips out of your mouth, leaking down towards his balls and his upper thighs. You sense his cock twitching in your mouth, surely pleased to be weighing down on your wet and warm tongue.

After a few more seconds of his cock lodged in your throat, he quickly pulls out when you gag and shake your head.

You wheeze, coughing and inhaling heavily in an attempt to catch your breath. He smiles at this, finding your struggle to take him adorable.

“See, wasn’t so bad, don’t you think?”

You don’t dare to make eye contact with him, already feeling the cocky smirk on his lips.

He grabs your jaw, forcing you to turn face to his hard cock when he uses his other hand to guide it back into your mouth. You show some resistance, but it’s useless as he makes his way in, forcing your lips apart by squishing your face between his fingers.

You feel your core heating up despite the situation, clenching your thighs to at least ease the ache between your legs. You take him all, not having any other choice anyway as he forces his length down your mouth, making your eyes sting and your throat burn.

He starts thrusting in back and forth, letting out moans and grunts that show how pleasurable this feels for him. He won’t stop until he’s satisfied.

As he literally fucks your mouth, he throws his head back, sucking air through his teeth, controlling himself to not cum in your mouth right away. His dark hair sticks to his forehead because of the sweat, some strands dangling in front of his piercing eyes, wet at the ends.

He keeps his gaze on you, precisely the way his engorged cock enters your mouth, your lips wrapping around his shaft tightly, all coated in spit and, as unpleasant as it sounds, remains of your earlier intercourse. All you want to do right now is to take a hot shower and scrub the traces of him off of your skin.

But you doubt you’d get everything off as he’ll forever be engraved in your mind.

You place your hands on the top of his thighs, finding it difficult to follow the pace of his hip thrusts, your fingers clenching into fists.

His hand that was holding your jaw is now on its previous spot on the back of your head, gripping your roots and keeping you still. Saliva accumulates at the corners of your mouth and you hate the damp feeling, hate how dirty and soiled you feel. Hate it even more when you know he loves it.

“Ah, fuck,” he chokes out, his hips stuttering and his grip tightening around your hair. Your eyebrows knit together at the hold he has on your head, forcing you to keep his cock in your throat. You know it's going to hurt badly after.

With a twitch of his cock, he releases himself down your throat, the salty taste of his cum hitting your tongue. He slips out of you and some of his cum drips down at the corners of your lips.

“Swallow,” he instructs, wiping off the rest with his thumb, waiting for you to swallow before putting his digit in your mouth so you can lick everything off.

You follow his order, sucking his thumb and swallowing again.

“Good girl,” he praises and pats your cheek.

You recall the eye contact you shared back in the car through the rear mirror, one that meant ‘it’s only the beginning’.

You know now that tonight was just the start. Of what, you’re still wondering.

You can’t escape as he has his arms wrapped around your naked body, his soft cock nudging your back, his chin resting on top of your head. You’re not sure if you found any sleep, but you haven’t dreamt. Or maybe you’re already in one, it’s just harder for you to wake up from it.

You wait for the sun to arrive, or secretly wish it would never so you would slowly morph with the mattress and make one.

The alarm setting off pulls him out of slumber and your heart palpitates at the thought of having him off of you, but this euphoric feeling doesn’t last long as he leaves you alone in the room to go somewhere.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Sore.

The only word you can use to describe how you feel right now. An intense feeling of grogginess takes over as you wake up, your head pounding heavily.

You wish you could say it was only a nightmare. A sick and twisted dream you’ve just endured. However, you physically and mentally can’t say that. Your swollen eyes start to well up with salty tears as you look around the unfamiliar dimly lit room and bed you lay in, remembering the sick events that took place almost a day prior.

You’re cold. A thin grey sheet covering your trembling body, the feeling grosser than ever when you feel something damp in your underwear, threatening to seep down your thighs.

You begin to sob when you realize what it is. You can’t forget the way he handled you like you were some type of object, just a toy for him to use. You hated that you also came multiple times, you couldn’t help how your body was reacting to him.

The bed is empty, you’re left by yourself to be eaten alive by your thoughts. You fear for when he returns from wherever he currently is, scared he may try to do something to you again but even rougher than the first time.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the bedroom door creaking open. You immediately shut your eyes before you can see the figure standing in the doorway. Your face is tear stained, but you still attempt to make it seem like you are still asleep.

You hold your breath when the sound of footsteps get closer to the bed, even scarier when they stop. The next thing you know a hand is smoothing out your hair, their fingers running from your hairline down to your jaw. Their hand moves to wipe your visible tears and a wave of chills hits you at the feeling.

You slowly open your eyes, trying to register the face of the person in front of you.

It's not the same guy as before.

This one has brown wavy hair, delicate features and heart-shaped lips.

“Good, you’re awake.” The unfamiliar man speaks up after a minute of pure silence since he’s walked in.

You are speechless, not wanting or knowing what to say. Does he already know what happened? Is he in on this too?

You remain silent, the most you can do is tear up once again as you’re scared of what is yet to come.

“Get up, you need a shower,” is all that leaves his mouth before he begins to pull the sheet from your frail body. His authoritative words make you flinch a bit, but you don’t have the energy to fight back.

He encourages you to get up with a sign of his hand and you execute yourself with difficulty, the bones in your body cracking, making you wince in pain. You can’t ignore the messy state that you are in, shivering as the temperature of the room feels very cold. This situation embarrasses you so much.

He notices your struggle to lift yourself from the bed, leading him to take matters into his own hands and lift you from the mattress. You are surprised at how he isn’t dragging you around like a pet, but his grip on you is assertive.

You feel your face heating up at the fact that your chest is pressed up against his firm one. You immediately pass your arms around his neck as one of his arms wraps around your back, the other one under your butt, your legs still dangling in the air.

He walks only a few steps out of the bedroom and down the hall before opening the new door with his hand that was previously over your back. You enter a rather small bathroom like he’s told you before in the bedroom.

He puts you down and you manage to find your balance, even though you still struggle a bit. He makes his way to the shower and turns on the faucet. He comes back to you as the water heats up, yet he doesn’t leave.

“W-what are you doing?” You stumble over your words when his hands find their way to the hem of your shirt, threatening to expose your naked body. He stops and stares at you blankly.

“You’re shaking like a leaf, you obviously can’t stand on your two feet let alone take care of yourself.” He states firmly. You’re not some little girl who can’t do anything on your own, you’re a grown woman.

“No, I got it.” You speak without a second thought.

He arcs an eyebrow up, as if not believing you. “And what will happen if you trip over and knock your head into the counter? Have you seen yourself?”

You swallow. You dare to look at yourself in the mirror above the sink, and you aren’t looking good at all. He has a point, but you still don’t want to undress yourself in front of a stranger.

“I’m just here to make sure you don’t hurt yourself. I won’t do anything.”

You don’t answer for a few seconds, debating in your head. It wouldn’t be smart to trust him, but it’s not like you have a choice, and anyway, right now you prefer him over the other guy…

You start to pull your shirt over your head with a burning face, avoiding his gaze at all cost. You feel extremely humiliated as you slip out of your panties.

He doesn’t show any signs of lust, actually having a calm and composed expression. You shouldn’t get fooled, though, because he could be good at hiding his true emotions.

You cover your naked breasts with your arms, keeping your legs closed so he can’t get a good look at your private parts. “I can wash myself. Can you, please, leave?”

“Whatever. I’ll get you some clothes,” he replies, rolling his eyes. He looks at you one last time before saying, “My name’s Haechan, by the way.”

And with that, he actually leaves. He closes the door behind him, which relieves you a little bit. He at least agreed to give you some privacy. It’s nice of him, you think, but you shouldn’t get high hopes.

You step into the hot water, your cold limbs feeling more relieved as you stand directly under the shower head. You wet your entire body, about to reach for the body wash when the sound of the bathroom door opening catches your attention.

“I got you some clothes, this is all I have for you right now.” Haechan calls over the sound of the shower running while setting the folded clothes on the bathroom counter. Yet he isn’t showing any signs of leaving.

“Hm, okay, thanks… Can you let me finish first, please?” You plead while watching his form move behind the shower curtain.

He’s not moving towards the door though, but closer to you. As you wait for him to leave, he unexpectedly pulls the curtains to the side and your eyes open wide in surprise when he joins you completely naked.

That’s why he wasn’t leaving, he was stripping down from his clothes, having the intention to enter the shower with you. He absolutely ignored your words of leaving you alone.

You move back instantly, your body hitting the cold tiles of the shower. You again cover yourself with your arms, keeping your mouth sealed shut, paralyzed.

He’s imposing, even more when naked. You can’t help but stare at him, unable to look at the bottom half of his body, too embarrassed and still shocked by his sudden inappropriate behaviour.

However, he doesn’t seem to think there's a problem, instead reaches for the body wash just as you were about to do.

“Just wanna help you,” he explains, big eyes looking back at you. He looks so serene, and you hate that nothing seems to destabilize him. “Turn around,” he instructs and when you don’t budge an inch, he grabs your arm and moves you himself. You gasp at his straightforwardness, your mind already telling you this won’t end well. He’s already lied to you once, so there's a high chance he’s done it again.

He squeezes the soap into a white loofah, moving your wet hair to scrub your backside, making sure to not miss any part. He moves down to your arms, working his way up to your tits. He slowly drags the loofah back and forth over your pebbled nipples, catching on the way your breath hitches when he does.

After a minute of solely washing your breasts, he brings the loofah to your stomach, each scrub leading his hand lower on your hips.

Haechan suddenly discards the scrubber, his hands sinking down to your private parts. He places his head onto your shoulder, his wet hair tickling your neck. You try to shove him off of you, but his grip on you isn’t budging, his hand already cupping your pussy.

“You- you said you were just washing me,” you frantically spit out, grabbing at his arm that’s on your mound. Instead of answering you, he takes his free arm and crosses it over waist, trapping both of your arms under him.

He takes his pointer and middle finger to spread your swollen cunt open for him to observe. You feel so exposed, so played that he lied to you again after using the excuse of ‘just wanting to help you’ to get his way with you.

“Shit. Jeno didn’t go easy on you, huh?”

Jeno. So that is the name of the one who got his hands first on you.

You’re quickly snapped out of your thoughts when his index finger makes contact with your clit, pussy clenching involuntarily at the feeling.

“Please, just… stop,” you pathetically beg for him to move his hands. Yet all you get from him is his heavy breathing, and something poking your asscheek.

“You’re sensitive as fuck. Look at you,” he comments as he sees your legs twitching with every rub he gives your throbbing clit, hole slicking up at the stimulation.

Not being able to wait much longer, Haechan removes his fingers from your pussy, pushing the arch of your back lower, grabbing his now fully erect cock while opening your legs a bit wider than before with his leg.

“No, stop… Please, don’t,” your words are rushed when he forcefully pushes himself inside your swollen cunt.

His thrusts are rough, almost knocking the air out of your lungs. He doesn’t give you time to adjust to his large size, which leads your hole to violently clench around him, making it harder for him to control himself.

“Jeno already dealt with you, how are you still so small?” he says through clenched teeth, his hand going to grab at your jaw, squishing your lips and cheeks.

He forcefully lifts your head up to look at him, leaving you no other choice than to make eye contact.

“N-no, stop, it hurts,” you try to speak when your mouth is being crushed in between his long fingers. He doesn’t listen to you though, repeatedly slamming his cock into you from behind, his pelvis hitting your ass with force within every thrust.

The water is still warm, running down both of your bodies, disregarding the fact that you need to clean yourself. You feel your orgasm building up in the pit of your stomach, his cock hitting the right places. You hate that it's starting to feel good, you’re not supposed to be turned on by this.

Before you can reach the edge, Haechan pulls his cock out of you, leaving your hole empty and gaping. Yet not being able to utter a single word, your body is turned around and he kneels in front of you, his face directly in front of your crotch.

He gives your clit some attention, throbbing when his tongue licks a full stride over it.

You surprise yourself when your hand travels down to grip his wet wavy hair. He eats your cunt like a starved man, his nose replacing his tongue when he finds his way back to your hole.

“Tastes better than I imagined, baby, fuck,” he groans before shoving his face back into your sopping pussy.

You slightly grind your hips on his face, feeling him smile against your pussy. You’re shocked at how quick you’re about to reach your orgasm, Haechan sliding his fingers inside of you to bring you to the edge even faster.

He speeds up the pace of his fingers that are hitting your sweet spot, his mouth sucking harshly on your clit, desperate for you to cum on his face. Your hole clenches repeatedly at the feeling, unable to hold it in anymore, you finally reach your high.

Haechan fucks his fingers into you through your orgasm, your legs tightening around his head. Your hand on his hair shakes weakly, moaning at the feeling of his lips being still on your cunt, tongue flicking your bud of nerves from side to side.

He stands back up and passes your legs around his waist. You moan out at the stretch in this new position, your pussy taking every inch he gives you even though you are sensitive from your first orgasm. Both of your naked chests rub together when he pushes himself closer to maintain the same eye contact as before. His stomach clenches at the feeling, thrusts sloppier than they were previously.

A small whimper escapes your lips that you tried so hard to keep from leaving your throat. Your walls tighten up around Haechan while he never slows down his thrusts, fucking you to reach his own orgasm.

“Yeah, baby. Gonna fucking make me cum too.”

He fucks into your spent pussy sloppily which has you wincing in overstimulation. The pain doesn’t last much longer when you feel his thick ropes of cum filling your cunt.

“Shit, yeah. Like it when I fill you, huh?” He groans into your ear, his soaking wet hair brushing against your face.

His thrusts finally stop when he pulls out of you, cum quickly escaping your bruised pussy. He backs you up from the wall to set you down back onto your feet, legs shaking from how intense he fucked you.

Without a word, he brings your body forward to the shower head, rinsing your body. He rubs his hands over your body, slowly inching down to your swollen pussy as he cleans it of his cum gently. Your face can’t help but heat up at the action, you wouldn’t have expected him to give you aftercare.

He leans over, turning the faucet off and steps out of the shower first. He grabs a towel from the cabinets to wrap around his waist, and another to wrap around your shivering body.

You’re still shaking, barely being able to get out of the tub. He places his hands under your underarms, helping you out of the tub, your feet meeting the cold floor. He’s about to unwrap the towel from you when you tighten your grip around it.

“I’ve got you, don’t worry,” he reassures you. You loosen your hand from the hem of the towel, letting him take care of it.

He undoes the towel from your body, beginning to dry you off. No one has done this for you ever, so you don’t know what to do with yourself.

Once you’re dried off completely, he leans over to grab the t-shirt for you to wear.

“Arms up,” he instructs when he pulls the shirt over your head, helping you to slip it on. He grabs a pair of black boxers you assume are his for you to wear.

Once he slips the underwear onto you, he wraps his arms around your torso, kissing your jaw and down your neck. You’re flustered, but you don’t make an effort to lean into his touch. How can you react to that after what he’s done to you in the shower.

The sound of the front door being unlocked interrupts the moment between the pair of you. Haechan removes his arms from around you and grabs a pair of sweatpants from the counter, slipping them on quickly.

“Jeno’s back,” he says nonchalantly. In all honesty, you are most afraid of Jeno out of the two men for obvious reasons.

That night, you slept between them— you really only closed your eyes. They didn’t give you a choice, nor a reason, but you think it’s in case you try anything. You could have a slight chance against one of them. The both of them, though, you have zero.

You’ve slept with them for a few weeks, then they’ve decided they wanted you alone.

Jeno is very clingy and attached. You suppose it’s because he’s the one who knew you before. You don’t have much information about what happened before the first night. No matter how much you insist, they always refuse to tell you anything.

Haechan is more authoritative than Jeno. Much less clingy, but still at an unhealthy level of obsession for you.

You start to adjust to how things work between the two boys and their routines.

Haechan is with you the majority of the day since you’re asleep in the mornings he has class and awake when Jeno goes to his own. It's as if they have you in ‘shifts’, not ever letting you have alone time or any privacy.

Haechan never lets you out of his sight, forcing you to be in the room with him at all times. His standards are very strict for you, like his ‘no TV or phone’ rule unless he’s there.

No matter what you do, you are left with no way to reach the outside world. It drives you crazy having to live with constant unanswered questions since they refuse to give you any answers.

“I miss my family,” you mumble under your breath, playing with the food on your plate, which you know angers Haechan a lot.

“Stop playing with your food and eat it before it gets cold.” Haechan responds, completely ignoring your comment.

He side-eyes you and you keep looking at your plate, not acknowledging his command, getting him irritated. Jeno, on the other hand, gives you a sad look with pouty lips, having pity for you.

“Do they even know where I am, if I’m even alive?” You pick at the topic more, not daring to coward away from Haechan’s irritated look.

“Baby, why are you thinking about that right now? Just eat.” Jeno coos, going to reach for your shoulder when you dodge his touch.

You groan at him and he doesn’t like this at all, hating when you avoid his touch. You know you’re making both of them angry, but it isn’t any of your fault. They shouldn’t be the ones mad, it should be you.

That's when you’ve had enough of their silence. Instead of constantly bombarding them with questions you know they’ll just brush off, you decide to ignore them entirely. Not making eye contact, constantly refusing their commands, and not eating.

“Don’t give into her whims, Jeno. It's just gonna give her ideas.” Haechan speaks, making stern eye contact with Jeno. You can tell this is something that they’ve discussed before. It was inevitable you’d get curious and ask questions.

You get up to push out of your chair, leaving your untouched plate on the table. You know not finishing your food will strike a nerve.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Haechan raises his voice, causing you to flinch at his loud tone.

“Obviously nowhere. I can’t leave this stupid place!” You point out as if it isn’t clear enough for them to know.

Haechan matches your action and gets up too, disregarding your full plate.

“Watch your tone. You’re the one who’s asking pointless questions. Sit your ass back down and finish eating.”

“No! I can’t, I don't want to!” You reply back right away, your eyes starting to water. “I want to know, that’s all I want,” you explain to them almost desperately, almost begging.

Jeno tries to cool down the situation.

“Let’s all just calm down, okay? I’m sure you’re hungry, baby,” he speaks to you softly, even though you made him upset as well.

“No, I won't calm down. It isn’t fair!” you heave, controlling your tears in an effort to not to seem weak.

“Yes, you will,” Haechan intervenes, “because if you don’t you’ll regret it. Don’t underestimate what I’ll do, understand?”

“You both have done enough to me but you draw the line at me asking about my family? Just leave me alone.”

“Where is this even coming from? We give you everything, so stop being ungrateful.” Haechan argues back.

Deflecting from the subject, one of the things he’s best at. You hate when he does it, but you don’t want to fight with him. You physically and mentally can’t.

“You don’t understand! You ripped me away from my family and school. You took everything away, and I’ll never get my life back! The worst thing about this is not knowing anything…”

You can’t hold it in when sobs escape your mouth. You aren’t able to stand up on your feet anymore and let yourself fall down on the floor, curling up on yourself.

As if a switch flips in their minds, they both come rushing towards you. Jeno is the first to crunch down at your level, worry and pity plastered on his face. He comforts you with his embrace while Haechan looks guilty, nibbling down on his lip.

After that day, you’ve learned to not question them about anything associated with your past life. All it did was lead to big arguments and lost trust from you. You’ve come to terms that this is your life from now on, whether you like it or not.

#— ☆ starring dream #— ☆ starring 127 #w/ jeno !#w/ haechan !#nct smut #nct x reader #nct hard hours #nct hard thoughts #nct dream smut #nct dream x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 smut #jeno smut #jeno x reader #lee jeno x reader #haechan smut #haechan x reader

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written-in-flowers · 1 month ago

Text

The Places Between Us: The Dragon Prince (OT8 x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x Fem!Reader | Side pairings: Hongjoong x Fem!Reader, Ateez x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 12k

Genre: Smut, Angst, Slight fluff | AU: fantasy!au

Summary: Being snatched up by Prince Yunho, YN is whisked away to the Burning Valley. There, she learns the exact purpose of his harem of wives and what he's expecting from her.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

Overall Tags: dub-con, mind control, enslavement, kidnapping, forced breeding, monster fucking, sex work, mentions/implications of abuse, mentions/implications of SA, stockholm syndrome, public sex, exhibitionism, humiliation, degradation, breeding kink, bigdick!Seonghwa, bigdick!Yunho, DoubleDick!Yunh, face fucking, throat fucking, undead sex, sex w/ undead, belly bulge, anal sex, anal fingering, vaginal sex, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, squirting/vaginal ejaculation, slight size kink (height wise), overstimulation, facials, cum swallowing, choking, dom!ateez, sub!reader, tit fucking, sex toys, bondage, multiple partners, threesome, orc!jongho, naga!seonghwa, demon!hongjoong, dragon!yunho, undead!mingi, goblin!yeosang, lycan!san, lycan!wooyoung.

Taglist: @binniesbabe @stay-tiny-things @oiminho @babymbbatinygirl @sopematesxx @pirana10 @juicyjaxxy @corgilover20 (If you'd like to be added, put it in the replies below)

Part 1: The Naga King < | > Part 3: The Undead Soldier

****

The morning sun broke through the clouds and heated your frozen body as you flew past it. You saw the mainland getting closer, a mountain range shrouded by smoky clouds. The scent of sulfur sharply pinched your nose and made you cough when you flew past the barrier between rocky cliffs and volcanic mountains. The smoke and smog from the volcanoes blotted out the bright sun, creating its own suffocating heat that filled your throat in every breath. It was hot. Far too hot. The dragonite soldier carried you a safe distance from the ground, but gushes of heat beat on your naked body.

Soon, you saw black stone buildings nestled in the center of the volcanic valley. They led up to a castle that was built into the mountains surrounding it. Statues of dragons shot out from underneath windows, perched on gates, sliding along staircase railings, and outstretching their wings on the tall towers going into the sky. The soldier finally landed down on an open balcony on the side of the mountain where more soldiers stood at attention. Where you expected to see Yunho, you instead saw a tall female Dragonite in the same black armor as the rest with wings resting high behind her. She had dark brown scales going up her body, with only her underbelly and face being untouched. Amber eyes stared at you indifferently, scanning over you.

“Asher,” the woman said in a cool voice, “Why is she still naked?”

“I had to get her quickly, Commander,” the soldier replied anxiously. “The distraction only took King Seonghwa a little bit outside his room, and my window was closing.”

“Hm,” the Commander said, “Understandable, I suppose. I’ll take her from here, soldier. Back to your post.”

“Yes, Commander.”

The Dragonite stared you up and down, then began circling as she inspected you. “I will say this is most irregular. Lord Kim mentioned a priest, not a priestess. If we had known the gift was a woman, we would have made different accommodations.”

“I'm not a priestess,” you told her, “I'm YN.”

It seemed if you kept pretending to be Lord Kim's “gift” his allies didn't immediately think of murdering you. Your curse already made it nearly impossible to resist their advances. What was it Seonghwa had said? Something about fighting it making it worse? You didn't see how that helped since it will take over anyway. As much as you hated it, you then added:

“Lord Kim hopes Prince Yunho is satisfied with me.”

“He must be if he had you whisked away in the dead of night. He's likely worried King Seonghwa would keep you for himself. Don't worry, my lady, Yunho will treat you well. You must be tired,” she said, guiding you away from the balcony railing and back inside. “I imagine King Seonghwa’s appetite could not be satisfied with only one round. Prince Yunho mentioned you may be injured?”

“I was. Seonghwa gave me some kind of healing balm that took care of it a little.”

“Good, at least the serpent had some sense of tenderness.” She led you down a rocky corridor lit by torches. “I’m Atala,” she said, “Commander of Prince Yunho’s personal guard and Keeper of his breeders. I’ll be looking after you when His Grace isn’t around to tend to you himself.”

“Are we going to Yunho?” you asked.

“No, I’m taking you to the harem,” she said, “Where you’ll be staying with the other breeders.”

“Wait, ‘breeders’? What do you mean by that?”

“Prince Yunho's wives."

The word twisted your stomach. She guided you into a room at the end of the hall. Wide with a high ceiling, the large window gave a view of the valley below. The red-orange sky looked more appealing down below than from the clouds. Stone buildings went along the top of the hills and spilled down into the valley. A multitude of different Dragonites moved about in various colors, their wings lifting them off the ground. Hongjoong used to tell you about the Dragonites in the southern valleys. He said the best blacksmiths came from here. Masters of metal and jewels, they were miners, jewelers, inventors and expert warriors. He'd once brought you a metal, musical jewelry box. You grinned softly remembering the little gold dragon that circled the inside. The lullaby reminded you of Hongjoong.

"Little star, little star, oh how far you are."

His clear, high voice brought comfort in this unfamiliar place. You took a look around the room. Tall planters of fresh fruit and vegetables went up the sides of the window, getting their light from the skylight above.

Their water came from a waterfall that led into a wide, shallow pool in the middle. Bedrooms lined the circular room, giving the impression of a beehive rather than a room. No staircases. Why? Yunho could fly. Yunho provided the harem girls with various instruments, a book nook, and a painting corner. It reminded you of the main room back in The Rooster’s Nest, where the girls entertained the incoming clients.

“Girls,” Atala called out, her voice echoing in the room, “Come on out. We have a new wife."

New wife?

Out of a nearby room came four women. The tallest stood out first: an elven maiden with long lavender hair tied in a long plait stood at the forefront, arms crossed. The smallest had glittery pink wings that fluttered rapidly behind her as she landed beside the elf. A werecat of orange and white stood proudly upright, her golden eyes staying right on you. Next to her came a dragonite, her scales a rich azure streaked by molten gold and long claws a black as onyxes. All of them wore variations of the same muslin fabric, covering their feminine parts but still tantalizing. No doubt Prince Yunho wanted there to be some cohesion amongst his concubines. You wondered if you'd be given clothes to regain some dignity.

“Oh my!” the fairy gasped, her voice high-pitched, “She’s naked!”

“King Seonghwa doesn’t dress his slaves,” said the dragonite. She picked up a quilt from a nearby armchair and placed it around you. “There, that’s better. At least until you get clothes,” Golden eyes blinked at you warmly, “I’m Celeste.”

“I’m YN.”

“I’m Delly,” the fairy smiled, batting her wings. When you looked down, you noticed the small pregnant belly poking through the dress.

“I’m Fauna,” the werecat bowed her head. Her cropped top didn't hide her swelling stomach, which she touched absentmindedly as she spoke.

“And I’m Luna,” the elf introduced herself. Not as prominent as Delly or Fauna, you did notice the heaviness of her breasts and a slight curved belly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, YN. His Grace told us we’d be having a new sister soon, but…I didn’t think you'd be human.”

"Or female," added Celeste.

“It’s certainly a surprise,” agreed Fauna. “I thought he’d been crazy enough to kidnap a Naga maiden. You know, just to rub it in Seonghwa’s face.”

“No, Yunho isn’t that reckless,” said Celeste. Like her ‘sisters’, Celeste also seemed to be carrying a child. Her belly was further along, and she waddled when she walked. “We may not be on good terms with the Naga, but he wouldn’t try to start a war with them. Not during times like this, anyways.”

"He still stole a gift meant for Seonghwa," Fauna said. "If that doesn't piss off Kim or Seonghwa, I’ll be surprised.”

“Come, YN,” Delly took your hand, guiding you to a table nearby. “You must be really hungry. I know I was when they brought me here. Fauna told me I was a stick with wings when I came,” she giggled, pouring fresh milk from a pitcher and handing it to you. “But don’t worry, Yunho only gives us the best and freshest food. You’ll be plump in no time! Especially if you get pregnant.”

You nearly spat out the milk. “I’m sorry?” You coughed, harshness deep in your throat.

“That’s the whole reason he took you, honey,” Fauna said. “We’re his breeders, if you couldn't tell,” she patted her stomach.

What would a gift say to that? "I'm not his to get pregnant. Lord Kim wouldn't like that."

"Sweet child, " Luna sighed, "You're not going back to Kim. You are Yunho's gift; you wouldn’t take back a gift.”

“I wasn’t his ‘gift’. I was Seonghwa’s. He had someone kidnap me,” you replied a bit defensively. You had been hours away from losing your curse, and then Yunho’s lapdog sweeps you away. “I don’t think Lord Kim is going to like that.”

‘No. No, I don’t.’

“There won’t be much he could do about it once you’re pregnant,” she shrugged. “Once you have a Dragonite inside you, you have to stay here.”

“Why? So he can take my baby?”

“Because then you’ll die.” When you sat frozen, she explained, “It’d be impossible for you to live in conditions outside the valley. Trust me, you don’t want to know what happens when a pregnant woman tries escaping on her own.”

“That's…” As if the threat of losing your sanity was not enough, the possibility of being pregnant in that state worried you more. “No way. I’m not getting pregnant.”

“I’m afraid you have no say in the matter,” she responded sadly.

Delly passed you a tray of fresh fruits, but you couldn’t find the appetite. “The Prince’s wife can’t produce heirs for him,” Celeste told you, taking a seat at the table. “Every hatchling she’s managed to carry has come out sickly, deformed or dead. Most of the time, the seed doesn’t even take root inside her.”

“It’s all the inbreeding they do around here,” Fauna said with distaste. “It’s disgusting.”

“He has tried breeding with other dragonite women, but hadn’t been very successful,” Celeste continued. “So, he resorted to finding women of other species to lay with. I was the first.” Her voice drew quieter as she said, “My parents told him I was fertile and would give him many children.”

“Have you?”

“I have,” she nodded, a small smile on her face. “Three so far: Ophelia, Hermes, and Astor. They aren’t here though. Yunho takes the offspring to the main palace where he raises them himself. I’m allowed to see them from time to time, but Yunho believes they’ll grow stronger being raised away from me.” She nervously looked at her swollen belly. “He'll take this one too. I'm sure of it.”

“That’s awful,” you frowned. “You should be allowed to see your own kid whenever you want. You pushed her out, not him.”

She grinned, “Try telling him that.”

“His men raided my village,” Fauna said. “I was married so they assumed I must be fertile. It's the same with Delly and Luna. Were trophies for him to tote around; it's only a plus that we can have kids. I've given him a litter. Oh yeah, six kittens,” she said to your wide eyes, “Four boys and two girls. They're all grown now, so they come to visit whenever they want.”

“I've given him two,” Luna smiled. “Ivory is six and Onyx is four. They're true daughters of the Moon Goddess. You'll love them when you meet them.”

“This is my first one!” Delly beamed, “And the physician says it'll be a strong, healthy dragon-fairy baby. I can't wait,” she said. “I always wanted to be a mother. It's a real blessing.”

“That's lovely but also…” you didn't want to say it out loud.

“Weird?” Fauna finished for you. “Wrong? Cruel to force pregnancy on us?”

“Yeah…”

“It was either this or a slave pit,” she shrugged. “I don't know if you've seen the pits around here, but trust me, this is preferrable.”

“But it sounds like he has more than enough kids from you. Shouldn't he give you guys a break?”

Fauna and Delly snorted with laughter, and Luna looked amused. Celeste smirked, “I wouldn’t recommend asking him that when you see him tonight. "

“He’s very gentle,” Delly assured you. “I’m way smaller than him, so he’s always extra careful when he’s with me. I really do enjoy it when he breeds me, even if I'm already pregnant.”

“He’s actually a good lover,” Luna said, “So it isn’t all bad.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Alright, so you’re breeding stock for a dragon prince and you’re locked here for the time being, but at least he’s a good looking prince who knows how to use his cock.”

“That’s still not a reason to be okay with all of this,” you pointed out. “You’re slaves. That doesn’t bother you?”

“It used to, but not anymore. There are worse fates than being a prince’s slave.”

This was how they comforted themselves. Seeing these small benefits was how they lived with themselves. Your head couldn’t wrap around the concept. Having lived your own way your entire life, you can’t imagine it being any other way. Lord Kim, whoever he is, would be no different than Seonghwa or Yunho. Munching on a strawberry, you could feel the rock at your back and the hard place pressing your front. Lord Kim was your only way of lifting the curse, yet to be in his grasp meant you’d be his slave. You doubted without the runestone he’d let you go. The freedom you once cherished would be stripped away until you become complicit like the women before you.

Escape ideas came to you, but each one sounded foolish. You considered claiming infertility, but that’d likely lead to your death. Once again, you’d do what you hated.

“Yeah, I don’t think this pregnancy thing is going to work though,” you said cautiously.

"Why not?"

Standing from your chair, you turned around to show them the hand-and-heart mark. Their soft gasps told you how bad it looked.

“Wow, then he must really plan on keeping you,” Luna said. You jumped at the cold fingers touching the heated brand. “He only used this in the old days, I heard, during the war.”

“I heard he used to use it on people who deserved it though,” Fauna said. “What did you do?”

“A witch put it on me.”

“And he hasn't removed it?”

“I haven’t seen him yet.”

You told them about Haeyoung, Jin’s boat and getting shipwrecked. Before Yunho’s soldier kidnapped you, you were meant to go somewhere else with Lord Kim. Though, you doubted he would remove the curse. Not without something to trade in return.

“Kim isn't an evil man like the humans make him out to be,” Fauna told you when you finished. “The southerners only speak badly about him because we won the war. I personally don't see why they're so upset about it still. It was so long ago. Most of us weren't even thought of when it happened.”

“Old wounds are hard to close,” Luna told her. “Kim takes good care of things that are his. I'm sure once he arrives, he'll remove the brand from you. Although, I doubt he would let you go. You're far too pretty.”

“He's not a bad guy,” Delly told you sincerely. “He will treat you well.”

They made you sound like a pet. They have all mentioned him coming for you. You belonged to him, and nobody else. The idea of being a demon lord's plaything sent shivers down your spine. Celeste lifted you up into a bedroom above where she'd laid out clothes.

“This will look lovely on you,” Celeste said as she pulled out a long muslin skirt and short top from a closet. “Just because he'll be lying with you later doesn’t mean you have to be naked the whole time.”

“The best laid plans, huh?”

The voice sounded when Celeste left you to dress. Holding the top, you said, “Psh, tell me about it.”

“I really didn't intend for this to happen, YN. You were supposed to spend the night with Seonghwa, and then we'd go home. Yunho kidnapping you was not in my plans.”

“And getting cursed wasn't in mine. I'm supposed to be on Jin’s boat on my way to that little town near the mountains.”

“It’s not ideal, but at least you won’t get pregnant.”

“I don’t think Yunho cares about that.”

“You have no idea how much of a deal it is to him. The guy has like eleven kids and is still making more. That brand of yours will keep you from getting pregnant. It’s hard to have a pregnant sex slave.”

“Which is what you plan to have me be, I bet.”

“I’d never enslave you. If anything, I’m the enslaved one,” the voice chuckled. “Just sit tight, okay? I’ll be there soon.”

“You say that like I have some kind of choice.”

“It’s just best if you wait for me there, okay? I don’t need you running off into that valley and getting lost.”

“And what? Wait for you to turn me into a sex toy?”

“But I thought you were already my pretty toy?”

You were about to respond when someone knocked on the door.

“YN? Are you almost done? Do you need help wrapping it up?” Delly asked from behind the door.

You knew the voice disappeared. It left an empty feeling in your head. You supposed your old plan was out, and this new plan was in. Yet, you couldn't stop the nagging feeling things would go wrong again. The possibilities were endless: Yunho does get you pregnant and you're trapped with him; Lord Kim somehow dies and you have no way of lifting the curse. You needed a Plan B.

As you spent the day around the wives, you couldn’t stop the incoming images filling your head. Once this curse was complete, you’d lose everything. Your friends, your home and your freedom. You’d lose Hongjoong, who’d likely never learn what happened to you. Would he move on to someone else? Would he find another woman to comfort him during his travels around the world? You pictured him in the arms of some nameless, faceless woman and bit back tears. The gem around your neck suddenly felt heavier on your chest. Sitting by the window, looking out at the valley, you thought about your only love. The only man you’re certain you love, who took your heart and didn’t give it back. He became your home. In his presence, you found safety and comfort. Nobody treated you how Hongjoong did. It wasn’t about the presents or the sex. It was about how he made you feel.

You’ll never feel it again.

“His Grace is on his way,” Atala announced after supper, a light spread of fruits, vegetables and meat, “It’s time to get YN ready for her first bedding.”

“You make it sound like it’s a special event,” you said, downing the last bites of chicken with milk. “He’s just fucking me.” Hongjoong never made such a spectacle of sex. He simply did it. You’d grown to hate these men and their ego-boosting. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Yeah, but it’s your first time,” Fauna finished off her steak, licking the juices from her lips. “It’s special.”

“And if you get pregnant on the first try, you’re extra special,” Delly said.

“I don’t want to be pregnant,” you remarked. “I want to get out of here. I want to get rid of this mark and get my freedom back. I want to get out of this sweltering, humid place and go back home.”

You wanted Hongjoong. You ached for him.

“Those are things only Lord Kim could provide,” Luna said. “I understand your disappointment, YN. I truly do, but perhaps it’s better t-”

“-To accept my fate and be some dragon asshole’s mare?” You shot back. “To accept that this is all I’ll ever be to someone? Sorry, but that’s not me.”

“It will have to be,” Atala interrupted. “That is how things are on this side of the kingdom.”

“Well then maybe a war should happen,” you said. “Everyone talks about how Lord Kim was this big savior. What kind of savior allows slavery to continue?”

“It’s a part of the culture in the north,” she replied stiffly. “It’s so ingrained in our societies that it’d break down a lot of things if they ended. The South has their own forms of slavery; they just call it something else.” She stepped forward, standing at her full height with golden eyes peering down at you sternly. “You better start to learn your place around here before it’s beaten into you.”

“Because that’s how things work around here.”

“Yes, because that’s how things work around here,” she repeated with a curt nod.

A scream stayed lodged in the base of your throat.

‘There’s my fiery blossom.”

“Anyway,” Atala turned from you to the other wives, “There is one other thing you ladies should know. While YN is entertaining The Prince, you girls will be entertaining General Song.”

The women giggled, hiding their blushing cheeks. “I didn't know he was coming,” said Luna. “I would've fixed myself up better.”

“Me too,” Delly agreed, running her fingers through her long golden tresses. “He's so handsome, even for an Undead. Not to mention his hands are little delightful devils.”

“I love a man that's good with his hands!” Celeste joked, earning laughs from the other women.

“Who’s Mingi?” You asked, confused by the conversation. “Another slave owner?”

“He’s the general of Lord Kim’s undead army,” Fauna answered a bit curtly. “Centuries ago, Kim created his own army by raising people he’d defeated in battle back from the dead. Mingi is his top general. He’s very close with Yunho, and he visits a lot.” She paused, “I wonder why he’s here. Do you think it has anything to do with Kim?”

“Maybe. Things are getting pretty heated between us and that new king. Yunho is upset about it and Mingi has been coming around a lot more lately. Yunho just had that negotiation with the Naga…Maybe it is connected somehow.”

“Uh-oh, here goes Celeste brooding again,” Fauna giggled.

“Whatever the reason is for his visit,” Atala said, “It is your job to keep him busy while His Grace beds YN,” She turned to you, “Fix yourself up before he arrives. He’s taking you to his private bedding chamber.”

“He sleeps here then?”

“No. It’s only a bedding chamber. He impregnates you there, then leaves to his own room.”

‘Of course he’d have some kind of chamber,” you rolled your eyes.

‘I love the other lords like brothers, but I’ll admit they can be pretentious.”

“So pretentious,” you agreed under your breath.

“Let’s get moving on,” Atala declared. “His Grace doesn’t like to be kept wait-”

The chamber door opened before she finished, and in walked Yunho. He wore a thin black robe, absent his armor, sword and crown this time. He appeared more relaxed in the presence of his precious breeders. His eyes glinted happily at the sight of them lounging near the window. You hated how he swaggered into the room, sweeping over his wives like precious pets. That wasn’t love. You knew love, and this was not it.

“Ah, my lovelies,” he grinned, walking over to them. “How’re you all doing?” He kissed Celeste’s forehead first, “How was your day?”

“Better now that you’re here, Husband,” Delly smiled when he kissed her next.

“So sweet,” he replied, kissing her again because he could.

“We missed you,” Luna said in a low, seductive voice, pulling him down by the collar of his robe. She lightly pecked his lips, “Must you go with YN? Why don’t you stay with us?”

“Please, Husband,” Fauna joined in, purring as she gently butted his cheek. “You could have all of us tonight. I want you in me so bad, I’m aching for it.”

“Me too,” Luna pushed her tits together with her arms, accentuating them, “I miss you touching these.”

No doubt they played this up to please him. Any man, regardless of race, loved being fought over and desired. It disgusted you.

“You know I would any other time,” he pouted, kissing her softly, “But it’s YN’s special night. I don’t want to ruin it for her. ”

You knew the moment Yunho sparked any sort of stimulation, you’d dive deep into the curse’s effects. It’s glorious in the moment, but it wasn’t you doing it. It was the curse. You wished to be rid of it right then. If you could find a way out, you could get to Lord Kim, and he can help you remove it. You might not have the runestone, but you did have another part he’d want. You’d gladly give it up in exchange for your free will.

“Is that so?”

“Ooh!” Delly’s delighted squeal pulled you from your thoughts. You saw her suddenly giggling and kicking around as a bundle moved around underneath her dress. “Hey, hey! You just got here!”

Your jaw dropped when she pulled out a hand from between her legs. Sickly pale with chipped black fingernails, the disembodied hand wriggled around like a bug in her grasp. “You know better than to start without the rest of you,” she scolded it playfully. When it waved its fingers, she shook her head, “No, not until Mingi gets here. Don’t you have more fun when your other hand is with us?” She gave one finger a soft kiss, which made the hand tremble, “I like having both of you.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m right here, huh?”

He stood as tall as Yunho, but his stooped shoulders made him look shorter. Wearing tattered leather armor, you could see stretches of stiff, waxy skin underneath. You’d heard stories about the undead soldiers who served in the Crescent Mountains, but never saw one. This must be Mingi, and he was the exact image you had when you heard ‘undead zombie’. His eyes were milky white, barely any hue to them at all, and his lips looked cracked and dry. A large gash in his throat did nothing to hide the pink muscle that seemed to keep his head on his shoulders. When it moved, you realized it was a tentacle.

“Hi,” Delly grinned, cheeks and ears getting pinker, “Looks like someone removed his stitches again.”

“Eh,” he shrugged, coming down to her level, “I may have loosened them a bit.” He nuzzled her nose, laughing with her, “I know how much you like it when they’re not attached.”

At that, he lifted his wrist to his mouth, tearing at a black thread until the appendage came loose. Delly squealed again when both hands started crawling up her body. Mingi hardly noticed the others in the room as he laid down beside her, kissing her softly as the hands lifted her dress.

“-I don't why would she want that when she has her husband right here?” Fauna asked him, kissing his neck. “You're all I think about once I get going.”

Her, Luna and Celeste managed to get him onto the couch bed with them, naked and surrounding him. She and Luna had taken up each side of Yunho, pecking and licking his neck and chest; Celeste, heavy with child, straddled his waist and rocked her hips back and forth. Watching them kiss and caress their master made your mark tingle again. You saw Yunho’s long body, a mixture of flesh and black scales, roll up into Celeste’s blue and gold one, clawed hands on her waist. Fauna’s rough tongue swatted at his hard nipples, giving them soft suckles that furthered his arousal; Luna left small hickies on his long neck, smirking when he shuddered. Delly’s soft moans soon joined, and you saw one of Mingi’s hands rubbing a finger over her clit as the other pushed two inside her. You took deep breaths, closing your eyes to fight back the curse, but the low moans coming through the room kept penetrating.

“Don't fight it, angel. Let it happen naturally. Resistance only makes it worse.”

“Girls, why don’t you go entertain Mingi, hm?” Yunho suggested, though he didn’t stop them at all. “Let YN have me to herself.”

None of them argued as they crawled over to Mingi. Each woman gave him a kiss before they started stripping off his armor and clothes. His undead form did not seem to bother any of them. In fact, you watched Celeste and Fauna feel up and down the cold, pale skin as they took turns kissing him. Luna went to Delly, who yelped when her sister-wife latched her lips onto a hard nipple.

“Don’t hog the hands,” Luna said, taking the one from Delly’s clit to place on her own, “He has two for a reason.”

“I love his cock more,” said Fauna, who began pumping the long appendage below. “I could ride him all night and never get bored of it.”

“And I love his tongue,” Celeste sighed, moaning when Mingi brought her tit into his mouth. “Can you do to me what you did that time? With your tentacle?”

“Of course,” Mingi groaned, fondling the two women on top of him. “Anything for Yunho’s beautiful brides.”

The four women moaned, getting lost in their lust as Yunho came over to you. “Come with me,” he said, arms going around your waist, “Let’s go somewhere private.”

“You don’t want to do it here?” you gulped, half-expecting him to change his mind.

“I like to keep it behind closed doors,” he said, “Unless you’d like to do it here? I was under the impression you’d hated being fucked in front of other people.”

“No, no, upstairs is good.”

“Good.”

He lifted you up from the floor, keeping you locked securely against him, and he flew up towards the ceiling. He brought you into the bedding chamber, which was a room of rich crimson and deep gold. Your mark continued tingling as various thoughts started racing through your mind. Yunho settled you down onto the floor, and brought your lips to his. The moment his lips touched yours you were a goner. Hot tongue sliding over into your mouth creates a deeper warmth inside. You ached to touch every part of him you could reach. His body, much larger than yours, was hard and smooth in your arms.

“That's it. Relax and enjoy it. How many times does a girl get to fuck a Dragonite, hm?”

Not many.

“You're so soft,” he moaned against your lips, feeling down your back to your ass. “I didn't know humans could be so plump and supple…I can't wait to see you swelling with my hatchling.”

You remembered the four wives’ various stages of pregnancy. “I’d be brainless by the time I ever have it,” you said, trying to talk him out of the idea. “I wouldn't be staying to help with it.”

“Who said you’d even be with them?” he said, humored by your concern. “They’d live with me and their wet nurse most of the time.”

“Why?”

“A harem is no place for a child, and I can teach them things their mothers can’t.”

It sounded like a weak excuse to you. Yunho wanted the children to be raised away from their mother’s influence. If they’re away from them, then the children will be raised with Yunho’s ideology and not anyone else’s. He might think a mother’s presence weakens a person. You personally wouldn’t know. You’d never met your mother; you didn’t have a photo or scrap of evidence to prove she ever existed. Clients liked to joke that perhaps you simply came into being; a deity that turned human to enchant and seduce the men who worship her. In the Gold Rush orphanage, you were constantly reminded of their abandonment. While others lost their parents to war, sickness or poverty, you’d been dumped by yours like trash. To them, you were unwanted baggage. As Yunho continued kissing and caressing parts of you, you wondered if they thought of you. You tried not thinking of them. If they’d wanted you, they would’ve come back for you.

“They should still at least see them,” you said. “It's not fair to the child to be-”

“-It's better they don't,” he nearly snapped.

“Why? Because then they're raised to think like you? A person who only finds value in women if they can carry a child? A person who takes things that don't belong to him?”

“A strong person,” he answered, keeping you close though his grip tightened slightly.

“Living without parents doesn't make someone strong. It makes them…”

Lonely. Scared. You wanted to imagine how they might have reacted to your situation: a father stoutly defending his daughter and a mother determined to find a solution. Nobody offered to even accompany you on this journey or protect you from these monsters who wanted to enslave you. The one person who could do anything about it wasn't in a hurry to reach you, and the other was missing. Hongjoong wouldn't have let this happen. This sadness broke you from your desires, and you gently pushed him away.

“Don't be sad, sweetling,” he said, immediately bringing you into his arms. “You'll get to see them sometimes, and more when they come of age. Fauna and Celeste’s children see them all the time now that they're grown up.” He kissed you again, then whispered, “Let's forget about that and focus on this instead.”

“It's not happening anyway. No way you're having someone else's baby. Give in and enjoy what he’s about to do to you. I know I would if I were you.”

You timidly touched his shoulders, and his robe slide down to his elbows. An expanse of scales appeared darker in the dim candlelight, causing his human flesh to glow in contrast. He was beautiful, there was no doubt about that. You understood what Luna meant by having worse options than a good looking prince. But, as you ran light fingers over his budding nipples, knowing it aroused him, you couldn’t stop picturing the obvious. This man didn’t love you. Like with his rival, you’d be a slave meant only to give him children. He’d wait until you have it, then pass you off to somebody else. Lord Kim will keep you under the spell, and you'd lose everything. The thought twisted your gut painfully, making you nearly sick. You might not have been rich back home, but you had freedom of choice. This curse would remove that entirely. Haeyoung knew this, and took it from you. You wished you’d watched her swing from The Hanging Tree.

But, you are not completely alone. The Dark Lord is likely looking for you, his Cursed. Perhaps Hongjoong will drop into town, see you're gone and start searching for you. You tried finding some comfort in that as Yunho kissed your neck. You untied the knot keeping his robe closed, and then slid off the only article separating you. You drank in his larger form, feeling down the less-defined muscles of his long body to his waist.

“You can touch them,” he said in between kisses. “I want you to touch them”

“Them?”

You stared down to notice the biggest difference of all. Where most beings had only one penis, Yunho had two. One hanging in front of the other, both were considerably large but not like Seonghwa. You might need a bit more preparation, but it wouldn’t hurt too much. You also couldn’t help noticing the round lumps sticking out along the shaft. When you reached down to grab one, you realized they didn’t pinch or scratch you. Your pussy throbbed at the thoughts running through your mind. You circled one of the small buds, though did not apply any pressure. It was hard and didn’t budge at your touch. The veins glowed a hot orange like magma under a volcano floor, though it didn’t burn you. They pushed more blood through the long muscle, causing it to pulsate in your hand. You rocked back and forth on your feet from the tightness forming in your stomach. It rolled down to your center as you cupped the thick head for a delicate rub.

“I take it you’ve never seen Dragonite dick before?” Yunho asked, laughing at your reaction.

“No.”

“Have you ever had two before?”

“A few times.”

“Would you like me to use both?” he guided your hand over the bottom one, breathing in deep when your thumb grazed a bump close to the top. “We can try it tonight, and if you don’t like it, we can use one. I don’t need both to breed you.”

You gulped thinking about it. You stared down at the dicks in your hand, which occasionally bumped the balls hanging underneath. How the hell did he walk so confidently with this bouncing in his pants? You might be a bit cocky too if you had a package like his. Your clit pulsed with anticipation. Something inside you screamed for both of them. It wanted every inch of them both deep in your holes.

“It’s going to stretch you so nicely.”

“No wonder the girls like fucking you so much,” you mused, seeing the top slowly raise up to his stomach. “I would too if I had a guy with two dicks in my bed every night.”

“It’s a perk, I’ll admit,” he said, idly teasing one of your nipples. “It’s hard to say ‘no’ to a man with two of them, hm?”

“It is.”

Stepping closer, you put the bottom tip to your clit; your other hand focused on stroking the top half. The head, dark and thick, easily spreads your lips to the clit hiding under the hood. The curse clearly worked its magic on you, making you wet enough for him to slide easily over you. Yunho watched you play with him breathlessly; not speaking or moving to stop you as you pulled him out to spread your wetness over both top and bottom. He groaned when you began doing it in turns for both sides. He knew the lumps must be gently pressing to your aching clit, dragging along it slowly whenever you pushed it further between your thighs.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” you said as you accidentally squeezed too hard and pressed on the barbs.

“No, no, that feels good,” he assured you, fondling your breasts and kissing you, “It feels so good. Keep going.”

Since he insisted, you started concentrating on the sensitive bumps of his dick. You whined when he thrusted forward to your thighs and hands. He did this a few more times before you let it slide the bottom half between your thighs. The uniform rows of barbs grazed your swelling sex, though it was your soft thighs that aroused him. The fatty flesh squeezed around the thick muscle, and you clenched them each time his dick gave a particularly powerful touch. The most sensitive sides massaged the inner parts of them, with your pussy slickening his length. The one in your hand pulsed in time with the bottom, causing Yunho to move a bit faster. You drooled a bit over the tip, then used the saliva to wet him. This made the prince throw back his head, unable to stop himself from holding onto your ass to push faster. You felt his tip reach right through to the bottom curves, poking out each time he moved forward. Your faint whimpers joined his throaty moans, and everything became sensitive and aching.

“I think I’m going to get very addicted to this,” he gave a deep chuckle, burying his face in your neck as he fucked your thighs. “The others aren’t as soft or smooth as you. Delly is too small. Fauna is furry. Luna is as tall as I am, and Celeste’s fangs and claws get in the way. They’re beautiful but, fuck, not like you.” He pressed his forehead to yours, hands gripping your back as he breathed heavily. “Nothing like you…”

“Then come enjoy how soft I am, Your Grace.”

“That’s my girl. It’s no different than what you do at home. Well, I don’t have two dicks, but it’s still similar.”

Yunho said nothing as he guided you over to the bed. You whined in frustration when his body split from yours, leaving your pussy throbbing for his touch. The mark seeped its heat back through your skin once again. Its magic started taking hold of you, and all you wanted was Yunho’s two dicks. Removing your clothes, Yunho gazed down at your nude form as he knelt beside you. The moment his fingers grazed near the top of your mound, you slowly started losing your grip. He felt around the top and sides of your sex, fingers lightly crossing over it in each move, but he never touched the middle. You hoped stroking his cocks might entice him to touch you further, yet he did not. He felt up your front to your chest, where he tenderly squeezed and rubbed them. Soft whimpers remained behind your lips as he felt their suppleness in his rough hand.

“I bet these get fucked a lot, don’t they?”

“They do.”

“And how about this pretty mouth?” He made you look up at him by the chin, thumb pressing on your lower lip.

“It does,” you nodded. “Get on top and give it a try. I promise I can take it all.”

“If you took The Naga King’s dick, then you can take anything.”

Mounting your lower chest, Yunho’s excitement grew as you slid the bottom cock in between your squashed breasts. His mouth fell open at the sight of his cock buried between them, his shaft pushing through and his tips reaching your lips. He reached down to roll and pinch your nipples for extra pleasure, loving how the hard peaks felt in his hands. The top half pushed directly to your mouth, the tip resting on your chin and pressing to your lower lip before you opened your mouth. The act alone had you grinding into the air. Unlike Seonghwa, Yunho’s precome tasted savory somehow, which only made it more delectable. You stuck out your tongue for him to slide over in his thrusting, occasionally wriggling it side to side to tease the throbbing head. His fingers on your nipples brought out small whines from the sparks igniting inside you. Your pussy’s clenching and unclenching almost gave a phantom sensation of a real dick inside you. You imagined it filling you to the hilt, a finger rolling around the pearl above while another teased your nipple. That combined with the constant teasing and his cocks in your mouth and tits left you quivering below. It was when Yunho pushed forward, sliding his cock further into your mouth that you felt tempted to touch yourself. The rows of bumps pushed your lips far apart, and his tip nearly touched your throat even just halfway inside. Simply laying there, letting this man use you had you writhing on the bed.

“Stay still for me,” Yunho moaned, picking up the pace.

He removed his top cock to fill your mouth with the bottom. His crotch completely in your face, he lifted your hands to keep you pinned to the headboard. The weight of his body, the thickness of his cocks suffocating you, you tried desperately to breathe through your nose. The heads continued pressing your throat whenever he changed them up, sometimes withdrawing to stick them between your breasts again before going back inside. Saliva and precum streamed from your lips after a while, the white substance leaking whenever he withdrew from you. But, this didn’t bother either of you. In fact, it became a lubricant that he spread over your tits and nipples to further tease you. The light tapping of both cocks on your face and chest brought back that pumping sensation.

Yunho moved further down your body, and pushed your legs far apart. You took deep breaths, feeling his breath blow over your dripping sex and anticipating the first lick. Your hands went down into his hair, and your legs wrapped around his shoulders as you pushed his face right to your cunt. He had no objection, grabbing onto your thighs and growling at the juices smearing over his lips and chin. He started with slow, torturous licks around the hard bud, though gradually sped up when you started grinding into his face. Fingers curling into his dark hair, you found it hard to keep a grip on your sanity. The tip of his tongue massaged both sides of your clit in every flick, the muscle dipping underneath and licking rapidly until you trembled. You didn’t know much longer you’d last with his tongue threatening to slide past your entrance.

“You’re trembling, darling,” he leered, proud to have such an early effect on you. “Don’t tell me you’re going to come already?”

“Ye-yes,” you whined, twisting away from him as he played on your growing sensitivity.

“You won’t at least wait for me to be inside?” He forced your hips to the bed, and wagged his tongue over you in light brushes. “Hm?”

“It feels too good!” You struggled against him, simultaneously pushing to his mouth and also withdrawing.

“Better than Seonghwa?”

“Yes!”

“Better than anyone else?”

A sudden hesitation hit you. The faint memory of gentle hands roaming your body as petal lips caressed your skin came back even in that moment. A long forgotten dream that came back in whispers filled your mind. Seonghwa might have been good. Yunho might be better. Yet, neither matches up to Hongjoong, the man who'd wrapped himself around your heart.

“Yes,” you still said, covering up the lie with a whimper.

It didn’t take long for two fingers to push past your entrance and right to your g-spot. They curled deep inside, staying knuckle-deep as they wriggled against the spongy space at the end. You nearly caved to your pleasure, your body contorting to whichever way it guided you. You wanted to escape it, but also take in more. After a few pumps of two, Yunho added a third that nearly pushed you over. Nails digging into the silky sheets under you, your entire body shook as he kept pushing into your g-spot. He’d found it, and now he wouldn’t let it go. His tongue still working your clit, your moans became louder. You’re sure the people below might hear you now.

“No, no, pet,” Yunho withdrew his fingers right as you reached the cusp of an orgasm. He gently rubbed your quivering thighs, kissing your stomach in soft pecks. “I promise cumming on my cocks is much better than my fingers. Lift your legs for me, so I can show you.”

The tight ball in your cunt controlled you and you raised your knees to your stomach. Yunho admired your exposed sex for a moment. He trailed his fingers down the slick lips to the anus below, then back upwards. In the position, he could see both holes asking-no, begging-him to be inside them. The Dragon Prince grabbed his dicks in one hand, languidly stroking them as he used two fingers to spread your lips. So wet. So pretty. Seeing the clenching sex made Yunho want you more and more. The foreign feeling of a female human in his bed aroused him to no end. He planned to enjoy you as much as possible before the night was over. When he tapped both of them onto your clit, your pussy flexed. He could tell your body wanted him, even if the curse clouded your mind and shattered your resistance. He groaned when he accidentally pushed the first tip inside, your tightness foreign and delightful to him.

Both cocks wet with your juices, he first placed the bottom one into you. You tightly held onto the pillows, keeping yourself grounded as pleasure mounted higher. A pleasurable burn came from his girth stretching your sex; the barbs of his cock massaged your walls in each careful thrust, pushing you further apart. His top half continued grinding against your clit, which only stoked the fires more. You barely moved as he thrusted; you almost could not with his hands holding you so tightly. Head tilting back into the pillow, you absorbed every nerve rattled by his touches. The hesitancy you had before washed away into compliance and need. The climax he’d chased away came slowly crawling back, but something inside wanted you to hold it off. The idea of finishing around both lengths sounded too good to pass up. Your arms wrapped around your knees, you kept a tight grip on them as he changed his angle and speed. This pushed your orgasm further.

“You’re going to look so pretty full of my cum,” he growled, wings outstretched and twitching from pleasure. “I can’t wait to see it dripping from your hole. I can’t wait until…” he pushed faster, “Until it takes root and you’re mine.” He took your arms away, spreading your legs and laying on top of you. His lips captured yours easily, both of you moaning in a deep kiss. “Everyone will know it once you’re swollen and round with my hatchling. You’ll be so beautiful. Women everywhere will envy you…”

“Ugh, he never shuts up about that, does he?”

“I need you to relax,” he said in your ear, petting your cheek, “It’ll hurt if you move around too much.”

You only nodded, unable to string a proper sentence together. Yunho grabbed the top cock making sure to keep the second tip in you, and pressed it to your entrance. You squeezed your eyes shut in anticipation. Gradually, Yunho’s tips went in and out inch-by-inch, slowly working you open to accept them together. By the time he reached a final thrust, burying them to the base, your mind became completely blank. He still gently rocked his hips into you, occasionally staying still to let you adjust. You thought this might hurt like it’d done with Seonghwa, but in that moment, it felt nothing but pleasurable. Far too pleasurable.

It was when Yunho pulled you on top that you truly lost control. Hands on his shoulders, you raised and lowered your hips on him. The angle they took hit right to your core, bulging your belly like before. You swore the man broke into your womb like this, and you only wanted more. Not even the slight sting of his claws breaking the skin of your breasts distracted you. Your nails dragged on tough scales that felt nothing, though you're sure his low growls came from pleasure rather than pain. The euphoric high you’d been chasing became your sole focus.

“You really can’t get enough, can you?” Yunho chuckled when you shook your head. “Good,” he planted himself firmly under you and started charging upwards, “Because neither can I. Go on and cum for me, sweetheart. I want to feel you-ah yes, that’s my girl…atta girl, keep going…you’re doing so well.”

Your orgasm stilled you, keeping his dicks fully inside as you shook in place. You needed to feel everything all at once, and it was overwhelming. Yunho kept pushing, enjoying the reaction that he caused. He knew this one orgasm would not satisfy either of you. The mark branded into your back could keep you going for ages if he so wished. None of his other wives could last as long, and he’d take full advantage of that with you.

Sitting up, he kept you cradled in his lap while you held onto his shoulders. Yunho had no problem simply lifting you up and down on him like a toy. Your sex squeezed him so tightly, accepting him fully and throbbing for more. When you laid down, legs on either side of him, he easily pulled you backward and forward. This new angle created stars and explosions behind your eyelids. You let him see your breasts bounce from the force of his hips while you gripped his bony, scaled legs. The fingers teasing your clit in unison nearly created another climax.

“Your pussy is taking me so well,” he groaned, seeing your hole stretch around him. “I’m going to enjoy fucking these holes every day.”

“God, yes!” you cried, fighting off the sensitive nerves his teasing pinched. “Yes, please fuck me every day! I want it all the time!”

“Good…very, very good…”

He rolled you onto the side, putting one ankle on his shoulder as he started working on his own ending. The sheets beside you bundled in your hands, being held close to your chest as you became overpowered by pleasure. Yunho watched you nearly scream your second climax into them in time with his own. His cocks both twitched and pulsed deep within you, not wanting to waste a single drop. Both of you could feel him filling you, and even then it wasn’t enough. Taking deep breaths, you saw him look down to where his cum oozed from your sex. It came in small globs, which he pushed back in with both his heads to keep them from leaving you. The curse, as expected, did not subside as any normal orgasm might.

“Fuck me again,” you whined, rolling onto your front and reaching for one of his cocks. “Please, I need more of it. I want more.”

“If you insist,” he said, happy to have a wife so eager for him.

Time became meaningless to you. Rationality and logic went out the window as the night progressed. You took Yunho in every area of the room, unable to stop this time. You rode him on an armchair in the corner; you let him bend you over a side table, smacking it into the wall with each push forward; he folded you like a pretzel against the door, so the downward position let you see where you both connected each time. He came inside every round. No doubt you’d be pregnant soon with how much cum he pumped out; it felt almost never ending, and you loved it.

“One more round, please?” you asked breathlessly, sliding him between your ass cheeks. “You can do it in here this time.”

Yunho, flushed red, sweaty and exhausted, let out a low chuckle. “Not now, darling wife,” he said, bringing you down to kiss him. “You should sleep. Your body is tired, I can tell.”

He was right. All the movement left your muscles aching; your throat felt dry from constantly breathing heavily and you were nearly lightheaded. But, your desire outweighed your physical being.

“But I want it,” you whined, shifting to put one tip to your hole. “May I at least sit on them? You don’t have to push. I can do all the work while you sleep.”

“I can go longer. Pros of being a demon.”

“You may have it in the morning,” he said, pulling you off him and onto the bed. “Try relaxing,” he said, bringing you under the sheets and snuggling you to him, “Think of something else.”

“I can’t,” you murmured into his chest. Your fingers found his nipples and pinched them lightly, hoping to rouse at least one dick again. “Don’t you want to make sure I’m pregnant?” you asked.

“I know you will be,” he said assuredly. “I’d be surprised if not after how much is inside you right now.”

“Well, do it one more time,” you shifted around against him, trying to put him back inside, “Just to make sure, right?”

“YN, no,” he said more firmly, holding you in place. Seeing that his presence only encouraged your behavior, he slipped away from the bed to grab his robe. The exertion of so many sessions took their toll on the both of you, but Yunho kept his composure as a prince should. “I’ll have Atala tend to you. Go to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

You grunted disappointedly as he left the room. Everything suddenly felt too cold. He was right. You needed sleep. Closing your eyes, you took deep, steady breaths to try forcing away the arousal rolling around. How could you still be horny? That never happened before. It scared you, somewhat. Wanting to be rid of the stickiness and sweat, you stood up and went over to a wash basin. In the mirror behind it, you watched yourself clean up the mess dripping down your thighs. He’d come a lot. You normally didn’t let clients finish inside, since a pregnancy would drive potential customers away. The fear of a child in your current condition frightened you. You couldn’t possibly get pregnant, not like this. It was absurd when you pondered on it.

“Yeah, that’s not happening. You’re my girl, not his.”

The bedding chamber had no windows, and only one door to escape through. You’re sure guards would be placed there to make sure you don’t leave. The first step of escape is to find a reason to leave the harem. Maybe you can cause an accident or pretend to be ill? You could seduce a guard into letting you out. There must be a way.

****

You jolted out of sleep, eyes wide and body quaking. Sweat caused chills over your body, and you shuddered as you registered them. You stared around in confusion for a moment. The room around you did not seem familiar until you blinked your bleary eyes into focus. Yunho’s bedding chamber had gone dark while you slept, all the candles having melted to the end of the wick in their holders. You half expected to find yourself in another room, where two people spoke yet you didn’t recall what was said or who said it. The dream came in blurs, not vivid pictures.

It had only been a dream, that’s all. It meant nothing, like so many before. Sitting up, you pushed back hair from your face and took deep breaths. Your heart beat mimicked a hummingbird’s, and only focusing on the sheets in your hands kept you in reality again. You walking through the Rooster’s Nest could not have only been three days ago. What happened then felt more like a nightmare, as well as everything that followed. It was something you wished to forget, but you knew you never would.

Your body felt too heavy, too sore to really move. You laid in the soft sheets, your mind filling with thoughts of the fate laid out before you. The escape plans you formulated in your head all sounded childish, but you needed to try. Even if he did have two dicks and a great tongue, you refused to be Yunho’s “wife”. You wouldn’t sit in a tower room all day, painting pictures or reading books while the rest of the world moved past you. You wouldn’t wait for the curse to strip your dignity and freedom away. You’d get out of this castle one way or another.

“YN?”

The door opened, and light poured directly onto you. Celeste’s cool voice came to you from the doorway, her shadow casting on the rocky wall beside the bed.

“Atala says you need to wake up now,” she said with hesitancy in her voice. “It’s…important, she says.”

“Can’t it wait?” you groaned, rolling over to relieve pressure on one side. “I just woke up.”

“I’m afraid it can’t,” she replied. “I brought you fresh clothes to change into. She said you won’t be needing what you’d worn last night.”

You propped yourself up to look at her, the light burning your eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I’m…You should get dressed and come downstairs.”

She left a bundle on your bed, and then quickly left. Your dream came back to you, and you couldn’t shake off the fear. The clothes she gave you only worried you more. A flimsy linen tunic and a leather belt was all she’d given you. It didn’t match what the concubines wore at all, and your body fell into a cold sweat. Still, you pulled on the tunic and belted it at your waist. Coming downstairs, you saw the four wives’ discomfort as they watched you approach. Delly didn’t meet your eyes, and Luna concentrated hard on the book in her lap. Fauna kept herself closed off with her arms, picking at her skirt nervously and staring out the window. Celeste sat in a corner, knitting a small scarf and not looking at you. Apprehensive, you stopped a few feet from them when you saw the two standing behind Atala. Their skin tinged purple and green, their decaying bodies stood hunched over in their tattered, battered armor. You did not like how they stared at you, so menacingly.

It was Atala who spoke.

“YN, you’re to come with me,” she said, hands behind her back and feet apart.

“Why?”

“His Grace has decided you are not fit to be a wife.”

You recalled what Celeste told you about what happened to girls who displeased Yunho. “But…last night…I did everything he wanted. I let him put it inside me. I’ll definitely get pregnant with how many loads he dumped in me.”

“Prince Yunho has recently learned that due to your condition-”

“-My condition?!"-”

“-You are not able to bear him children, and therefore are completely useless to him-”

“-Not being able to have a kid doesn’t make me useless-” you spat back at her.

“-And he’s decreed that you’ll be leaving with General Song.”

“With Mingi? Why?”

“He is an old friend of Prince Yunho’s, and he wants to give him a special gift,” she said. “If he’s not going to put you to use, then perhaps General Song can.” She saw your fiery gaze and continued, “There are worse fates than ending up with The General, YN. He isn’t cruel or unkind. He’ll treat you well, and perhaps he can help with your mark. He is a powerful warlock, who can perform all kinds of magic. He might be able to ease its effects before they grow worse.”

“I’d still be his slave,” you argued. “You do realize slavery is slavery regardless of who the ‘master’ is, right? I don’t care about any of that. I want to get this damn mark taken off. I don’t want to be somebody’s pet or toy. You all might be okay with being collared and stuck in one place, but not me.” You walked over to her, “Atala, you can’t possibly think this is okay?”

“I’m sorry, but this is how things are on this side of the realm,” she said sincerely. “These men are here to take you to him.”

The undead soldiers walked around here, and immediately grabbed each arm. Their boney hands gripped your biceps tightly when they lifted you off the ground. You kicked around a few inches from the floor, twisting in their grasp and grunting through your teeth.

“Let go of me, you freaks!” You hissed, trying to kick one of them as you left the room. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“The General says otherwise,” the one missing an eye said in a throaty voice. You looked to see the hole in his neck showing his vocal chords. “You’re going to be his pretty plaything and like it or else.”

“I’d rather die!”

His cohort laughed, “You say that as if that’d stop him.”

“Ah, I see the game he’s playing here. Mingi was always a sneaky one. Too bad it’s not going to work out.”

You struggled the entire way down to the front courtyard. You expected to see Yunho standing somewhere nearby, but you only saw Mingi by a wagon. The steel cage sitting in the back was meant to hold prisoners, and you were his prisoner. He’d been giving orders to a soldier who held his head under his arm when the two men brought you forward. His pale eyes looked at you in delight, eager by the sight of you.

“Exactly how I pictured you,” he grinned. Cold, stiff fingers brushed your cheek, and you flinched away. “Ah, come on, don’t be like that. You should be thanking me. Yunho wanted to throw you into the slave pits to die, and I told him he should give you to me.” He stared down at your body, cracked lips curling into a smirk, “I promise I won’t toss you away like garbage. I’ll take very good care of you.”

“Let. Me. Go,” you said through gritted teeth.

“Why? It’s not like you could make it on your own out here,” he said. He clicked his teeth, and beckoned the soldiers closer. “If he’d just let you go, you’d get picked up by somebody eventually, then you’d be in real trouble.” He withdrew a black rope from his pocket, “Trust me, sweetheart, this is better.”

“Lord Kim is supposed to be coming for me.”

“And I’m going to take you somewhere safe until he does.”

The soldiers forced your arms forward, and Mingi tied the rope around them in intricate knots.

“I’ll get away,” you threatened. “You wait and see. He will come for me and turn you into ash,” or so you hoped.

“As if he'd care what happens to a Cursed. Unless you can do magic that’s not going to be possible,” he tightened the final knot, “Put her in the cage.”

“No, no, no! Let go! Let go!”

You strained against the soldiers holding you, twisting in their grasp as they forced you into the cage. The covered roof blocked out the sky, and the sides remained open for everyone to see you. You glared at Mingi, and reached for the door bars. When you wrapped your hands around the criss-crossing squares, a jolt of electricity zapped right through you. Immediately, you let go of the bars to the amusement of the soldiers around you. Massaging your hands, you tried rubbing the numbing feeling pinching underneath the skin. Mingi’s pale eyes looked at you boastfully, turning to the people around him with approval.

“Like I said,” he walked up to the cage, looking up at you from below, “Unless you can do magic, you’re not going anywhere. Enjoy the ride, sweetheart. I promise it'll be just as fun for you as it’ll be for me.”

Your eyes stayed on him as he mounted a skeletal horse, and began strolling beside the wagon. Like an unwanted possession, you’d been taken from one “master” to only be discarded and given to another. You did not have the time for this. Three days have passed since you’d been marked, and you felt time blowing right by you. You didn’t know how long it’d take you to get to your destination, but seeing the slow moving procession, you’d be gone before you arrived.

“Don’t take it too hard. Mingi has an image to keep up like I do. He’s okay once you get to know him, and he is my most loyal soldier. He won’t harm you unless he wants to get broken into tiny pieces.”

Leaning back against the cage wall, you huddled onto the bed of hay and tried not thinking of how much you wanted to knock off The General’s head.

****

The guard fell to the ground like a brick. His body completely frozen, a light frost covered him from the tips of his wings to the claws of his feet. Hongjoong could easily crush him into pieces, but he refrained. He wanted Yunho to know who’d done this. Stepping over the body, he crept into the antechamber. The heat running through the rocky walls penetrated even his icy skin, but he managed it.

“My lord?” a female voice spoke from behind him.

The soldier did not have time to react. In an instant, Hongjoong threw a bright blue flame in her direction. Like with her fellow, the green Dragonite became a frozen statue and tipped over. Moving through the darkened chamber, he easily broke through the tall doors on the other side. Inside, he found what he’d been looking for. Underneath the valley’s tallest volcano was the hatching chamber. A large circular room raised above a flowing lava river, the hot steam and molten rocks kept royal eggs warm in small incubators. Hongjoong glared at them. These eggs, while cherished as any life, had been the product of rape. Yes, that is what Yunho had done to his wives and others, even if they claimed otherwise. It angered him. He’d crush every single one if he could, just to punish the entitled prince for defying him.

Opening the bag across his chest, Hongjoong pulled on a pair of thick gloves and walked over to a trio of eggs. One was a bright silver, the other a dark bronze and the third an emerald green. He picked up the green egg, examining the football sized egg and its glittering shell. Life wriggled around inside the egg. A hatchling almost ready to break its shell. Yes, he’ll take this one. He did the same to the silver and bronze, deeming them worthy, and stored them carefully in his bag. Aerion couldn’t bear her own eggs anymore, so she’ll be delighted to have these.

Besides, they should be raised by a true dragon, not whatever Yunho had become.

On the rocky bed, Hongjoong laid a single note. ‘You took what was mine. I take what is yours,’ was written in his handwriting. Leaving the way he’d come, he didn’t bother confronting Yunho. He had a trail to follow. Yunho will know soon enough. One of the chamber attendants will see three missing eggs, and it’ll throw the prince into ultimate despair. It is his punishment. His atonement for what he’d done. Yes, Hongjoong encouraged you to embrace your curse and enjoyed watching, but the idea that Yunho intended to keep you enraged him. The necklace should have told him how important you were.

“My lord?”

Celeste. Beautiful, intelligent Celeste who’d been sold by her parents to her master. Like the other wives, she learned to accept her fate a long time ago. He stared down at her belly, and realized she was no longer pregnant. It had been three days since you’d left Yunho. She likely had the child in the days since. Hongjoong guessed she was visiting her children, if she was out of the tower so late. Gold eyes stared at him, then at his bag, and then back at him.

“Which ones?” She asked him, a hint of worry in her voice.

“Silver, bronze and emerald,” he answered. “They’re almost fully formed. I didn’t touch the fresh eggs. Do they belong to any of you?”

She shook her head. “They must be the pit eggs.”

“Pit eggs?”

“Yunho sometimes breeds women from the slave pits. If they have a child, they’re brought to the harem but then taken back down again.”

He scoffed, “He has no shame.”

“Is this because of YN?”

“Yes.”

She looked over at him once, then said, “You love her.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then why give her as a gift to another man? It doesn’t sound like anything a man would do to the woman he loves.”

“Misunderstandings, misfortune, manipulation and lies,” he answered, each word digging another dagger into his chest. “Seonghwa found her before I could, and assumed I’d sent her to him. Yunho believed he was stealing Seonghwa’s new pet. Mingi is likely taking her to the Grey Lands right now where I hope she’ll be safe until I arrive.”

“Not one of the greater moments, is it?”

“Not at all. I have to fix this before it gets worse.”

And he would. He bid the Dragonite good night, then slipped out through an open window. Planting on the ground, he went to a horse hidden in the volcano’s shadow. He stared up into the sky, the sky growing darker as night approached, and saw the bird in the sky. A sharp whistle called Garnet down to him once.

“I have to go find Aerion,” he told the black crow, “I want you to find Mingi’s company and follow them. They’re likely somewhere in the foothills by now. Okay?”

The crow hopped around on the horse’s back, and Hongjoong withdrew a small pumpkin seed. “There, now go.”

Thankfully, Aerion mostly lingered around the northern part of the range. She will be happy to receive the eggs. As he rode away on his horse, a man’s howling rage echoed behind him.

Serves him right.

****

A/N: Nothing ever really goes how we expect, huh? Mingi's got his own agenda, and YN is part of it. Tune in next chapter to see what happens to our lovers next.

#ateez #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #jeong yunho #yunho x reader #yunho x femreader #yunho x you #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez x you #pirateeznet

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junibugs · 14 days ago

Text

Saint Rocky

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x Reader

Reader: afab! Reader, she/her pronouns

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12,231

Summary: Four years after a cure is found for the deadly sickness that destroyed the world, Eren and Reader are left in its aftermath. The world returns to its axis, and society rebuilds, but now that the sickness is a fear of the past, they’re forced to learn the fears of the present.

Content: Post-Apocalyptic AU!, Friends to Lovers?, Found Family, Religious Themes

Other Content: slight Jean/Armin if u squint, Pieck is disabled and has ehlers danlos syndrome because i do too and i said so, non-binary Hange, everyone who is alive early s4 is alive here, the dog does not die, Gabi defender until i die

Content Warnings: Dark Content (Mentions of SA, Religious Themes/Trauma, Mentions of Pedophilia, Implied Character Death, Violence, Weapons, Animal Death,

Notes: This isn't truly complete i just didn't want to write it anymore but wanted to give it to you guys so if in a few months it's a little different and actually edited thats why.

He’s careful with his steps, but not fearful.

Everytime you hunt, you can see the part of him that was molded into perfection by his father. He knows what to do, how to do it, and he never hesitates. He holds his bow with a confidence that isn’t loud, but silent and sure. You trust him enough to refrain from telling him to slow down, so you let him remain a few yards ahead of you.

After a while, after times of repeating this routine over and over, you’ve learned to prefer it that way. He’s quick, gets his job done. He gets tunnel vision when he enters this headspace, so letting him move ahead of you allows you to watch his back, look at the wider picture, catch the little things that slip past his vision.

You trust him enough to lead the way, and he trusts you enough to fall behind.

“I have one set just a bit farther up.” You say softly. He turns his head just enough to catch your eye to give you a nod.

He slows his steps without you having to ask and lets you catch up so you can lead him to the trap. He keeps his head up, scanning his eyes over the thinning treeline until you reach him, then he looks to you, waiting for you to step ahead. Here is when you take lead, patting over your pockets to check for your knife and tools, feeling out the lumps of metal beneath your jeans.

Just in your sight, beneath a large tree and atop it’s skirt of fallen leaves, is the trap you set a day or two ago. Caught inside it, still shuffling about the metal bars of the bottom, is a large jackrabbit. A part of you is filled with relief, and another part is filled with guilt. Rabbits are difficult.

You catch a glimpse of auburn fur to your left, followed by a curious nose that presses itself to the cold metal bars of the cage. She sniffs deeply, puffing out clouds of heat into the winter air with every exhale. The rabbit jumps back and startles her, and her ears perk up as she steps closer.

“Ness, no,” You say softly and tug at her collar. She looks up at you with big brown eyes before awkwardly stepping back.

You look back to the rabbit.

Everytime you see them you wonder what it’s fur will feel like beneath your fingers when you pull it from the trap or how it’s little heart would beat frantically in your hands if you took the time to hold it while it’s alive. You wonder if it knows that it’s never leaving the cage with it’s life, or that in mere hours from now it will end up in the stomachs of your friends or salted heavily and wrapped in butcher’s paper to be prepared on a later day.

It’s last moments alive are spent being thanked by the same person who has caused it’s death.

“I can do it.” Eren says as he reaches you. He sets down the things in his hands and reaches for an arrow.

Possums are the easiest. Something about their faces and tails make it less difficult for you to give the final blow. Foxes are the hardest; with their yips and barks and big eyes and puffy tails, they’re too much like a pet for you to kill them, let alone be near them when they die.

Eren has to do it. He almost always has to.

He fiddles with his bow and then nocks an arrow, draws back, and fixes the head into one of the holes at the top of the cage. His fingers are tight on the bowstring, tendons straining, arms flexing. The arrowhead is in line with the rabbits skull; it will be quick, quiet.

Every time you’re tempted to call out and stop him. Every time there is a part of you that wants to feel it’s heart flit beneath your hands, or it’s paws kick at your forearms, before you let it go and watch it scamper off into the woods.

But you don’t. You turn away before he releases. There’s a thump, and then a clink, and it’s over. Ness flinches.

You turn back around to retrieve the rabbit from the cage, careful to not damage Eren’s arrow as you remove it. The fur sheds off onto your jacket sleeves and wisps about the air as the arrow is pulled from it’s skull, but you’re still gentle with it as you hand it to Eren, like you’re afraid to hurt it… even now.

You reset the trap and bait it properly, then stand to brush the leaves off of your pants and the fur off your sleeves. You shove your tools back into your pockets and bag, and then look to Eren solemnly.

He gives a curt nod and then continues forward, his eyes scanning the treeline. The rabbit is still in his grasp, his grip around it’s ears. It hangs alongside a squirrel that was in an earlier trap. He won’t make you touch them until he needs both hands.

It’s beginning to get darker earlier on in the day, and it shows in the way the sun has sunk beneath the trees when it’s not even yet five o’clock. The blues of the sky darken, and the clouds shift to a deep coral, then they will both blend to purple and fade into midnight blues as the moon replaces the sun.

“How many more?” He asks.

“Just two,” You answer.

“Think we can get a turkey, maybe a pheasant?” He glances back, just for a second.

“Don’t ask me that. Aren’t you supposed to be tracking?” .

“Can’t track shit with this snow piling up.” He scoffs, kicking lightly at the ground to send some spinning through the air, “and she’s no help.”

You look at Ness as she digs at the base of a tree, upturning snow and frozen dirt and kicking it behind her. You used to think she’s found something when she would do this, but after falling for her antics over and over with no fruition, you realized that she just does it when she gets bored.

“We got a squirrel and a rabbit, that’s not horrible.”

“You got them. I didn’t do anything,” He turns on his heel, faking a pout, hands on his hips. His thick brows are drawn together, but his eyes give him away.

“Didn’t know this was a competition,” You raise your brows and cock your head, mirroring him with your hands on your hips.

He smiles, then immediately straightens out his expression, “Oh, did no one tell you? It always has been.”

“Whatever. Even if it was, I’d still be winning.”

He rolls his eyes, then brings up an arm to push his hair away from his face. When his arm drops back down his eyes catch something just to your right. He blinks twice, then looks to you quickly, then back to whatever is behind you. You turn your head, only your head, and then over your right shoulder you see them.

With their bald heads and red gobbles, there walks a handful of turkeys maybe thirty yards away. They must have been too far to catch your eye as you walked past them the first time around, and Lord knows Eren wouldn’t have seen them until they’re right in front of him.

Ness is already staring.

You keep your eyes on them as you reach your hands out to Eren, using your touch as sight, and waiting for your to fingers touch the fur of the game and the warm of his hands. You grab your catch by their ears and tail. When you look back to Eren, he’s already nocked an arrow and is slowly toeing past you.

“Agnes, come.” You whisper to the dog. She obeys, coming to your side. You take a firm hold to her collar.

You mirror him again by crouching low, and then you seat yourself down on your heels as you wait and watch.

This part fascinates you; the speed, the efficiency, the accuracy, the way his focus is so sharp that nothing can draw his attention away from the prize in front of him. He makes his bow is no different than the gun on his hip. He’s been hypnotized by the hunt. You’ve been mesmerized by his kill.

He keeps his fingers pressed around the string as he closes in. The turkeys remain unaware. The sunlight streaks past them, showing their movement in the shadows. And even when you cannot bear to watch him kill the small game that get caught up in your traps, you can’t seem to look away as his arrow slices through the still autumn air and lodges itself into one of their chests. The other turkeys become a flurry of feathers and noise, and they’re up and gone as fast the arrow killed.

Eren straightens out, tall and broad-shouldered, and lets out a deep exhale. You can see his shoulders relax, even beneath the thick of his jacket, because the jokes will only go so far. If he had returned with nothing, he would beat himself up for it, and not because of faux competition.

You follow him after the kill, your fingers still tight around a pair of ears and a tail. When you get to him, he’s already pulled out his arrow and grabbed the bird by it’s ankles. You hate the way its head hangs so limply and its long neck bends so easily as he pulls it from the ground. You have to look away.

“Lead the way.” He says.

You bring him to the final two traps, finding only a squirrel caught within one. As the sun dips below the horizon and the sky darkens, you return to the church with full hands and empty stomachs.

***

Niccolo meets you in the kitchen. His excitement had gotten the best of him, and he had pulled out an array of spices and seasonings with the hopes of you returning with game.

He allows you to skin and gut them inside, as long as you keep them away from the vegetables and canned goods. So you grab a cutting board and decide to work on the metal table that is separate from the main countertops. You shed your jacket and roll the sleeves of your thermal up to your elbows. Your knife is grabbed from your pocket and you switch it open before starting at the neck.

You zone out.

Just because this part isn’t as hard as the hunt, doesn’t mean it’s easy. It’s bloody and gross and warm and it makes weird sounds and has weird smells. You let your eyes fall out of focus and you try and keep your attention on Niccolo preparing the rest of the meal rather than the feeling of insides on your palms.

He cuts quickly, skillfully, in a way that never lets anyone forget the work he did as a professional chef. You remember him sharing that he had worked banquets and galas for the affluent; the kind of people who were so wealthy, so powerful, that you didn’t even know their names. A part of you had thought he was lying, comforting himself with successes that used to be his dreams and should have been his reality. But then he would use these elegant terms to refer to the simplest of techniques, or make dishes that made you question your skepticism and finally believe him.

Your skinning and gutting is halted when Eren slips into the kitchen. He has also shed himself of his overcoat and pushed the sleeves of his thin crewneck up his forearms. His boots clunk heavily against the rock-tiled floor as he makes his way past Niccolo and over to you.

“Go wash up. I’ll do it,” He gently nudges you aside with shoulder, strong body pressing against yours to take over your job of cutting and emptying.

You don’t push back, not caring to dispute over blood and guts. He doesn’t look up before taking your knife from the counter and picking up from where you had left off. You don’t have to say ‘thank you’ for him to know, so you shuffle around Niccolo with your hands in the air out of caution of the blood on your hands, and make your way to the bathroom.

Eren does your former job much quicker, but more careless, and Niccolo has to stern him twice about being sloppy when bagging the entrails because he’s getting drops of blood on the floor. Eren chuckles when Niccolo reminds him that, “This is my kitchen.” Because this is the farthest one could get from an industrial sized kitchen; with it’s old cabinets and wood burning stove.

Finding the monastery was pure luck, and being welcomed in by it’s inhabitants was even more so. Eren guesses that in a way it is Niccolo’s kitchen, for he was here before the rest of you were, and no one else has a clue about cooking for upwards of twenty people.

But before Niccolo was Historia. From what you’ve heard through hushed whispers, from a distance, and under the cover of darkness, she was here before it all happened. Everyone had come from other places, had other homes, other families, other friends, but not her.

“She was baptized here,” You remember Armin saying softly, “when she was little.”

You figured that is why she is so hesitant to leave. She must have lived here, grown here; ate, slept, and breathed here. She’ll birth right here too. And in the Church, perhaps, she’ll lay her child in the manger that stands on the altar like the Virgin Mary herself did. And maybe on the eighth day, she’ll christen the child the way she once was, with the still water that has remained in the pool since the start.

You bet the water is soft with age, in a way that is too difficult to explain. It wouldn’t be like the water that you now wash over your bloodied hands. This water is too cold, too sharp, it would make her baby cry. Within that realization, you turn the faucet to the right and wait patiently for the water to heat up. Goosebumps erupt up your forearms and over the back of your neck as your hands, cold from the winter’s air, are warmed slowly.

The cuffs of your sleeves are damped by your wet fingers as you pull your shirt back down to your wrists, but you don’t fuss with them, planning on changing your shirt to rid yourself of shedded fur and feathers. It’s traded for one of your father’s sweatshirts that you find buried within the drawers of the wardrobe you share with Pieck.

She was lucky enough to arrive to the monastery before you, giving her the choice to pick the bed away from the cold of the window on your side of the room. You were lucky to arrive later, able to avoid the loneliness that would be rooming alone within a building so big. If the world had given you the luxury of going to school, you would want a roommate like her. For most of the day she keeps herself curled into the part of her bed where the corner of the mattress meets the corner of the wall, but you don’t mind. When she’s awake she’s charming and soft-spoken, funny and intelligent; she puts in work when her body gives her the chance.

She’s not in her usual spot, so it’s safe to assume she’s wrapped herself in a blanket and tucked herself before the wood-burning fireplace to watch the old Christian movies that have been spun into VHS tapes by the people that were here before. It’s only those movies; with their poorly done special effects and actors that hadn’t done another film before and never did another after. You’ve found a handful of CD’s that have more mainstream films burned into them, but the television here is only VCR, and the luxury of DVD and cable is long in the past.

***

Eren’s gaze is pulled away from the bones and entrails before him and towards the soft voice of his best-friend. Armin stands in the open entryway between the kitchen and the dining room with his hands clasped in front of him, watching Niccolo as he cooks, checking in politely.

Armin only does this when the others get antsy. They must have heard about today’s success and let their stomachs speak before their heads. He can hear the faint sounds of the television playing in the living room, alongside the occasional stern voice that follows an eruption of giggles. He doesn’t have to peek around the corner to know who sits on those aged couches and faded carpet to crowd before the buzzing screen.

‘They’re watching that one movie’ He thinks, ‘with that one scene of Jesus fully nude’

“I think he’s almost done…” Connie says hesitantly, getting up from his spot at the island to peer over Niccolo’s shoulder and sneak a glance at the meat on the stove.

“Eren’s just cleaning up.” Niccolo adds, “But yeah, almost done.”

“Even with all that meat?” Armin asks, giving Eren a grateful glance.

“I’ll have it wrapped for another day.”

Armin steps farther in, sliding himself beside Eren, cautiously watching as he shoves the rest of the mess into a trash bag. “If it didn’t exhaust you both so much I’d make you guys go on every run with the amounts you bring in.”

“We’re fine, just send us.” Eren says, “Or I could go alone.”

Armin huffs, “You wouldn’t get half as much done without her.”

“Would too.”

“No, and besides, you would complain if I sent you by yourself.”

Armin was right. The thought of going alone sounded dreadful. Hours upon hours of scouring frozen terrain with no one to carry his game, to reset the traps, to listen to him complain about drawing his bowstring with frozen fingers over and over until his fingertips are red and raw. But it was the thought of going without you that sounded even more upsetting.

When you two were away from the camp, away from the lives you were forced to live, he was able to finally think. You let him say things that he can’t say to the others; let him pour out all the nonsense that’s piled up in his brain throughout the day, you get to talk about your past lives without the fear of being reprimanded for it. It’s like he’s writing in a diary, but the pages are you.

He decorates you with pictures, receipts, trinkets, all sorts of things that he usually keeps to himself. He’ll peel apart the pages of your mind and glue parts of himself onto them. He shows you the things he hides in the box that’s tucked beneath the clothes in his dresser; his fathers broken compass, and his drivers license, and polaroids of his friends and family. And then you’ll ask about Grisha, and laugh and tease him over his short hair and the scowl on his face in all of the pictures.

He opens himself up for you too, when you let yourself. You’re like a jigsaw puzzle, and you give him pieces over time, and with each piece he’ll compare them to the rest and try to see where they fit into the bigger picture that is you.

He truly wouldn’t want to hunt with anyone else, not even himself. Because when the two of you are miles out after trudging through the frosted foliage with runny noses and watering eyes, when you’re smoking old cigarettes and ashing them into the snow, talking until the sky goes dark and you’re both so tired that you wonder if you’ll even make it back, he feels more than normal. He feels alright.

***

“Dinner’s ready!” Gabi shouts, slightly out of breath after flying up the stairs and around the corner of your doorframe. Ness jumps and nips at the hem of her shirt, and Gabi’s hand pushes at her snout to let her know that they’re not playing chase.

“Okay, I’ll be just a minute.” You tell her with a smile, and she goes bounding down once again, feet thumping loudly against the hard wood stairs. When you hear Levi stern her for running in the house, you finally get up.

Before entering the kitchen, you’re greeted by the savory smell of seared turkey and roasted corn, and you think you can make out the scent of Campbell’s canned vegetable soup, which is confirmed shortly by the large pot you see still simmering over the stove.

The kids have set the table, you can tell by the mismatched plates and plastic cups, something Levi would’ve never let slide if he had done it himself. But he sits contently at the head of the table, his plastic cup replaced with a teacup and filled with freshly brewed black tea. He prefers English Breakfast, but you ran out about a month ago.

Niccolo has Sasha and Connie bring the food to the island, but they don’t do so without sneaking a few bites, and once everyone has gathered into the kitchen, they’re allowed to grab their plates and are first in line for their servings. You and Eren are last to get up for food, letting your appetite return from the hunt before giving the turkey a glance.

He nudges your arm with his elbow, his hands occupied by a plate, and you look up to him. He has a smile on his face and his eyes point to the turkey before looking back at you.

“Yeah yeah, shut it.” You groan over his gloating. The size of the thing is impressive, you’ll give him that, but you won’t let him forget how he whined and complained about the weight of it with every step back to the church.

He lets you go first, helps you when a slice of turkey is stuck to another and you can’t get them apart, then he takes that slice for himself. When you sit beside each other at the table, you pour him water from the pitcher, and he stares at it intently like he’s waiting for it to turn to wine.

You sit at the far end of the table, and although you’ve aged your ways into your twenties the older bunch are still sat at the kids table with Gabi and the others. None of you mind, you get to whisper amongst yourselves and tell jokes that are a little too mature for the kids and say things that are a touch to vulgar for the real adults. You corrupt Colt with your antics; who’s just a little too young to participate, but old enough now where Mikasa no longer feels the need to cover his ears.

You giggle over spilt soup and steal from each others plates so you don’t have to get up for seconds, and when Connie says something particularly crude, you cover your mouths to try and keep your drinks in, but water slips through your fingers with your laughter and the table is a mess before your meal is done.

Everyone finishes one by one and take turns rinsing their plates before stacking them in the sink, returning to the table to finish conversations before leaving the kitchen. But you never get the chance to leave, because Levi, Hange, and Erwin are standing up at the head of their table and Armin follows short after realizing what’s occurring.

“Alright,” Levi begins, and gives everyone a moment settle down before continuing, “As we can see, the snow hasn’t melted.”

It takes you only a second before recognizing where this conversation is going to go.

“Given that it’s early November, this means it won’t be going away.”

“It also means we’re closer to Christmas.” Hange adds with an excited whisper.

Levi ignores their statement and continues, “There are a few things we need to go over, a few changes that are going to happen since last year.”

You know what this means. Fall and spring give you the luxuries of harvest and game, but the extremes of middle America’s winter and summers will freeze you tough and burn you dry.

“Myself, Erwin, Hange, and Armin have discussed how we’re going to adjust for this winter.”

Beside you, Eren holds his head in his hands. This discussion has been held every year since you’ve been here and he hates it every time. He’s never agreed with how they decide to handle the cold months, has never shied from sharing his opinions, but it only seems that the rules get stricter and stricter as time goes on.

As much as he hates to do what he’s told at this time, the rules getting tighter makes more and more sense. The longer you stay here, the less you have, the more you go through, and more people come along.

You only half listen to Levi speak, because your job will always remain the same. Go out when you’re told, to get what you’re told. You hear him talk about cutting down on runs, something about rationing, how the radio’s are going to be finicky as always, that the lake is completely froze over, and to not leave unless you have to. His voice is white noise as you watch Eren out of the corner of your eye. He only moves to absentmindedly pet Agnes as she sits beside him.

He does this every year. He’ll tune out Levi’s voice, work himself into unrest, take it out you and Mikasa, blame Armin, then yell at Levi in the middle of the night before storming off towards the moon. No one chases after him, Agnes will bark at the door for a while, then lay down in the foyer and wait for him to return. You do the same, only you lay in your bed and turn to face the cobblestone wall, staring at the grooves, and listening closely for the sound of returning footsteps.

He argues the same thing every time.

“So we’re just gonna hide in here like sitting ducks waiting for someone to jump us or kill us or worse…?”

And he always gets the same answer.

“It’s not hiding, Eren, it’s being smart. We’re playing the long game.”

The moment the conversation ends, Eren’s getting up and walking out of the kitchen. He doesn’t push his chair in. You don’t care to follow him, but you watch where he goes. He heads up the stairs without looking back, and then you hear the door to his room shut just a little harder than usual. You look to Mikasa with wide eyes and pursed lips, she looks back and rolls her eyes in acknowledgement, shaking her head at him. She rubs at her eyes and runs a hand through her dark hair, and that’s how you know that she’s determined its a ‘tomorrow problem’. You listen to her cue, and start your own way up the stairs to your room, following behind Pieck.

“It’s too late for his games,” She says softly from behind you. You smile even though you know she can’t see your face.

Pieck always takes a little longer to get up the stairs, but you never mind. You’re always far to exhausted to ever think about wishing that she couldn’t go a little quicker. You watch the foot of her crutch knock against the wooden steps, and the monotony makes your eyes heavy with sleep.

You tell Mikasa a quick goodnight before following Pieck into your shared room. You change out of your clothes with half open eyes, and stumble as you toe your boots off. The beds are small, could only fit two people if you tried to sardine it, but they somehow always manage to feel like the greatest expanse of clouds after hours of walking.

Your curled beneath the sheets with closed eyes before Pieck has even turned the lamp off, Agnes curled at her feet. Once she does, you only stay awake until you can hear her soft breathing, and that lulls you to sleep.

***

The blankets are warm and soft when you wake up, and your eyes are still heavy. When you pry them open, you expect the soft light of sunrise streaking through the window, but instead its only the moon. It’s only a bit more than half full, with a swelling belly and dark craters. It shines though the window panes and patterns across your beige sheets.

Your confused for a moment, staring up at her as she’s in the middle of the sky. Then you feel a push to your shoulder, and it takes a second for you to realize that it wasn’t the first.

“Hey…” You hear a whisper along with another push. You turn from facing the wall to see who wakes you.

“What?” You mumble, irritation slight in your voice. Your eyes are still heavy with sleep and you hope that whoever beckons your consciousness is quick with it.

“Can we take a walk?” The voice asks.

Your brain associates the question with a person before their voice. He does this sometimes; wakes you up in the middle of the night when the stars are the brightest and the air is the coldest.

“It’s so cold.” You argue, but there’s not enough strength in your words. You’ll give in, you always do.

“Please,” He adds. You begin to make out the gray of his eyes in the moonlight.

You huff, “Alright.”

You nudge at his bottom with your knee to give you room to get out from the blankets. The wooden floor is cold, you can feel it even through your wool socks. Your skin breaks out in goosebumps and you quickly reach for a sweatshirt before addressing him again. The floor creaks beneath your quick steps and you know Pieck will stir awake. Your eyes flit to Agnes, she’s awake but she doesn’t sit up, she only stares with her beady eyes.

You slip the sweatshirt on over your sleep thermals as fast as possible, and then slide on sweatpants over your long johns. You cover your socks in a second pair and seal them over the ankle hem of the pants. You glance at Eren.

“‘so confident that I’d come with that you already dressed.” You murmur, tugging snow pants atop of the two layers you already have.

“I was gonna go whether or not you joined me,” He says.

You don’t respond. Instead, you pull on your boots and sling your coat on. You pull a hat over your head, one Historia knit in her free time, and zip your coat all the way up to your neck. Gloves follow.

“Okay.” You say, letting him know you’re ready.

He stands, his windbreaker rustling and boots knocking against the floor. You wonder how you didn’t hear him come in. You glance to Pieck. She’s awake. You can see the glisten of her eyes, but can’t make out her irises or pupils. Agnes is as well, sitting up now.

“Sorry,” You whisper, “don’t tell.”

Her hand slips from under her blankets and to her mouth, and you can just make out her make a zipping motion over her lips. She tosses the key.

You leave with Eren behind you, trying your best to navigate the darkness of the church, toeing softly down the stairs, carefully maneuvering around furniture throughout the halls, then grasping Eren’s bow from the front entrance with gentle fingers. The quiver is grabbed with your other hand. You turn and hand them to him before heading towards the back entrance. The front is too loud with its hefty wooden doors and thick metal locks, it would wake the whole camp. The back door is across the church from where everyone sleeps. You slip out with ease.

You’re not supposed to be out past ten for ‘safety reasons’ that Levi deems important. Eren believes it’s more for his own comfort than anything; you agree.

A new layer of snow flurries softly to the ground and you both press your boots into it as you trail off into the woods. You walk in one direction and one direction only, not risking getting lost. Agnes isn’t there to guide you home if you do.

You don’t have to ask Eren what he wants to talk about, you already know. You also know he isn’t looking for a conversation, he just wants to go on knowing that someone is there listening. You make it almost a mile before he talks.

“I just think it’s stupid. I don’t know.” He says quietly. You can hear him perfectly fine as the snow muffles the sound of everything besides the crunch of your footsteps. “The benefits they claim are just so pointless. We should just keep doing what we’re doing and how we’re doing it instead of going through all the damn trouble of fixing for winter.”

“Yeah,” You murmur, half listening.

“‘and Levi’s just gonna be harder and harder on rules — he’d probably beat the shit out of us for being out here if he found out.”

“Probably.”

“I just don’t understand why we can’t keep it the same and if we find out someone’s creeping on us or planning a raid or getting too close then we just go after them first.”

“Exactly,” You toe at pine cones and leaves, kicking them ahead of you as you walk, meeting them and then kicking them again.

“Or we could just go find and kill everyone else before they even have a chance to think about it.”

You pause behind him and furrow your brows.

“‘cut down the problem at the root.”

“Well, that’s not—” You start.

“Why not?” He stops as well, turning around and stepping up onto what you believe is one side of the train tracks.

You’ve come out here before, walked on the rail lines, followed them until minutes turned into hours which turned into days. Once you went so far you had made it to an old station you would guess to be 50 miles out. You slept at a mattress store in the town that day; back-to-back under sheets that smelt like moth balls.

Eren stands tall on the track, slightly swaying back and forth to keep his balance. He looks down at you with stony eyes and arms crossed over his chest. The moon is right behind him, covered by his head.

“Interrupt me again, thank you,” You roll your eyes.

“Sorry, go ahead.”

“It just seems a bit much,” You laugh softly, “very dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” He questions, “I don’t think it’s dramatic. Actually, I think this is a very serious issue that needs serious measures to.. you know… deal with it.”

You watch him as he continues on, talking with his hands, pacing back and forth on the tracks. You stand there bundled in your layers, hiding from the cold behind the neck of your coat, feeling the cold zipper touch your lips.

He goes on and on about things you hear every year that you don’t need to hear again to understand. You don’t necessarily agree with him, but you don’t think he’s wrong. You make sure to respond every now and then, ask him questions, give him reactions, doing what you can to let him know you’re still listening.

You get tired of standing and choose to sit on the same track he paces and balances along. His voice fades to the background as you fiddle with the little rocks before you, collecting ones you think are pretty and then stuffing them in your pocket.

Eren’s always had this weird carnal desire to protect. It’s almost animalic, like a sheep dog guarding its herd; sniffing out creatures in the woods and going after their necks. He keeps careful eye on everyone but keeps closer on those he cares for the most. You know he keeps the closest eye on you, always watching you out of the corner of it. What you don’t know is what to make of it. He confuses you sometimes, and you find yourself questioning him.

Are you his litter mate? Does the animal in him see you as his sister?

You feel a push to the back of your head, “Hey!” You look up.

“You’re not even listening.” Eren stands above you with annoyance on his face.

“You bitch,” You reach to take a fistful of snow and dirt and throw it towards his face. It smacks him in the cheek and the second it makes contact he begins to wipe it off furiously.

“If you were listening you wouldn’t be saying that. You would’ve heard me say that I’d bomb this whole country if anything happened to you guys,” He flicks the snow remnants from his cheek toward you and it specks across your face, melting into your warm cheeks, “You specifically. I’d probably want to do it all by hand if anything happened to you.”

“Well now that’s just a lie.” You mutter.

Eren’s face gets hot at his own words, “‘s not.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause I’m here.”

“Well why do you think you’re here? You’re the best — the only one I can talk to about this stuff.”

You believe him then. Eren would probably get far too annoyed or far too bored without you. You’re quiet enough where he doesn’t have to listen much, but do enough where conversations don’t grow stale. You make him laugh, let him talk, give him space but never too much and never not enough. You have his trust and he has yours, you’d give him your life and he would do the same and more.

But you can’t figure out if his distress would be most rooted in selfishness or selflessness. Would he be upset because he’d miss you, or because he’d miss what you give him? Would he save your life because he loves you or because he loves how you make him feel?

Does the animal in him see you as a means for survival more than the human in him sees you as a means for life?

You stand up, “Very sweet of you.”

His eyes meet yours and you can see his cheeks blush in the moonlight, “Stop.”

“I’m just saying that’s very sweet of you to say. You don’t say nice things to me a lot; I’m trying to give positive reinforcement; like Pavlov’s dog.”

“That makes it sound like I’m mean.” He avoids eye contact, “I’m very nice to you.”

“Yes, you are,” You nudge his shoulder with yours and turn back to the path you came from stepping backwards into the footprints you made on the way there.

He follows behind you, “You do think so?”

You pretend to hesitate momentarily, but take the time to cherish the nice moments you manage to think of on the spot. They always seem to come out of nowhere, and are always a bit out of character; like making you tea when you’re sick, or scraping the mud off your boots after it rains.

“Yeah, I do.”

He feels slightly conflicted with your answer. He’s pleased with knowing that his typically aloof nature doesn’t hide his care for you, but he’s uncomfortable with it being addressed. He doesn’t like it being said out loud, it makes the silence that follows it quite claustrophobic

He watches you walk ahead of him. You’re all puffed up by coat layers, swaddled by cotton and wool, legs wrapped in sweatpants and snow pants so bulky you waddle a bit through the snow. He regrets not wearing as much as you; the cold still bites at him through his jacket, while he can see the finer hairs of your hairline sticking to your forehead from the warmth of your hat.

“Do you think he’ll let us go out tomorrow?” He asks.

“‘should probably wait a bit to even ask him,” You say.

“How long?”

“I don’t know. A week maybe?”

“That’s too long.”

You press your lips together, thinking, “couple days then.”

You continue walking. The moon is so bright in the sky that there’s no need for flashlights; there’s no light pollution anymore. You can see the stars go on forever, deep into the horizon. They glow so bright that the constellations would be traceable through paper if you had held a sheet up to the sky.

You see short, shadowed figures in the front window when you return. Their bodies are lit up by the candlesticks they hold in their hands; fingers wrapped around brass holders. Gabi and Falco, awake in the dead of night. You must’ve woken them. It forces you to enter through the big double doors, and you both groan internally at the thought of waking anyone else. The lock on the door rattles as you key it open, and the metal door knockers clank against the wood as you tug at the handle. You wince.

You’re greeted by a nudge at your knees, Agnes wiggling back and forth, nosing at your shins. You reach down to grab her snout, not trusting her to not bark.

“What are you doing?” You whisper at Gabi as she sits on the floor, tying up her boots. Falco stands over her, blatantly hesitant. It obviously wasn’t his idea.

She looks up at you with big brown eyes, if they were gray you could’ve mistaken them for Eren’s.

“I saw you guys leaving. I wanted to make sure you were okay. You shouldn’t leave without anyone knowing, it’s dangerous.”

You want to snicker at her hypocrisy, but instead you press your lips together and smile at her feigned worry. She’s just curious, you know it. She’s just recently been allowed to tag along on runs — only close ones, albeit.

“I told her it wasn’t a good idea. ‘swear I was trying to stop her.” Falco babbles, but you see his boots were already tied. He had already decided that if he couldn’t stop her that he was going to join her.

“Falco shush. Gab, jus’ go to bed.” Eren says, quiet but sharp.

She stops lacing her shoes, but doesn’t take them off, “Only if you do.”

“We are.” You release Agnes and pet her head in apology. You appreciate her attempt to stop them.

You pat Falco on the back between his shoulder blades, ushering him upstairs. Gabi follows, shamefully holding one boot in her hands, and following Falco with the other on her right foot; the left decorated in a green sock that you know is mismatched from the other.

You and Eren trail them. You give him a look, you don’t know what kind, but you know he gives you the same one back.

You get to close their door behind them, watching Agnes follow them in. When you turn back around, Eren sits in a rocking chair that rests in the corner of the bed hall, lit by the waning candle in the sconce. You pull your hood and hat off your head as you tiredly walk towards him.

He looks up to you with his elbows resting on his knees. He rocks back and forth so slow that you barely notice.

You fight the urge to bring up the conversation from earlier. It teases at your tongue, pushes at your lips. But you don’t. He looks mean under this lighting.

You tug at the fingers of your gloves next, taking them off slowly. Your hands are sweaty beneath the wool. You set them on a narrow side table. Your hand outreaches to it and you lean against it. He’s not mean.

“What was that?”

His brows furrow, “What was what?” He gets nervous. He’s afraid you’ll ask about his soft spot.

“That weird little freak show at the tracks. You sound like a school shooter.”

His shoulders drop in relief, “My plan?”

“You mean your manifesto…” You sneer.

“Not a big fan, I take it.”

You step closer, crossing your arms over your chest, “I’d consider myself more so a skeptic.”

He scoots forward in his seat, taking off his own gloves.

“What would you change about it?”

You give a soft laugh, “Personally, I wouldn’t be so for all the… killing of people. But that’s just me.”

He lets you keep the high ground as you critique him, looking up at you from the chair. He doesn’t get angry, he only listens.

“Didn’t take you for a member of the peace corps.” He murmurs.

You’re getting tired of his misdirections. You’re not looking for an argument, but you are looking for an explanation.

“Dude, seriously, you’re gonna freak people out if you go around saying that.”

He looks down to his shoes. He tries to not let the guilt of disagreeing with you show on his face. He never feels like he has to explain himself to anyone. With you, he wants to, just so you can understand him. This time he doesn’t have the energy for it.

“Tomorrow conversation.” Is all he says.

You exhale heavily, treading carefully.

“‘kay.” You give up. You purposefully give him a poor excuse for a smile and turn away to head for your room. You hear him rise after you but you don’t look back.

He looks at the back of your head solemnly. He wants to tell you he’s made up his mind.

***

There wasn’t a ‘tomorrow conversation’. In fact, there wasn’t even a ‘later this week’ conversation. You waited for him to bring it up during a run, or for him to wake you in the night again to explain, but the explanation never came. A part of you thought he wanted you to be the first to mention it, so the other part of you refused to.

It’s like an insect bite, the way you want to scratch at it. No. It’s like a cigarette. You only want one because it will relieve the feeling the last one left you with. You don’t smoke, but you hope to find a pack of Marlboro’s during the run. You already have a lighter.

You’re two days in when you start hitting land you have yet to hunt to extinction. This is one of those big trips, where you have the privilege of taking the truck.

Actually, privilege is generous. You’re forced to siphon aged gasoline out of safety cans and into the tank by mouth. The gas burns your lips and tongue, gathers thickly in the back of your throat to where your hacking and spitting it up into the snow and staining the white all purple and green with oil. When you blow your nose the snot is stained black. And then, you’re only allowed to drive it in the mornings. You drive ten miles during the morning, walk it’s radius, and then sleep in the seats, warmed by old sleeping bags and worn blankets. You wake up and do it again until you either have enough game in the bed where you wonder if the truck will even move, or those red gas cartons are getting low enough to cause trouble.

The truck is backheavy when you settle for the night. It covers your east-end, leaves you both to cover the west; the land yet to be explored. You stare at the bones of the rabbit that was dinner, watching the grease and spit glisten under the low embers of the fire it was roasted over. You’re wrapped in layers of wools, furs, and fleece, but still… sometimes when you look at the bones too carefully — when you think about what part of the body you consumed, when you try and piece them all back together in your head like they’re prehistoric fossils — you get a shiver that runs so deep down your spine that you tremble.

Eren stares into the dwindling fire. His pupils are lit up. Amber bleeds from the grays and reflects deep in the black of his pupils. You stare at him through the corner of your eye. He sits three to your six. You watch carefully as the shifting air runs through the stray hairs near his face.

He feels your eyes on him. He’s thankful the nip of the cold and the glow of the flame have already turned his face red. He tongues at his teeth to distract himself. He doesn’t like the brazen of your staring, he never has. It’s as if you know he’s weak to you, and you enjoy watching him squirm. There’s nothing sensual about it, in fact, it almost always comes off as predatory.

If anything, that makes him far more uncomfortable.

He looks at you, right into your eyes, and you don’t look away. His stomach lurches.

There’s a gross, tangible tension that rests in the four feet that are between you. You’ve talked about the subject less than twice, and there’s already and underlying animosity. There’s no argument regarding who’s right and who’s wrong. The fight is in who’s most mad about the fact that you two aren’t on the same page. You’re afraid he’s winning.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

You hear his voice but it takes you a second to realize he’s actually speaking. It catches you off guard. You break eye contact and look into the fire.

“What you said… I know you were serious, but were you like serious serious?” Your resolve weakens.

He doesn’t speak. You can still feel his eyes on you, scanning over your face, checking for sincerity.

“Why do you ask?”

You groan, “Can we quit answering questions with questions?”

He sits up a bit at your volume. He doesn’t like it one bit.

“That’s literally a question.” He tries to calm the situation.

“Eren.”

He says your name right back to you, not in combatance, but in mercy.

“I just want to know if you’re going to go through with that if things don’t change. And if you do, is it going to be… like… something that’s soon or something that’ll be like… years in the future.” You don’t want to stop him. You don’t ask for information to aid a prevention of his plans from happening. You want to know if he’s going to be placing his own life at risk for yours sooner or later. You’d like to prepare.

“Years in the future,” He waits for you to look at him again, “I want to figure out which one would be worse for us before I do the other.”

“Okay,” You say hesitantly. A chill runs over your skin.

***

You stir in the passenger seat. There’s a biting breeze at your cheeks and you go to pull up the neck of your coat. Your reach is obstructed by warmth — soft warmth. You try and push it away. You realize the warmth is also at your jaw, wrapped around your neck, pressed against your back. Your eyes fly open. It’s barely visible, just out of the corner of your eye, lit barely by the sunrise, but you the outline of a figure beside you. It’s gripping your face and pulling you towards it, pressing something cold to your neck.

A knife.

Even if you had the gall to yell, their fingers were squishing your lips shut, and then you realize there’s no one to yell to. You don’t see Eren in the drivers seat as you’re tugged out. You fail to catch your footing beneath you, and your heels kick up the snow as you try and find it but keep slipping.

There’s a sting at your throat as you thrash, and warmth that leaks down your neck and into your undershirt.

You try and speak, but it comes out all slurred and jumbled, “Our game — you can have our game it’s- it’s in the bed. There’s a mag with 15 nine’s in the glovebox — I have a compound, by the fire, a bow,”

“Be quiet. Talk anymore and you’re dead, I promise.” It says, voice gross and nasally; it sounds like a teenager. but the beard scratching at your neck and it’s height says otherwise.

Your eyes scan, and scan, and scan the snow and trees for any sign of Eren as you’re dragged further from the truck. You can’t find him. Your pupils are blown huge with adrenaline and you can’t see him. The sun blinds you as you’re pulled directly from it, and you think it’s on purpose. You can’t see the truck anymore even when it should be in your sight.

You grip at the forearm around your neck and push at it, scratch at it, dig your nails into the skin, you’re convinced you’re being rough enough for it to release you, but you’re not. You don’t know where all your strength went. The blade digs deeper and another gush of warmth coats over your chest. You want to lurch away, but that would mean running into the knife. Any act of defiance cuts you deeper, sends another sear of pain over your skin and through your nerves. You realize that, for now, walking backwards with it is better.

“There you go.” It grumbles.

Tears swell in your eyes from the pain. Your neck burns hot like you’ve been pressed to the coals of your fire by the throat. You keep your hands on the forearm and bicep of it. You feel it’s muscles flex beneath your fingers. You breath heavy as you step back with it.

You’re too far from the truck now. You’ll only sound like an echo even if you yell for him. You don’t understand how you’ve gotten so far so fast. It feels like you’ve fallen down a tunnel.

You’re too far from the truck. You’re too far from Eren. You’re too far from Eren.

Get up. There is no one coming to save you.

Your jaw clenches, teeth grinding into each other so hard you can hear the sound vibrate throughout your skull. Your dominant hand drops from the arm and it’s on your hip with fingers grasping around cold metal before you even know what you’re doing.

Your jaw opens.

Your gun is tugged from your waistband.

You take flesh between your teeth, an entire mouthful. You gag as your tongue tastes fabric of it’s sleeve.

The metal warms beneath your fingers, slips perfectly into your grasp. You move fast. One hand reaches for the knife, grabs it, and then grabs at it even harder when it slices at the bends of your fingers.

Your jaw closes.

There’s resistance at first. Your tongue presses against cotton. You worry you won’t get through it. And then,

And then, you’re reminded,

It’s only cotton.

And there’s warmth on your teeth, warmth on your lips, warmth over your tongue. And it’s wet. It’s slippery, and hot, and tastes like you’ve taken a bite out of aluminum. And the gun is warm, and hot, and it’s in your hand and reaching behind you to throw it off kilter.

You squeeze.

And it slips.

It slips out of your grasp like a bar of soap in the shower. And before you can even think of how, your face is in the ground. There’s a fistful of snow in your mouth and you try and sputter it out but you can’t. It’s in your throat. You try and push up against your hands but they hurt. They hurt and they’re hot. The snow is in your mouth, on your throat, in your eyes, scratching your face, on your throat, stabbing into your hands, melting on your tongue, and on your throat.

It’s on your throat and the cold feels so nice. If you could breath proper, you’d want to lay in it. But you can’t breathe. You push against your palms again and let them burn. Your vision is white. You think you’re blind.

When did they get my eyes?

But there’s a deep maroon puddle melting away at the white. And the warmth on your neck keeps dripping into that puddle. You stare at it, and you realize you’ve looked just a second to long far too late.

A splitting pain cracks against the back of your head, and you don’t have to see it to know it’s your own gun being whipped across your skull.

The snow becomes fire, and you become the snow. You melt into it; slowly at first, and then so fast you feel as if you’re falling. It washes over you in waves.

***

The road is so bumpy. It makes everything hurt even worse than it already does. You’re conscious before you open your eyes, and when it’s too bright even with your lids shading you from the sun, you decide you’re not even going to try. You cover your face with the crease of your elbow, your coat acting as a mask. Your neck burns as you bury your face into the sleeve.

Your head feels like it could explode. Your hands and neck are on fire, and your stomach hurts so bad you think you’re going to shit it out of you.

You’re not going to shit it out of you, but throw it up. And theres not enough strength in your body to sit up. Rabbit spills over your sleeve, and neckline, and infests in your wound, coats your jacket.

“I know, I know. Almost there, I promise. I promise.”

You try and catch the second surge of it in your hands, but it pours into your lap. And you’re so disgusted you begin to cry. Your head hurts so bad you’re convinced you’re dying, and the pressure from sobbing doesn’t help, and you’re covered in sweat and vomit and blood and piss. And more tears flow down your cheeks in a steady stream because you want to shower.

You want to shower.

With soap.

***

There’s only pictures between puking and now. Pictures that flash through your head like someone is spinning through an old carousel projector. The thing is, they aren’t pictures from your perspective. You didn’t see them. You were there, but that point of view isn’t yours.

You see them from above, like there was a camera in the corner and now you’re looking at it’s film. You see yourself from its view; watch as you’re picked up from the passenger seat, ran inside and spread over the dinner table like a cadaver. And then the film skips, there must be a scratch in the DVD, and you’re in the snow again, face deep.

But they’re tearing off your coat, throwing it aside.

That was your grandmother’s coat.

You’re stripped to your grey thermals. And you see yourself laying there like you were game that was brought in; tied at the ankles, sweaty and glistening, covered in blood, pissed wet at the britches in fear, defeathered, chunks of hair absent from your head, and cut at the throat like you were shown mercy.

You watch them poke at you, cut at you, string together your seams, baste you with wine. They wrap you in cloth, anoint you with herbs, soothe you with salves.

And then christen you with water.

It does not feel merciful.

***

He hates the way you look. You look empty, misshapen, warped.

He hates it so bad.

Your eyes are fat and puffy, and your cheeks cave in, and your wounds are all red and raised. Your skin is covered in bandages that are always dirtied with your blood even when he and Pieck change them to be fresh thrice a day. Even if you were awake, he doesn’t think you could open your eyes.

They’re so swollen. Like two black and blue golf balls stuck to your face.

He doesn’t want you to open them. Hange says the whites of them have turned red from the blows.

He’d be sick with himself if you did.

Sometimes he has to step out. It’s not you, no matter how battered you look, It’s not truly you that he hates or that he’s scared of. When he thinks about it too hard, there’s an overwhelming amount of rage in him, and if he doesn’t step away he gets scared he’ll throw a lamp at Pieck.

She’s the only other one allowed in there.

She was the first one allowed in other than Hange, Erwin, Levi and Armin. If anyone came close to loving you as much as he did, it’s her.

She’s much more gentle than he is. His hands shake too bad, he gets too angry, thinks too hard. She can detach herself just enough to think straight; Eren doesn’t have that skill. He couldn’t detach himself from you if it was between life and death.

Pieck brings him back to reality a lot. She keeps him from spiraling. She can see when he gets lost in his head, just like you do. Usually she’s far more kind, but right now she’s not as nice as she was. Where she’d used to call him out with words so soft you wouldn’t dare to argue with them, she now slaps him across the face open-palmed.

It takes everything in her not to hate him.

When they sit at the edge of your bed, holding your bandaged hands, she falls asleep last. When Eren has nightmares while asleep, Pieck is tortured while awake. She looks at him with dark eyes, lids so low they’re barely slits, pupils small as pinpoints, and she blames him. She lets herself, and she doesn’t have shame. When they’re awake, she stares him down and waits for him to look back at her so she can see him feel her eyes to the core of his being.

Often, she lets herself wish it was him.

***

You don’t have to be in the room to hear the screaming from the kitchen. You hear voices you recognize, but there are so many different ones that you can’t number how many are truly in there. You could get up to see the commotion, but you really don’t want to. It involves you, but you don’t want to be involved. So you pretend your head hurts and fake sleep.

You hear Armin negotiating.

Hange is giving half-snarky side comments.

Eren is yelling mostly nonsense and Levi is yelling back,

and Erwin just jumps in here and there to tell everyone to shut up.

It’s a sweet little voice that takes you off guard, and obviously everyone else as well. You can only hear Historia’s voice when she talks. She’s firm and loud, and upset. She’s upset and she’s fighting for you, which is strange. She had been there since the beginning, and only favors Ymir and Erwin. Hearing her not only agree with someone other than them, but Eren, and shamelessly fighting for you, takes you back just a bit. You wonder why, and then you wonder if you want to know the answer.

And then there were a few scuffles; shoves and punches exchanged, followed by brief and insincere apologies.

You don’t know what to think, or who to agree with, and you don’t know if there’s a right answer to the conversation. You don’t like how there’s weight put on your thoughts because of what happened. You want it to go back to how it was; Armin, Erwin, Levi, and Hange making decisions with Eren always complaining and Connie always confused and Gabi not giving a damn as long as she can explore.

The next day goes the same way. You don’t want to go downstairs; you don’t want questions, answers, looks, no looks, conversations, quietness. You don’t want any of it. Someone brings you food every meal; Pieck, Eren, Mikasa, or Armin often eat with you. When they don’t, you feed it all to Agnes, because when you’re left alone you think too much and that always ends up with dinner on the floor.

When sitting doesn’t hurt, and then when standing doesn’t hurt, you take a bath and scrub at the scabs on your palms and neck and everywhere else until they’re fresh and bleeding again. You make the kids heat the water until it boils; when it’s so hot on your feet that your body reads it as cold. You let the water tinge pink. Zofia brings you a towel she warmed by the fireplace.

You do that a second time that day. And then a third time the next day. And then again, and again, until you’ve lost count.

***

Eren sits in a chair at your bedside. He’s cut his hair. You had told him to almost a week ago after picking leaf fragments out of it and flicking away pine needles. He had visited you after going on a run with Jean. He complained and you had let him. He said he misses you.

You need to cut it. You’ll get burrs in it.

He had taken a dull razor to it in the bathroom, cut at it until it was choppy and rested above his shoulders. You told him you’d fix it with shears when you can get out of bed.

He insults your hair next. It’s a nest of knots at the back of your head from where you tossed and turned on your pillow. He says he’ll comb it out when you’re better.

For some reason it makes him angry.

***

Anger is exactly what Eren felt. Pure, unbridled, unadulterated, anger. It got worse when he looked in the mirrors. He wanted to take a knife to the person staring back at him.

He tells Connie this, and only Connie. Connie is the only one he can trust. He’d never tell anyone, and if he did it would be Sasha. Sasha would only tell Jean. Jean doesn’t care about him enough to tell anyone else. And even he did let it slip one night between the linens to Armin, it wouldn't be enough, and it would be too late.

He woke up early that morning.

***

All the doting, the sympathy, it makes you feel weird and pathetic. You let yourself rot in the sheets until you’re bored of it.

Two weeks later, you get up. You take Gabi and Agnes with you, and tell no one else.

“How far are we gonna go?” She asks eagerly. Her knuckles are turning white as she holds her Daisy branded BB gun excitedly.

“Couple miles, I’m thinking. Or until you get tired.” You smile.

“That’d be you first, you haven’t done shit in almost a month.” She laughs and knocks at Agnes’ hip with her own.

“Bitch.” You smile and kick at her butt with the sole of your boot. She stumbles forward with a giggle.

Her carelessness is admirable. It lets you feel normal, and in a way, vengeful. She’s told you before that you should go find them and kill them; more specifically ‘do what they did do you but with a gun and then make them beg for Mother Mary’s mercy’. You agreed with her. It wasn’t in a way to make her feel smart, or make her feel like she fits in with adults, or to acknowledge her maturity in knowing about the subject, but because you truly agreed.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t do what you wanted.

When you woke, fully woke — when you didn’t just open your eyes and then fall into unconsciousness again — , it was almost dusk, you could tell by the way the sun stretched over the sheets. The first thing you asked is where they were. Usually, the rule is that enemies are kept not killed. But Pieck had told you that Eren had taken them out back the night they were captured and shot them point-blank execution style after having them plead for their lives for hours.

You cursed him out for days on end. He cried, apologized, pleaded, and you didn’t care. That was supposed to be yours. Pieck tried to explain to you that he probably saved your life, and that your anger is misdirected.

You told her she was wrong. Just because you’re anger isn’t at the expected person, doesn’t mean it’s misdirected. One thing about anger is that it’s a secondary emotion, and it never comes first. Which means, anger can be towards anyone, or everyone. Anger spares no one.

With Armin and Erwin and Levi, you felt betrayal first.

With Mikasa and Annie you were ashamed.

With Pieck you felt lost.

Jean, Connie, and Sasha annoyed you.

And Eren,

Eren…

You were embarrassed.

Not by what happened, or what was done, but by what wasn’t done.

In those weeks you laid in bed — when you laid there in silence and stared at a the shadow of a moon you wish was there — you ground your molars together in frustration. You thought over, and over, and over… where were you for those 20 minutes?

Where were you for those 20 minutes?

And you ask him, every time you ask him, ‘Where was I those 20 seconds?’

Where was I in those 20 seconds where you decided that you’d get to kill them and I wouldn’t?

***

Eren left when he couldn’t find you. He has too many things to do with not enough time.

He wrote you just in case.

He brought too many weapons for himself to carry. They stuffed his backpack, lined his pockets, were clutched to his side, slid into his boot. Brass lined his knuckles, barrels sawed off of shotguns. His compass pressed against his chest, the cold metal sending goosebumps against his skin. He tied Agnes to Pieck’s bedpost, knowing she’d follow if she could. There’s no place for her here. No one will be guided home.

Where was I in those 20 minutes?

He can’t remember. It’s all gone from his head now. He thinks he was looking for dry wood. He’s not sure. How is he not sure?

First thing he remembers is seeing those hazel eyes peering over a mound of snow, eyes almost yellow; crouched over behind it. He remembers an open mouth, a pink tongue that was slobbering down it’s chin. Panting. And there was another one beside it, gripping your gun in it’s hand, pointing it beneath where the other one mounted.

That’s your gun.

He knows. He doesn’t know how but he does.

He remembers tying knots so tight his fingers blister, he remembers tying their hair into the knots, gagging them so hard they puked and choked on their tongues. He remembers cutting things off, shoving things into faces. And blood, pouring, oozing, puddling blood. Gushing, and gushing.

And he’s covering you with an old quilt, sewn together with bible verses in the squares. Strapping you into the passenger seat, wrapping cloth over your neck, driving one handed as he holds it in place.

The truck was soaked.

He sees them in his rearview mirror. Hog-tied. Apples in their mouths. Their coats getting shredded into nothing but feathers over the gravel, their skin getting grated by the stones, faces torn apart by wood slivers. It’s in their eyes, their noses, buried into their gums, dust in their lungs. They’ve lost all their pink from either blood loss or cold he doesn’t know and doesn’t care. They’re tied out back to the crucifix.

He goes farther than you went that day. Taking that blood soaked truck with him. He drives until the sun rises the next morning.

***

You almost knock Gabi over when she stops abruptly in front of you. Your hands go to her shoulders to steady her to keep her from toppling over. She grips her gun with eager hands, and is raising the barrel before you can see what she’s looking at.

Her pupils swell, flooding her entire iris with black ink. Her fingertips are pink as she flips off the safety, even in the bitter winter air. Adrenaline surges through her body. The hair framing her face flutters about and wisps at her cheeks and brows. She doesn’t seem to notice.

You step to her side and watch her carefully. She stares down the scope, brows scrunched, eyes narrow, hold so steady you could balance a coin on the muzzle.

You tilt your head, stretch your neck, and make binoculars with your hands to try and see what she’s got in her eye. When you finally crouch down to her level, with healing palms against rough jeans that send shockwaves through the mangled nerves in your hands, you see what she does.

200 meters away you see a triangle of yellow in a field of white glimmering in the morning sun, and beneath it, a base of umber. With it’s bald head and sharp eyes, it stares the two of you down. It sees you, you know it. You let it watch.

Gabi waits on an inhale. And it takes you a second, but you realize she’s waiting for you.

You look up at her. Her fingers wait near the trigger, and you don’t think she’s blinked since she’s seen it.

You look back at the bird.

“Get him.”

And before her exhale is complete, her clip is emptied between its eyes.

#eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #junisfics #junibugs

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yandere-wishes · 2 years ago

Text

ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕚𝕔 𝔹𝕠𝕠𝕜 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖

Synopsis: You finally realize that you and Miguel are stuck inside a comic book romance.

Warnings: Yandere themes, angst, the reader has Stockholm syndrome but can we really blame her?

There's something about a sleepless night that's lethal. A loaded gun aimed point blank at your head and your heart and your eyes that are too weary to recall the difference between fact and fiction. Right and wrong.

Miguel should be home soon you think as you stare at the Daily Bugle's nightly broadcast. The headlines are the same as last week's villain attack and the week before that, and the week before that.

'SPIDERMAN REPORTED DEAD AFTER TANGLE WITH NUEVA YORK'S NEWEST VILLAIN!'

You think this is the 18th time he's died this month. A hologram dances in front of you, some withering reporter adamant in his claim that this time. This time for sure Spiderman is dead. A Harrowing claim, one you know to be false. Your lover isn't so easy to kill, you should know on account of how many times you had tried. Back when you'd painted Miguel O'Hara as the villain in your story, back when you were so obstinate to return to a wholly ignorant life of so-called freedom.

Miguel can't die, you refuse to believe that a man like that is subject to such a mortal thing.

You use to try to imagine a Miguel that had grown old. You couldn't back then and still can't today. Because heroes are eternal, or so you've come to believe. They die a hundred deaths and reawaken younger than before. Heroes aren't immortal -that's the part that makes your heart skip a beat- yet death has never had the chance to lay claim to them. Miguel is fine you're sure of it.

There's a noise, a disturbance in the wind, the sound of thousands of coiled webs being used to sling across the air.

A sign that Spiderman has arrived.

He's here.

You can't help but smile.

"What's the old man saying this time?"

You turn to see Miguel, land at the edge of the rooftop. Legs limb as he staggers towards you. With a defeated moan he sits down. Close enough for you to inspect the galaxy of bruises that dance across his stunning face.

When did you fall in love with him, again?

"You're supposed to be dead," you say, a bitter laugh following, the peculiar words.

"I think that's the 14th time the Bugals had a spread on me dying" He chuckles, dry and humorless.

You bite your tongue to avoid correcting him.

"Who was it this time? Venom or Flipside?" you ask, trying to guess which of the two had been able to give the Miguel O'Hara a run for his money.

"Just some kid, from another dimension. Mocoso already screwed up the canon once, and he's damn well trying to do it again. He used Spider Bite to send himself home, so I didn't get the chance to..." He doesn't bother finishing that sentence. Doesn't have to, you've seen worlds collapse upon themselves because a tiny imperfection had distraught the canon. You know why he does this. You know why he must do this. No one is exempt from the canon. No matter how young and naive they may be.

How peculiar the life of superhumans are. For all the guts and glory every hero's world is only bounded by thin silk strings. Perpetually on the verge of collapse should the chosen one refuse to follow destiny's orders.

Heroes aren't pretty, they neither sparkle nor shine. Instead, they burn with a self-lit fire that grows out of control, burning until only ashes remain. Heroes are tragedies swung across every dimension. War-torn children with blood under their fingernails and chipped teeth from one too many close calls. Heroes aren't pretty, nor beautiful, nor divine. They're mangled creatures who come alive at night, staggering across half-lit streets doing what they believe is right.

You've tried to commit this to memory. Tried to memorize it so you wouldn't make the same mistakes as every lovesick idiot who's fallen in love with a superhero.

But sometimes it's so hard to remember, especially when Miguel has been your only companion for months now. The only person you have to talk to. The only person who is there in the early hours of the morning when even sleep abandons you. And he's always there again at night to tuck you in before he departs to fight whoever has broken the few simple rules that the canon calls for. You've almost come to appreciate his paranoia and insistence that you stayed locked inside the penthouse. Although he's grown a bit bolder as of late. Permitting you free range of the terrace and rooftop. A sign of good faith, he'd called. Whilst you'd presume that he's come to enjoy you waiting outside to greet him when he returns from the miseries of being a golden boy.

"I try to save everyone, I try to make sure the universe is held upright. So why the hell does everyone always treat me like I'm the villain?" His voice is raising, fangs glowing in loose rays of starlight. His hands are crossed in annoyance. You rest your hand on his arm as you snuggle closer.

Heroes and villains, what's the difference?

That's a question the two of you have been pondering for too long now.

Even though you doubt Miguel truly knows who he is. It's hard to fall into the orderly boxes of 'good' and 'bad' when the fate of every universe lies on your already brittle shoulders.

He's a hero who acts like a villain. That's what you use to call him. Back when he'd first plucked you away from your ordinary mundane life.Deeming the world too dangerous for a defenseless little civilian such as yourself. He had promised to love you, to cherish you. Back when you'd been so resistant to play the role of the hero's lover. But seeing as how no matter what nightmares he went through as Spiderman, he had still kept those two promises. You had slowly started to grow fond of him

Time and time again Miguel has made you feel like a butterfly caught in a spider's web. Wings clipped and waiting for the inevitable. He's overbearing to the point where his sheer presence feels like a boulder placed on your chest. Or maybe his strings have finally found their way to your heart, coiling around the organ controlling its every beat and pulse. Yet somehow, somehow, you started to desire more and more of him.

You're in love with the hero who plays the villain.

You're in love with the villain who bares a hero's mask.

"You should be more careful when dealing with the other spiders. I hear they're not all as precautious as you." Your fingers trace the purpling marks on his cheek. Sliding from one universe to another.

You know Miguel isn't a tiny spider he's a bloodthirsty tarantula. Yet you still worry. Fear that one day he may fail to return home.

"You shouldn't worry about me preciosa,"

"Someone has to, Miguel, you're not as indestructible as you may think."

"If I kiss you will you stop complaining?"

There's no room to answer, his lips rest on yours, forceful and sweet. Captivating, dominating, and as always overbearing. His fangs slowly sink into the back of your lips. That familiar iron taste invades your mouth once again.

Sometimes Miguel feels like a hero, shouldering the universe's burdens, and fighting for what's right. After all, with great power comes great responsibility. This is what he wanted, he always wanted to be the hero.

But sometimes when the spider's lair is abandoned and he returns home to you, he can't help but feel like the villain. He's protecting you he knows that. Justifying it is easy when you watch dimensions wither away in violent glitching and endless screams, daily. Yet he wonders if his predecessors were ever like this. If the heroes are supposed to keep their lovers locked away. Alone yet safe. A fair trade in his mind.

Miguel isn't quite human, half-everlasting and half-horror.

A dangerous combination

Or at least a confusing one.

The point is he's some sort of hero. But that also means he's some sort of villain. Even the old tales got things wrong, not every superhero is carved from porcelain and ivory. Not every villain is built from ash and rage.

Sometimes heroes are carved from gravestone granite and glazed with poison. Sometimes their powers are self-inflicted curses that chew away at flesh and bone. sometimes the hero's halo is made of barbed wire digging into his scalp and embittering his thoughts. Sometimes heroes kill themselves before any villain gets the chance. Spitling their body apart a million times a day because destiny decided to play a cruel joke on them. Picking the weakest of all mankind to become its guardian.

When he pulls away from the kiss, he lifts your hand to his mouth.

His fangs sink into your finger puncturing bone as he gnaws the stress away. Blood leaks down his chin, spilling over the rooftop. He pulls your body closer. An anchor in a never-ending storm.

You kiss his chin, looking into his eyes. Eyes that can never choose whether they wish to be human or monster. Your head instinctively finds his chest nestling into the cold metal of his suit.

Oh, how you wish you could crack his rib cage open and crawl inside.

Sometimes you think back to the original tales. The ones from your dimension, albeit it seems that -regardless of a few rare exceptions- the stories are consistent in every universe.

The story always goes the same. Peter Parker falls in love with MJ or Gwen, you've come to learn that in the long run, it doesn't really matter. Spiderman saves them again and again. Until the whole world knows that Mj or Gwen are somehow connected to the masked hero. But never once does she leave his side. Rebellious blond or dotting redhead, Spiderman's lover stays regardless of how desperate and vicious the villains become when they start to learn that the story always ends in the hero's favor.

It's every gal's dream to be the lover of a superhero. Awaiting their betrothed's triumphant return. Greeting them with amorous tidings and cherry red kisses.

You think you're Gwen or Mary Jane. Or whoever else decided to fall in love with the troubled boy who has radioactivity coursing through his veins. The boy who was deemed a hero and thus was destroyed because of it.

Of course, there's the other part. The underlying message of the story, that parents all so conveniently 'forget' to tell their children. The disease of the otherwise perfect tale. They forget to tell you that Gwen Stacy fell to her death and Mary Jane is left abandoned, once the hero realizes that his mere presence is a curse. Stories may end in the hero's favor but much like the villain the lover is also doomed by the narrative. That's normal for any hero's lover. They always burn out to cater to the hero's ever-fuming torch of justice.

you feel broken, as you're sure they did too. An unspoken rule of being with a hero is that eventually, you start to lose your sense of self without them. It doesn't make sense when you put it like that but along the way bits and piece of you broke off. Pieces that you forgot to patch up. You've been mending by using segments of Miguel to make yourself feel whole again. It's a small miracle that you still hold a fading memory of whom you used to be before he made you his. A miracle that sweeps through the cracks of your soul.

Heroes never need to fear death, just an eternity of pain. Losing everyone they love, over and over again. Maybe that's why Miguel's grip is so suffocatingly tight. He knows that eventually, not today and maybe not tomorrow but eventually he's going to lose you too.

You're a comic book Juliet and he's Romeo with superpowers. Everyone knows that comic book heroes are doomed from the start. Neither you nor Miguel are exceptions.

Maybe the two of you are doomed by the narrative.

But for tonight, as the moon slowly sinks behind the skyscrapers and the stars fade one by one. The two of you are safe in each other's arms.

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week-old-tiramisu · 3 months ago

Text

helfaya posting continues

don't look at the anatomy for too long btw thanks

i copied a cover of a 1985 superman comic for Jeff, and couldn't be bothered to find the back. poor boy has the cover twice, maybe he can at least use one as a poster or something

love these goobers for helping me beat same face syndrome's ass. the thing I've always loved so much about art was being able to portray all kinds of different people, to show how unique everyone is, and im finally slooowly getting closer to being able to do that!

i did not just get sentimental over art on a fucking hellfire club fanart oh my god??

rendering remains as my no.1 enemy though. rendering when i catch you rendering

edit: i hated the original overlay so much that i not so subtly changed the image. here's the original:

#gareth emerson #gareth stranger things #hellfire club #corroded coffin #stranger things #stranger things s4 #stranger things fanart #eddie munson fanart #eddie munson #freak stranger things #jeff stranger things #fanart #artists on tumblr #week-old-arting

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calmcoldevening · 1 year ago

Note

I’m begging you for a part 2 of the knowing the slashers when they were younger fic where they meet when they’re older if you’re up for it ofc🙏

You knew slashers when you were a child and now you grow up and met them

Characters: Thomas Hewitt, Brahms Heelshire, brothers Sinclair

TW: mention of blood, violence, stockholm syndrome.

Ps: english is not my native language, so sorry for misspells. And also i really didn't know what I needed to write about Sinclair, because i need to rewatch the movie to remember their characters, so i didn't write about them. I hope you'll enjoy our sweet Tommy and baby boy Brahms

Part one ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Thomas Hewitt

You just recently graduated from college and decided to celebrate it with a trip with your friends to one of the US states. The choice fell on Texas. You still had pleasant memories of your school life in this place in your heart, and your heart ached at the thought of how soon you left your hometown. Not that you would call these people friends, but you were good acquaintances and helped each other with tasks. And so you packed your bags and within half an hour you were all driving together in a small SUV. The boyfriend of one of your 'friends' (Jessica) was driving. He was a good man, although he joked about unpleasant topics from time to time. But you turned a blind eye to it. In the end, you will finally find yourself back in the good old Texas.

The road was long, so you had a lot of time to think. You were sitting in the farthest seat, staring into space and slowly stroking an old, slightly battered fox toy with your hand. Your thoughts revolved around one person. That shy little boy you had such a happy conversation with years ago. It was your first memorable friend. You no longer had friends who could surpass sweet Tommy.

Finally, the car turned at a sign with the inscription of a city you know. Your heart started beating faster and you couldn't suppress a smile in anticipation. Soon you will see him again, a sweet shy boy. Although now it will probably be a guy, after all, it's been almost twelve years. This figure was almost painful.

The Texas landscape flowed like a soft canvas on the other side of the window, the sun mercilessly burned his eyes, refracting through the glass. It was hot and stuffy. You're lucky to get into one of the hottest periods in Texas. This place has changed somewhat, although it remains the same as you remembered it. The once small plantings have now turned into real tall trees, although they did not save much from the sultry sun. The wheels of the car turned quickly on turns with an unpleasant sound, raising a cloud of dust behind them. Jessica's boyfriend, Tim, apparently loved playing racer very much, even on the main state road.

By all the laws of luck, Tim abruptly informed you that you were running out of gas. There was a gas station nearby. You entered a small diner next to the gas station, and your heart instantly warmed up. It was that sweet woman, Thomas's mom. Luda-May, isn't that right?

"Hello, Luda," you say with a slight smile, approaching the cash register. The woman looks up at you with a frown, peering at your appearance for a few seconds. Finally, recognition seemed to flash across her face.

"Y/N?" She asks dryly, her voice a little rougher than what you remember from childhood. You nod in response. A warm smile appears on Mrs. Hewitt's face and she hurries out from behind the counter, wrapping you in a gentle, almost maternal embrace. "God, girl.. I never thought I'd see you again. You've grown up so much."

"I'm so sorry that I left so quickly. It was my parents' idea, not mine."

"I understand, honey, don't worry. We've all missed you. Especially Tommy."

The mere mention of his name makes your heart ache. Tommy... You haven't seen him for so long. Your heart yearned for those beloved cornflower blue eyes. You reluctantly pull away from the cozy embrace of Luda, your hand reflexively reaches for your hair, removing a stray strand from your face when you understand the look at a woman.

"You still live there, don't you? Can I see him?"

"Of course, my girl. I've just finished. Hoyt should be arriving soon."

Hoyt? Your brain was carefully trying to find at least one mention of that name in your memory, but nothing came to mind. Strange. Although it may be one of their relatives or friends, after all, you haven't been here for too long, it couldn't have stayed the same, could it?

What was your surprise when that Hoyt turned out to be old Charlie. Although his appearance was now quite pretentious: sheriff's clothes, hat and badge. Something was wrong. This man has been lazy all his life, he could not suddenly decide to go to work in a place related to healthcare. But you chose to remain silent. Hoyt didn't seem to recognize you. When he saw your friends, he invited them to go with them, saying that he had a can of gasoline at home.

"Take the guys, and then you'll come for us. I don't think the sheriff's car can hold that many people," Luda intervened, grabbing your arm protectively. It's got you a little stressed out. Although there was some truth in her words. Five former students came with you, all of them obviously wouldn't have gotten into Charlie's car. The man wanted to say something, but gave up, nodding to the woman.

And so they left. All that time, Luda was asking about your life, enjoying listening to stories from college. She was more interested in this than your own parents. And now Hoyt is back. He was in high spirits. You got to the Hewitt house safely. As a child, as now, the building was still huge for you. Luda carefully led you into the kitchen, offering you tea. God, you've missed this place.

"Tommy! Come here, we have guests," Luda shouted and you heard hurried rustles and heavy footsteps from the basement.

It made you tense up a little bit. Finally, a couple of minutes later, a tall man, the size of an entire closet, entered the kitchen. Your blood turned cold. You slowly looked up. A long, tall body, wavy dark hair and a leather mask on his face. He frowns down at you, seeming to evaluate you with his cold blue eyes.

"Tommy?" As if nothing had happened, Luda-Mae asks in a cheerful voice, "Do you remember Y/N?"

It seemed that at that moment the gears were turning in his head. You needed time to think about it too. Was this huge man Thomas? No, of course, Tommy was a bit of a big kid as a kid, but he was still quite small. The only thing that attracted attention was his bandage on his face. Now it has been replaced by a strange leather mask.

You didn't even have time to think, as careful footsteps were heard from the basement. It seemed, but Tommy and none of the People were found at first. And Tim appeared behind Thomas. God, he was covered in blood and his back was bleeding. Your face is filled with pure horror. And that gave Tim away. Thomas notices your fear and turns around, immediately grabbing Tim roughly and dragging him back to the basement. Your brain screamed like a hunted animal that you needed to get out of here and urgently. Something has happened to this family, something bad, since they communicate with other people like that. But as soon as you tried to run to the exit, at that moment you were hit by something heavy on the back of the head.

His heart ached for you. You were the first person who ever showed him kindness in your life, and now you will surely be afraid of him. God, he wouldn't want to see fear in your beautiful eyes when you're afraid of him. His body was filled with an unpleasant feeling of disappointment and pain. He didn't want that, really. But he wanted to keep you by his side, he didn't want to let you go again. And he didn't want you to hurt the family. So now he was gently wiping the remnants of blood from your beautiful face, tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear. You were still as beautiful, his heart began to beat faster, as it did when he was a child. He saw that toy in your friends' car, you kept it all these years. Thomas couldn't help but smile. Maybe you loved him too? Not now, not after what he did.

The following days were a blur. Your head ached, and an unpleasant heaviness tightened your neck. They put you on a chain. Thomas or Luda would check on you from time to time, Luda would just leave food, and Thomas would just sit on the bed next to you and just look at you. Sometimes he would try to touch you, but you would instantly jump aside like a wounded animal. Thomas's heart ached painfully in his chest. Although.. He deserved it, didn't he? All his life he was looked at with disgust or fear. But he didn't care about those people. All these simple passers-by or victims were just empty meat. But you were afraid of him now. He couldn't stand your gaze, full of fear for your life, so he left the room every time, unable to look in your eyes.

The days slowly followed each other. You were still afraid. But there was something else. Whenever Thomas enters the room, your eyes involuntarily glided over his big strong body. You wanted to snuggle up to him, find comfort in his arms. But there was a part of you that knew it was wrong. They killed people, they killed your friends. They chained you up and kept you here like some kind of dog. And yet your body was begging for his warmth, just like when you were a child.

What was Thomas's surprise when the next time he came into the room, you crawled closer to him, asking for a hug. Your arms clumsily wrapped around his body. Thomas blushed instantly. His heart felt so good. He gently grabbed you by the hips, putting you on his lap, and hugging your fragile body with his strong arms. He buried his nose in your hair. How he missed that feeling. His brain was filled with the scent of your skin. Thomas let out a relieved whimper as you began to gently run your fingers through his tangled hair.

He never left you, he won't let you go into this cruel world again. He will protect you with all his heart. His sweet girl.

Brahms Heelshire

"Now I've won," the man says in a hoarse voice through his cracked porcelain mask with a doll's face.

He was breathing heavily, hanging over you, his left hand pressed against the wall behind you, while the other reached out to your face, gently stroking.

"Still beautiful," he whispers, caressing your chin with his thumb, tracing your lower lip with his fingernail. Your heart was pounding wildly, you shrank under the man's gaze like a frightened animal. His movements were rough, but his touch seemed almost gentle, as if he didn't want to disrupt this moment or harm your fragile being. His breathing was loud and heavy because of the mask, and the skin under his eyes was slightly reddened. And those eyes. Those warm eyes are the color of pure amber under the bright sun. They looked at you with extraordinary affection and humility. You could recognize those eyes out of a thousand. Like back then, fifteen years ago.

You nervously clutched the steering wheel rim with your right hand, counting the turns. Not so long ago, you managed to get a new job, and who would have thought that this job would be in your childhood home. Or rather, your friend. They always treated you like their own child, so they gave you this job without any problems.

The weather was clear, it was only the beginning of autumn. Some of the trees have already turned golden, their leaves rustling unobtrusively. The sky was clear, without a single cloud, so the sun shone brightly through the windshield of your car. It seemed that nothing could spoil your return to your childhood home.

Your heart was beating fast in your chest. The mind was filled with thousands of pleasant memories of your past together and children's laughter. You missed Brahms so much. It's been a long time since you've seen him.

Finally, after a couple of long hours, you arrived at the Hilsher estate. It remained the same. Obviously, Mr. Heelshire was still carefully tending the garden, growing his wife's favorite flowers. You stopped right next to the driveway, the wheels moving pleasantly on the gravel. After getting out of the car, you went inside without thinking twice. The greenery of this place has always been striking in its beauty, it seemed that no seasons had power over this place, the forests of the estate still gave pleasure with their emerald color and the coolness of the dense grove.

You were met at the very door by Mrs. Heelshire. She has changed a lot since your last visit, of course, the years take their toll. Her eyes were a little red and tired, and there were small bruises under them. Her face was unusually pale and her hair was gray, but not as when it happens from age, but when a person goes through a lot of life difficulties and faces stress.

"Honey, I haven't seen you for so long," the woman said smiling, wrapping you in a warm embrace. Her hugs were pleasant, but strangely nervous, "We were surprised when we received your candidacy for this job."

"I just really wanted to come back. My parents wouldn't let me go just like that."

"And for good reason," the woman mutters to herself, immediately turning to face you with a warm smile, "We always want only the best for you, my girl, don't hold a grudge against us."

Her words strain you a little, but you attribute it to her slight excitement before the long-awaited vacation. After all, for as long as you can remember, Mrs. Heelshire has always been a caring and hardworking woman, she didn't know the word 'rest'.

After ten tedious minutes, Mrs. Heelshire explains to you the set of rules and your responsibilities. It seemed like she was trying in a hurry to tell you everything at once. Her eyes were constantly darting around the walls of the house.

And now you're alone. Taking care of the doll was not so difficult. Although you still didn't understand why the doll had the name of your childhood best friend. No one's parents told you what happened to Brahms, you just moved in a couple of days before his birthday. You didn't even have time to give him the gift you made with your own hands. Years later, you felt guilty about it. But now, that feeling seemed to be gone. It feels like you're finally in your place. You're home.

It happened two weeks after your arrival at the manor. As usual, you were sorting out the groceries that Malcolm brought while the man was standing next to you, leaning against the doorjamb. He was watching you carefully, talking about something. To be honest, you've noticed for a long time how ambiguously he looks at you. All those jokes, compliments, touches and glances. He was flirting with you. But you could definitely tell that he wasn't your type. Damn it, he was overconfident. But in a relationship, you wanted to 'be at the helm', you wanted a guy with character, but definitely obedient. And Malcolm definitely didn't fit that description.

"..hey, can you leave this doll after all? Let's go to my place. I'll show you a lot of interesting things," he says with a sly grin, taking a few steps closer.

"The Heelshirs left me here for a reason, I don't want to undermine their trust."

"Come on, do you really want to spend the rest of your life in a house with just this doll?" The guy purrs, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his nose in your neck. You are annoyed by his behavior and you step on Malcolm's foot with force. He hisses and quickly pulls away. "Fuck, are you stupid?"

"Watch your mouth, boy."

Malcolm tenses up. He hears rapid rustling in the walls, his eyes darting around the room.

"The hell with you," he finally gives up. Malcolm grabs the empty boxes and leaves the house, slamming the door behind him. You're relieved. He seems to be a man, but he behaves like a scared boy.

"Y/N.. Did he hurt you?" A small child's voice comes from somewhere in the hallway. You flinch a little. You knew that voice. Brahms. True, his voice was a little different in childhood, now it was quieter and plaintive. You quickly close the refrigerator and slowly walk towards the source of the sound.

"Who's here? Brahms?"

It all happened too fast. At first, you were driven by interest with a little bit of fear. In an instant, you saw a tall, broad figure towering over you by a good two heads. You were scared. You ran away, hoping to hide from a stranger. And one day you were pinned against the wall by a muscular figure.

"Y/N, don't be afraid... I didn't mean to scare you." A child's voice mumbles plaintively. You look into those hazel eyes and your heart sinks.

"Brahms?" In response, the man only reaches out to your face, gently caressing your cheek.

"Now I've won." His voice changes. Instead of a child's voice, a low, hoarse voice now caresses your ears. You feel electricity running down your spine, you instinctively squeeze your hips.

Your hands reach for the porcelain mask, but Brahms abruptly pulls away. He shakes his head negatively. He didn't want you to see his face. He doesn't want you to be scared. He doesn't want you to leave him like the others.

"Come on, Brahms. You're a good boy. Didn't you love kissing?" You speak with a slight smile. A long-drawn-out whine comes from under the mask. He nods briefly. You lift the edge of the mask, covering his hot lips with your own. Brahms's movements are fast and assertive, he bites your lips, squeezing your waist in his hands. He missed you so much.

#slashers x reader #brahms heelsire x reader #brahms heelshire #brahms the boy #brahms x reader #brahms the doll #brahms heelshire x you #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x you #the leatherface #leatherface x reader #leatherface x you

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sunflowerhae · 8 months ago

Text

Ch. 17 FTCU by Nicki Minaj

Haechan stands beside you, feeling like he’s on cloud 9 as he sways to the beat of the drums. Here he was with all his best friends, watching a free show for a famous artist with a model, two youtubers, and you - his idol and crush..and friend. If you had told Haechan he would be in this position 6 months ago, he probably would have laughed in your face and told you to get fucked. But regardless of that, here he stands, right by you. Typically, when you’re in a room with him, haechan can’t help his eyes from casting their long gaze towards your face. It’s almost instinct on his part; a primal part of him that can’t keep his attention away from you for more than a minute. Even now, as Mark pulls him away to ask him something along with Jaemin (the two seem to be getting on just peachy) he still is acutely aware of every movement you make.

You couldn’t stop yourself from crying.

Watching your best friend of 5 years complete a life dream of hers by finishing a world tour is not a sentence one says everyday, so when you watch Giselle finish her final monologue to the crowd and transition into her second to last song from your spot in the balcony room, you can’t stop the tears that threaten to spill. You look around briefly, noticing that haechan left his place beside you in favor of Mark and Jaemin. You try your hardest to hide the pout that makes its way to your face, shaking off the sick feeling that grows in your stomach from haechan stepping away.

It’s just a stupid crush, y/n.

Can you be blamed, though? In the 6 odd months that you’ve lived in your apartment building - sharing a wall with the boy your eyes can’t leave - Haechan has somehow found a way to nuzzle himself into your heart, setting up camp and using pieces of your sanity to make a tent. Whenever your expectations dip and you try to rationalize your friendship with him, Haechan turns around and exceeds your needs tenfold. It’s almost like the boy knows everything about you, with how much he gets right. He always seems so…aware of what you want and how to get it.

You don’t realize you’re staring until your line of sight is cut off. Looking at the face of the person who stepped next to you, Karina is smiling back while holding out a beer for you to take. “Well, they seem pretty happy right now,” she gestures behind you as you take the beer from her hands. Turning around, you see Winter trapped in Jeno’s arms, swaying to the music as he whispers something in her ear that has her throwing her head back in laughter. You sigh, jealously creeping into your heart at your best friend’s love.

“Yeah, they’re usually like that. Although it’s gotten worse recently, I will say,” you say while laughing, turning back around to see Karina doing the same, “I can’t be mad when I see them, though - just jealous.”

Karina quips her brow up at you, “no one special in your life, y/n?” You look back at her in surpise, which she seems to take as anger, “not like you don’t have anyone special or anything! Just, are you single is all I mean..” she trails off, obviously experiencing a severe case of foot in mouth syndrome. Karina internally hits herself on the head - she really liked you and your friends, and although she would never admit it she can’t help but feel intimidated by all of you. She would hate to ruin the chance of friendship with her bluntness that people typically aren’t fans of. Before she can apologize, she is surprised when you start laughing.

“No, no! You’re okay don’t worry I got what you meant. No, nobody special right now. But with my schedule it probably wouldn’t work out. Any free time I have is usually spent being lazy, or satisfying haechan and his need for attention.” You laugh while rolling your eyes playfully. Just then, the spot to your right is taken by Ningning. You liked her, she was so sweet and you couldn’t help but find her love for coffee endearing. When she told you about her desire to open her own coffee shop, you saw a lot of yourself in her; a girl with dreams who wants to be her own boss. As if feeling a kinship between the two of you, her presence eases away some awkwardness you felt almost immediately.

“Ahh yes, we know a lot about Haechan’s neediness. It’s nice having you around because you take a lot of heat off of our shoulders!” She exclaims, which causes the three of you to go into a fit of giggles, your heart growing warmer thinking about the boy so easily replacing them with you - it’s nice to feel so wanted.

“Oh yeah, I get it. I told him the other day he uses me like a girlfriend or something,” you recount the day, trailing off somewhat awkwardly as you remembered the embarrassment that followed from that sentence leaving your mouth. While you and Haechan played with each other freely, not really having filters in what you’ll say, that one took the cake and you couldn’t help but feel a little proud, as it was the first thing you’ve ever said that left the tanned boy completely silent. The two don’t seem to notice your sudden uncomfortable nature, or if they do they don’t acknowledge it. You watch Karina’s eyes go wide as she smiles,

“Oh my god remember when we met and you thought I was Haechan’s girlfriend!” The two of you laugh while Ningning seems surprised.

“Wait, what? Did I miss something? I didn’t know you guys have met before…” Ningning seemed somewhat betrayed as she stared at the both of you with wide eyes.

“Ning I’ve told you about this, girl! Y/n thought me and Haechan were together when I was there one day to study with him,”

“-yeah it was just a misunderstanding. Haechan cleared it up though!” You finished, nodding a bit as you watched Ningning’s gears turning in her head. Her eyes go light as she bursts out in laughter, picturing something funny in her head.

“God - imagine Karina and Haechan! I know for a fact Karina would never go for him, right? And vice versa too, you’re just not his type - no offense though,” she pouts at Karina, the former rolling her eyes as she tunes out the conversation and focuses on Giselles music. You find yourself hyper aware of this conversation, oddly invested. You also note that Ningning is on her third beer, and is slightly more intoxicated than you. “But it wouldn’t matter regardless!”

“Why not?” You press, instinctively leaning closer into the brown haired girl as she takes another swig of her beer before continuing her thought.

“Well, haechan has a really big crush on this girl he knows, so he would never go for Karina!” You can see the realization sink into Ningning’s eyes as she processes her own word vomit. Karina, having heard just the tail end of your conversation, snaps her head over to the two of you - suddenly becoming an active listener in this doomed interaction.

You’re not sure if your face showed it, the devastation. Maybe you liked Haechan a lot more than even you realized, because at the mention of some random girl he seemingly liked, your stomach felt as if it had been sucker punched by a WWA fighter. You tried your hardest not to wear your heart on your sleeve, just giving a slight nod and a deflated, “oh, that’s cool…”

Yeah, good job with that y/n.

Ningning can see your disappointment, even if she doesn’t understand it. Maybe you’re upset that Haechan didn’t tell you? Of course, why would he tell you - it’s you that he likes. But, you don’t know that, so of course it would upset you. She realizes that she needs to cover her tracks, at the very least so you don’t go moping to Haechan and get her in trouble.

Giselle ends her second to last song and fades into her final and most popular, the crowd screaming while Ningning actively leans in closer to you to make a point to say, “well he likes her but she doesn’t really know so there’s probably not a great chance for them! But you should ask Haechan about it - I mean he’ll definitely tell you because he’s like obsessed with you. NOT IN A WEIRD WAY or anything! Just like..normal obsessed like how people are obsessed with their friends! But like yeah that girl he’s OBSESSED with in a romantic way and he really wants her he talks about her like alll the time..BUT yeah you should ask him if you don’t know because he’ll definitely tell you about it yknow..haha yeah..anyway I’m gonna go get some water BYE Y/N!” And with that, she quickly retreats to the snack table, hitting herself on the head as she realizes she just made things much much worse. With a sigh, you turn back to the concert. Karina gives you a look of confusion, not having heard the last thing Ningning said over the crowd screaming. You shake your head with a small smile, trying to act like it’s all cool, trying to act like your heart isn’t breaking.

Haechan likes someone. He likes a girl and he didn’t even tell you. You’ve gotten to know him so much over the last 6 months, you hang out almost every day and tell each other everything. He’s been in multiple videos now and the fans love him. You eat dinner together all the time and have a tv show that you watch together and get mad at each other if someone watches ahead. Haechan is your everything, and he didn’t even tell you he had a crush on another girl.

Giselle and winter were right, you should have never gotten this involved with him. You should have protected your heart and realized you cannot date your neighbor. There’s so much you should have done, but as you turn your head and lock eyes with his brown gaze - he grins at you in a boyish manner like the both of you have a secret that only you two know - you don’t think it was ever possible to not get this far with him. Haechan has possessed your mind and heart completely, and you let him.

What a stupid crush, y/n.

GG! (Good Game!) 👾

Notes: yay everyone met‼️ guys it’s getting spicccyyyy

☆ Masterlist ☆

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Taglist: @n0hyuck @dudekiss3r @injunnie-lemon @yewshi @222brainrot @dokgrayson @lttlekomori @multifandomania @sunflowerbebe07 @beommii @markeroolee @lionzyon @starfilledgaze @lostinneocity @insaneanddrained @chenlesfavorite @hyucktion @lampcults @nctjunie @oreosareara @stqrgr7 @catpjimin @chan-yeoldelling

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lrithill · 2 months ago

Text

Nightmare on Clown Street (pt.2: The Real State Agent)

Oh. My .God.

When I started this story, I didn’t think it was going to turn into this madness...

(This one escalated quickly).

Here you got part 1:

https://www.tumblr.com/lrithill/776929905368825856/nightmare-on-clown-street-pt1-the-prospective?source=share (Part 1)

And part 3:

https://www.tumblr.com/lrithill/778840861948755968/nightmare-on-clown-street-pt-3-happily-settled?source=share (Part 3)

Warnings: Comedy, Hostage Situations, Car Accidents, Car Chases, Rescue Missions, Danger, Cowboys, Zombie cowboys, Absurd, Love, Madness, Stockholm Syndrome, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Soap, Fire, Explosions, Chaos.

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*In the Car*

Silence.

The only sound is the car engine, being forced to its limits by James—If he keeps this up, he’s gonna stomp right through the floor and have to drive home like the Flintstones.

Marian stares out the window, drumming her fingers on the glass—her reflection smiles back at her.

Trujilda is still unconscious, mumbling something. She seems to be having a nightmare… (though honestly, it can’t be worse than reality).

—Trujilda…—James calls her name.

James notices her having a bad dream and tries to wake her up gently—after dealing with one psychopath, he really doesn’t want to handle another.

—Trujildaaaaa—he touches her softly, trying to be affectionate.

FZUM

Trujilda’s eyes snap wide open—if they were glowing red, she’d be Terminator. A real killing machine—indestructible—, negotiation is not an option

She grabs James’ hand like a magnet snapping to metal. —the same hand Art had grabbed earlier, ust to add insult to injury, –or salt to the wound.

—Trujilda… I think we should go to a hospital…—James' voice is barely a whisper—. Look at my hand, those freak’s nail marks are getting infected… it looks really bad, shit… —James is practically crying—. I think it’s getting gangrenous or something… MY HAND IS GONNA FALL OFF, FOR FUCK’S SAKE! —he spirals into full-blown panic, the very image of despair.

Trujilda simply examines his hand—or rather, scans it. Slowly, she sits upright in her seat, then turns her head toward James in a stiff, robotic motion—you can almost hear the gears turning.

She doesn’t let go of his hand.

Suddenly, James almost prefers Art.

—James…

She is powering up her laser beam

—What are we doing in the car?—she bats her eyelashes innocently, her fake kindness dripping like poison, that Jeff the Killer smile creeping back onto her face.

—I did what I had to do, Trujilda. We were this close to—

—HOW COULD YOU JUST LET SOME FREAK TOUCH ME AND GRAB ME LIKE THAT?! —Trujilda shakes him violently, her ultrasonic scream shattered his eardrums —. I should’ve listened to my father, you’re a dickless coward! —her eyes practically burning with sulfur.

ZHHHHRRR-KA-BOOM

Obliterated.

—He did more than just touch you, Trujilda…—James has had enough of being a punching bag—. He kissed you…. and you did NOTHING to stop him—James accuses, his voice sharp—. You wanted it, didn’t you? Was that to make me jealous? —James starts spouting conspiracy theories (honestly, who wouldn’t want a kiss from Art?)—. Do you think I’m stupid…? I know I’m not exactly a knight in shining armor, but—

—WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE KISSED ME?!—Godzilla-tier laser beam activated, cleaving the car in two.

—He wasn’t a freak…—Marian cuts in, preventing her parents from finalizing the divorce papers Art had drafted for them.

At that exact moment, the car jerks violently—as if it hit a pothole. But there was no pothole. It was more like the car’s engine skipped a beat.

Both James and Trujilda snap their heads toward the backseat in perfect unison.

—WHAT?!

—He painted my face—Marian says innocently—. Look, he even gave me his pencil.

Trujilda detects the pencil as if it were a loaded firearm. Her gadget-arm activates, grabbing it at lightning speed and hurling it out the window.

"Target eliminated."

She then proceeds to wash her hands with holy water like it’s industrial-strength disinfectant.

—I KNEW IT! That guy wasn’t a man… he was the Devil! —Trujilda crosses herself in terror—. He put a curse on us, an evil eye, a—

—YOU’RE RIGHT!. —James immediately swerves toward the nearest church—. Our daughter now bears THE SYMBOL OF HIS CULT. It’s only a matter of time before we start receiving letters written in blood.

James reconsiders his moving plans… but to another country.

Suddenly, the car radio crackles to life.

Nobody touched it.

The music plays , distorted.

“Drop on by the Clown Café, your favorite meals on wheels…”

Marian’s eyes flash yellow for a brief second.

—AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!

The car practically launches itself down the hill, tires screeching, the seatbelt warning beeping furiously.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Art and you watch as the brown car approaches from the distance—slowly but steadily—without stopping.

Murphy was right: "If something can go wrong, it will."

You have a decent amount of patience (Though earlier, you almost shattered James' ribs when he mocked Art for being mute…)

But Art…

Art is a literal clockwork bomb.

Once the timer runs out…

BOOM.

Nuclear explosion.

(And you? Standing there, watching the chaos unfold—like Oppenheimer fixing his hat as he gazes upon the destroyer of worlds.)

You quickly step in front of Art and grab his hands.

You still have time to save that poor soul from a painful, slow death—and from being served up like a Thanksgiving turkey.

—Art… remember what we practiced… breeeeathe— you soothe him, making exaggerated inhale-exhale gestures.

Art looks at you, but doesn’t really look at you. His gaze is distant… or maybe he’s staring directly into your soul. You notice his hands trembling.

—Shhhh… count to ten, my love— you whisper, though you're starting to doubt yourself—. Come on, let me see you do it, with your fingers— you encourage him (no psychiatrist could ever achieve this level of crisis management).

You lift Art’s hands to chest level, guiding him through the count.

You raise one of his fingers.

—One… —you need to get his mind off that car—. Keep going, you’re doing amazing, my king— you smile, hoping he’ll return the smile.

That’s asking for too much.

But then, to your surprise, Art lifts a second finger, by his own.

(You officially deserve a PhD in psychology only for that finger.)

Now, Art has his eyes closed, which you like even more—he actually seems focused on staying calm.

He raises a third finger. His breathing slows.

You’re so proud of him.

"Art is doing amazing, I can’t believe this, it’s like—"

5 fingers.

Art has just raised all five fingers on one hand.

—Art… you skipped four, sweetheart— you say gently, trying to lower one of his fingers to get the count back on track, smiling.

You try to push one down—no luck. (It’s stiffer than Wolverine’s claws.)

You shake your head.

You can smell the impending disaster.

7 fingers up.

Art’s eye sockets are practically bulging out of his skull.

"No… NO NOOO."

9 fingers.

You dramatically throw your arms around him, seeking desperate comfort— all hope is gone.

There’s nothing left to do but pray.

You want to scream, like a soul being dragged to hell.

BEEEP BEEEEP.

“THIS IS THE END FOR US!”

You feel Art struggling to lift the 10th finger, his movements agonizingly slow.

You can hear his heart pounding against his ribs at full speed.

His whole body is tensed, his muscles coiled like springs, –ready to hurl himself at anything that so much as twitches.

And then—

BEEP.

Art passes out

He drops to the ground like a sack of potatoes, flat on his back with a solid THUD.

Technical KO.

You can’t believe it.

The battle between good and evil was so intense inside his head that he just completely crashed— Literally, Blue screen of death.

You flex your arm and clench your fist in victory.

"God was with me today, fuck yes", you think triumphantly.

And that’s when a figure emerges from the vintage car. She adjusts her glasses, struggling to believe her own eyes.

"Is there seriously a girl cheering because her boyfriend just passed out?" she thinks.

She approaches the car with firm steps, clutching a folder overflowing with papers, against her chest.

You see her coming and quickly pull yourself together. With Art out of the way things are going to be much easier.

(No.)

—Hello there!— you greet her, wiping away your tears of joy. —I’m (Y/N), nice to meet you. You must be the real estate agent, right? —you smile at her.

—I'm Bruna— she says formally—. Nice to meet you too… though I can’t say the same for him— she points at Art, she wrinkled her nose in disgust.

Art lies flat on his back, eyes wide open, his toothy smile plastered on his face. If he weren’t breathing, he’d pass as a Halloween decoration.

—Yeah… uh…— you scratch your head—. It’s been a really stressful day… I think his blood sugar dropped. —You pull a random excuse out of thin air.

—Oh! Do you want to go get him some juice or something? —Bruna offers—. I can stay here and watch over him if you’d like—

—NO NO NO!— you practically scream, frantically waving your hands.

—O…kay— her smile turns awkward. Bruna glances around, as if she’s on a hidden camera show.

—What I mean is… He’s totally fine!— you try to explain—. This happens to him all the time. Trust me, it’s only a matter of time before he wakes up —You say it with a strained expression, nervously chewing your nails. You sound more like you’re warning her than trying to reassure her (which is the case).

You kneel down and pull Art’s hoodie over his face—like a mourner covering a corpse at a funeral—so you don’t have to look at his demonic grin.

—Are you sure… he’s alive? —Bruna narrowed her eyes at you.

—Yeah yeah… of course he’s alive, hahaha!— you reassure her with nervous laughter—. This dude is fresh as a daisy. Hell, even if you chopped his head off, this bastard wouldn’t die, hahahahaha!

"And that’s the only reason you’re still breathing right now," you want to say.

—Well… I hope he recovers soon. —Bruna adds, pretending she didn’t hear the whole “even if you chop his head off” part.

—Exactly, hehe, hopefully. —You nod enthusiastically—. He's my boyfriend, and I love him to bits, I'm literally crazy about him. —you sight.

You notice Art’s head shifting slightly from side to side, regaining consciousness.

You immediately kick him in the head, knocking him out again. All the way back to dreamland.

You smile.

(So in love)

Bruna adjusts her glasses, blinks hard… but chooses not to question it.

—Anyway, as you’ve well guessed, I’m the real estate agent. By any chance, have you seen a family of three around here? I was supposed to meet them for a house tour this afternoon. —Bruna explains, though you already knew that—. There was a ton of traffic, so I got delayed —she excuses herself—. I even sent them a message, but they haven’t read it— Bruna’s mind starts piecing things together. —Honestly, if I didn’t know for sure that James wasn’t a mime, I’d almost think he was this guy, and you’re a psycho that knocked him out or something. —she chuckles.

But you don’t laugh.

Your face is pure horror.

You turn pale as Art.

The "M" word…

You glance at Art and see his fists clenching tightly, his knuckles turning white with tension.

—SSHHHH…— you hush her immediately, slapping a hand over her mouth.— Don’t say that word... —Your wild-eyed expression is downright unhinged.

—What… word? —Bruna is actually starting to get scared.

You get way too close to her—her personal space is your personal space.

—"Mime…" —you whisper in her ear—. Listen, he hates being called that. I mean, you know how men are… Trust me, you do not want him waking up in a bad mood. —You’re one step away from getting on your knees to beg.

—What? —Bruna stares at you, completely baffled.

—Seriously, you have NO idea how lucky you are that he’s unconscious. —You grab her hands, pleading.— You should leave. Immediately. Please, I’m begging you. —Your face is a tragic, desperate mess. She really needs to leave.

—Seriously, I’ve never met anyone who's actually happy that their boyfriend passed out . —Bruna taunts—. If he fell into a coma, what then? Would we pop champagne? —she laughs sarcastically.

—No, no, please… He went through this for five straight years, and I am not dealing with that again —you state in the most deadpan tone possible.

Bruna stares at you.

You stare back at her.

—But that’s not the point. —you urge—. You need to leave. Take the "For Sale" sign with you, and don’t come back. —You start pushing her toward her car.

Time is running out, and this woman just won’t take a hint.

You grab her by the shoulders and steer her toward the driver’s seat.

But she quickly slips out of your grasp like a damn ninja.

—What the hell is going on here? —her voice turns cold, demanding.— I want to know what happened to James and his family. And I want to know who YOU are and who the hell that poor guy on the ground is.

Bruna is a tough nut to crack.

For the first time, you wish Art was awake. He made things so effortlessly easy with the other three.

But Bruna? She’s like a final boss compared to James.

—I'm calling James. —she announces—. And if he doesn’t answer… I’ll have no choice but to take measures.

She’s not bluffing.

Bruna starts dialing.

Bip bip bip…

You're starting to sweat. —She probably thinks you kidnapped them; or worse –that you’re trying to cover up a murder. And that’s why you’re so set on making her leave.

(What she doesn’t know is that you’re literally trying to save her from being killed!).

You pray that James picks up.

Biiiip… biiiip… biiiip…

"Please… please… pick up."

A single bead of sweat rolls down your temple. Then another.

You are NOT built for this kind of stress.

A chaotic mess of noises suddenly blasts through the phone:

-A bell ringing

-A man howling in despair.

-A cat hissing aggressively.

—Bruna? —James’ voice finally emerges from the chaos.

—Hey, James! How’s it going? —Bruna throws you a “you just got lucky” glance—. Where are you guys?

—Oh, thank God… I’m so relieved to hear your voice… we feared the worst—James exhales, clearly shaken—. We’re at the town church. Uh… long story.

—The church? Is that nearby?

—Yeah, it was on the way… it was an emergency. —he explains, poorly.— Although, to be honest… the nun helping us here is… kinda weird. —his voice trembles—. But after everything I’ve seen tonight, I’m sure it’s just my imagination… I’m just being paranoid… —he trails off.

—I’m at the house. —Bruna announces.

—YOU’RE AT THE HOUSE?!

Bruna nearly drops her phone, shocked by the scream.

—Look, I don’t have time to explain. I don’t even know how to explain, but GET OUT OF THERE. NOW.

Bruna freezes.

For the first time, she is genuinely afraid.

—RUN. FROM. THE CLOWN.

The call cuts off.

The last thing heard on the line are prayers.

Silence.

Bruna’s whole body goes cold –her skin crawls. That call was seriously disturbing.

And then…

HONK. HONK.

Your blood runs cold.

Bruna and you turn around at the exact same time, as if fate had already been written.

And there he is.

Art. Brand new.

His smile is still there. His eyes glimmer with excitement. He lifts a hand in his signature greeting.

And then, his lips move—no sound comes out, but the message is crystal clear:

"Miss me?"

Art takes a step forward.

Bruna takes a step back—her papers slip from her hands and scatter across the ground.

Your brain starts racing at a million miles per hour.

Art can smell fear. –And nothing thrills him more than seeing terror in the eyes of his victims–that moment when they realize there’s no escape.

He starts stalking toward Bruna –like a predator–, his gaze locked onto her, his smile widening with delight—his mind already spinning with endless possibilities.

And then…

You gather your courage.

You step between Art and Bruna, using your body as a human shield.

"You’ll have to kill me first." You telepathically challenge Art.

Art hisses like a rattlesnake.

The two of you lock eyes.

Neither of you move.

You look just like two cowboys about to face off in a classic spaghetti western duel.

The wind howls between you, kicking up the invisible desert dust.

A tumbleweed (imaginary, but just as dramatic) rolls across the space between you and Art, marking the start of the showdown.

"Para rin para rin pon pin... uh uh uh uh…"

Both of you remain in a tense stance, as if life itself depended on this moment (it does).

Art narrows his eyes, locking his gaze onto you, his smile widening. His fingers rest at his sides, as if preparing to draw an invisible weapon.

But you refuse to be intimidated.

You take a step forward, feeling like Clint Eastwood himself.

Art raises an eyebrow—he’s surprised by your determination.

Deep down, you know this is Art’s weakness. He is a true showman, and when faced with a situation like this, he can’t help but get into character—like a real method actor.

You sincerely believe that the only way survive him is to play along with his performances.

(Though that doesn’t guarantee survival either… but you have the perks of being the favorite, of course.)

The silence is deafening.

Time seems to stop. There is no sound but the wind.

“Waaaah wah wah waaahh… uh uh”

Art spits on the ground with grave seriousness—he’s living it.

With even more seriousness, you also spit on the ground (does he think he’s a better cowboy than you? You’re competitive).

Art chuckles to himself. He loves your spirit.

You are engaged in a fierce duel of intense stares; the tension could be cut with a knife—or better, a rusty hacksaw.

Bruna doesn't know whether to laugh or cry

Slowly, you move your hand toward your pocket.

You’re having a genius idea.

Art watches your movements carefully, analyzing you.

He follows the movement with his eyes, his body on high alert. His pupils dilate. He is completely absorbed in the scene.

And suddenly, with the speed worthy of a county sheriff, you pull out your hand in the shape of a gun and…

BANG!

With the precision of a hawk’s eye… you pull the trigger, even mimicking the recoil—actually feeling it in your hand.

Art’s eyes widen. He clutches his shoulder as if you had hit him squarely. His expression is one of dramatic pain… then, of fury.

He presses a hand over the wound, dramatically trying to stop the bleeding.

He staggers backward, gritting his teeth—at the very least, he should be awarded the Golden Lion.

He tries to lean on an imaginary wall; but he’s losing too much blood, barely able to stand, gasping for air.

“Bitch… you got me…”

He takes a few unsteady steps, falls to one knee, grips his chest…

Kneeling, he looks into your eyes and nods slowly, granting you victory as a worthy opponent.

“You’reas good as they say, maybe even better… Looks like the devil came for me today…”

And finally, with one last agonized breath…

He lets himself fall to the ground with a heavy thud.

Dead.

Silence.

At this, you raise your hand in the shape of a gun and blow on your fingers, as if dispersing the smoke from the barrel. A half-smirk on your face.

“Only one of us was walkin' out of here”

You turn to Bruna with a look of satisfaction and defiance—if only you had a sheriff’s badge to flash.

Bruna has taken off her glasses—they didn’t want to keep watching this movie.

Then, without warning, you hear Art convulsing on the ground behind you.

You spin around quickly, back on high alert –gun in hand.

With difficulty, he raises his hand, gesturing, “Come closer… I have… something… important… to tell you…”

You take a few cautious steps toward him and lean over his body.

And then, with the last of his strength, he tries to lift his air horn, his hand trembling so much it looks as heavy as Thor’s hammer.

He seems just about to sound it.

His final words…

But he doesn’t get the chance, because life has already faded from his eyes.

His gaze is lost in the sky.

You close his eyelids with a solemn gesture.

You lower your head to his chest, pretending to grieve his death, pretending to cry in sorrow.

(In reality, you’re dying of laughter, but you don’t want Bruna to see you.)

You stand up.

Art, satisfied with his performance, suddenly springs back to life and claps enthusiastically.

You turn to Bruna, who is blinking like she’s in a parallel reality.

—Whew, that was close…— you say, wiping the sweat from your forehead—. Safe and sound, see? —You smile at her proudly.

—You say that like he wasn’t looking at me like he wanted to turn me into hamburger meat…—points at Art.

—Yes, but he didn’t do it, hahaha. That’s called self-control, —you say proudly—. We’re improving a lot.

You hear Art growl from where he is. He makes a gesture with two fingers, pointing at his own eyes and then at Bruna’s.

“I’m watchin you, and I won’t blink ” you both read.

—You two really are made for each other, —Bruna laughs nervously, suddenly realizing why this house had been forsaken for so many years...

(Because of these two).

Still, Bruna refuses to believe you’re just two crazy people in love—there isn’t always a perfect match for every misfit.

Art approaches you both at a slow pace, limping. Apparently, he’s also been shot in the leg–he’s now wondering if he’ll ever be able to ride his horse again.

—Well, you see, we’re members of a theater club, —you say, trying (once again) to make everything sound somewhat normal—. You just happened to catch us in the middle of a rehearsal and… we were playing around with improvisation, —you explain—. This is going to be a box office hit.. Thanks for involuntarily participating! —You shake her hand as if she were a famous actress.

Art nods in agreement.

—And… if you were rehearsing… why was your boyfriend pass out earlier? —Bruna interrogates you.

—Well, uh… you see… mmmmm… —You touch your forehead, thinking—. It’s a movie… about zombie cowboys.

Art closes his eyes, trying to hold back laughter… but nods again.

—Aaahhh that’s it. —Her eyebrows rise in surprise.

—-Aahhhh that’s it, —you imitate her—. At first, I really made you feel terror, huh? It really seemed like an apocalyptic situation, right? —You tap your temple twice with your finger, as if you were a theatrical genius.

—To be honest, I was going into real paranoia, you looked genuinely desperate.

—And rightfully so, hahaha. —You grab her shoulders and look deep into her soul. —He was going to kill you.

Art nods again. Smiling.

Then proceeds to make a choking throat motion, –eyes filled with rage.

—Yeah… hehehe. —Bruna removes your hands from her shoulders—. I see a future for you guys in this… And the rest of the actors in the club? —she looks around.

—Ahh… uh… it’s just my boyfriend and me.

—-Huh… Who would’ve guessed? —She rolls her eyes—. I hope you haven’t actually shot them. It wouldn’t be the first case. —She glances around, maybe looking for an escape route.

Art shrugs innocently, raising his palms beside his head, smiling.

“Who knows”

Bruna suddenly gets lost in thought.

Something feels off.

Her eyes dart between the two schizophrenics standing in front of her. She scans you—your messy hair, your wrists, your ankles, the visible skin… there almost seem to be bite marks on your shoulder…

Everything is too strange. Your desperate attitude… Art’s behavior, at the very least… unsettling.

James’s call…

"RUN FROM THE CLOWN."

His voice echoes in Bruna’s mind.

—Hey, (Y/N), —Bruna calls to you—.Do you mind coming with me to the car? I have a pamphlet there with all the information about the sale.

—Oh! That sounds good, let’s go. —You’re hopeful that she’s finally getting into her car and leaving.

Art moves with you, ready to follow.

—(Y/N) alone, —Bruna insists—. I just need to ask her something… you know, girl stuff. —She adds an excuse.

Art glances at her from the corner of his eye, starting to suspect something is about to happen. He tenses up, ready for the worst.

"What if she's a detective investigating a case? What if she's an undercover cop?"

But he has to stay calm. He can't take any risks without proof—she could have a weapon. The last thing he wants is for you to actually get shot. (This time real).

Bruna and you stop right at the front door of the car. She opens it and pretends to look for something…

She hands you a blank sticky note and a pencil—her hands trembling.

—Write… quickly… this is your chance, —she whispers, her eyes wide open.

—What…?

—Whatever you want to tell me that you don’t want him to hear… write it down. —She subtly gestures toward Art with her eyes.

—Bruna… I don’t know what you’re trying to say… —You laugh nervously.

—How long have you been here? Has he hurt you? —She’s deadly serious.

—Who…? Arthur? —You’re so confused.

—-If you're kidnapped, you can tell me. I’m going to get you out of here…I want to help you.

—Kidnapped?! —You burst out laughing—. The only thing Art has kidnapped is my heart. —You place your hands over your chest like a hopeless romantic.

—Do you know what Stockholm Syndrome is?

—Of course I do! But my love for him is real… not Stockholm’s. —You laugh, trying to ease the tension, but you’re starting to feel uneasy.

—I’ve heard that at first, they seem kind. They treat you well… it even feels like they love you, —Bruna grips the sticky note so tightly it nearly turns into a ball in her fist—. But deep down, you’re nothing more than a hostage to them. A toy to play with. You can’t believe him. You’re stronger than him.

Art is now looking at an imaginary watch on his wrist. His foot taps impatiently against the ground.

—Bruna… Don’t be ridiculous.

—LET’S GO!!!

Bruna shoves you into the passenger seat with all her strength and slams the door shut before sprinting to the driver’s seat at full speed.

You don’t even have time to process what just happened before Bruna has already locked the car, sealing the doors and windows. You try to open the door—no use.

—AAAAAART! —You call for help, looking at him through the windshield.

—WE’RE GETTING OUT OF HERE NOW! —Bruna slams the accelerator, the tires screeching, dust rising.

Art stares in utter shock, his hands clutching his head as if he can’t believe what’s happening, his expression a mask of pure terror for the first time all afternoon.

“NOOOO, MY HOSTAGE!”

He watches as the car speeds down the hill, taking the same road James and his family used to escape.

But Art knows exactly what he has to do—he’s been in situations like this before.

What Bruna doesn’t realize is that Art is not just an ordinary mortal man.

He chuckles to himself, imagining how you’re going to explain to Bruna what’s about to happen.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*In the car*

The road stretches ahead of you like a never-ending tunnel.

Bruna is driving at full speed, even faster than James—after all, this is not just an escape, it’s a rescue mission. She keeps glancing at the rearview mirror, her grip firm on the steering wheel, her seatbelt strapped tight.

Her knuckles are white with tension. She has no idea if she’s saving someone or dooming herself.

She has the courtesy to fasten your seatbelt for you. Caution is her middle name—she doesn’t tolerate anything less than perfection.

The engine roars like a wounded beast.

—James told me he was at the church in town… —she says, not taking her eyes off the road.

—Bruna… –you say, gripping the car’s handle—. This is a huge mistake.

If it weren’t for the fact that you’re used to driving with Art, you’d be throwing up—Bruna takes turns like a Formula 1 driver.

—Are you okay? You have my full support to vent about whatever you need, —she reassures you—. It must have been so hard for you… living with that psychopath and—

—Arthur has never hurt me, —you cut her off before she can keep accusing him—. Seriously, he’s just… intense.

—Intense is my ex when he sends me ten messages in a row, —she laughs—. But that’s a far cry from keeping you handcuffed…

—What? —(Did you hear that right?)

—I saw your wrists, —she points at them—. I know it doesn’t make sense in your head right now, and you’re going to try to justify him… but girl, no man who loves you would do that.

You look down at your wrists.

Yes, there are handcuff marks –very deep ones indeed.

Your face turns bright red.

—Uh… like I said… he’s intense hahaha, —you hope she understands without needing to go into detail.

—I even saw the same marks on your ankles, —she covers her mouth with her hand in disgust,imagining the excruciating scene.

—Well, if you saw how he looks under his clothes… just as bad, if not worse, —you huff, remembering those moments.

—Him???

This is the final straw for Bruna.

—OF COURSE, WOMAN! DOESN’T A COUPLE HAVE A RIGHT TO PRIVACY? —You’re officially losing it, this is beyond ridiculous—. HE’S INTO THAT SHIT, OKAY? AND SO AM I.

—Don’t try to romanticize this, girl, I’ve seen—

—ROMANTICIZE?! I’LL ROMANTICIZE YOUR FACE! —You lunge at her.

You grab the steering wheel, trying to destabilize the car—you want to crash into a tree just to stop all of this. You don’t care about the fine you’ll have to pay.

Bruna and you scream as you fight for control, her slamming the accelerator while you stomp on the brake at the same time. She yanks your hair, and you spit in her face.

(Art has taught you well.)

Both of you are practically sitting in the driver’s seat, but Bruna is more determined than you—nothing is going to stop this car from reaching its destination.

And then, Bruna can’t believe what she’s seeing:

About 30 meters ahead, a familiar clown-faced figure stands, holding a black sign with white letters.

"CIRCUS"

He’s standing like a hitchhiker, but when he sees the out-of-control car, he cheerfully hops into the middle of the road.

He moves with light, playful bounces, grinning.

—NO FREAKING WAY! —Bruna’s voice cracks with disbelief—. HOW…? HOW…? THAT’S…

—NO… UH… THAT’S HIS STUNT DOUBLE… —you swallow hard, watching as Art positions himself right in the middle of the road—. …for action scenes… —You finish while shutting your eyes, fully aware of what Art is about to do.

Art rocks back and forth on his heels, like he’s just waiting for a bus.

For a second, the world freezes.

The engine roars, the black sign flutters in the wind.

The speedometer climbs past 180 km/h… and rising.

You cover your eyes with your hands—you don’t want to see this.

Art sees you and, grinning, covers his own eyes too, mimicking you—but peeking comically between his fingers.

His smile never wavers.

And then…

Bruna hits Art.

CRASH.

You brace yourself, expecting to feel the car rolling over mangled flesh, a final honk…

But none of that happens.

Bruna is still screaming, the car is still speeding downhill.

Your ears are ringing. You can’t hear a thing.

And then, you gather the courage to lower your hands from your face and open your eyes.

Your eyes meet Art’s.

He’s clinging to the hood of the car. His long arms allow him to grip the surface tightly, his face pressed against the windshield, the "Circus" sign blocking a good portion of Bruna’s vision.

He kisses the glass—a kiss for you.

—See? I told you he loves me. —Joy floods through you at the sight of him.

Bruna doesn’t even bother answering—there’s no point in arguing with a lunatic.

Art gestures to Bruna that he’s totally fine, raising his eyebrows with a friendly smile. He even has the audacity to flash a thumbs-up—before gripping onto the hood again.

Bruna’s face twists in absolute rage.

Art may have survived getting hit by a car…But he won’t survive the laws of physics.

She activates the windshield wipers—soap and water included—to "clean" Art off the car.

You watch as Art flails side to side like a cartoon character, like a soggy rag—at least the windshield is going to be spotless.

(You fear he’s going to consider this a shower if you all make it out alive.)

You have to do something to help him!

You grab the steering wheel tightly, yanking at it with all your strength—triggering the airbag perfectly.

BAM!

The airbag explodes into Bruna’s face with full force, shattering her glasses, shards of glass embedding into her skin.

While Bruna is dazed, you frantically search for the car’s lock button—you need to open the doors and let Art in.

You find it, but before you can press it—

Bruna starts jerking the wheel violently, sending the car into a zigzagging frenzy, throwing you and Art off balance.

Art swings wildly from side to side, rolling across the hood of the car with every sharp turn.

But Art clings to the vehicle like Spider-Man—not even the slickest soap can make his grip fail. (Once again, soap proving to be his greatest enemy.)

One sudden swerve sends Art dangerously close to falling off the side—he barely manages to grab onto the side mirror—on your side.

Your eyes meet through the window.

You see him, now so close, –struggling to survive a mess you got him into, all because you managed to stop him from killing then when he had the chance… for listening to you, after all.

He taps the glass with his finger, drawing a heart… like reminding you that no matter how this ends, he will always love you.

You press your palm against the glass, and he does the same.

So close… yet so far.

But this isn’t the time to get romantic.

You quickly gesture to Art to climb onto the roof—you’re terrified that Bruna might crash into a tree, splitting him in half by the waist.

Art slides up, escaping the ruthless windshield wipers, reaching the roof rack.

Now, he has a clear view of where the car is heading.

Bruna can see it too.

The three of you lock eyes on the same sight—

At the end of the road stands the church.

You see it from the front seats.

Art sees it from the roof.

Bruna, in absolute desperation, does what any Fast & Furious protagonist would do.

“HOLD ON TIGHT—AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!”

Art screams too—but no sound comes out.

HONK HONK HONK HONK (panic horn honking)

Bruna yanks the wheel harder than she ever has in her life—at full speed.

The tires catch fire.

The car skids.

Flips violently onto the asphalt.

The world turns upside down.

One roll.

Two rolls.

THREE ROLLS.

Bruna and you are thrashed around inside the car like you’re in a demonic washing machine.

Art is launched like a catapult. Like a cannonball.

You see Art flying through the air.

Everything moves in slow motion now.

This is the end for Art. –He’s going to smash into the ground, all his bones fractured beyond repair…

You look at him like it’s the last time you’ll ever see him.

Your mind flashes back to all the memories you’ve shared with him:

When you first met him, at the brink of death.

When he gifted you a foot (according to him, it was the best-smelling one he had ever sniffed), you still have it… as an aesthetic scented candle.

The first time he touched your hand—electrifying.

This is the end.

You know it.

He knows it.

Your eyes meet for an instant—a silent farewell, as it could only be.

Both of you are upside down—you, inside the car; him, plummeting from the sky—so for a brief moment, the world seems upright to you both.

And that’s when it hits you:

The world had always been upright for the two of you...

Because you were both upside down.

He made you feel upright when everyone else seemed upside down to you; he was the only person who ever made you feel like you fit in, in life.

Tears falling down your cheeks.

And then, through blurry vision—you spot a familiar vanilla-colored Beetle.

You don’t know if it’s fate, a miracle, or if James just has really bad luck—or maybe all three at once—but by some divine intervention, Art’s trajectory is heading straight for the car.

The only sound you hear is your heartbeat pounding in your chest.

BUM bun… BUM bun… BUM bun…

And then—

CRASH.

Art slams into the car, crushing it like a falling meteor.

The roof caves in under his weight. Twisted metal. Shattered glass.

A final, agonizing screech before—

Silence.

A rough landing… But a perfect one.

Absolutely perfect for you.

(Ironically, the car seemed like the only sensible character in this story—the one that wanted to leave from the very beginning—and yet, in the end, it took the worst hit.)

The moment Art lands, Bruna and you climb out of the wreckage, stumbling.

The two of you stand there, watching the totaled car in anticipation.

“Did he make it?”

There is no honking, no movement at all…

And then—

A figure slides down from the car's roof.

Art starts walking forward as if nothing happened, casually dusting off his shoulders, glancing to the side with an expression like:

“Easy”

The car explodes behind him, a massive red fireball towering several meters high, casting his silhouette in a frame of great greatness.

The ultimate swagger.

All he’s missing are sunglasses.

But—oops—Art is always prepared. Of course, he has them. He casually pulls them from his pocket:

His sunflower sunglasses.

BUM-CHAKALAKA.

He wanted to make it epic… but he made it legendary.

Bruna’s car explodes.

A flower pot explodes too (because why not?)

Michael Bay-level cinema.

—See? I told you: the stunt double for action scenes. He is good, huh? —you laugh—. This is going to be a blockbuster!

Bruna is silent, her gaze lost through the shattered lenses of her broken glasses.

Not only is she not going to be able to sell the house, but now she has to buy a new car, and take James to therapy… because she needs it too.

You run toward Art.

You’re covered in blood, wounded, dizzy, filthy… but none of that matters.

For a brief moment, you feel a twinge of sadness, thinking about how many adventures Art must have lived—stories he’ll never be able to fully tell you.

(But on second thought… maybe it’s better if you don’t hear them.)

You throw yourself into Art’s arms.

He catches you, lifting you off the ground, spinning you around like a princess.

—Art, that was incredible, —you say, tears in your eyes—. For a moment… for a moment, I thought you were going to die. —You place your hand on his heart.

The fire reflects in his stupid sunflower sunglasses, creating an image that is as ridiculous as badass.

Art simply lowers his sunglasses slightly, just enough for you to see his eyes, and looks at you over the rim.

"Woman, please."

You look at him as if he’s beyond saving (he is), but that’s just who he is—and you can't help but smile.

Art gently takes your chin, tilting your face upward so you can kiss him—your lips meeting his once again after what felt like an eternity. —After being kidnapped.—After watching your love get run over.—After almost witnessing his death.

It tastes like blood and soap… it tastes like victory.

But this isn’t over yet. In fact, the hardest part is still ahead.

How the hell are you going to get out of this situation?

—Art… how is this going to end? How are we going to get rid of them for good? —you ask, watching the world burn around you—. This is… a mess, a disaster, a—

Art presses a finger against your lips, silencing you.

"I have everything under control."

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

Fear not, brave reader, I know exactly what I have to do, (I actually don’t), but check this out in the future.

Here it is part 1:

https://www.tumblr.com/lrithill/776929905368825856/nightmare-on-clown-street-pt1-the-prospective?source=share (Part 1)

Of course, there is gonna be part 3.

https://www.tumblr.com/lrithill/778840861948755968/nightmare-on-clown-street-pt-3-happily-settled?source=share (Part 3)

#art the clown #terrifier #art the clown fanfiction #art the clown x oc #art the clown x reader #terrifier fanfiction #art the clown x you #slasher fandom #slashers #david howard thornton #damien leone #lauren lavera #slasher fanfiction #fanfiction #ao3

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yanderehsr · 2 years ago

Note

Hi, how are you doing so far? Of that okay, can I please have how yan Natasha, Himeko, and Kafka would react that their darling become attached to them? Not only that, but the reader would also miss them when they will be at work for too long. And how would they comfort their darling who would feel lonely at times?

I hope you'll enjoy😄

Trigger Warning: Yandere, Obsessive behaviour, Possessive behaviour, Kidnapped reader, Isolation, Stockholm syndrome

Natasha: She will be suspicious for a while, you could just pretend to have fallen for her, just so you could escape, it takes time before she believes that you truly love her, but when you allow her to touch you, to hug you, to do everything she ever dreamed of doing with you, how can she not believe it.

Natasha works almost all day every day, she comes home late, of course you miss her a lot. She is tired after working all day, but even though she is tired she will always have time and energy to comfort you and make you feel loved, it's usually cuddles until you both fall asleep.

"Did you miss me, maybe I should have come home earlier"

Himeko: She is over the moon when you return her affections, you give her an inch and she will take a mile, she wont allow you to back down, if you say you love her then nothing you say will change that fact in her mind. She loves it when you return her hugs, when you kiss her back and when you talk so happily to her so she can hear your lovely voice.

Miss her? Himeko rarely leaves the astral express, when would you get time to miss her. Oh, she gets it, even being apart from her for more than seconds feels like an eternity, she feels the same so don't worry. After you return her affections, she might even unlock the door and let you walk around the astral express.

"I will trust you, okay. You may walk around the express, but you may not leave, understood"

Kafka: Her heart actually skipped a beat when you gave her a hug for the first time, she has this smile on her face that looks different, it looks genuine. Finally, it took long enough, but Kafka was patient, finally you return her love. If she was touchy before, she is all over you now.

You will miss her, she usually gets long missions by Elio, and she can be gone for months. Kafka may even extend the mission, just to come home later, make you feel extra needy for her affection, it's as they say, Distance makes the heart grow fonder.

"You missed me didn't you, but don't worry. Now that you realise that you are all mine, I will give you as much love as you can take and more"

#yandere #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr #yandere female #yandere natasha #yandere natasha x reader #yandere himeko #yandere himeko x reader #yandere kafka #yandere kafka x reader

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strawberrynightmare · 2 years ago

Text

Chifuyu, Kazutora, Yuzuha, Sanzu & Kakucho celebrating their s/o's birthday

Content warning: A tiny little bit of violence

Chifuyu

~Baby.

~He’ll literally show up in the evening of the day prior with a full backpack and announce that you’re having a sleepover. He’s already brought mangas, food, his hoodie that you like…

~”What do you mean, ‘why, all of a sudden?’ It’s your birthday tomorrow! Which means that we’ve gotta celebrate as early as possible.” He began to unpack. “I wanna be the first to congratulate you on your birthday.”

~He’ll look at you with puppy eyes and pout until you agree.

~You’re gonna watch serials, do facemasks, eat snacks and read manga together. And it’s not even your birthday yet. And you bet he’ll absolutely spoil you. Like, each time you get up to do get yourself something to drink/eat or anything at all, he’s pressing down on your shoulders to get you back down and runs to get it for you even if you insist that it’s unnecessary. He’s having none of that.

~Somehow knows how to best keep you awake until midnight and starts counting as if it was a new year’s eve a few seconds before the clock strikes twelve. He’s even more excited than for the new year though. He’s actually screaming out the last few seconds and yells “HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOVE” when it’s finally time.

~After that, you soon begin to drowsy and end up falling asleep cuddled together with some movie playing in the background.

~Wakes up before you and makes you breakfast even though he’s already done enough 🥺

~DO NOT LET GO OF HIM. EVER.

~As for the rest of the day, he probably has everything planned. For the whole month before, he’d note down everything and everywhere you look at or mention and takes you there exactly. I feel like he’d make you a shirt with a cringe logo and then make himself a matching one and demand that the two of you wear it together.

~I feel like he’d collect things that remind him of you when he sees them, then puts them in a bag and give them to you. Your gift comes out as a gathering of different trinkets, each one charming and unique in their own way.

~Plans out so many amazing things but gets incredibly flustered when you thank him and claims that he didn’t even do anything.

~Gets the cake from your favourite bakery and treats you to anything else you want to eat. Literally makes you feel like the best person in the world and if you refuse to let him buy you stuff, he ignores you entirely and asks where do you want to go next.

~Panics if anything goes wrong or you even look not happy enough to him. Even if you’re just quietly enjoying yourself or do not mind a sudden change of plans at all.

~”I don’t care about where we go as long as we get to spend time together, Chifuyu.

~Ok now you broke him. He is malfunctioning, there is steam coming out of his ears and he’s completely red. Stands still in the middle of wherever you are and spends a good while with his face in his hands while you rub his back because god, he feels the same but now that you put it in words his heart is beating so fast it’s like he’s getting a positive heart attack more like happy heart syndrome and is going to die from happiness.

~Clings to you for the rest of the day. You come home exhausted, but content and fall asleep almost immediately.

~Marry him.

Kazutora

~You are spending your birthday with him and him alone. No buts. He’s gonna ensure that by coming to your house early in the morning. He’ll furiously ring the doorbell until you wake up, get up and open up.

~And just as you’re about to get mad because who the hell dares to wake you up at this ungodly hour, you’re greeted with the sight of your smiling boyfriend wishing you happy birthday with birthday cake in one hand and a bag with the other and you feel the anger escaping your body like air out of a balloon someone pricked with a needle.

~Your anger… He sure does know how to ease it. Suddenly you don’t even remember the reason for your annoyance.

~He’ll sing you happy birthday while you’re sitting on the sofa, still half asleep. And then he’ll hand you the bag with something expensive you’ve been eyeing during your last shopping trip.

“You didn’t steal this, right?”

“Right, Kazutora?”

(._.)

~Refuses to leave your side as if his life depended on it. Almost everywhere you go, he follows you. Someone could think that there’s an invisible string connecting him with you, not allowing him to separate himself from you further than three metres away.

~He’ll sit behind you and brush your hair while you get to eat cake for breakfast. After all, why not? He’s nowhere near strict enough to tell you to eat something healthy first. He says he doesn’t want anything to eat, but the moment you try to spoon-feed him, he’s suddenly starving.

~After you’re awake enough and finished with eating, he’ll drag you out. And it does not matter that you’re still in your pyjamas, he’ll say that it’s clothes like any other but he’ll wait for you to change if you insist.

~He probably bought tickets to barbie a movie you were hyped up for and he’ll take you to the cinema. Except he does not watch it at all and instead, he uses your distraction to stare at you all he wants, but then he genuinely gets invested in the story line and both of you leave with tears in your eyes and wobbly lips okay but imagine the both of you crying into the other’s arm and comforting each other while looking like absolute idiots

~So to calm down, you decide to go somewhere quiet and peaceful and settle for laying down on the grass of some park or a meadow and look at the sky and talk about everything that you can think about or just exist and decompose in complete silence. Or both. But of course, not without him gradually shifting closer to you until he’s completely glued to your side and nuzzling his head into your neck. You may or may not end up play-fighting with him because it’s your birthday and it should be you getting to cuddle him all you want. The solution is the two of you holding the other as close as possible, literally melting together.

~By the time you’re finished, the two of you will probably be hungry again so you go for a proper dinner in a bar for some soup™ and fries and you’re ready to go but not without him stealing food from your plate while looking you straight in the eye.

~I’ll be honest with ya, he probably called for an emergency meeting with Baji and Chifuyu a few days prior. They rushed to his house upon hearing how panicked and downright frantic he sounded. And what does it turn out to be? Him stressing out over his lover’s birthday. And so, they begin to combine the few brain cells they have left after beating him up a bit for worrying them and figure out where he can take you. It does take them a few hours, but Baji eventually figures out that… His friend should take you somewhere you like!

~It was actually Chifuyu who contacted Takemitchy and gave him clearer ideas.

~He silently thanks them as he sees you having fun during the day and coming home exhausted but happy. You two finish the day with cuddling together under a blanket and watching a movie, but you end up falling asleep midway.

~He’s a bit confused, but he’s got the spirit!

Yuzuha

~She’s pretty chill about it. Probably the chillest out of all of the people in this fic.

~Sets up a date on her calendar and casually asks you about what you would like for your birthday. She’s a straightforward person so a straightforward reply would be the most convenient for her, if you give it, she’ll give you just that with some small additions. If you’re not sure, she’ll opt for practical stuff she can actually picture you using, like a nice box, mouse pad, hairbrush and snacks.

~And she wouldn’t be all for celebrating on the exact day. She would send you wishes, yes, but for a full celebration, she’d probably schedule a saturday or a sunday so that you have lots of time to do nothing.

~She’ll show up at your door in the late morning with the present and ask if you want to hang out (the only correct answer is yes). If you have anywhere you want to go in particular, that’s where you’re going, if not, she’ll take you straight to her house.

~Hakkai was probably chased away beforehand and is now having his own sleepover with his Toman buddies.

~There will already be a few bowls with crisps, jelly, chocolates and cookies ready on the table. Make yourself comfortable because this will be the chillest day of your life.

~You’ll probably be binge watching a series you’ve been planning to watch for a long time, but there was never the right moment. Well, there is. Now. And she’ll probably use the opportunity to have an arm around your shoulders or waist as both of you comment your thoughts and theories about what’s gonna happen next.

~If you agree, she’ll play with/braid/brush your hair since she can never seem to get enough of it (which is totally not an excuse for her to have you sit on her lap. Not at all). It feels so relaxing to have her fingers graze your scalp, it might become hard to focus. Oce she’s done, she’ll rest her head on your shoulder and breathe in your scent.

~Surprisingly or not, Yuzuha does not mind gossiping. You might end up playing out little satire scenes to mock the demeanours of your teachers and annoying classmates. And it’s twice as fun since she’s both well oriented in ordinary stuff and gang oriented business as well.

~Don’t count on any proper meals when you can have pizza. Your girlfriend argues that since these are usually things people don’t eat because they don’t consider them healthy, now you can loosen up and do everything you usually wouldn’t allow yourself to.

~Same with going to sleep at a reasonable hour. You’re gonna get so invested in gaming together with her, you won’t even notice what hour this is until you glance at the clock and see 1am.

~You’d probably get a random idea to download some ikemen otome game and play it for fun while continuously making fun of the love interests and their cringe lines.

~You don’t really “go” to sleep, rather, one of you dozes off at some point and the other turns off the devices and lays next to them. You aren’t necessarily cuddling, but you sure as hell are touching each other in some way.

Sanzu

~According to his heroic/failure story, as a gift, he’ll probably beat up some people you dislike, shave off their hair and present them to you, records as he pushes them down the stairs or makes them write a 2 000 word essay on how they are shitty people, apologise for it at least ten times and say that they were wrong while begging for forgiveness while he holds a knife to their throat. They probably won’t know who they are apologising to in the first place since he doesn’t want to get you in trouble.

~Whether you like it or not is up to you 👀

~If you appreciate it, he’ll be over the moon. If not, he’ll just scratch his head and give you some random thing he saw in the shop that reminded him of you for some reason.

~Your friends do not exist to him. He's kidnapping you for the day.

~First things first, asks you where you want to go. If it’s shopping, he’ll carry your bags. If it’s eating, he’ll order you lots of food and insist that you should try a little bit of everything. If it’s arcade, he’ll cheer on you, try to win rewards or play with you if it’s a multiplayer game. Or maybe you want to chill in the park? Sure, he’ll just grab a blanket so that you don’t have to worry about bugs.

~If you have nowhere you want to go, he’ll offer you a tour around the city, so maybe then you would have an idea. He won’t rush you. Truth is, he’s content as it is because he gets to hold your hand as you rant about your day.

~And he is not leaving your side at all. Not to stop to take something out of his bag, not to check anything out, not to take a leaflet from a polite stranger. He’s always right on the edge of your peripheral vision. His constant presence is rather comforting, it’s always easier to move through life when there’s someone to have your back.

~Cannot believe it if anyone is being mean to you. Even if it’s just a rude stranger, it’s his lover’s birthday and he will absolutely not tolerate anyone ruining it. Won’t even think twice about giving them a black eye if they even look at you wrong. But it doesn’t end with a black eye and you might have to drag him away from the almost unconscious person.

~If you prefer to spend time in the comfort of your/his home, then he’ll be a bit more clingy. You’ll probably play the most random game you find on the internet and it will turn out to be surprisingly fun and intense.

~Similar to Kakucho, but a lot more quiet. He’s just… not sure what to do. He’s used to his sister dragging him around to shop and following her around and holding her bags. It’s useless to resist. So he kind of expects you to behave similarly. Pouts if you don’t let him carry your bags because you can’t be serious. If you insist on taking them even on the way back, he won’t say anything but he’s gonna stare holes into you.

~If you give up and hand them to him, he’ll give you a sweet smile and if you don’t, he’ll surrender. Probably. Some day.

~It will be one of the rare days he asks you if he can stay over. It’s rare of him to suggest it, so you might be a bit taken aback, but it sure is a nice surprise.

~He’ll guide you to lay your head on his lap while scrolling through his phone and occasionally showing some funny memes or videos to you.

~Belongs to team take out, you can have it delivered or go over to the nearby shop and get whatever you like.

~Birthday with Sanzu is just whatever you want it to be. He’s pretty elastic when it comes to this - he’ll adapt to whatever you want to do no matter what this is. Unless it’s something like “Let’s go to Switzerland!” With his arms under your armpits and an uneasy expression, he’ll drag you away from the airport while explaining that there are plenty of things to do in your own country.

~But that’s the limit, as long as it doesn’t require a passport, he’ll comply with your requests although he might raise a brow at some of them.

~You might fall asleep at some point since I hc him as a good cuddler.

Kakucho

~He’d ask you to hang out with him the day before your actual birthday so that you have time to meet some other friends then 🥺 Unless you don’t have any other friends or they’re too busy. Then he’ll be happy to spend your special day with you.

~Although he probably won’t be very keen on having a whole party with your friends. He’s kind of set on having you for himself and you having him for yourself for at least a few hours. In a crowd, he won’t fight for your attention, but rather watch over you from the shadows. Always ready to support you no matter what.

~When there’s only the two of you together, first things first he’d ask you where you wanna go. And that’s where you will go. He’s willing to get dragged around the whole Japan if necessary and you won’t hear a word of complaint from him. Your birthday is a “yes” day.

~If you don’t have any ideas, he’ll suggest the places he thought of beforehand. These places will vary depending on your interests and personality. It can be the playground in the local park, a cat cafe, an amusement park, a museum, an arcade etc. No matter which one you pick, you’re gonna have fun with him. His presence just feels so comforting, it makes you feel like you can have the whole world for yourself.

~Might ask you if you’re having fun once or twice if he notices you being too quiet.

~Rather than choosing a gift for you himself, he’d rather get you something that you mentioned earlier or take you shopping so that you can choose. He might opt for a little handmade trinket he created himself as an addiction to that. And yeah, you guessed it, he doesn’t buy you a birthday cake either. You choose whatever you want to eat and he’ll get it for you. You know best.

~Even if you thought that he forgot. Yeah no. He probably set up a date on his phone calendar with a reminder a week, 6 days, 5 days, 4 days, 3 days, 2 days and 1 day prior. But he remembers about it two weeks prior and then whenever he gets the notification reminder, he’ll be stressing out about it. ~Kisses and cuddles! You are special and you should know it. Do you feel bonita? I feel bonita. Wonderful, cuz you are bonita! He’d randomly wrap his arms from behind you and kiss your temple. “Happy birthday, dearest. Have I already told you how much I love you?” And he’s so sweet- hell, he’s always sweet but still, he always manages to make you feel butterflies in your stomach.

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the-kr8tor · 2 years ago

Note

Can you do a period comfort Hobie for fluffy Friday? Like Hobie comforting reader while she has bad cramps or mood swings? Like maybe he buys reader chocolates or makes them himself or something? I have PCOS(poly cystic ovary syndrome) and my period is currently kicking my ass :(

Thank you in advance! I love your work and ttn has me giggling and kicking my feet it’s so lovely :)

Oh I know the feeling 😞 hope you feel better! Thanks for requesting ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, description of pain, FLUFF.

It's Fluffy Friday!

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You groan out when another wave of pain sends you writhing on the bed, sheets crumpled out from under you, blanket kicked to the edge of the bed.

"Hobie!" You whimper out, clutching your stomach, tears prickling in your eyes. You already feel bad yelling his name, mood swings at an all time high, one minute you're clinging to him the next you're pushing him off you.

"Present!" He tries to joke, you meet him with a glare. Hobie winces, maybe he shouldn't have tried his luck. You asked him so nicely to warm up your heating pad. He thought you felt better, you even gave him your best puppy dog eyes and a cute pout to peck his cheek.

Hobie brings the heating pad on your lower stomach, briefly lifting off your shirt. You sigh, pain subsiding.

"'m sorry" you take his hand, "I'm being an asshole"

"What do you mean? You're always an arsehole to me" he tilts his head, trying his luck again at making you smile.

You chuckle softly, "I deserve that. Come here" extending your arms, you scooch a bit to give him space.

He lays next to you, your arm around his back so he doesn't fall off the edge, cheek on his rough jumper. Hobie rests his head on your hair, his long limbs cover your body.

"Yeah? But you're my arsehole" you snort at his efforts at making you smile. Hobie fixes your shirt so that the cold doesn't seep through your skin. "How do you feel now? One to ten?" He snuggles further into you.

"A seven" closing your eyes, you mindlessly play with the frayed edges of his jumper. Pain meds finally work its magic.

"What else do you need? I can quickly swing by and buy you somethin'"

"Just need you" you wait a few beats. "And chocolate" Looking up at him through your lashes, you give him a teasing smile.

"Pssh, how 'bout I make you some?" Hobie softly caresses your arms free of goosebumps.

"You know how to make chocolate?"

"What? Like it's hard?"

"That is the cutest fucking thing ever" you squeeze him, nuzzling your face on his chest. "So punk" murmuring out as you slowly drift off to sleep. "Teach me sometime, please" fighting it off for a few minutes, you kiss the tip of his nose.

"Get some rest and we'll make some" Hobie uses his feet to grab the blanket, laying it on the both of you. Tucking you in, he joins you for a nap.

Sure enough after you woke up, you felt a lot better with help from Hobie. You pestered him into teaching you how to make chocolates. But with the ache coming back, he lets you sit this one out.

"Just sit there and look pretty for me" He lifts you up on the counter effortlessly, hands squeezing your thighs for a moment.

Clutching your heating pad, licking the chocolate covered spoon that he's given you to keep occupied, you watch him whisk away, muscles doing all the work.

"Snack and a show" you tease, eyes glued to his biceps.

Hobie smirks at your comment, taking a small dollop of chocolate on his pinky, wiping it on the tip of your nose.

You laugh, eyes crossing to look at your nose. Retaliating, you do the same, wiping the chocolate on his cheek. He tilts his head mischievously, playfully fighting back.

"Don't even think about it–!" A good amount of melted chocolate smacks you on your forehead.

It's safe to say after your little food fight, the kitchen ends up covered in chocolate. Now you have months worth of it thanks to a miscalculation that you may or may not have done on purpose.

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phantomvegetable · 8 months ago

Text

Unknown x Reader

echo unto an echo NOTE: reader has tourettes in this ficlet. if i have misrepresented the reader in any way, please feel free to correct me. i wanted to be as creative & inclusive as possible here, and i simply think this dynamic would work well :) again, if you have tourettes syndrome and something the reader does or says is not accurate, please feel free to point it out and i will correct it. thank you <3 tw’s: mention of tourettes/tics, tic episodes, strong language, anxiety, my inaccurate knowledge of dbd

“Shit,” You curse under your breath, then again a beat after, “shit. Shit, shit, shit.”

Like a mantra the word continues to roll off of your tongue as you nervously roll your hands, eyes flitting to and fro in the darkness.

This place was unfamiliar—new territory. And, with new territory, meant new danger. New monsters. New fear.

You hadn’t heard a peep from the start of the trial; no ringing bells to alert you that the Wraith was near, no electricity zapping through the air followed by cruel laughter to let you know the Doctor would be after you. The suspense was enough to trigger your lungs into shutting down momentarily, sending you to the ground as you fought against your own body to breathe. You nearly passed out twice. The crows that perched above you seemed to be laughing at your misfortune as they caw, caw, cawed, making your lip curl in a sneer.

“Fuck off,” You told them, “fuck off, fuck off.”

There were only two generators left to fix according to Leon, your rescuer who had found you hyperventilating against a tree. He helped you to your feet, staying with you to make sure you could stand on your own without fainting.

“Do you know what killer we’re facing?” You had asked, disoriented and dizzy. Leon shook his head.

“No..” He sighed, hand on your shoulder. “That’s what worries me.”

You split up after that, having to convince Leon that you would be fine. You wanted to help—you weren’t useless. At your stubbornness, Leon finally relented, informing you that he’d work on finding the other survivors and fixing the next generator they came across while you did the same.

“Be careful,” Were his last words to you before taking off into the trees. And then you were alone again. With as much breath as you could muster, you trekked on, focusing on as many senses as you could to keep yourself grounded. You pulled lyrics from your brain from songs that helped even before the fog, murmuring them under your breath as you stepped over shrubbery. It did little to calm your anxiety, but it was distracting enough.

And then, breakthrough.

The familiar clunking of a generator had your hopes rising, eyes alight as you quickened your pace over to it. Bending down low, you nabbed the wires in hands that shook in tandem with the engine.

“Alright, me,” You exhale, “don’t screw this up.”

You set to work, jammed to your elbows in the machine as you connected plugs, fastened coils, and hot-wired cables. Within five minutes, you successfully have the generator humming with life, ready to lift the gates that would lead you and your teammates to safe haven. You step away from your hard work and dust your hands, but feel a sudden chill race up your spine.

“Excuse me?”

Your heart flies to your throat.

“Ex..cuse… me?” The voice, warbled and inhuman, comes from right behind you. You hear shuffling as it comes closer. “Excuse me…?”

You make the mistake of turning around.

“Excuse me,” You parrot habitually, hands flying to cover your mouth as your eyes trailed up wrinkled skin and mangled bones. Still, muffled, your voice continues to shake as you meet pits-for-eyes, your chin jerking every few seconds, “e-excuse me? Excuse me?”

The thing tilts its head even more, twitching before it drops onto all fours, creeping towards you like some deranged animal. “E..x..cuse me?” It trills as it drags itself closer, forcing you back. “Sorry… is this.. yours?”

Fear possesses your body and tongue. Your thoughts are stampeding a million miles a minute, and you desperately want to run. You begin to rock, whimpers escaping through your nose.

“You.. help?” It asks, hand reaching out to caress your hair. You flinch, eyes squeezing shut as the strands fall through its fingers.

“P-Please,” You croak, finally finding your voice, “s—stop.”

The creature is silent, prompting you to take a peek at it despite every coherent thought pleading you not to. It’s staring at you with an empty expression save for its teeth bared in a permanent, lopsided grin, its body twitching every few moments. Then, it speaks.

“Pl..eeease,” It mimics, trying to match your inflection, “sss…top.” Again, “ple—ase… stop.” And again. “Please.. stop.”

You can’t help but squint at the thing, confusion added on top of terror and adrenaline. Was this thing… copying you? You swallow.

Deciding to test this theory, you pathetically choke, “g-go away.” It shivers.

“Go… away.”

“Go away,” You say again, and it wastes no time.

“Go away.”

You can’t help but force out a laugh of disbelief. It tilts its head, then lets out a terrible, guttural noise—a mix between hissing and gurgling. If that was its attempt at a laugh, you’d prefer for humor to cease to exist so you would never have to hear it again.

A loud buzz cuts through the air, causing the creature to jerk its head at the sound, distracted. Seizing the opportunity, you make a run for it, forcing your legs to push you farther than they ever have. Checking over your shoulder, you find the beast still standing in the same place, watching you. You don’t stop running.

#dead by daylight x reader #the unknown x reader #unknown x reader #dbd x reader

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portagas-chan · 1 year ago

Text

Toji x Reader: Stockholm Syndrome

A/n: Zenin Toji was assigned on a mission to kidnap [L/n] [Y/n] and kill everyone who tries to get in the way of it. This contains swearing and smut.

Toji loved gambling more than anything else. He sat by the bench watching horses racing as he bet on one. Shiu Kong approached him and sat down beside him. "Why do you bother betting on horses when you have never even won before?"

Toji glared at him, "Let me enjoy this in peace."

Shiu lit his cigarette and puffed out smoke, "I've got a job for you. It's worth a lot." Toji grinned, "How much are we talking about?"

"30 million yen," Shiu answered making Toji lick his lips at the price.

"What's it about?"

"It's very simple. You have to kidnap a girl named [L/n] [Y/n], kill everyone who tries to get in the way, and send her to this old rich man. I will give you the address of her workplace. It seems the old man has taken a liking to her and is rather desperate to get her," Shiu explained.

Toji leaned back on the bench and looked up, "So I'm suppose to sell her off to some old perverted filthy rich man trying to get in her pants?"

"That's another way to put it," Shiu looked at him before showing him a picture of [Y/n] and the old man who wants her. Toji grinned widely when he saw how [Y/n] looks like. "No wonder that old man is desperate to get her."

What Toji said made Shiu narrow his eyes at him, "But she's not for you, Toji."

Toji chuckled, "I know, I know."

[Y/n]'s POV

It was late at night and the restaurant is about to be close when another customer came in. He was wearing a black compression shirt with white baggy pants. He had a scar on the corner of his lips.

I approached him and noticed that he was very tall, "I'm sorry sir but the restaurant is about to close."

He looked down at me with a blank face. His cold stare made me shiver for some reason. I didn't know why but I had a bad feeling.

He sighed, "I thought I made it in time." He turned around and left leaving me in confusion.

"I thought he would at least put up a fight," I muttered but shrugged it off and continue to clean up.

I bid my manager farewell and wear my purse as I left the restaurant. I walked alone at night, heading back home when someone grabbed my arm making me halt. My heart was beating so fast. My worse nightmare was coming true.

I turned around to see the same man that I saw before and sighed in relief. "Is there something I can help you with?"

He ignored my question, "Are you [L/n] [Y/n]?"

"Yes, how do you know me?" I raised my eyebrow in suspicion.

He grinned widely, "Good."

"What-" I was cut off when he suddenly picked me up and put me over his shoulder. My eyes widened in fear as I panicked. I was getting kidnapped. I squirmed around trying to get off him but his grip was too strong.

"Let go of me!" I shouted.

I gasped in surprise when he suddenly slapped my ass, "Shut up and do as I say."

"No, let go of me!" I continued to struggle and he rolled his eyes.

He stopped in front of a black car and opened the front seat throwing me inside. He walked over to the driver's seat and sat down. He took out a rope he kept inside his car and tried to tie my hands together.

I struggled pushing him away and I could tell that I was pissing him off. He roughly grabbed the back of my head with a fist full of my hair making me yelp in pain. He slammed his lips onto mine shocking me from his sudden action as I froze on the spot.

He forcefully put his tongue in my mouth and I shut my eyes wanting this to end already. He finally stopped kissing me and I panted for air. He smirked at the sight, "Just be fucking obedient or else it will get worse from here."

I stopped struggling when I saw the look in his eyes. It was filled with lust, frustration and craziness.

He harshly grabbed my cheeks with his hand making me look up at him, "That's a good girl."

He put on my seat belt before putting his own and started driving.

Tears started to form in my eyes before coming out as I quietly sobbed. The whole ride was silent except for the sound of engine and my quiet sobs.

He started, "I've never introduced myself to you, did I? I'm Zenin Toji also known as the Sorcerer Killer. It's nice to meet you, [Y/n]."

I can't believe this man. Is he seriously introducing himself to me in a proper way as if he isn't kidnapping me right now? "It sucks to meet you, Toji."

Toji laughed as if to mock my situation.

"Where are you taking me?" I hesitantly asked.

"You want to know what's going on or you want to find out when you get there?" Toji gave me two choices and obviously I chose the first option.

"The first one," I answered and Toji snickered. "I'm an assassin hired to kidnap you for an old man who's trying to get in your pants. He's filthy rich too!"

I looked at him like he's crazy, "You can't fucking do that to me!"

Toji laughed, "Yes, I can! Do you know how much your pretty little face and that sexy body worth?" He gripped my chin and leaned closer to my face, "30 fucking million yen! Can you believe it?"

"Stop fucking laughing! This isn't funny!" I glared at him.

"Say whatever you want, darling but that money is mine," Toji coldly said without a hint of sympathy.

My face turned into a look of despair when I realize he wasn't going to free me in anyway.

The car stopped in front of a closed gate as a security guard knocked on Toji's window. Toji rolled down the window, "I've got the girl."

"What girl?" The guard asked.

"[Y/n]," Toji smirked and the guard looked at his companion motioning him to open the gate. The gate opened and Toji and drive inside the mansion.

I looked through the window, trying to accept my cruel fate. Toji parked his car and got out of the car. He opened the door to the front seat and leaned inside as he took off my seat belt.

"Get out," He coldly said and I did as he said.

Toji put his arm around my shoulder making sure I won't escape as he walked inside the mansion. My lips trembled as tears threatened to come out. This is it. This is where the happiness of my life ends.

We went inside and saw an old man siting on a very expensive fancy-looking couch surrounded by bodyguards.

I grimaced at the sight of the old man. He was a disgusting perverted ugly fat pig. I really don't want to be sold off to him. I really hate this.

The old fat pig laughed in joy, "You must be the sorcerer killer, Zenin Toji. As always, you never fail when it comes to business like this! Now, [Y/n] come sit on your sugar daddy's lap."

I internally gagged and looked at him in disgust. I was about to walk towards him when Toji held me back.

"Wait, where's my money, old man?" Toji asked.

The old fat pig grinned, "Of course! How could I forget?" He snapped his finger and one of his bodyguard placed a black suitcase on the table opening it revealing 30 million yen.

Toji grinned widely at the sight of the money, "This is real money. Perfect!" Toji let go of his hand letting me go but I gripped his arm tightly making him look at me.

I looked at him with tears coming out from eyes and sliding across my cheeks. My lips trembled with fear. I was scared. I shook my head signaling him that I don't want to go.

The old fat pig was getting impatient at this point. "What's wrong? Come here already!"

Toji glared at the old man before looking back at me, his facial expressions switching immediately. He gave me a smug smile, "Tell you what, darling. I will give you two more choices."

I looked at him in silence waiting for him to continue.

"Be in the possession of this pathetic old fart or be in my possession," Toji smirked at the last sentence.

I quickly went behind him clutching his shirt, "I want to become your possession."

Toji licked his lips seemingly satisfied with my choice, "Now, that's more like it."

"What did you say?!" The pathetic old fart looked like he was about to explode from anger. "Get that girl and kill him!"

"Close your eyes, darling," Toji grinned and I did as he told me.

Before I knew it, it was over in a flash. I stood there with my hands covering my eyes when Toji untied the rope on my hands and I opened my eyes. I saw blood splattered everywhere and the old fart was dead. I couldn't care less though. I'm glad he was dead.

Toji suddenly carried me and I hugged my arms around his shoulder and my legs around his waist as I clinged onto him like a koala. His other hand was holding the suitcase filled with money and we walked out of the mansion.

This time, he gently sat me down at the front seat of his car before getting into the driver's seat. He wasted no time and drive away from the mansion.

I broke the silence, "By the way, this is a fancy car you have. Where did you get it?" I looked at him.

"I stole it," Toji said in a monotone voice. I burst out in laughter, "I knew it."

Toji looked at me and slightly blushed at the sight of my laughter.

We arrived at what seemed like his apartment and I got out of the car. He walked ahead of me and I walked behind him as he unlocked the door to his apartment.

He opened the door getting inside and he pulled my arm dragging me in before closing the door and pinning me against it. He locked the door and wasted no time kissing me.

I gladly kissed him back putting my arms around his shoulders. I pulled him closer to my body as I made out with him opening my mouth to let his tongue enter.

Toji roughly kissed me grabbing my hair pulling me close before breaking the kiss for air. We breathe heavily with a string of saliva connecting our mouth.

Toji took off my shirt and threw it on the ground and I took off my shorts at the same time leaving me only in my undergarments.

Toji smirked at the sight, "All this just for me."

He picked me up putting me over his shoulder and slapping my ass harshly making me moan in pain. It was going to leave a mark for sure. He walked towards his bedroom and threw me on the bed.

He got on top of me and took off his shirt exposing his muscles and abs.

"Like what you see?" Toji cocked his head to the side with a smug smile. I blushed in response making him chuckle.

"Don't be shy, darling because there's more," He took off his pants and his huge hard cock twitching inside his boxers was visible.

My eyes widened at the sight, 'Its so big!'

Toji smirked at my reaction leaning down to kiss me as his hands worked to unclasp my bra and taking off my underwear.

He kissed my neck sucking on it leaving a mark as his hands played with my boobs pinching on my nipple making me moan.

He sucked on my nipple and lightly biting on it while his hand went to pull on my other nipple as I squirmed under him.

Toji traveled down to my pussy as he stared at me from that angle making me blush from embarrassment.

"Look at you, all wet already," Toji said as he blew on my pussy making me flinch. He licked onto my pussy eating me out earning a loud moan from me. He sucked on my clit while his fingers rubbed on my pussy.

"Toji~" I moaned his name. Toji got up to kiss me as his fingers entered my pussy and stretching it out by making scissoring gestures. I moaned in pain, "Toji, fingering hurts."

I looked at him in pain and his eyes softened. "Okay, then I will make you feel good."

Toji travelled down again as he eats me out constantly licking and sucking on my clit.

"It feels weird," I muttered as I grabbed Toji's hair and pulled him closer to my pussy as my back arched. "I think I'm about to..."

I wasn't able to finish my sentence when I came all over Toji's face which he gladly licked. "Delicious," Toji smirked and I blushed.

Toji got up and pulled down his boxer, releasing his monstrous cock. I stared at it like I've never seen one before.

"Your first time seeing it?" Toji asked and I nodded my head. "Do you think it will fit inside of me?"

"Don't worry, we will work it out," Toji kissed my forehead reassuringly.

I stopped him as I got up and kneeled down in front of him, "I want to make you feel good."

Toji furrowed his eyebrows, "You sure you're okay with it?"

I nodded my head and licked the tip making him shudder. I licked his cock before putting it inside my mouth. Its so big that I couldn't fit everything inside my mouth so I used my hands to stroke the rest of his length.

I continue to bob my head on his cock making Toji groan in pleasure. Toji was starting to get impatient with my slow pace and he grabbed the back of my head moving it at a fast pace.

I gagged when his cock hit the back of my throat as tears came out. Toji was lost in pleasure as he continued to make me suck his cock at a fast pace.

"Fuck," Toji cursed when he felt that familiar sensation. He continued to bob my head until he slowed down before stopping completely when his cock hit the back of my throat and came inside my mouth.

I removed his cock from my mouth and gagged and coughed. Toji gripped my chin making me look at him. My mouth was open with his semen dripping from my mouth and tears coming out due to gagging.

Toji was hard again. He liked this side of me. You looked so erotic. He kissed you again not caring that he was tasting his own semen.

Toji broke the kiss and flipped me over as I was now on all fours with my ass facing him.

"Sorry, [Y/n] but I can't hold back anymore."

"Huh?"

Toji entered his whole cock in one go making me scream in pain as he tear my virgin hole. I could feel blood dripping down my thighs.

"Bare with me, baby. I promise you will feel good soon," Toji said as he kissed my cheek before fucking me from behind.

Toji pressed my head on the pillows as he continued to fuck me roughly at a fast pace.

Slowly but surely, the pain was subsiding and I was starting to feel good. His huge cock was big enough to hit that certain spot which made me feel pleasurable.

"Yes! There!" I moaned in pleasure as he continued to brutally hit that spot over and over again. He continued to fuck me mercilessly.

I felt that feeling again, "Toji! I think I'm about to cum again!" I moaned loudly when it was finally released. However, Toji continued to pound inside my sensitive pussy before he also reached his high.

Toji groaned in pleasure as he threw his head back. He came inside of me. We both panted heavily and Toji slipped outside of me. My body went limb and I was about to close my eyes when Toji picked me up and sat me on his lap.

"Toji, what are you-" I was cut off when I saw Toji's grin.

"Round 2."

Toji slipped his hard cock inside of me again and he placed his hands on my hips helping me to move as I bounce off his cock. I started riding him until we both reached our climax.

His bedroom was filled with the noises of groans and moans.

We finally reached our high and I panted heavily. I held Toji's cheeks with my hands before softly kissing him to which he returns. Toji was handsome. He was an assassin but I couldn't care less about it. He saved me. If it wasn't for him, I would have been living my life in the worst way possible.

I hugged him tightly and he embraced me back gently carressing my hair. That was when I realized,

I fell in love with my kidnapper.

#jjkxreader #toji #zenin toji #tojixreader #toji x yn #toji fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen

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