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decayed-cartilage · 6 days ago

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The Intern

Masterlist PT 4

Hannibal Lecter x AFAB! Reader

Warnings for chapter: power dynamic? Mentions of erection.. creepy! Hannibal, Morally wrong! Hannibal, Small Smut! Mention of murder

Synopsis: Y/N is on the brink of graduation, with just one requirement left—an internship. Somehow, she finds herself under the esteemed Dr. Hannibal Lecter, a man as brilliant as he is unreadable. Cold, precise, and impossible to rattle, he keeps his thoughts well-guarded. But Y/N can’t help her curiosity—she wants to understand him, to get beneath the surface. And whether he intends to or not, bit by bit, he lets something slip. Something darker. Something she might not be ready to see.

Third person (Hannibal)

Hannibal couldn't rid her of his thoughts, no matter how irrational it was. The girl was hopelessly naive, pitiful in the way she shrank under his slightest disapproval—so easily swayed, so unbearably foolish. And yet, despite her fragility, or perhaps because of it, she had wormed her way into the crevices of his mind, an unshakable fixation.

It was maddening.

She was nothing extraordinary—soft-spoken, nervous, entirely unaware of the danger she courted by lingering too close. And still, he needed her. The thought of her consumed him, nestled deep in the marrow of his being. Even now, in the quiet solitude of the night, she plagued him, slipping seamlessly into his dreams.

“H-Hani-” she moaned pathetically under his crushing weight, small hands scratching his back as her sweet noises almost sounded like pleas’

“Sh sh sh” he tutted, holding her face as the other supported all his weight as he slowly increased the pace which he rocked his hips into hers. “You're doing so good sweetie- g-god- so beautiful” his voice rumbled as he held back groans, instead sinking his teeth into her neck to muffle the noise.

He felt her walls contract around him desperately- almost begging for him to stuff her even though she hadn't said a word, just cried and mewled into his rough skin.

Hannibal jolted upright, his breath uneven, the weight of his dream still pressing against him. The room was dark, except for the faint glow of the moon filtering through the curtains, casting long shadows that did little to cool the heat thrumming beneath his skin. He dragged a hand through his hair, slicking it back, but the gesture did nothing to settle him. What was that? He thought.

The tension in his body was undeniable—tight, lingering, pooling low in his abdomen. His boxers felt uncomfortably restrictive, a stark reminder of just how deeply the dream had affected him. He exhaled slowly, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth, attempting to compose himself, but the sensation of her—soft, yielding, utterly helpless beneath him—clung to him like she would die without him..

He stood abruptly, forcing himself to shake off the lingering heat as he dressed quickly, His fingers barely hesitated as he reached for his phone, dialing without a second thought. It was 1:05 a.m.—an ungodly hour for anyone else, but she would answer. She had to.

She may not have realized the full extent of what she had agreed to when she signed the contract, but that was of little concern to him now. Whether she was awake or not didn’t matter. What mattered was that when her phone rang, she would pick up.

And she did. Not on the first ring, but soon enough.

At first, there was only the sound of rustling—sheets shifting, a quiet inhale—before her voice finally broke through the speaker, soft and laced with confusion.

“H-hello?”

It was barely more than a whisper, cracking slightly, still thick with sleep. The disoriented innocence of it made something in him tighten. She had no idea. No idea why he was calling.

Hannibal’s grip on the phone tightened, his fingers absently smoothing over the polished surface as he listened to the sleepy hesitation in her voice. It wasn’t enough. Hearing her—fragile, unaware, obedient—only stoked the need simmering in his chest. He needed to see her. Right now.

His mind worked quickly, crafting the perfect excuse, something that wouldn’t raise suspicion but would ensure her immediate compliance. Work. Yes, work was always the best justification. She had signed the contract, after all. Even if she hadn’t realized the full extent of its demands.

Clearing his throat, he let a measured calm seep into his voice. “I apologize for the late hour, but something’s come up that requires your attention. I trust you’ll be able to meet me at my office within the next half hour?”

It wasn’t really a question. It never was.

"S-Sir—that's a thirty-minute walk for me—I-it's the middle of the night—" her voice was hesitant, uncertain, almost pleading.

There was a pause. A heavy, deliberate silence that sent a chill down her spine. Then, his voice came through the speaker, smooth and unshaken, yet carrying an unmistakable weight beneath it.

"I’m aware," Hannibal said, as if my protest was nothing more than an observation. "But I wouldn’t have called if it weren’t important. Surely, you understand that."

The way he spoke—it wasn’t a request. It wasn’t even a command. It was an inevitability. Her fingers tightened around the phone as I swallowed hard, already feeling the pull of his words, the unshakable sense that saying no simply wasn’t an option.

She hesitated, gripping the phone tighter as she tried to steady her voice. “I—I do understand, sir, but… it’s really not that simple.” She winced at how uncertain she sounded, but she pressed on, forcing herself to explain.

“It’s the middle of the night. I live far, and my neighborhood… it’s not safe. There aren’t even streetlights, and I—I don’t have a car. Walking that far, alone, in the dark—”

She cut herself off, realizing she was rambling. That she was pleading.

She inhaled sharply and tried again, softer this time, as if appealing to whatever mercy he might have. “I just… I don’t think I can make it there right now.”

For a brief, foolish moment, she thought he might understand. That he’d hear the logic in her words and let her go back to sleep. But then there was silence.

A long, heavy silence that made her stomach twist.

Then, finally, his voice returned—calm, patient, but utterly unmoved.

"You’ve always struck me as a resourceful young woman," Hannibal mused, as if he were merely making an idle observation. "I imagine you’ll find a way."

Her stomach sank.

He wasn’t letting this go.

She glanced toward her window, the street outside swallowed in darkness. The thought of stepping out into it, of walking block after block alone, sent a nervous shiver down her spine. She gritted her teeth, trying to think of an excuse, something firm, something that would make him understand—

But nothing came.

Because deep down, she already knew: there was no argument to be made. No polite refusal he would accept.

If she told him no, would that really be the end of it?

Somehow, she doubted it.

"I…" she started, barely above a whisper. She squeezed her eyes shut, defeated. "Okay. I’ll come."

"Ah, there's my good girl," Hannibal said smoothly, and the line went dead.

She groaned, rolling onto her side as the phone slipped from her hand, landing forgotten on the bed. A muffled scream escaped into her pillow, her body curling inward as a wave of embarrassment and an unfamiliar, tingling heat spread through her.

Begrudgingly, she pulled herself together, slipping into whatever clothes she could find, though the lingering embarrassment still clung to her like a second skin. His simple praise had been enough to override her hesitation, enough to make her consider stepping out into the night just to prove she was capable—just to prove she could obey.

Maybe she could call a cab. Or maybe—just maybe—someone would be lingering in the dorm lobby, someone who could give her a ride. But she was never that lucky.

The clothes she managed to pull together were the same ones she had been wearing—an old camisole, one from years ago, maybe middle school? It fit her more like a crop top now, the hem riding up every time she moved. Her sweatpants, once snug, had long since lost their elastic grip, hanging loosely on her hips from years of wear. She shoved her feet into her Uggs, pulled on her oversized winter coat, and ran a brush haphazardly through her hair before exhaling sharply.

She caught her reflection in the mirror—a mess of tired eyes, messy hair, and exposed skin. This was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. And yet, she still found herself grabbing her keys and stepping out into the cold night air.

As she locked the door, the creak of another one opening caught her attention. A boy from down the hall was stepping out of his room, tugging a hoodie over his head. Her eyes widened in recognition—she knew him! He was in her social psychology class.

How perfect.

She forced a smile, pushing away the lingering embarrassment still buzzing under her skin. "Hey!" she called out softly, stepping toward him. "Are you heading out?"

He blinked at her sudden enthusiasm, clearly caught off guard. She knew she had never been this forward, this desperate—but she needed that ride.

"Uh, yeah," he said, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. "Just heading to grab something to eat. Why?"

She hesitated only for a moment before forcing another smile. "Would you mind giving me a ride? Just… downtown. I, um, have something important to take care of."

He raised an eyebrow, glancing at her thrown-together outfit—the tiny camisole peeking out from under her oversized jacket, the loose sweatpants barely clinging to her hips. She probably looked insane, asking for a ride in the middle of the night, but she didn’t care.

"Downtown? Now?" He let out a short laugh but didn’t say no. "You in trouble or something?"

She shook her head quickly. "No! No, I just… need to be somewhere. Please."

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alright, yeah, sure. But you owe me."

Relief flooded her chest as she nodded. "Yes! totally! Thank you so much- you don't know how badly I needed this.

She climbed into the passenger seat minutes later, staring out at the dark streets, trying to ignore the way her stomach twisted with nerves. She was really doing this.

She slides into the passenger seat, pulling her jacket tighter around herself as the cold still clings to her skin. The boy glances at her outfit—a fleeting look, but she catches it. His brows lift slightly at the camisole barely visible beneath her coat.

"Late-night plans?" he asks, his tone light, teasing.

She forces a small laugh, shifting uncomfortably. "Something like that. Just... work stuff."

He hums in acknowledgment, not pressing further. The car rumbles to life, and as he pulls onto the empty streets, the glow of streetlights flickers across her face. She keeps checking her phone, her fingers tightening around it each time the minutes tick by. She’s already late. She shouldn't be, but she is.

"You good?" he asks after a stretch of silence.

She exhales, only now realizing how tense her shoulders have become. "Yeah. Just tired."

Silence again. The heater hums softly, filling the space between them. Her mind is elsewhere—already at the office, already facing him. She wonders if he’s waiting impatiently, if he regrets calling her at all.

"Where am I dropping you off again?" he asks, glancing at her.

She hesitates. Saying Dr. Lecter’s office feels too personal, too exposing. "Just downtown. Near the courthouse."

He gives her a look—curious, maybe, but not enough to pry. As they near the courthouse, Y/n’s breath catches when she spots a lone figure standing just outside. Hannibal. Waiting. The dim glow of the streetlamp casts long shadows over him, but she can still make out the sharpness of his posture, the stillness of his presence—like an impatient child trying desperately to appear composed.

The driver notices him too. His hands tighten slightly around the wheel, his gaze flickering between her and the man outside. "That him?" he asks, voice low with something unreadable.

Y/n swallows hard, gripping the door handle. "Yeah."

The car slows to a stop, but for a brief moment, she hesitates to move. Hannibal hasn’t taken his eyes off her since she entered his line of sight.

"Thank you," she whispered, barely audible, as she unbuckled and reached for the door handle.

As she stepped out, the cold air bit at her exposed skin, sending a shiver down her spine. The car door shut softly behind her, and she hesitated for just a second before turning toward Hannibal.

He stood motionless, watching her with an unreadable expression—waiting. The weight of his gaze made her pulse quicken, but she forced herself to move, forcing one foot in front of the other as she approached him.

Hannibal’s jaw tightened the moment his eyes took in her appearance. The thin camisole barely clung to her frame, exposing far too much skin to the biting cold. The sweatpants, loose and hanging low on her hips, did little to add to her modesty. And then there was the boy—the nameless, irrelevant boy who had driven her here.

His fingers curled slightly at his sides, the only outward indication of his displeasure. He had called for her, and yet she had arrived in another man's car, wearing something so improper. His gaze flickered past her to the boy still sitting in the driver’s seat, his presence an irritation, a speck of dust on an otherwise carefully controlled moment.

Slowly, he exhaled, schooling his features into their usual unreadable calm. "I see you've found a way here after all," he murmured, his voice smooth but laced with something else—something she couldn’t quite place.

A beat of silence filled the air between them for the moment before Y/n spoke “so-”

“You are not to get rides from strange men,” he interupted, his voice clipped, controlled, but unmistakably sharp. “If you truly needed a ride, you should have asked me.”

The weight of his words settled heavily between them, leaving no room for argument. The streetlight cast long shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp lines of his expression. He wasn’t just upset—he was disappointed.

The car’s engine hummed behind her, the driver hesitating for just a second before pulling away. She swallowed hard, suddenly feeling small beneath Hannibal’s gaze, alone.

Hannibal’s gaze sharpened, his expression unreadable as he studied her. The way she stood before him, arms tucked into her oversized coat, eyes wary yet defiant—it only stoked the slow-burning irritation beneath his composed exterior.

“You didn’t seem like you were going to help me, sir,” she murmured, her voice quiet but firm, laced with exhaustion.

His lips pressed into a thin line, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. "If you had simply asked, I would have ensured your safe arrival. Instead, you put yourself in the hands of a stranger."

There was something unsettling about the way he said it—not anger, not outright scolding, but an edge of something possessive, something final. As if the decision had never been hers to make in the first place.

First person (Y/n)

"You know—you’re not my dad. You can't tell me who I don’t get rides from," I snapped, finally pushing back against him. "What if that was my boyfriend?"

Hannibal's expression didn’t shift much, but there was something in his eyes—something dark, something warning. His jaw tightened ever so slightly as he regarded me, his gaze sharp enough to cut.

"If that were the case," he said coolly, stepping closer, "I would be having a very different conversation right now."

His words sent a strange chill down my spine, though whether it was from fear or something else, I couldn't tell. He exhaled slowly, as if reigning himself in, before continuing, "You will not accept rides from men again. If you require transportation, you will ask me. Do you understand?"

I scoffed, shaking my head. "You can't be serious."

His gaze hardened. "I assure you, I am."

There was no use arguing—not when he looked at me like that, as if my defiance was merely a temporary inconvenience, one he could erase with time.

Hannibal’s gaze swept over me, lingering just long enough to make my skin prickle with unease. His jaw was still tight, his displeasure evident, but his voice remained calm—too calm.

"Also, I don’t appreciate your tone," he murmured, stepping even closer, his presence nearly overwhelming. My breath caught in my throat as his hand lifted—just barely grazing the edge of my sleeve, a ghost of a touch. Then, he leaned in, his lips dangerously close to my ear, his voice no louder than a whisper.

"If you insist on behaving like this, little one… I will fix that attitude myself."

A slow exhale left his nose, warm against my skin. "And I promise you, you won’t like my methods."

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering as I forced myself to stay still, to not react—to not let him see how his words tangled in my head, how they made it impossible to think, how I felt my core squeeze and my brain melt like I would sink to my knees right there before him..

Before I could even think of a response, Hannibal’s hand moved—firm and unyielding—as he wrapped his arm around my lower back. The grip was possessive, authoritative, as if I had no say in the matter. A small gasp escaped me, but he ignored it, effortlessly pulling me toward the entrance like I was nothing more than a disobedient child in need of correction.

"You will not question me again," he stated, his voice low and edged with warning.

The warmth of his hand against my spine sent a shiver through me, but I wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or something else entirely. His pace was steady, unrelenting, forcing me to match his stride whether I wanted to or not.

"You should be grateful I tolerate your defiance at all," he murmured, his grip tightening just slightly—a silent reminder of his control. "But I do not have limitless patience, little one. I expect obedience."

The door loomed ahead, and my stomach twisted as he led me inside, his presence swallowing me whole.

Hannibal guided me inside with a grip that was both firm and effortless, his hand pressing against the small of my back, dictating every step I took. The way he handled me—it was humiliating, like I was some wayward child too naive to make her own decisions.

The door shut behind us with a heavy finality, sealing me in with him. I swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of the silence between us, of the heat radiating from his body so close to mine. I dared a glance up at him, but his expression was unreadable—cold, calculating.

"You will not put yourself in a situation like that again," he said, voice smooth but edged with unmistakable authority. "If you require a ride, you will call me. Do you understand?"

I hesitated, my pride flaring for just a second. "I—"

His fingers brushed under my chin, tilting my face up so I had no choice but to meet his gaze. My breath hitched. His touch was deceptively gentle, but the warning in his eyes made my pulse quicken.

"You will learn, little one," he murmured. "One way or another."

The weight of his words hung in the air, thick and suffocating, and I had no idea how to respond. All I knew was that, despite the cold that still clung to my skin, I suddenly felt much too warm.

I tried to ignore everything that had just happened, even as my body betrayed me—impossibly warm under his gaze, under the weight of his presence. I forced myself to straighten up, to steady my breath, to act as if my mind wasn’t spinning.

"Why did you need me here, sir?" I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.

Hannibal studied me for a moment, as if deciding whether to entertain my question or continue reveling in my unease. Then, with a slow, measured inhale, he released his grip on me, but the absence of his touch did nothing to ease the tension wrapping itself around my chest.

"There are matters to discuss," he said smoothly, turning away as if he hadn’t just imposed himself into every inch of my thoughts. "Work that requires your attention. I assumed you would be eager to prove your dedication."

There was something about the way he said it—how his voice lingered on the word assumed—that made me feel small. As if I had already disappointed him somehow. I bit the inside of my cheek, nodding quickly.

"Of course," I murmured. "I’m here now."

"Yes," he said, glancing back at me with something unreadable in his expression. "You are."

The fear of disappointing him weighed heavier than any instinct to push back. My throat tightened, my hands curled into fists in my lap, but I said nothing. What was the point? He had already decided how this would go.

Hannibal led me to his office without another word, his grip firm around my lower back, guiding me as if I were something fragile—or something that needed control. The warmth of his hand burned through my thin camisole, and I hated how my body reacted, heat rising to my face despite everything.

The office was dimly lit, the scent of leather and something richer—something undeniably him—filling the space. The door clicked shut behind us, and suddenly, the night felt even quieter.

"Sit," he said, his voice calm but leaving no room for argument.

I did as he asked, sinking into the chair across from his desk. My heart was still racing, my skin prickling with leftover adrenaline. I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to meet his eyes, to push past the way he looked at me like he was dissecting every inch of my being.

Then, after a long silence, he finally spoke.

"Tell me," his voice was smooth, deliberate, "was it the inconvenience that made you hesitate… or do you need reminding of who you answer to?"

His words settled over me like a heavy weight, pressing down on my chest, making it harder to breathe. Did I need reminding? The question twisted in my mind, shame curling in my stomach.

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. My fingers curled around the hem of my jacket, gripping the fabric like it was the only thing tethering me to reality. I hated how easily he could unravel me, how a single sentence from him could make me question myself.

"I—" My voice wavered, barely above a whisper. I looked down, unable to hold his gaze any longer. "No, sir…"

The words felt foreign on my tongue, like I was giving something away, something I wasn’t even sure I had. But the way he stared at me—like he already knew the answer, like he was simply waiting for me to accept it too—made it impossible to say anything else.

"Are you sure?" His voice was deceptively calm, but there was something dangerous beneath it, something that made my pulse stutter. "Because sometimes it feels like, with the way you talk to me, you need me to drill it through that thick skull of yours."

His words made me feel small and pathetic—did I really need reminding? The weight of his gaze pinned me in place, and I gripped the edges of my jacket, trying to steady myself. My breath felt uneven, my body impossibly warm despite the chill still clinging to my skin.

"I…" My voice barely made it past my lips, weak and uncertain. I knew better than to talk back, knew better than to challenge him, but somehow, I always seemed to push too far.

Hannibal watched me, his patience unnerving. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, one of his large hands grabbed the top of my head, leaning it back so I'd have to stare up at him

I swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in my throat as I looked up at him, my pride slipping through my fingers like sand. There was no point in trying to argue—he saw right through me, always did. Nothing I could say would ever shake him, so why even try?

"I’m sorry, sir," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. "I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. My attitude was uncalled for, and I should have controlled myself better." I paused, forcing myself to take a steady breath, but it only made me feel smaller under his gaze. "It was just… it just so early, and I can't think clearly—but that’s not an excuse. I know that. I should do better."

I lowered my head, ashamed at how weak I sounded, how desperate I was to make things right. "I just… I want to help with whatever work you have now. Please, let me prove that I can be useful. I really appreciate this opportunity, sir. I mean it."

My hands fidgeted in my lap as I bit my lip, waiting—praying—that he would accept my apology. That he wouldn’t look at me with that same knowing disappointment that made my stomach twist.

Third person POV

Hannibal watched her carefully, taking in every trembling breath, every nervous flick of her fingers. She was just a sweet, misguided little thing—too naive to understand the weight of her own actions. Her outburst had been nothing more than exhaustion taking its toll, a momentary lapse in judgment. Nothing he couldn’t correct.

Her apology, however, was something else entirely. It was gratifying, almost endearing in its sincerity. She wasn’t just saying the words—she believed them. She truly thought she had overstepped, that she had something to make up for. And that was good. That was necessary. Because guidance, after all, was what she needed most. And he was more than willing to provide it.

"You recognize your mistake," he said, his voice smooth, measured. "That’s good. I expect you to learn from it."

He leaned forward slightly, watching how she shrank under his gaze, how easily she yielded. It was almost too easy.

His hand lifted, fingers grazing her cheek with a deliberate softness as he cupped her face, tilting it just enough to keep her eyes on him. “You’re a good girl,” he murmured, his tone smooth yet firm. “I know you can do better. Let’s not dwell on this any longer—let’s get to work.”

Y/N didn’t know why she felt the way she did—why the moment he looked at her like that, all her frustration, all her resistance just melted away. She had been upset, hadn’t she? She should still be upset. But instead, she found herself apologizing, her voice softer than she meant it to be, her resolve slipping through her fingers like sand.

Maybe it was the way he spoke, the quiet authority in his voice that made arguing feel pointless. Or maybe it was the way he looked at her, like he already knew what she was going to say before she said it. It made her feel small—but not in a way that made her want to fight back. It was something else, something heavier.

She wasn’t sure when it happened, but at some point, listening to him had started to feel natural. Right. Like she was to. Even if a part of her questioned it, even if she knew she hadn’t really done anything wrong, the need to please him overpowered everything else.

Hannibal had given her stacks of papers to sort through—documents that, in hindsight, didn’t seem to require her immediate attention. But she didn’t question it. She buried herself in the task, her tired eyes scanning page after page, filing, organizing, highlighting whatever he had instructed. The monotonous work kept her grounded, kept her from thinking too hard about why she was even here at this hour.

The clock ticked on, the world outside slowly shifting from deep night to the earliest whispers of dawn. By the time the hands neared seven, her body ached with exhaustion, her fingers stiff from hours of tedious work. She had started nodding off, her head dipping slightly before she forced herself awake again.

Then, the sharp ring of Hannibal’s phone cut through the silence. He answered it immediately, his posture straightening as his expression turned unreadable. Whatever was being said on the other end had his full attention. And just like that, the stillness in the room was gone, replaced by an unspoken tension.

She paused for just a moment at the sudden disturbance, glancing up to see Hannibal’s gaze shift toward the clock. Nearly 7:30… Had she really been working for five hours straight? A flicker of disbelief crossed her mind—what was she even doing? But before she could dwell on it, she forced herself to keep going, her hands moving on autopilot as she quietly tuned in, secretly listening to the low, measured tone of his voice on the phone.

As she pretended to focus on the papers in front of her, Hannibal’s voice remained steady, carrying a weight of concern that anyone would find appropriate given the situation.

"Where?" he asked, his tone grave. "Has the scene been secured?"

There was a pause as the person on the other end relayed more details—something about the body being found just outside the city, mutilated beyond recognition. Y/N swallowed, a chill running down her spine at the words, but something else made her pause.

Hannibal… smiled.

It was brief, barely there, but she saw it—the faintest curl of his lips before he smoothed his expression into something more appropriate.

Her stomach twisted.

Why… why would he smile at that?

#dark fic #hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal x reader #slasher #slasher x reader #spotify #slowburn #x reader #smut

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fizziepopangel · 11 months ago

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A Surprise For You, My Dear

* Author’s note: In this story, I’m going to interpret Alastor’s asexuality and aromanticism as more fluid than it seems to be canonically. Also, this is my first fanfic so please keep that in mind if it's shit... That being said, I hope you enjoy!

P.s. If you enjoy this fic, you can always request more with the Fic Request Form

Alastor. The radio demon. Everyone knew the radio demon, and though he had been gone for quite a while, most still feared him upon his return, but not me. Because he was different from me. Softer, kinder, more genuine. It wasn’t a relationship, at least I didn’t think it was, but I still enjoyed my time with Alastor; the dancing, the laughter we both shared, every moment left me in awe of the man that had come to be feared by so many.

“You gonna answer me or not?” Husk snapped, pulling me from my thoughts.

I tried to cover my embarrassment that struck me when I realized that I hadn’t been listening to the old bartender at all despite having been the one that came and started conversing with the man. I sat up a little straighter and looked over at the bar cat. “Sorry, I… my mind was somewhere else. What did you say?”

Husk rolled his eyes. “I’m goin’ out with Angel tonight but that damn pig of his is sick. I think the little shit got into my whiskey when Angel brought him down here last night. Angel wants to know if you’ll watch him.” He takes a long sip of whiskey in his glass. “So you up for it?”

Although I loved Fat Nuggets and would usually jump at the chance to spend time with the sweet little pig, I shook my head. “Sorry, I have plans with Alastor.” I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “Al said he has a surprise for me tonight…”

“Right.” Husk gives me an unimpressed look that seems to say something along the lines of fuck you without outright saying fuck you. “Your boyfriend and your date night.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” I say awkwardly. “I mean.. I don’t think so…I mean, I… I just… I like him but its, it’s…” I sigh deeply, a heat rising in my cheeks. “Shut up, Husk.”

“Whatever.” Husk says in his usual empty sarcastic tone. “Guess Angel and me’ll just stay in with the pig tonight…” I watch as he turns, grabbing a glass and beginning to polish it with a rag that ironically didn’t all that clean.

“Oh… sorry, Husk…” I mumble awkwardly, suddenly feeling a bit like a dick for essentially denying the couple a night out. I knew they both deserved it but I just couldn’t bring myself to say that I would cancel on Alastor when he made the night out seem so special. “I…” I trail off for a moment, feeling the other demon’s judging eyes despite his back still being turned to me as he continues to polish glasses on the shelf behind the bar. “I’m gonna go get ready to meet Alastor. I’ll see you later, and maybe I can take Fat Nuggets another time?”

I receive a grunt in reply, but as I get off my barstool, I hear the old demon grumble under his breath…. A simple warning. “Just… Be careful around Alastor, kid…. You been having a rough enough time without his bullshit” He says, not even sparing me a glance as the words left his lips. I promise him I will, knowing that he’s only looking out for me… Husk always told me that, or at least something along those lines…. But this time felt different; this time it sent a spear of anxiety through my chest and made my mind wander to what everyone in hell knew about Alastor versus the Alastor that I knew. The Alastor that I loved despite knowing he probably didn’t and would never feel the same about me… when I really thought about it, I did wonder why the man had taken such a liking to me. I wasn't indebted to him, I had no real power in hell or the hotel, and even I knew that no matter what version of Alastor was on display, he didn't keep people around without a reason.

My thoughts continued to wander from one shitty thought to the next as I went up to my room to change for our little hang out. I was so lost in the whirlwind of thoughts when a knock at the door jolted me from where I sat in my room.

“Darling,” Alastor’s cheery, sing song voice. “Are you ready to go?”

Despite the fact that I had just been questioning my entire purpose in his life and why my companionship was so valued by him, I practically tripped over my own two feet trying to get to the door. “Al!” I beam the second I see him. “I thought we were supposed to meet up? What are you doing here?”

Sporting his signature smile, the usually detached demon waltzed into my room, grabbing me and spinning me around. “I thought we could make our way to our outing together, hmm?” He says as I giggle. “What do you say, my dear? May I escort you to the roof for your surprise?” Alastor’s smile faded into a warmer grin as he held out his hand in invitation, waiting for me to take it.

When I took his hand and let him lead me through the halls of the hotel toward the roof, it felt as if all at once the anxieties that had been gnawing away at my gut just melted away ... it was like butterflies just swarmed my insides.

“What is this big surprise, Al?" I giggle as he whisks me up to the roof, stopping just outside the door.

“Now, I know that you've had a rough week, and that you've been absolutely dying to see that new horror film…” He said giddily. “And I've set something up that I think you'll enjoy very much.”

A frown crossed my face for a moment. I had mentioned wanting to see the horror movie that came out last weekend, and I had been pretty having a shitty week, but I wasn’t sure where Alastor was going with this surprise since he wouldn’t dare touch a tv that would stream the movie. “Yeah…?” I laugh lightly as we stand in front of the door. “What, did you find someone to go to the movies with or something?”

“Not quite.” I can actually heat the excitement in his voice as he opens the door and pulls me through it. “What do you think?”

“Alastor…” I breathe, looking around at the rooftop. There’s twinkle lights strung up all over and blankets and pillows and wine sitting and a basket of my favorite snacks all sitting beside a projector pointed at the wall beside the door. “This is…”

“Oh, but wait, there’s more!” Alastor said, his shadow hitting play on the projector. The beginning sequence of the movie I had been dying to see popping up.

My eyes lit up and despite myself, I launched myself into the radio demon’s arms, eliciting a small ‘oof’ from the man before I felt his arms snake around me. “Alastor, this is amazing! I love it!” I looked up at the man who everyone around me seemed so terrified of, the man my friends warned me to be careful around. “Did you really do this for me?”

“Why of course!” The man smiled down at me, pulling me a bit closer than he usually did before his head dipped just a bit lower and I felt him place a soft kiss on my forehead. “I would do anything to make you happy, my sweet little radio wave.”

My heart stopped for just a moment before it began racing, hammering against my ribcage as the butterflies in my stomach went wild. “Al…” Before I could stop myself, I found my lips connecting with his and despite his usual aversion to touch and romance and anything that could even possibly lead to sex, he pulled me a bit closer.

When he didn't pull away, it felt like electricity crackling in my veins. I felt like every star in the sky aligned perfectly as he held me. It felt perfect, it felt right.

Radio static cracked in the air around us and Alastor’s face was just a light shade of red, no doubt mirroring my own embarrassment at what I had just done.

“Well then, “ Alastor cleared his throat, the static seeming to fade a bit as he straightened his jacket and held his hand out to me. "Shall we sit down and watch the movie?” I take his hand and nod wordlessly, afraid that I would ruin what was certainly a perfect moment if I uttered even a word or asked him to define our relationship.

Alastor showed me to my seat on the blanketed area he had set up, I immediately sank into the soft pillows and blankets, and smiled as he sat down beside me. The movie began to play and as the opening credits began to roll, I knew I should at least thank him for all of this since I knew it was a show of care he reserved for only those he loved on some level, but before I could form a coherent sentence, I felt it… His arm snaked around my waist and pulled me closer to his own body.

“I don’t think I could’ve made this anymore perfect if I tried, Al.” I sigh softly, resting my head against his chest and listening to the quiet, steady crackle of radio static that always seemed to emit from the demon. Although he set this movie night up for me, I’m not even watching the movie, but rather, just trying to soak up this moment before it slips away. “Thank you.”

Alastor chuckles, his hand gently coming to rest on my chin. My breath caught in my throat as he leaned in, our lips hovering just apart from one anothers. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, my dear.” The static completely stops and his whisper tickles my lips as he catches them in another soft kiss.

The week had been shitty, but this… This was perfect.

Alastor Tag list : @writersonicfan91

#fizziepop thoughts #fizzie's fics #vivziepop #hazbin hotel #first fanfic #alastor hazbin hotel #the radio demon #alastor x reader #fic request #fluff fic #alastor fluff #hazbin hotel x reader #huskerdust mention

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diamondheartyux · 4 months ago

Text

Jason

Part two of Killer Climaxes

Read Pennywise here

Check out the playlist on Spotify

Mingyu x xreader

Genre: Horror, Smut 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 8.1K

Warnings: Horror themes, aggression, dubcon\noncon, drowning, sharp objects, blood\possible bloodplay, Non HEA, death, dead dove.

You swung the car door open, stretching your legs as you shifted to scoot your body out of the car to stand on hard ground. You had been driving for hours with your friends. One of your closest friends got it in their head that it would be a fun idea to drive to the old Camp Crystal Lake for the weekend. Crystal Lake had been permanently closed for a few years after the mass murders that occurred over one night. No one survived and now the area was forgotten, the cabins and grounds overgrown with weeds and draped delicately with abandoned spider webs. Even better, there was no cell service or anyone around for miles plus it was Friday the 13th. Rumors swirled that the man responsible for all those deaths came back to the campground every Friday the 13th like clockwork, ready to slay anyone around. Of course, your horror obsessed best friend was all about coming out here to just see.. You lift your arms over your head, reaching up as far as you can to stretch the stiffness in your lower back out and sigh heavily.

You turn at the sound of a car door closing and watch three of your friends pile out of the car you were in as well as another car loaded with friends pull up, the headlights causing you to squint lightly in the dim, setting sun. You walk to the trunk and pop it open before grabbing bags to cart who knows how far to a cabin. With now fully loaded arms, you turn around to face the car behind you as you listen to the sound of light chatter. Your eyes immediately find Mingyu and a smile ghosts your lips before you quickly straighten them out. He was out of your league. Ever the heartthrob. His skin glowed in the dusk with its golden hue. His wavy, onyx hair was messy, as if he had either just rolled out of bed or ran his hands through it numerous times on the drive here. His pale yellow shirt clung to his chest like a second skin ,the definition of his abs visible through the thin fabric and the entire look was polished off with a pair of jeans and pearls. Fucking pearls. The man was bold and beautiful and he knew it. Your body hums softly at the sight of him and you try to shake it off. Everyone was attracted to Mingyu but not everyone was lucky enough to be with him. You knew your place and it definitely wasn’t underneath him no matter how much your body craved to be.

His laughter echoed around everyone. His smile is infectious, sparking a grin to splay across your lips again and this time you allow it. You watch him put another friend in a headlock, rubbing the knuckles of his closed fist rapidly against the boy’s head before he gets shoved to the side. You roll your eyes at the display of rough housing and turn to find your best friend, the organizer of this expedition. Her arms were loaded down with equipment: camera, voiceboxes, notebooks, candles, and various herbs. In true nerd fashion, she had a theory that the camp was actually haunted and she wanted to see if she could capture the spirit of Jason on camera. You shake your head as you watch her juggle everything in her hand before she nods in the direction to her right and stomps off.

You follow suit, your arms straining under the weight of the numerous bags you crammed in your hands. You refused to make this trip more than once and between the four of you in one car, there were a lot of bags to carry especially with Ghost Hunter McGee ahead of you. The sun sets deeper into the horizon, the shadows it cast dancing across the worn dirt path you followed. In the distance, the cabins began to appear. Their outlines grew solid the closer you got to them, the wear and tear evident on each one even from the distance you were from them. Your face wrinkles in displeasure at the sight of them. It was already unseasonably warm and just from the sight of these things, it was going to be even warmer inside.

Your arms throb in protest to the weight hanging from them as you approach the first cabin and you note the considerable distance between the five cabins. You drop the load of stuff in your arms at your feet and swing your arms to shake out the ache in them before you make your way around the side of the first cabin to take in the rest of the camp. In the swelling darkness, you can vaguely make out the one furthest away, its outline almost a speck against the horizon. You make your way towards the second cabin and it takes a few minutes before you grace its front door. You twist the knob on the door as it catches causing you to have to lean your body weight against it to force it open. You sigh at the entire ordeal before making your way inside.

The stale air hits your nose immediately and you cough as you breathe in the dust you disturbed when you had to pry the door open. You pull your shirt over your nose as you wander further inside. There wasn’t much to the cabin. It was an open space scattered with old, rusty beds. The majority were laying on their sides with a few mattresses ripped open, exposing the springs so they were shooting from the tears. A chest of drawers lies on its side as well, with small end tables littered in the pile of forgotten memories. You shuffle around for a moment, picking up the threadbare blankets that lie scattered around the room before you make your way out into the near pitch blackness outside. You head back in the direction of the first cabin, following the thin beams of light now emanating from the front and side of it.

You hold your hand up to block the light as it swings and lands directly on your face, the brightness making you squint your eyes. The light lowers and you can make out Mingyu’s outline in the reflection of it. He waves his hand toward you, gesturing for you to come gather with everyone else. Lights bounce all around as everyone comes back from their small exploration of the campground. You find your best friend again, always naturally gravitating towards her and stand to her left as you wait for whoever to start making sleeping decisions. You expected to be paired with your friend and another girl you knew pretty well and were comfortable with and that’s exactly who you ended up with. You groan in protest as they both suggest taking the cabin farthest away, the one closest to the lake. Something about needing to be close to the water to catch Jason's spirit since his body is supposed to be anchored to the bottom of the lake.

You groan in protest and also make sure to verbally express how much you did not want to walk all that way in the dark. Your friend shakes her head and laughs as she treks ahead of you and after what feels like an eternity, you three make it to your cabin. Your best friend sets her stuff down and fights the door for a moment before swinging it out. She takes out her phone and turns the flashlight on, sweeping it across the dark room. This cabin was set up the same as the one you explored. Old beds and nightstands were clustered around the room, some tipped over and some torn. You groan again as you set everything down and walk to the mess of old, decaying furniture. You start to push everything into one corner, opening up the middle of the room. A chest of drawers sits against the far way, its drawers hanging out and some completely missing. You make your way to it, running your hand across the top and cringing as it comes back dirty.

You run your hand across it to clear a spot to set a few things before going back to the luggage, rummaging to find your sleeping bag. Your other two friends flit around the room, your bestie directing the other on where to set things up. You roll your eyes as you dig into your luggage again to find an oversized shirt to sleep in. Once you grab one, you quickly shimmy out of your day clothes, flinging your shirt off and stepping out of your pants as fast as you can. You unhook your bra and stuff your dirty clothes back into your belongings before grabbing a flashlight to have near you while you slept. A wave of relief sweeps over you at the freedom your shirt gives, the hem hanging a few inches above your knees. You want to take your socks off but the thought of your bare feet touching the old, dirty floor beneath you makes you cringe so you slip inside your sleeping bag making sure to tuck your hair underneath you to keep it off the floor as well. You close your eyes and listen to the shuffling around you. You were no help to the paranormal tech master your friend was and you were tired, the hours in the car here having drained your energy.

You place the flash light by your head just in reach in case you need it. You doubted you would but there was something about being in the open wilderness in the middle of nowhere that made you feel slightly uneasy. Your eyelids droop, growing heavier with each second as you settle against the cool floor. You drift into dreams quickly despite them being plagued with images of the golden skinned god snoozing in a nearby cabin. In your haste to get somewhere to sleep, you missed all the sidelong glances he shot your way, all the wandering eyes and the quickened pace of his heartbeat when he watched you, wishing to cling to you the way your jeans clung to your hips.

In what feels like merely minutes, something startles you and your eyes fly open to find a darkness equal to the one behind your lids. You listen closely in hopes to figure out what roused you from your much needed slumber when you hear something. A creaking sound, like the wood of the cabin floors groaning in protest at the weight of an intrusion. You shift your eyes to the side, a sliver of moonlight seeping in through the crack in the front door. You freeze when you see an outline pass by it, your imagination immediately jumping to conclusions versus logically remembering there were five other people scattered across the area on this little trip. You work to keep your breathing even as you watch through your peripheral. A beam of soft light suddenly breaks the darkness and you squeeze your eyes shut at it before reopening them.

You watch as the beam slides across the room, it stopping to illuminate your friend sleeping above you against the back wall. It sweeps across the room again and you shut your eyes as it looms closer before stopping on your face. You work hard to make it look like you’re sleeping as footsteps approach you, a figure now crouching next to you.

“Hey.” A voice whispers softly. A voice you recognize.

“Mingyu?” You answer in an equally hushed whisper. A grunt greets your ears in response and you open your eyes, bringing your hand to shield them from his flashlight. He switches it off, the darkness engulfing the room once more.

“What the hell are you doing, Mingyu?” You ask curiously. You have no idea what time it was or how long you had been asleep just as you had no idea why this hunk was crouched next to you in the middle of the night.

“Hopefully you.” He says, the smirk on his face dancing across the words spewing from his lips. You cock your head to the side before you push yourself up on your elbows.

“Wha-....” is all you get out before his lips find yours in the darkness. You don't fight it but instead melt under the touch. His mouth is gentle against yours as his body hovers next to you. He pulls back before crawling over you, his body straddling yours momentarily before he catches the zipper to your sleeping bag and tugs it down. It tucks himself inside the snug space before zipping himself up inside it and turns on his side to face you. His hands reach out, one landing on your right side as he tugs you towards him and the other coming to caress your face in the dark. The moonlight outside shines down on the high windows just enough to give you a glimpse of his outline. Your confusion is still present but with every touch of his skin to yours, it melts slowly. Did it matter why THE Kim Mingyu was zipped into your sleeping bag? No, all that mattered was somehow you got a chance you didn't think you had and you weren’t going to squander it.

You allow him to pull you closer to him, turning your body to face him. His hand drapes across your waist as he brings his lips to yours again. His touch is gentle and tender, enough to ignite a flight of fluttering in your stomach as his mouth brushes your delicately. You pulled yourself against him more as you let your lips dance with his, your hands curled up between the two of you. You uncurl a fist and place it against his chest as his hand across your waist slides down to your hip. His fingers dance against your skin and you melt against his mouth. His movements were soft and gentle, your heart swelling before pounding harder and harder against your ribs. Your eyes flutter close and soon you lose yourself inside his kiss. The sounds of the dark night around you fade and the only thing that remains is him, the sound of his breathing, the feeling of his lips against yours, the way his tongue explores your mouth, the electric feeling his fingers leave behind every time they caress your skin.

His hands begin to roam more, sliding down your hips dangerously close to the side of your ass before running up to stop at the end of your ribs. Your body begins to ache as the touch wakes as well as feeds a desire inside you. He pulls his mouth from your slowly and the sound of his soft panting dances between the two of you to collide with your own. His silhouette meets your eyes when you open them, the moonlight beaming behind him. His features were muted in the darkness but you could faintly see the corners of his mouth turning up and you could picture the twinkle in his eyes as the smile appeared.

“Hi.” he whispers softly with a small laugh and you mimic the sound with a small laugh of your own.

“Hi.” you whisper in return as you watch his shadowy features. Lust bloomed within you in the disguise of affection and you could feel the softness in your features as you watched what bit of his face you could see. Despite the luck of him being cuddled up next to you, you were curious as to why exactly he was here, in your sleeping bag and kissing you like he was your lover.

“What was that about?” you ask quietly, your voice hushed not to disturb your friends, one of which was a very light sleeper. His fingers find your hips again and begin to caress them tenderly.

“Just something I wanted to do before there wasn’t a chance to anymore. Tomorrow isn’t promised you know.” he answers you and your stomach flips. Something he wanted to do? You had no idea he paid attention to you, much less wanted you in any way. You two were in the same friend circle but your paths rarely crossed outside of that. He was always included in anything you and your friends did and you always found yourself gravitating towards him before eventually, you had to admit you were crushing on him pretty hard.While you spent days and weeks in denial about how you felt, the small things you noticed about Mingyu and brushed away as your delusions were actually real interest. Stolen glances. His eyes naturally gravitating to you in a crowded room. The way he would try to be as close to you as he could be when possible. He was drawn to you from the moment he saw you and you never knew that he spent just as much time fighting what he was feeling as you did.

You blush, never having been so thankful for the lack of light as you were right then. Luckily, there was no need for you to think of a response because Mingyu’s face moved closer to yours again before his lips claimed them in another kiss, this one laced with need. You press yourself against his body as you return the near desperation with that of your own. Your lips clash with his over and over before his tongue slips through them to explore. Breathing turns ragged and his hands begin to wander your body, tracing paths along your sides to your thighs and back up to tickle right under your breasts.

You moan softly, the sound dying between the melee of lips colliding against each other. His hands run down your side again before slipping underneath your oversized shirt. You gasp softly as his touch, his hands warm against your bare skin. His palm sits flat against your stomach as it glides slowly up, little by little, before he brings it to cup your breast. Mingyu paws it gently as he pushes himself against you more, the bulge straining the front of his pants pressing into your stomach. Your stomach flutters and a warmth blooms in your core, heating between your thighs. His mouth never leaves yours and his touch is tender, moving as if you were fragile and quite the contrast to the haste in his kiss. His fingers dance down your stomach, moving gracefully down to slip underneath the thin fabric of your underwear. You moan softly in anticipation of his touch, your core aching as you part your legs slightly.

His fingers slip down between your folds, rubbing up and down softly before they come to rest on your clit. You sigh softly into his mouth as his fingers begin to draw slow circles, pleasure emanating with every stroke he makes. You push your hips up ever so slightly into his fingers in search of more friction before you grip his shirt in your hands.He dips his fingers down again, slipping them along the wetness of your folds before carefully pushing you inside you. You groan softly, your hips moving to meet his finger as he begins to push it in and out of you slowly. Every inward stroke is driven in as far as he can before curling his finger to swipe your sweet spot. After a moment, he adds a second finger, his strategy still the same. His fingers work in and out of you in soft, subtle movements before they coil and graze your walls. Your body buzzes as each motion strokes the warmth kinking dangerously in your stomach. The sounds he coaxes from you are muffled by his lips, each one jumping from your mouth to his before dying in his throat.

Just as you thought he was going to continue building the raging tsunami lying in wait inside of you, he pulls his fingers from you. His lips leave yours and you bite your lips to stifle the moan of protest dying to escape. He trails soft ,fluttery kisses down the side of your face and to your neck where he spends some time nibbling the spot below your ear. You shudder before leaning your head against his as he begins to continue his journey down your body. He peppers kisses from your neck to your collarbone before kissing a line down between your breasts. He lifts his head before reaching a hand up to unzip your sleeping bag. He tugs the zipper down and tosses the top off of the two of you, the cool air sending a chill across your exposed skin. His head dips back to your skin, picking up where he left off. He moves from between your breasts slowly down your stomach, bringing a hand to rest on your stomach after he pushes your shirt up.

He continues to make his way down, shifting to settle between your legs as he kisses to the top of your mound before he slips his fingers under the sides of your underwear and pulls them down. He tugs them off completely, helping your legs as he removes them before tossing them aside. His hands run up your legs before stopping at your thighs. His fingers gently spread your folds to expose your sensitive nub. He leans down and places a kiss on it before sliding his tongue across it. You shiver and gasp softly before bringing your legs up around his face. He holds you in place with a hand resting gently on your stomach before he dives between your legs and laps at you like he was parched. His tongue flicks across your clit greedily as he buries his face into you. You arch your back before bringing your hands into his hair, fisting tuffs of it in your grasp. You take a breath and hold it as his tongue dances across your clit teasingly. The touch was light but enough to drive you closer to the impending pleasure. Sounds accumulate in your throat, sounds you dare not even whimper in the room with your friends and you swallow them despite how fast they’re produced. Mingyu licks and swirls at your cunt before he brings a slender finger between you and him, sliding it slowly inside you. You gasp and whine softly as he pushes it in and out of you in rhythm with his tongue, playing a tune that brought you closer to the release you craved. Warmth began to boil at your core with every lick of his tongue and curl of his finger. Your hands grip his hair tighter as you buck your hips against his face.

Your head falls back and your back arches as the pairing of his mouth and fingers stroke you closer and closer as you approach your edge. He moans softly against your pussy and the sound vibrates through you. You squeeze your legs around his head as he slips another finger inside you. He pumps and curls his fingers faster, his tongue picking up pace to match. You bring a hand to your mouth when a cry threatens to slip through your lips as the embers burning in your core erupt into flames, exploding inside you. You clench his fingers as your body shakes with the waves of pleasure that course through you. His fingers continue as he watches you come apart under his touch. Your body shakes as the last tide washes over you, your orgasm finally subsiding. He pulls his fingers from inside you and brings them to his mouth. He sucks the taste of you from them before he groans softly. He reaches over to grab the sleeping back, folding it back over as he lies down next to you. He pulls your body towards him and you scoot closer. His lips meet yours and you sigh softly at the taste of yourself on his lips. When he pulls away, you snake a hand between you, traveling down to brush the front of his pants. His hand comes to yours, stopping you mid stroke.

“It’s your turn.” you whisper softly. He kisses the side of your head before whispering in return.

“I don’t need a turn. That was more than enough for tonight for me. Now sleep, it’s been a long day, okay princess.”

Your stomach flutters at the sound of his voice, the pet name, and you can feel your cheeks heat up. You nod your head in response despite wanting to protest before rolling over on your side to press your back against his chest. As soon as his warmth wraps around you, sleep begins to wash over you. You hadn’t realized how tired you were until after your release, the pleasure relaxing your body entirely. Mingyu’s presence envelops you, creating a safe and cozy atmosphere and within moments, you are deep asleep in his arms, your dreams filled with him and what your future could hold.

For the second time that night, you wake up to a sound. There was something shrill in the distance and it takes a moment for your mind to register the noise as a scream. But as quickly as you heard it, it fades away. You sit up straight up and survey the room in the moonlight but with the low light, all you can see are outlines of everything. You unzip your sleeping bag and toss it to the side before bringing yourself to stand. You sock feet pad softly to the window across the room, using the moon to light your way to it. You peer out, checking every angle as you swing your head from left to right.The lake shimmers under the moon, its reflection glittering in the movements of the water. The wind kisses the trees causing them to shiver under the touch, their leaves rustling softly. When you don’t see anything, you turn around to return to your sleeping bag, passing it off as your imagination when your sock suddenly meets something damp. And warm.

You curse under your breath and pad towards your luggage to grab a fresh pair because no way were you about to walk around here barefoot. You stop by your sleeping bag to snag your light and flick it on quickly, covering the end with half of your hand to help control the brightness of it so you won’t disturb your friends. You angle it downward while you walk and when your right foot comes into the beam one step in, you freeze at the sight of red. Your head tilts to the right as you stare at the spot on the toes of your sock and you bring your foot up to move it closer to you. That’s when you notice that everywhere your sock feels warm and wet is red. You bring the light to your other foot and find it red as well. You swing around quickly, dropping your hand from over the end of it and aim it to where you were standing at the window. Your friends' sleeping figures are lit up as the light washes over them on its journey.

You walk slowly back to the window, your light trained on the dark spot pooled beneath it as a twinge of fear begins to bud in your chest the closer you get. Your first thought was blood but there’s no way, right? You try not to think the worst. You try to reason. An animal got in and left something behind but with your light sleeper friends, surely someone would have woken up to the sounds. You follow the pool with your light, tracing it back to your best friend’s sleeping body and you freeze when you see it surrounding her upper half. You rush to her side, kneeling next to her as you shake her body roughly. Fear buzzes under your skin as her body rocks under your hands. You call her name but she doesn’t answer and when you roll her over on her back, you see it. The wounds in her chest. The lifelessness in her blank stare.

A scream bubbles up in your throat and dies spilling from you in the form of tears on your face. Panic slams into you and your breathing comes in rapid pants. You scramble backwards, dropping your light in the process. Your brain races trying to make sense of what you were seeing. Your tears have turned into full on sobs as you sit frozen staring at the body of your best friend. You finally move after long, drawn out moments pass. You reach out to grab your light and shine it towards your other friend. A gasp leaves your lips when it illuminates her face equally as lifeless as she lays in a puddle of blood. You quickly push yourself to your feet, light in hand, and on shaky legs, you run to the door and pull it open before dashing outside.

You close the distance between your cabin and the one closest to it quicker than you imagined you would. You swing the door to it open and shine your light around to find the same scene. Amidst the old, rotting furniture are the bodies of your friends, all lying in their own blood, slaughtered in their sleep. You check the other cabins as well, your vision now clouded by the tears pouring from your eyes. You’re met with the same scene in each one and panic surges beneath your skin. You turn and clear the side of the first cabin, unsure of where to go when you realize one person wasn’t among your dead friends. But where was he? Was that the noise you heard earlier? Was it too late? You push yourself back towards your cabin hastily, your legs burning at the exertion. The shimmering surface of the water dances in the breeze as you get closer and in the middle of it, you can make out a figure. A profile you would know anywhere. Mingyu.

The wind bites your skin as you dash on your wet, socked feet. Your bare legs prickle in the coolness of the night as you run as fast as you can towards him. You don’t stop as the edge of the lake appears but rather than stop, you continue to run into the water until your feet no longer reach the bottom. Mingyu meets you at that moment and you throw your arms and legs around him before burying your face in his shoulder. He wraps his muscular arms around you and carries the two of you back towards the shore as he tries to pry what’s wrong from you between your heaving sobs.

“Hey, what is it? What’s wrong?” he asks softly, his voice laced with concern as he rubs a hand up and down your back to try and soothe you.

“They’re-” you force out between sobs. “They’re dead. All of them, Mingyu. They’re all gone.”

He places a kiss to the side of your head gently and squeezes you tightly against him.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

You relax a little, despite the anxiety and terror that was still raging as your mind spit out too many questions for you to even keep up with. His arms relax around you as he peppers your head and the side of your face with kisses. You finally lean up to look at him with your tear stained face and something flashes in his eyes. Something you can’t read before he pecks your lips reassuringly. It was so comforting to you given the cocktail of emotions swirling within you and your eyes hold his before he leans in to kiss you again, this time his lips linger. His mouth dances against yours gently before it progresses into something more needy.

Your lips dance with his as you melt into his body, his arms around you a comforting presence in the midst of chaos. Your hands slide up his chest before slipping around his back. You flex your fingers as if trying to grasp the skin of his back into them. He pulls you closer to him despite the fact that your bodies are flush, his hands roaming your curves. Your lips clash and your tongues intertwine faster with each breath. Your stomach warms with every flit of his fingertips across your skin as your desire buds in your core before pooling between your legs. You moan softly into his mouth and he laps up the sound greedily. Your hands slip from his back, journeying down slowly as you allow your fingers to trace the definition of his muscles that peek through the fabric clinging to his skin. You run them around his hips before gliding them over the round muscles of his ass. As you begin to bring them back up, you feel him tense up before your hand runs over something tucked into his waistband. Your kiss goes from desperate to slow as your fingers trace the object. The end was wide, wooden, and wet and the kiss of small, round metal bites in two small spaces. It curved on the inside before it made way to more metal. That’s when you froze. The realization of what you were feeling and what it meant to be feeling it. There were no knives left at the camp. It had been looted years before after the first set of murders by kids who thought it was cool to own memorabilia tied to tragedy. Your eyes widen as you pull back, your hands coming from around Mingyu’s waist but before you could pull away completely, his hand snaps out and his fingers wrap around your wrist. You stare up at him silently as you put everything together slowly and you begin to tremble.

His eyes flare, a hint of sadness buried within them as he stares down at you. His grip tightens around your wrist painfully and you wince. What you didn’t know was that he didn’t want to do this. No, he wanted to savor you, to have you for a little while to himself but watching you explore the cabins out here in his old campground and seeing you in the one he spent the most time in sent something through him. He thought he could have a taste of you without it awakening the blood thirsty driven lust that he fought to keep buried inside him. It’s why he denied you a chance to give him release because he knew he would topple over and the sadistic drive that bloomed permanently within him would awaken. He didn’t want that so he waited until you were asleep before he crept out silently back to the old kitchen to find the knife he hid in the floorboards the year before.

He snuck into each cabin one by one, shoving his knife into your friends while they slept, the arousal it gave him coursing like electricity in his veins. It would have been simple enough had one of them not woken up to the noise. He chased her past the window where you slept and into the trees surrounding the lake when he finally was able to grab her, her small, soft body rubbing against the aching bulge that strained almost painfully against his pants as she flailed in attempts to escape. Her shrill scream rang out through the night and Mingyu was absolutely certain it would wake you. You, the sole survivor. You, his prize. When it didn’t, he let his anger out on her, puncturing her chest over and over until well after she had stopped breathing. He dragged her body out to the middle of the lake after tying a cinder block around her ankles and he left her there, watching as she floated slowly out of sight under the ink black surface of the water. And that’s when he heard it, the cabin door flying open and so he swam as fast as he could back to shore to be there to swoop you up.

When your body crashed into him, Mingyu almost lost all control then and there. Everything was going so wrong and he was.... sad. But he couldn’t let you go now. He couldn’t let you spill his secret and jeopardize the cover he built for himself. Seeing you wet, your shirt clinging to you like a second skin and the knowledge that when he left, you were completely bare underneath surged his arousal. He pulled you close to him as quickly as he could, his hand still holding your wrist tightly. He leans in and presses his lips against yours forcefully, holding you flush against him as he grinds his hips against your body. You thrash in protest but his grip on you is too strong. When you don’t return his kiss, he spins you around to pin your arm behind your back as he brings his other arm to wrap around your waist to pull you against him.

You continue your attempts to flee, his arm almost crushing you to keep you against him. He releases your hand to undo his pants and you flail your arms in another attempt. Before you can register what’s happening, a sting blooms in your cheek and you pause in confusion. Your face burns and you press your hand to it to feel warmth as it registers that his hand connected with your cheek. In the time it took for the slap to register, he had shrugged his wet pants and underwear down and his erection stands tall between the two of you. He forces you back against him again, his arm across your waist once again holding you as he uses his free hand to line himself up with your entrance. He uses his body weight to lean you forward as he presses himself into you slowly. A hiss leaves his lips as he slips deeper into you, your warm wet walls clenching him tightly. He groans loudly into the night air before he pulls back, his other hand coming to wrap around your waist. He drives back into you, not wasting any time as he begins to pump wildly.

You lean forward, your body moving under him as you try to fight him. Anger, fear, and hints of arousal swell inside you as they slowly rise in the form of water crowding your vision. You try to elbow him, try to pull away from him but his strong arms hold you in place. Every time you protest, you can hear the flair of his breathing in annoyance so you continue to struggle. His irritation builds and he tries to reel you in by adding more force to his strokes. When you don’t relent, a hand disappears from around your waist momentarily before it swings back around towards your neck. Something cold and sharp bites at your throat and the tears billowing in your eyes slowly begin to crash together as they make their way down your cheek. The action introduces conflict to the battle between your mind and your body. Mingyu rams into you, his knife digging into your throat a little more. His hand slips one time, the blade gliding across your neck a few centimeters and you hiss at the burning it leaves behind before you begin to cry more. He growls low at the sound of your cries and, in one swift motion, flings you around once more before pushing you down into the shallow water.

You scramble backwards but not fast enough. He drops to his knees, straddling your body as his hand comes to grip your hair painfully. You cry out, more tears flying from your eyes as you watch his head loll back at the sight. His eyes roll and flutter before he rights himself and hovers over you. A hand comes around your throat and shoves you backwards, the water deep enough for your face to submerge if you laid down so you strain against his strength to keep yourself out of it. It laps at your ears, filling inside them instantly as he rams himself back into you. You cry out once more as he moans loudly. His free hand finds your hips and his fingers dig into your skin as he thrusts in and out of you. His hand around your throat squeezes tighter and you gasp as he slowly begins to cut off your oxygen. You look up at him and see the glazed over, dark stare in his eyes reflecting in the moonlight. The bloodlust he worked so hard to bury was winning with every drive he made deep inside of you.

His hand pushes against your throat, shoving your head deeper into the water around you and no matter how hard you strain, you can’t fight. You take a breath as the water pools over your face before you go under completely. His hand tightens, threatening to steal what little oxygen you have as he holds you under. Your arms thrash in protest, coming to claw at his hand when your lungs start to ache and right as you think you can’t hold your breath any longer, he pulls your head up. You gasp, trying to grab as much air as you can before he pushes you under again. Air flows forcefully from your nose as you try to scream despite your better judgment. He pulls you up again and you gasp before a sob escapes your lips. He pounds into you more, faster with each stroke. You claw at his hand and your nails dig into his flesh. He groans when they rip places, leaving white marks that swell instantly with red. Anger flashes across his moonlit eyes and before you can register anything else, he shoves your face back under the water.

You whip your arms around, still determined to fight when his hand leaves your waist before a sharp, hot pain floods your senses. You scream instinctively, water flooding in your nose and mouth and you choke before he pulls you back up. Your body heaves with your coughs as you work to spew the water infiltrating your lungs while your stomach burns. You sob, the action uncontrollable as you peer down to see the knife you felt sticking out of you. His hand is still wrapped around the handle as he slides in and out of you faster. The sounds of him fill the air, his moans echoing against the slapping of the water against your skin. Your cries ring out in the otherwise quiet night, lost in the breeze that carries them away from the two of you. With each stroke, your will to fight dwindles until he shoves your head under the water again. Instinctively you try anyway despite the exhaustion creeping into your bones. He twists the knife in your stomach slowly, amplifying the burning that was calmed down to a dull ache.

You cry out again, water flooding your mouth again and you gag. Fear slams into you even harder as each breath you take becomes harder. His hand around your throat is so tight that if he doesn’t suffocate you soon then he would no doubt crush your hyoid bone. He rips the knife from your stomach and drops it in the water next to him as he lets up on your throat, pulling you from underwater while he groans loudly. His breathing comes in rapid, shallow pants as you choke and heave at the water flooding your system. Tears cascade down your face as you try to cover your stomach to staunch the crimson river flowing from the wound. Your fingers soon are coated with the warm sticky liquid when he rips them from the gash. He quickly shoves two fingers into the laceration roughly, twisting them around as he pounds against you. You scream as loud as you can, the white hot pain traveling through your system at lightning speed. Your head spins and before you can register it, you’re shoved back under water.

You keep trying to fight but your system is overwhelmed. The pain, lack of oxygen, and the fatigue pile against you as more water seeps into your nose, crashing through your windpipe to settle in your lungs. His hand at your throat tightens and your vision begins to blur. His fingers come from the cut on your stomach and you can hear the muffled sounds of his breathing. His pants turn into quick moans as he pushes himself in and out of you faster, his strokes growing sloppy as he reaches his edge. The darkness around you grows heavier as Mingyu slowly begins to disappear, the darkness dancing around the edge of your vision creeping closer and closer. Water clogs your ears, further muffling your hearing and the sounds of his climax are muted but you can feel as he slams into you one final time. His head lolls back before it falls forward to stare down on you as his orgasm washes over him. His cock twitches inside you before shooting warm, sticky ropes of his release to coat your walls. His free hand comes to meet the one around his neck, joining its partner as he squeezes your neck as tight as he can before shoving your face under water one last time. The last thing you see is obsidian black around you. The last thing you hear is the muffled sounds of the last bits of your oxygen creeping from the part in your lips. The last thing you feel is the cool kiss of the water as the life left in you flees from your body.

Mingyu grips your neck maniacally, a frenzied impulse overtaking him. He shudders from the tail end of his release mixed with the sight of your body growing limp. Your blood seeps into the lake around the two of you and he watches as your chest finally stops lifting and falling. Only then does he snap out of the trance he was in. He pulls his hands back quickly, conflict washing over him at the sight of what he did. Disappointment and anguish flood his system as he pulls himself out of your limp body. He works his pants back up painstakingly with one hand as the other holds you in place. Once his clothing is back in place, he reaches down and feels around for the knife. His fingers brush the handle and he snatches it up before pocketing it again. He drags your body back to the shore, leaving you to lie with your feet dangling in the waters edge. He wraps the knife in your limp fingers before he shoves the blade into his side, not deep enough to be fatal but enough to look like there was a struggle. He lifts it in your hand and runs the blade down his face, putting enough pressure on it for it to slice the skin slightly. He winces as it leaves a cut on his cheek but he makes sure it's not enough to scar his handsome face before he runs it against his chest. He frowns as it cuts through the fabric of his favorite shirt before he drops your hand, the knife cluttering to the ground next to you.

He takes one more look at you, a pang of sadness blossoming before it disappears beneath his emotionless demeanor. He makes his way back to the cabin, rooting through bags and belongings before he finds a set of keys. He tousles his hair as he makes his way to the car, sliding into the front seat slowly. He checks the rearview, noting the cut on his face and smirking with approval as he turns the engine over. He throws the car in reverse, pulling out quickly before barely stopping as he moves the car into drive. He presses the accelerator to the floor, the tires digging into the dirt as he peels off. He flicks the high beams on while he flies down the road to the camp, tires squealing as he makes a sharp turn onto the highway. He heads towards town bypassing every gas station in sight as he makes his way right to the police office where he’ll throw himself from the car and inside with fake tears pouring down his face as he makes up a recount of what happened yet again at Camp Crystal Lake. They’ll wrap him in a cheap, scratchy blanket as he tells them how you killed all your friends on the anniversary of Friday the 13th massacre and he’ll live to repeat the tradition again next year.

#spooky season #smut series #horror #seventeen fanfic #seventeen smut #kim mingyu #mingyu #svt mingyu #mingyu smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #smut #svt #svt carat #seventeen #carat #mingyu seventeen #mingyu svt

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krysalla · 5 months ago

Text

vermilion

jonathan crane x f!reader

word count: 2.5k

read on ao3

warnings: 18+ MDNI, stalking, kidnapping, blood, murder, somno, drugging, noncon, masturbation, unfortunately crane is a fucking freak with no sense of boundaries, mentioned child abuse, crane and grandma keeny having a norma and norman bates type relationship, in no way romantic but crane thinks it is because he thinks reader is his twin flame, inspired by a slipknot song

You’re a creature of habit. You leave work at five in the evening, you take the same way home every day except for Mondays—that is when you do your grocery shopping for the week. You go to the library every other Tuesday, to the movies on Wednesdays, go out to dinner by yourself on Thursdays, go to the used bookstore and antique store and occasionally the zoo on Saturdays, and you spend all day on Sundays cleaning and getting ready for the start of your work week. Today is Friday and Fridays are meant for decompression from your week. Since he started watching you all those months ago, you have never once deviated from your Friday routine—you polish off a bottle of Chardonnay, sit curled up in the corner of your couch with a book and a stack of CDs next to you to listen to while you read. You call it quits around ten o’clock, run through the motions of your bedtime routine and slip into bed.

It is now two in the morning and there has been no trace of you.

His blood curdles in his veins into a thick sludge of anger and hatred. How dare you? Jonathan has been standing, waiting in this small closet for hours just for you. Have you no consideration for him? To just leave him here with no sign of where you will be going, no note on your calendar where you keep all your appointments, no egregiously long phone calls with your fickle mother or your simpleton friends. He will punish you for this. Remind you that, while his presence in your life may not be fully known to you, you are still his little mouse.

Your bedroom door bursts open. He cannot see you through the darkness, but he can hear your breathing. You flick on the light and flood the room. Your blouse is hanging on by the hem that’s still tucked into your pencil skirt. He’s missed the touch of your skin, the softness of it, it’s the only thing holding him together now that the ire rising in his throat has been ramped down by the feeling of want. His blood still burns hot and thick. Yes, he can easily forgive you with just the flash of your skin. You’re giving him everything he wants, being a good little mouse.

Your shower and nighttime routine is cut short by your tired and stilted steps. He can smell the faint traces of alcohol on your mouth when you pass by the slotted door he hides behind. You’re so close. He stills his hand before he can reach for the doorknob. He has been waiting this long, what is another fifteen minutes to the nine hours he has already spent here?

The lights go out and he continues to wait.

Only when he can hear your even breathing does he spill out from your closet and into your room, slithering to your bed and inviting himself in. Jonathan sits beside you, carefully moving your arm into his lap to have open access to your lovely veins. He takes care not to blow your vein, a mistake he learned not to make again. It left your arm sore and tender and you had no explanation for it and made you suspicious. He is well versed in your body now; he knows how hard and rough he can play with you before he starts leaving marks.

He breaks your skin with the pierce of a needle and floods your veins with the newest adjustment to his serum. You whine and squirm beneath the covers. It takes you a moment to settle. He pulls the needle out, thumb coming down to close over the injection site, the smallest trickle of blood circles the imprint of his thumb.

Fatigue washes at the corners of his mind. He hadn’t planned on spending near this amount of time here. You’re lucky that he feels this need for you, this abhorrent need to possess. It disgusts and confuses and delights him. He’s never felt this way before. He’s looked past all other women, knowing they could never satisfy any need in him, too vapid to keep up with him and his desires and research. But with your sweet, little face and pliant body and mind, he can make room for you in his busy life. You and his projects. That hole that Granny left in his heart, that rotted and festered until his insides were all infected and black, can be filled with you.

If you were anyone else, he would be done with you. Pump you full of fear toxin until you’re blue in the face and frothing at the mouth. Watch that light drain from your eyes and wait for the death rattle.

Your breathing rapidly now, short and shallow like you can’t suck in a full breath. An unintended consequence. Your brow draws down and your lips go tight in a grimace. His hand wraps around your throat not to cut off your airflow but to feel the jump in your pulse.

He wonders what you dream of now, what apparitions your mind has conjured for you in your nightmare. He hopes it’s him or at least the outline of him, something eclipsed in shadow, just a figure stalking you through the dark who watches and waits for the perfect moment to grab you up in his claws. He kisses you on your forehead, the bridge of your nose, and finally lands on your lips. He doesn’t mind the lack of movement. His tongue snakes out to push at the seam of your lips and uses his free hand to push against the sides of your mouth to open up your jaw. He licks into your mouth with caution—he never knows when you’ll bite back. And underneath the taste of toothpaste, he can trace the alcohol and cigarette smoke on your tongue. It’s disgusting. He’s never taken you for a smoker. In all his time with you, he’s never seen as much as a pack of cigarettes hidden in your purse. That’s something he’ll have to remedy.

He pulls away from you, smug at the sight of his saliva coating you in shine on your face. His hands fall to cup your breasts. Jonathan is a greedy man. He can’t stop with just the look of terror on your face.

Dirty, filthy, disgusting little boy! Granny used to call him. She would drag him out of bed by the hair of his head and put him over her knee, hitting him with a leather belt on the rear to drive the filthy sin out of him, the same sin his momma had. Should have beaten her like this. Wouldn’t have this awful excuse of a boy wandering around my house. She would beat him until his rear turned red and bled. Always have to clean up your messes, soiling your sheets with your filth.

Yes, you are the same as him. Greedy, disgusting, filthy. You want this just as bad as he does. He sees your hips writhing and hears your pitchy moans. This is what drew him to you, your sickening mix of confused and fearful arousal.

He slips his hands under your shirt and plays with your nipples. He tugs and tweaks at them until they are hard and you’re unable to stop pushing yourself into his hands. How beautiful, how sweet. His filthy girl. You are cut from the same cloth. Yes, he knows what you want but he won’t give it to you, that will be your punishment for making him wait.

Your skin is soft to the touch, tempting him to venture further. He’s bolder now than when he first started this relationship with you. Jonathan moves easier, comfortable in his skin as he touches you. He had been nervous once, could still hear Granny in his head telling him how disgusting he was. The idea of touching your skin with his bare hand sent him reeling and after he’d finally squashed that voice in his head and touched you without the barrier of his gloves in his way, he couldn’t see you for a week.

You filthy boy! Filling your head with such dark wickedness, such perversion. I know what you wanted. You’re just like your mother–a whore!

He pushes a hand beneath the waistband of your underwear, fingers brushing over the thick thatch of hair before pushing them through your folds. Already so wet. You know he’s here and think he will reward you. You thrash in terror, fingers curling in your sheets, and sweat breaks out across your skin. You whimper in his grasp. He circles your clit with a steady rhythm until he has your hips bucking into his hand and wrenches his hand back when you start to seek out pleasure.

He pulls his hand from your underwear and undoes the button and zipper of his pants. He takes himself in hand. It’s easy and quick, a few strokes and your pinched expression is enough for him. He spills himself over your thigh and smears the mess around. You’ll wake up hungover and won’t ask any questions, chalk it up to being too drunk and too clumsy for your own good. You’ll shower and move on with your day. You’ll go to the zoo and watch the bears lumber around in their enclosures and come home and make lunch to avoid spending more money than you have to. The first is right around the corner, your fridge and pantry will be a little barer for it.

One day, you won’t have to worry about that. He’ll take you away from this dingy apartment, away from everyone that could hurt you–something that should be reserved for him–and keep you. All you would have to do is let him fill you up with fear toxin and love him. Your life would be so much easier that way.

You’re a creature of habit. So why are you leaving earlier and earlier in the mornings and coming home later and later? He tries to map out this new routine you seem hellbent on making but he can’t pin you down. You no longer go to the store on Mondays, you don’t go to the movies or out to eat at your usual haunts. On the weekends, you’re never home. He waits and waits, feeling that hole in his heart begin to fester and ooze again. He cuts holes in your clothes and stretches out elastic, he shreds your books to ribbons, breaks your CDs in half. He burns your collection of ticket stubs from the movies and the zoo. He looks upon his destruction with glee and vindication. Jonathan hides back in your closet when he hears the door unlatch. He sits in giddy silence as you take in the mess of your apartment.

You pick up the pieces with tears in your eyes and wretched, hiccuping breaths.

It serves you right.

It’s Friday again. You’ve been following your schedule again. You go back to your old habits but you’re more jumpy, skittish if you come home a few minutes later. You look over your shoulder for him, as if you would ever see him coming.

It’s Friday night and you’re not home.

It’s two in the morning on Saturday and you’re not home.

He seethes and riles himself up in the closet. This is it. You’re no longer worth the hassle. There will always be another. (That’s not true and he knows it. You're one of a kind, he’ll never feel the same about anyone else again.)

The door unlocks. You’re giggling and trying to whisper, but he can still hear your drunk slurring. A man laughs. Which way to the bedroom?

Betrayal colors him. He hasn’t been as obvious with his ownership, his presence alone should be enough for you to understand that you belong to him and no other. Hasn’t he done enough? Given you enough? It would have been so easy to take you away from your job, your life, and tucked you away with him in his laboratory, safe and sound in your captivity. He wants you dead, he wants you all to himself. He’s given you too much freedom and he will have to clip your wings, remind you just who you belong to.

You’re on your back intertwined with him, giggles breaking off into high pitched moans. It should be him making you writhe and moan like that. You belong to him. In the throes of pleasure, you drag the man to lay over your chest and reach up to kiss him. It’s sloppy and he can catch the shine of saliva on yours and his mouth. The petulant thought bullies its way to the front of his mind—that’s his toy, his little mouse, his his his.

Your head lolls to the side, peering straight through the slats of your closet doors at him. Oh and how he forgives you! You don’t know what you’re doing, too confused by your own need that you don’t realize that that’s what he’s here for. Poor, impatient little mouse. You feel the invisible chain linking you to him. He will help you. His girl with starry eyes and a pretty smile.

He slips from the closet, no longer content to watch and stew in his jealousy. He grabs the fabric shears sitting on your side table and opens the blade. With a tight yank of the man’s shorn hair, Jonathan tugs him up from your chest and slices through the man’s throat ear to ear. He cuts himself on the palm of his hand as he guides the blade. You scream as blood washes over you, holding your hands out to protect yourself from the spray of it. The man weakly bats behind him, trying to get him but as soon as he starts, his hands are back down, hanging limply against his sides. The strong spray begins to slow as he empties himself all over your and your bed. The man gurgles. He throws him off the side of the bed and peers down at you through his burlap mask.

“You…” you gasp. “You’re real.” You look up at him. Your mouth and chest shine with blood, your eyes wide and frightened.

“Yes.” He straddles your hips and doses you up with a sedative. It will be dangerous given your alcohol consumption, but he will take good care of you. He always does.

“I thought you were a dream,” you whisper. You cling to his arm as you fade out of consciousness.

“I am. Sleep and continue to dream, little mouse.” He kisses your forehead. “You’re going home.”

You come to work with bags under your eyes and lethargy in your steps. You wave off the concerns of your coworkers and assure them that you had some trouble sleeping. They nod, knowing all too well of your sleeping problem. It's been going on for months now, but it’s starting to take a toll on you.

“Maybe Doctor Crane can prescribe you something?”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to bother him.” You laugh it off, fingers crawling over your forearm to your inner elbow. You smile. “I’ll just get some melatonin and a white noise machine. I’m sure it’s just me taking on too much. Arkham needs another social worker, can’t keep doing this all by myself.”

#possible pt 2? who knows what i'll do next #jonathan crane x you #jonathan crane x reader #scarecrow x you #scarecrow x reader #x reader #my writing

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sweet-honey-tears · 2 years ago

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Shouldn’t you Sleep?

Shinso x GN!Reader

OverView: Shinso starts feeling guilty at how much you stay up with him.

Back again! This was a request and I hope you enjoy it! I did go a bit off script but I hope that’s all good! I haven’t done a actual story in awhile- so it’s a bit rough but also works as head cannons. 🤍

How long can a person stare at the ceiling before their eyes shift the colors and shadows? Till they form shapes? ‘Maybe it's my quirk’ a younger you once thought. Oh how naive you where. But now, staring at your ceiling still, you kinda wish it where true. At least the ceiling would be slightly more entertaining. But instead, you sort through memories at 2am. Recalling a time in middle school where you turned to your stuffed animals, asking why you could never sleep.

Oddly, maybe due to your actual quirk, your dark circles never really showed. Sure they were there but you looked like every other teenager; dark circles from lack of sleep or bad allergies. Which maybe is a good things, you’re pretty sure people would start thinking your Azawias kid if they really showed.

Your work/patrol schedule didn’t help, always randomly studying, and taking any opportunity to work with your mentor- who only worked at night or early morning. You were all fucked up. Sometimes powering through days with energy drinks and random naps when Azawia would let you - somehow he knew. Maybe he could just sense insomnia in people…. Speaking of which

Denki was the one who introduced you to Shinso, a flirty introduction but also mentioning how the two of you always seemed to yawn at the same time….. and you hit it off. At some point, Shinso mentioned his trouble sleeping and you offered the option of talking whenever he couldn't sleep. And he took you up on the offer unintentionally.

Shinso called you, confused about something evolving he recent English homework, but it ended up with a long conversation. And then suddenly, it just stopped. Just froze. And when Shinso looked back down at his phone, he realized it was 11 pm. You school tomorrow morning and then patrol tomorrow night till early morning- you probably fell asleep on the phone or ended the call.

But then there was a knock at his door- which He didn’t respond to the first time , or the second, but pulled himself up on the third. His feet dragged on the carpet as he answered it. Peering down at you, his mouth opened slightly at your appearance. You were in Pajamas, a large shirt with Pink Floyd on it(some American band he's heard you listen to), and black checkered sleep pants. Around your shoulders rested a fluffy gray blanket and a dead phone rested in your palms.

“Sorry about that.” You had sheepishly said.

It started with you at his desk chair. Swiveling around as he leaned against his headboard. Both of you talking mindlessly. An occasional yawn slips past either of your lips. Around 3 am is when you fall asleep, passed out on his chair in the most uncomfortable position possible. How you managed to even stay asleep was a mystery.

This continued for a while till Shinso’s own guilt started to creep into his mind. You stood up one night, stretched, and wished him well. You had a patrol with your mentor in one hour and needed to get ready. You were gone for 6 hours… Then you came back that night to talk to him.

It didn’t help when he found you passed out in the common room or slouched against your desk asleep. Was he being selfish keeping you up to talk to him?

You were on Shinso’s bed, laying down as the both of you talked. Your hands were up in the air as you examined the nail polish Shinso used for you. A nice navy blue color, he muttered that it matched your hero costume kinda well. Shinso sat on the ground near the bed, picking at the dark purple polish painted on his fingers. His guilt picking away at him as you audibly yawned again.

“Y/N”

“Yeah.”

“You know you don’t have to stay up with me, right?”

“Hm?” You russel around, turning on your side to look at the tall purpled hair man.

“I mean you don’t need to have to stay up. You have patrol in the nights to early mornings, and I’ve seen you chugging those drinks( referencing energy drinks) too.” Shinso sighs, his head rolling back on the bed to look up at you.

“Oh… Shin, I…I got insomnia” you whisper out as if a loud voice would break the air. Shinso just stares at you, his eyes scanning your face for any hint of a joke. But nothing- absolutely nothing.

“I guess we share more in common than we thought.” Shinso sighs, a small smile tugging his lips. The weight on his shoulders seeming to evaporate at your confession.

Your hand sneaks down, combing through his purple hair before messing it up. A small laugh escaping your lips at the odd angle the hair sticks out at the end of it.

“I guess so”

@afterhourswjay

#bnha headcannons #bnha fanfiction #bnha x reader #bnha fluff #bnha writing #shinsou headcanons #hitoshi shinso x y/n #hitoshi shinso x reader #shinsou x reader #shinso x reader #shinso fluff #mha shinso x reader #mha shinso hitoshi #mha headcanons #🪴request/ questions🪴

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yunessa · 4 months ago

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Owlcattober Day 7: Lamplight

In my fanfic, Roan is the Necromancer cultist who resurrected the dead in the cemetery in act 2. Given a second chance he's working for the crusade. Some mild gore-y description below and pre-Leper's Smile spoilers as a warning.

“It is… day four into my imprisonment.” Roan’s rough voice spoke softly as he worked. “No, not imprisonment- since I started working for the crusade. Day four since I started working for the crusade.” His acidic green eyes moved over the severed head that lay on the table. “And I am now working on severed head number two.” The lamplight in the tent was weak, but his eyes were accustomed to far dimmer circumstances to work by so he kept the lamplight dim.

A row of silver tools lay next to the head. All of them were cleaned, sharpened, and polished. Ready for his use much like the pad of paper and writing utensil on the other side of the head. When he pretended to be a tailor’s apprentice, Roan used his minions to perform basic tasks for him. But now, he was alone, forbidden from using his magic without supervision. The young crusader that had been watching him had grown nauseous when Roan had dissected the first head.

“The first head held no traces of abnormalities.” It hurt for him to speak. But there was a comfort to hearing his voice and performing tasks he was suited for in this camp. “It belonged to a middle aged man, cause of death not apparent.” His voice held no emotion as the silver tool flashed in the candle light.

“Without the rest of the body, a certain cause of death cannot be certain. No blood remains within it, despite the head seeming freshly decapitated.” Without using a minion to write his words for him, he was slowed down in his investigation. But if it bothered the man, then it didn’t show. Nothing he did was alarming- he didn’t even try to slip the chains on his limbs, heavy and loud though they were.

He simply stopped using his tools long enough to write any findings he had in his spidery scrawl. In that he was professional, even when denied use of his magic. “There is no rot to be found on the second head, even when it is not preserved by any magic.” He paused. “Not any I know or would have used, though it is possible the fluid…” He trailed off. “I have no way to identify whatever fluid has replaced the blood. Samples will be taken and preserved under supervision when the crusader watching me has given permission.”

He set down one tool, picked up another with a wickedly sharp edge and silver pliers. “Now we shall-” He raised his head as he listened to footsteps crunch in the snow outside of his tent, placing a rag to cover the head in time for a blond halfling to poke her head in the tent.

“Heya! Oh- am I interrupting?” The halfling’s nose wrinkled and she held a hand to her nose. “I could leave if you were busy.” Her voice was aggressively cheerful. It grated at him.

Roan, standing behind the table, with his dirty mortuary tools and his hand over the severed head didn’t know quite what to say to that. “Am I being summoned by the Knight Commander?” He asked instead, not sure what to do with the brightly coloured halfling.

“Summoned? No! I don’t think so. I came to say hello! The name’s Nurah, Nurah Dendiwhar- I’m the crusade’s historian!” She put her hand over her chest and beamed. “I know some of the crusaders aren’t being too nice to you- so I baked a loaf of bread for you! You’re looking kind of dirty. Did you need any soap or-”

“State what you want or leave.” She was just a halfling, smaller than the human necromancer with pink and blue clothes and bright blond hair. But something about her entering his tent alone, with no fanfare or orders, set Roan on edge, full of suspicion.

“That’s rude, you know. I was just trying to be friendly!” Nurah protested.

“And I’m dating the queen” He retorted. “State your business.” As Nurah pouted at him he rested one hand behind the covered head, using it to hide the way he gripped his mortuary knife.

“Okay. I heard the crusaders talking about you. They sounded like they haven’t been treating you alright.” She admitted. “The guy that was watching you is trying to flirt with the Eagle Watch marksman so I thought I’d slip inside.”

Roan remained silent and when it was obvious he would remain silent Nurah sighed at him. She walked up to the table and set down a thick loaf of bread wrapped in waxed paper. It smelled strongly of spices, fresh.

“I thought you might like some warm bread. You don’t have to talk to me- but maybe I could put in a good word with the Commander if you help me out!” She beamed at Roan. “I’ve never talked to a real necromancer before.”

“Anyway,” Nurah continued. “Maybe next time we can talk.” Her expression twisted into sympathy. “I heard some of what they’ve been doing to you. Nobody deserves to be treated like that.” Her expression brightened and she waved. “Have a nice day!”

And just like that, Nurah turned, walking out of his tent as easily as she left it.

Roan exhaled slowly and waited several minutes before he turned his attention to the load of bread. Leaving the head for now, he moved to examine it. “Plain wax paper.” He whispered as he cut through the wax with paranoid care.

Inside was a nice roll of bread, smelling of cinnamon. The bread was still warm to the touch of his cold fingers, soft when he pressed his finger against the loaf. His eyes narrowed and with the same surgical precision he used dissecting the head, he now applied to dissecting the loaf. His suspicions were rewarded when the knife found something in the soft bread and he used his other hand to peel the bread away.

A metal key came free of the bread and he studied the rough metal, turning it so it caught the lamplight. Breadcrumbs were still stuck to the metal from when it was baked into the loaf. “Simple steel key.” He whispered before looking at his chained hands. “But is it the key for me?” He slid the key into one of the locks and it fit like it was made for them.

His fingers began to tremble as he started to twist it. He could feel it as the mechanism inside the lock started to move and his heart began to race as he stopped. Pulling the key out, tucking it away inside his clothes in time for loud laughter coming from outside his tent.

He quickly scooped up the bread, tossing it away. “Nurah.” He repeated the name, committing it to memory, as his heart beat madly. “What is this for?” There was no answer to his whispered question in the tent. His hands trembled but he pulled away from the tent entryway.

Nurah’s gift of a key to his chains wasn’t a gift out of kindness- was it? “No.” He whispered. “No kindness there. Not for no reason.” He moved to stand at the entrance to his tent, listening to the crusaders outside. He could unlock these chains…

Then, with effort he forced himself to return to the table, pulling the rag off the head. “No.” He said firmly to the severed head. “No.” He rasped as his voice threatened to break. “If I put my son in danger for this… no. Where was I? I remember. Samples. We will take samples once I have examined the teeth. From there we will progress to the eyes. I need to hurry to finish this examination before the commander comes to find me or- I don’t know.” His voice fell quiet and he grabbed more oil to fill the lamp with.

“I must hurry. Pharasma look kindly upon my work.”

#pwtor pals #pathfinder #pathfinder: wrath of the righteous #nurah #roan

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astranite · 10 months ago

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WIP Late-Wednesday

Scott needed help. Scott asks for help even if its just a little thing.

This is a part of a scene I've had in my mind for a while that follows my fic Close Call. Ao3. Probably is still comprehensible if you havent read it but like also look more earth and sky!! So here a rough partial version though its got a fair amount to it and words for a wip Wed so here!! Enjoy the earth and sky moment.

---

Scott let out a growl of frustration, flapping his hand about in an attempt to dislodge the tape. A foolish attempt, he found, as it flipped around and stuck to the other side of his hand. So now it was sticking! It hadn't before to the point and clearly the adhesive wasn’t the problem, it was very effective except at going where he wanted it!

He wadded up another ball of the athletic tape to join the other attempts. At this rate he was going to run out before he managed to get any to stick where he wanted it. He was trying to take care of his shoulder and do all the right things. He’d done his physio exercises each morning with Gordon after their respective swim and run so he wouldn’t forget and Gordon would tell him if he thought he was pushing himself too hard. He’d worn the sling, even though he hated having an arm immobilised.

He really was for once trying to take care of himself because he’d actually listened to Virgil even when it took both of them having a sobbing breakdown for it to stick, but the entire universe seemed dead set against it. The ugly, beige tape and bits of paper backing stared up at him from where they were strewn across his bathroom counter. A couple had even landed in the sink. Scott averted his eyes, same as he’d done from the mirror, staring instead at his bare feet. There was yet another failed attempt fallen down there. The blue polish from when he’d let Gordon paint his nails was still stuck to them. He wriggled his toes into the fluffy bathmat in an attempt to distract himself.

As he rolled his right shoulder backwards, the joint popped and clicked. It had healed up alright after he’d dislocated it weeks back so Virgil and Grandma were finally letting him back on active rescue duty. Not just light duty protocols where he wasn’t even allowed out of One no matter how much he ached to help properly. Virgil’s firm commands and the memory of his terrified anger, along with the way John’s eyes had widened, expression crumpling the one time he’d almost moved had kept him in his seat.

Scott pulled his shirt back on. At least now he wasn’t gasping in pain every time he had to manoeuvre his arm into the sleeve. His shoulder was pretty much back to its usual level of dull hurt if he overworked it and sharp stabs if he did something really weird. Virgil had also informed him when he accidentally said this that it wasn't normal for it to hurt all the time at all without a current injury. So that was something too.

His feet took him to the lounge room where he knew Virgil would be painting right now, what was left of the roll of tape in hand. He let himself walk up to Virgil’s easel, like this was totally normal, like he wasn’t doing anything new, or unprecedented. There was nothing to be nervous about. He bit at the inside of his cheek.

A deep breath in, let it out. Then: “Hey Virge.”

Virgil immediately looked up from his stunning landscape of the island, brows nearly meeting in the middle.

Yup very normal, Scott. Virgil the musician totally wouldn't notice how his voice was a pitch higher than usual.

“What’s up?” Virgil began cautiously.

Scott balled his hands into fists before consciously relaxing them.

QOUTE

QUOTE

The memories played back in his mind. He could just ask.

“Virgil, I need your help?”

It came out as more of a question than Scott had meant. He was ready to stuff the words back down his throat in the second of silence that followed.

His brother stiffened minutely, grip tightening around his paintbrush. But then he smiled up at Scott, putting the brush into cloudy turquoise water in the jar.

“Sure, what with?”

Oh.

Like that Virgil was ready to help him.

Scott head spun, he’d been holding his breath and he let it out shakily. Why the hell was this harder than jumping out of One? He was just asking Virgil for help with what was objectively a small task and it wasn’t like they didn’t ever help patch each other up and check over gear on missions. But this time it was him approaching and doing the asking.

“My shoulder, I’ve been trying to strap it up for today, like you said.” He waved the tape around vaguely.

Virgil settled a hand on his uninjured shoulder, grounding him with the weight.

Scott let himself lean into it. Impulsively, he tipped forward so he could hug his brother press their foreheads together.

Virgil’s deep brown eyes widened in surprise before softening at the edges.

He rested a warm hand at the back of Scott neck, smiling at him.

“I’m happy to help.”

Scott closed his eyes, letting the relief sink in and hope to fix this moment in his mind so next time it was something big he’d remember this.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #virgil tracy #astrawrite #earth and sky #wip wednesday

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snail-eggs · 1 year ago

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1.1 Saturday | film

synopsis: It hurts. 2,191 days later and it still hurts. Juno Connors is haunted by the death of her best friend. Haunted by the unfinished documentary Juno refuses to let die along with him. But it has proved difficult. The subject---washed-up skating legend, Ronnie Allen; her best friend’s childhood hero who suddenly went missing sometime in the early 90s---is less than cooperative. She spends months in London trying to get him to cooperate and she gets nothing for it in return. Nothing of value, nothing to make all the dollars and time spent worth it. Until she meets a young sergeant, that is. Juno meets Sergeant Kyle “Gaz” Garrick and sets herself on a course for healing through this newfound intimacy. It makes her think that, just maybe, she can finish this fucking documentary and never have to face Ronnie Allen again.

a/n: my god, there's no way it took me a year to polish this one chapter. anyway, here it is over 365 days later.

The air in Carlsbad is different. Tinged with a saltiness from the sea that Juno can taste on her lips, the breeze at the perfect speed, perfect temperature. She knocks on the rickety old trailer’s door, wishing that she had taken a fleeting moment to film this. This beach—it's gorgeous. Tucked away into its own lonesome corner with a view to die for. Given the chance, Juno’d retire off to here too. She sighs. Bites her lip.

It shouldn’t be her that’s doing this,

She’s staring out at the waves lapping at the shore, a half step off the trailer’s poor excuse for a porch, listening to the way they crash against the rocks and land. She doesn’t deserve to be here, in his place. The door swings open with a creak so loud, she swears it's about to fall off its hinges. Actually, the hinges themselves look more ready to fall off the frame than anything. Charming, she thinks. Gives the whole thing some real character—

“You lost?” —like it needs any more.

Before her, Ralph DiMaggio stands in all his leathery, sun bleached glory. But burgeoning against his loud button up. But he looks at her softly—kindly, cutting through the rough image she had about him entirely and she can see it in his eyes, in his slight smile with a missing canine. He looks happy. Sober. Completely unlike how Fish described him in the notes he left. Juno feels half bad for expecting to find him at the bottom of a bottle, a mess.

“No, you’re exactly who I’m looking for.” She finally takes that full step up to the trailer, extends her hand. He takes it. “My name is Juno Connors—you met my partner, Hayden Fisher, like around a year ago.” Eyes empty, searching for something in the recesses of his mind, Juno can tell he doesn’t remember Fish. It hurts a little. “For the Ronnie Allen doc…” Now she’s searching too— reaching , hoping that he remembers. “He was, uh, a little obsessive about wanting to… to solve Ronnie’s disappearance from, well, the public and then probably never called you back?” She’s fumbling now. Feels like a fucking idiot.

And then it clicks.

“Yeah,” he moves out of the way, gestures for her to come in, “Yeah, no, I remember him, Kid was a lot.”

Juno laughs—well, breathes out a laugh more so than actually laughing. He’s right, he was a lot. Too much, even. She gets it, really, she does. No one could ever entirely stomach him quite like her. Supposes she’s just adept at tolerating the intolerable.

“Why didn’t he ever call back?”

“Thing is, he was going to but he died back in March, so.”

“I’m sorry.”

She gives a shrug that feels all sorts of wrong. “Yeah,”

Reaching into her bag, she flashes him a tight-lipped smile. Her way of saying It’s okay because she doesn’t really know how else to without making it worse, the awkwardness, or sounding like more of an idiot than she already does. Because she’s faced it now: Juno’s blowing this interview and it hasn’t even started. This isn’t her beat, isn’t what she does. No, her job was to sit there and point the camera at someone while Fish did all the heavy lifting. All the talking, But Fish is gone now and there’s still lifting to be done.

The lavalier mic is heavy in her hand, heavier than she knows it really is. She gestures vaguely with it. “I’m here now. For that interview—only if you want to, obviously.”

“Gotta be a little more assertive than that, Junie. A lot more.” He says suddenly like he’s known her forever. Her brows furrow. “Be a bitch, it's the only way you’ll get what you want from old pieces of shit like me.” Ralph eases himself into a chair that groans under his weight, points his finger at her. “That’s a fact.”

“If that’s the case, is this old piece of shit gonna give me what I want or did I drive all the way down here for you to waste my time?” Juno cocks her head to the side. If assertive is what he wants, it's assertive that he’ll get.

Ralph spreads his arms out, smiles wide—proud—missing tooth and all. “Mic me, Junie.” She can’t help it, she smiles too.

And she does—has him clip the recorder to his waistband right on the small of his back as she loops the microphone on its wire wire through the inside of his shirt shirt and settles it on the collar. The camera comes to her like second nature; the setting up of it is a process that doesn’t take all that much thought. Ralph watches her and she doesn’t give him so much as a glance. In her periphery, he’s merely a skin colored blob. She pretends it's Fish sitting there instead as she screws the camera onto the tripod as tight as it goes. It's locked. Ralph shifts around in his seat like he’s never been interviewed before. Juno suddenly realizes that it's probably been forever since the last time. Makes her feel a little better about her uselessness.

The journal is the last piece. One she has to cross the room for—left it on Ralph’s kitchen counter before she mic’d him—her strides and the weight of her warping the vinyl flooring. It burns her hands when she grabs it. Impossible, she knows, but it burns them. With grief, with the corrosive acidity of expectations not met and even worse, expectations she’s not sure she can meet at all.

But she has to try, that’s what this is all about. She looks back at Ralph. Relaxes her shoulders.

“So, what do you know about Ronnie Allen?”

He nearly hits her twice.

Wild, drunk hands wave around mere inches from her camera. From her face. Juno is sick of looking at him. At that ugly mug of his, at the tattoos that have bled deep into every wrinkle and crevice of it. Like runny ink on shitty paper. She looks at him with loathing. Juno’s sick of London now too. She sets her camera on the bar, takes a lazy sip of her beer, and just looks at him. He’s all washed-up. Fucking pathetic now. He’s nothing. He stares back at Juno, like maybe she’s a little off, when she sets down the camera. His wild hands fall into his lap, his story stops.

The rim of the bottle is still at her lips, “Ron, that’s not what I asked you.”

“What?”

“I didn’t ask you about the fucking glory days,” she’s heard enough about the glory days to last a lifetime, “I asked you about what happened after.”

He squeezes his eyes shut real tight, “After?” How he manages to slur just a single word so monumentally, Juno doesn’t know.

“Yeah, Ronnie, after .” It’s still not clicking. “Jesus, Ron—I asked about Merced.” The location rolls off her tongue but it's Ronnie’s face that twists into one of disgust. She can’t seem to break him. It feels like pulling teeth, trying to get him to talk about Merced.

She doesn’t want to feel this way. Not tonight.

Juno’s sick of it all. The poking, the prodding, when she knows—deep down inside, she knows —that he won’t talk. He’s a stubborn old fuck. Ronnie will keep her in the dark until she gives up because that’s exactly what he wants. He wants her to run home with her tail between her legs but she won’t. She cannot and will not let Fish’s life’s work collapse in on itself over a lousy drunk. She doesn’t care that the drunk in question was his hero once upon a time. He’s nothing to her and nothing he’ll stay if he can’t give her what she fucking needs.

It’s been six years that she’s wasted on this. What’s six more?

“You’re still chasin’ this shit,”

“Trust me, I’m not happy about it either.” Juno doesn’t like the way her voice sounds. It’s quiet, comes from deep in her throat, all tired and flat. This isn’t her. But maybe it is now. After Fish, after all this mess, maybe this is who she is.

Fingers twitching around the neck of her bottle, gripping it just a little too tight, Juno looks out over Ronnie’s shoulder. Out at the other patrons of the bar that are surely having a far better night than she is. And then she feels it. The burning of eyes fixated on her. Juno’s own scan the crowd again more carefully now.

“When’re you just gonna quit?” She doesn’t hear it, not really. All her attention’s focused on the other lonely soul across the bar. The bill of his cap casts a shadow over his eyes but Juno knows, without a doubt that he’s looking at her. Staring. So she stares back. Narrows her eyes a little—hoping that if she squints hard enough, she can bend all laws of reality and really see him.

But she can’t. So she inches away from the bar, breaks his gaze for just a second to tell Ronnie plainly, and maybe even a little too loudly that “If anything happens to this camera, I’m never leaving you alone, got it?” And he shrugs. Waves it off like he does with everything else that she says. But he reaches his arm out to where Juno was sitting. Lazily slides the camera into his chest like he’s protecting it in his own half-assed way. Juno doesn’t hover.

Stands of fading blue fall into her face as she wades through the crowd that feels like its only getting denser by the second. She doesn’t bother to tuck them out of the way. Just keeps making her way through. When the crowd breaks, the air feels lighter, cooler; her lungs have room to expand.

And, finally, she can see the eyes that gazed upon her from across the bar.

“You have a staring problem,” there’s a grin there. The most genuine one that’s graced her face in, hell, six years, probably.

“You came all this way to tell me that?”

She shrugs, “And a couple other things.” Juno sits down right across from him. Feels kind of giddy talking to someone new, kiddy like knowing without any real proof that you’ve met someone good. Someone solid. “So, do you always look at random women like that or should I feel special?”

He, whoever he is, smirks a little. Juno can tell he’s trying to fight it but it comes through anyway. “Like what?” He's handsome. Soft behind the eyes.

“Y’know,” she leans into the table, smile reaching her eyes now despite the subtleness of it. “Like there’s no one else here but me. Like I’m the only one worth talking to—and I am, by the way. I am so worth talking to.”

“Can’t have much of a conversation if I don’t even know your name.”

“Well, who said that?”

Words catch in his throat a little and Juno smirks. Bottom lip caught in her teeth. Just tell me your name.”

“Juno.” Said so quick she’s barely even sure he heard it.

“Like the movie?”

She gives him a look. It’s a yes and no answer—more no than yes. “Just the way it’s spelled. They named me after the place in Alaska, just wanted to feel special, I guess.”

“It suits you,” they haven’t broken each other’s gaze. Not once and Juno feels like she’s drowning in the particular shade of brown of his irises.

“I’d hope so, it’s the only name I got.” There’s more of a twang there than she’d like. She wonders if he’d be able to place it, her accent. Knows there’s no way in hell she could place his no matter how hard she tried. “What about you; what’d you get saddled with?”

“Kyle,” Juno nods. Her own silent way of telling him that she thinks his name suits him too. “Most people call me Gaz, though.”

“Why?”

“Haven’t got a clue.” He takes a sip from his glass. Juno wants to reach out and grab it. Take a sip from it too. The impulse is so strong and she’s not entirely sure why. Maybe it's one of those weird intrusive things. Or maybe, it's her desire for closeness that hasn’t been sated in years. Hell, she can’t remember the last time she hugged somebody—really hugged somebody; fingers gripping at clothes, digging into skin, a mouthful of hair. All that. The closest she’s gotten is hauling Ronnie into bed when he’s too wasted to do it himself. And sometimes she lingers. Lets him keep his grip on her wrist while he begs her for a glass of water. She supposes that she likes the warmth.

Oftentimes, she wonders what it’s like to be held. In all honesty, Juno’s forgotten it and so now she looks at Gaz, a stranger she’s shared but a handful of words with, and—more than anything—just wants a hug. Is that so much to ask for; to be held for even a fraction of a second?

She needs to go home, she thinks. Desperation’s not all that good of a look on her.

Gaz’s eyes narrow in on her in a way she can’t quite read. The feeling of his gaze is sharper. Precise. Juno feels naked. Feels like he can read her mind. But it softens and suddenly she can breathe. He nods at her, lowers his glass. “What’s that about?”

And her brows furrow before he points at her shirt. Juno looks down. Lindsay Lohan’s mugshot is decorating her torso and she breathes out a laugh. He laughs with her.

“What, you don’t like it?” She teases.

“Never said that .”

“You could wear it if you want—actually, we might be the same size.”

“Yeah?” Juno nods when he says it, smiling so wide that her cheeks are starting to hurt. “I mean, we could test out that theory.”

The chatter from the crowd behind her is getting louder. Bar stools scrape against the ground with an ear shattering screech. Juno shrugs, smirking a little, “I’m down if you are.”

Then, a resounding crack.

Juno and Gaz both whip their heads in the direction of the bar. Juno’s mouth gapes as she watches the bartender clutch his nose. Sees the blood on Ronnie’s fist. Her heart pounds. He can’t get can’t get caught up like this, he can’t afford it— she can’t afford it. Juno lurches from her chair, toppling it over as Gaz calls her name. She shoves and elbows her way through the crowd now surrounding Ronnie and grabs him roughly by the arm. Drags him with all her might and it doesn’t take much. He’s already long gone—the lights are on and no one’s home. So he stumbles on after her.

Juno doesn’t even get to spare Gaz a glance as she and Ronnie barrel through the door.

The mini-bar in this hotel is piss-poor, Juno thinks as she lines up the third tiny bottle of vodka on the windowsill. Really. She’s had better liquor from forgotten bottles in the back of Ronnie’s cabinets. Maybe he just has better taste than the hotel staff. Juno doesn’t really care either way. Her night’s over before it even started and she wishes she’d gone home with Gaz. He was cute, nice enough. Would’ve been a fun time, she bets, but instead she’s stuck here in her room emptying the mini-bar and wondering if this is just some ugly habit she picked up from six years and counting with Ronnie. Day in and day out. She grimaces. Takes another tiny bottle and sits on the bed.

She’s got more notes for this documentary than Fish ever had. It gives her a pang in the chest, the thought. Makes her eyes water. She breaks the seal on the bottle. The transcript for Ralph’s interview haunts her on her desktop, among others. Juno goes for her browser instead. Her fingers work quicker than her mind—she’s looking at departing flights before she knows it.

There’s a few she can catch before Ronnie wakes up in the morning and calls her asking why his knuckles are all bloody.

It isn’t the first time that she’s thought maybe she’s gotten all that she ever will out of him. Even figured out how to wrap this doc up in a pretty little bow without knowing shit about the why of it all. Ronnie Allen, ex skating legend, is a good for nothing drunk that fell into obscurity because he felt like it. There is no real reason, no meaningful moment that made him run from everything he had. He’s a good for nothing dunk that abandoned everyone he knew and seems to feel just fine about it. Sure, it’s bleak but people’d eat that shit up. She knows she would.

Fish wouldn’t, though.

He always wanted to look deeper than the other documentarians, it’s why he started this one. He’d lose his mind if he found out she ditched it before seeing it through completely.

Juno downs the fourth bottle in one go. Her throat burns.

When she wakes, there’s hair all in her mouth. The room smells overwhelmingly like Fish’s living room. Juno buries her head in the sheets and refuses to breathe.

#carrie.fics #call of duty fanfic #kyle gaz garrick x oc #gaz garrick x oc #gaz fanfic #modern warfare x oc #gaz x oc #modern warfare fanfic #fic: film

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hanna-oc-irl · 4 months ago

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Interruption

She was doing well. Or at least, it’s what she convinced herself into believing. Hanna had spent weeks battling the darkness she’d inflicted upon herself. She pleaded with it, she shouted at it, she imagined punching it’s face in when she’d train. She ran from it sometimes, going as far as ten miles within an hour. It was all Hanna knew to do.

Hanna laid in her bed, her blankets pulled up to her neck, staring at the Read message below the most recent message. Void, her cat was on the floor batting around a little stuffed mouse, the rattling filling the quiet of her condo. The people she would’ve asked, the people she wanted to ask weren’t talking to her. Still weren’t talking to her. She’d reached out to them, asking to have a conversation, begging to get the chance to apologize. But all she got was her worst fear.

Silence.

It was in the silence she fell deeper and nearly became consumed by the darkness. It’s soothing destructive power was alluring more than she’d ever felt anything else be. Well, that was a lie. Mints was soothing. Mints helped her. Mints listened to her. Mints hadn’t done that in weeks. It pained her to be so far apart from the person she loved. The person she cared for more then herself. Hanna shut off her phone and set it screen-side up on her mattress, deciding to watch Void instead. Her frown slowly became a small smile as the black cat got the mouse stuck under her dresser.

It was odd to her, how easily she seemed to be coping with all of the drama currently happening around her. Maybe it was because of the people she’s met here, or the new life she’s begun to create for herself. Her heart warmed at the memory of her.. yeah. Her friends. Unlikely for sure, a few months ago, Hanna would’ve said you were crazy if you told her she’d be friends with a former (?) villain. But now, she was thankful she had them, Echo and Lord Garmadon. They didn’t know it, but they were part of the reason why she was able to get a handle on the darkness.

When her phone dinged, Echo agreeing to allow Hanna to come to the monastery to paint younger Echo’s nails, her smile widened further. It had been a rough few days. Her and Mints anniversary was today. She hesitated standing from her bed at the reminder. If they were still physically together, they’d be cuddling and reminiscing on the past year. The ups. The downs. The wild turns that made them sick to think about. She felt sick. She wanted to tell Echo never mind and crawl back under the covers.

Soft fur against her leg knocked her out of her trance. Looking down, Void was rubbing against her calf, his bright green eyes pointed up at her with a little meow. Hanna chuckled softly and scratched his head. “Lets get ready, were going to see your sister, June, again.” Void mewed happily and trotted off, grabbing his mouse in his teeth. Hanna could cry about her heartbreak and guilt later, right now, she had to fulfill a promise. A promise about nail polish and cat siblings. She would’ve fulfilled her promise, Hanna’s hand grabbed the knob of her bedroom when everything went south.

It came from nowhere, overwhelming all of her senses all at once. She smelled fear, her ears rang, she saw red, she felt cold and hot all at once, she could taste blood. The blood; her own. Hanna’s teeth gnawed on the flesh of her cheek as the breath was knocked out of her lungs. “Let go Hanna, allow me to feel for you instead.” It told her, the voice a cold honey that iced over the burning rage of her wailing heart.

Hanna wanted to fight it. She wanted to go to the monastery and paint younger Echo’s nails while they watched June and Void play wrestle. She wanted to give in and not have to feel this guilt anymore. Her eyes stung with unshed tears and her knees ached from the impact of them on her wood floor. Hanna’s door creaked, she opening it as she fell. Hanna begged the darkness, begged it to let her go, to leave her. But it didn’t listen and her vision went dark.

Silence.

Hours later, Hanna woke back up, when she sat on her floor, looking over to her very confused looking cat, she chuckled. It didn’t sound like her. Her cat’s ears folded back as she explained such a simple concept. She was doing well.

#hanna rp #hanna blogs #cat pog #in the chaos #LORE DROP #ooc// OH NO SHES GONE DARK MODE GANG HFBLAIEHFB #// she doesn't realize she's gone “dark” btw

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cherrygirlystuff · 6 months ago

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The Return of Grunge Pop: Why the Early 2000s Sound Is Dominating Playlists Again 🎧

Hey babe, if you’ve been noticing a certain gritty, nostalgic vibe creeping back into your playlists lately, you’re not alone. Grunge pop, that perfect blend of angsty lyrics, distorted guitars, and catchy hooks, is making a major comeback. 🌟 It’s like we’ve hit rewind on the music scene, and honestly? I’m here for it. Let’s dive into why this early 2000s sound is resonating so hard with today’s generation and why it’s taking over our playlists again. Ready to get grungy? Let’s go!

1. What Exactly Is Grunge Pop?

Before we get into why it’s back, let’s talk about what grunge pop actually is. Picture this: the raw, rebellious energy of grunge, mixed with the catchy, radio-friendly vibes of pop music. It’s the sound of angst and heartache, but with a sugar-coated twist that makes you want to sing along even as you’re feeling all the feels.

Musical Elements: Grunge pop blends the heavy, distorted guitars and gritty vocals of grunge with pop’s polished production and memorable hooks. It’s the kind of music that makes you want to headbang one minute and dance the next. Think early Avril Lavigne, Garbage, or even No Doubt during their edgier days.

Lyrical Themes: The lyrics often dive into themes of alienation, heartache, and rebellion—but with a pop sensibility that makes them accessible and relatable. It’s the perfect soundtrack for those days when you’re feeling a little out of place but still want to have a good time.

2. Nostalgia Is in Full Swing

Let’s be real—nostalgia is powerful. The early 2000s were a time of chunky highlights, low-rise jeans, and, of course, grunge pop blasting from our flip phones. As we’re seeing a resurgence of Y2K fashion and culture, it’s no surprise that the music is coming back too.

The Comfort of Familiar Sounds: In a world that’s constantly changing, there’s something comforting about revisiting the sounds of our past. Grunge pop brings back memories of simpler times, and for many, it’s a reminder of their teenage years—full of angst, rebellion, and discovering who they were.

TikTok’s Influence: TikTok has been a major player in bringing back early 2000s trends, including grunge pop. Songs from the era are being rediscovered and shared by a new generation, who are putting their own spin on the sound while celebrating its roots.

3. The Raw Emotion We Crave

Today’s music scene is full of polished, highly produced tracks, which are great—but sometimes, we crave something a little more raw, a little more real. That’s where grunge pop comes in. Its unfiltered emotion and gritty production stand out in a world of auto-tune and synths.

Relatability: The themes of grunge pop—heartbreak, rebellion, feeling like an outsider—are timeless. They resonate with today’s listeners just as much as they did back in the early 2000s. In an era of social media perfection, grunge pop’s honesty feels refreshing and relatable.

A Break from the Norm: Grunge pop offers an alternative to the glossy pop hits dominating the charts. It’s a little rough around the edges, a little messy, and that’s exactly what makes it so appealing. It’s a reminder that it’s okay to not have everything figured out—and to sing about it at the top of your lungs.

4. The Artists Leading the Revival

It’s not just the old favorites making a comeback—new artists are embracing the grunge pop sound and making it their own. These artists are blending the nostalgic elements of early 2000s grunge pop with modern influences, creating something that feels both familiar and fresh.

New Faces, Old Sounds: Artists like Billie Eilish and Olivia Rodrigo are channeling that early 2000s angst in their music, blending it with contemporary production and lyrics that speak to today’s generation. Their music is raw, emotional, and full of the kind of energy that defined grunge pop in its heyday.

Collaborations & Covers: We’re also seeing a trend of artists covering or sampling early 2000s hits, bringing them back into the spotlight with a new twist. It’s a celebration of the past, but with a fresh take that makes it feel current and exciting.

5. The DIY Spirit Lives On

Grunge pop was born out of the DIY ethos of the grunge movement, and that spirit is alive and well today. In an era where anyone can record and share music from their bedroom, the raw, unpolished sound of grunge pop is more accessible than ever.

The Appeal of Imperfection: There’s something incredibly appealing about music that isn’t overly produced. Grunge pop’s imperfections—whether it’s a crack in the voice or a fuzzy guitar riff—feel more human, more real. In a world of perfect Instagram feeds and curated lives, it’s a reminder that it’s okay to be messy.

Empowering the Next Generation: Today’s young musicians are picking up where their early 2000s predecessors left off, using the DIY spirit to create music that speaks to their experiences. They’re proving that you don’t need a big budget or a fancy studio to make something powerful—just a lot of heart and a little grit.

Final Thoughts, Babe: Grunge Pop Is Here to Stay

So why is grunge pop dominating our playlists again? It’s a mix of nostalgia, raw emotion, and the appeal of something real in a world that often feels anything but. Whether you’re rediscovering your old favorites or falling in love with the sound for the first time, there’s no denying that grunge pop is having a major moment.

So crank up those guitars, smudge on some eyeliner, and let’s embrace the return of grunge pop—because honestly? It never really left. 🎸

#2014 grunge #2014 nostalgia #2014 tumblr #2014 aesthetic #2014 revival #indie music #indie sleaze #soft grunge #bring back 2014 #2014core #indie rock

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nopenototdaysatan · 8 days ago

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Sunshine Boy and His Supernova Girl

Enjoy the Trans!Girl Blue x Gentleman!Red Date night, going to a ball, poem. CX

Smoothing out skirts, pulling at sleeves, Looking for any creases and spots. The nerves piling on as nothing shows up. Surely, she can’t wear this out.

Surely, this is too much. No one will be happy with this And having to watch everyone make snide comments, And Disparage her as if she can’t hear all night. But the gown is gorgeous… and she loves it.

And it lets her fight with an easy to separate slit And a shorter skirt with boning and fabric in the corset, protective as it is form fitting. It’s her color and makes her feel special. But it’s a dress and everyone will see her. No one will look away.

As her nerves get worse and she goes to pull at the corset strings, A cheerful knock happens to interrupt her; An energetic, “Blue? You ready?” Stops her in her tracks.

Gentle, loving Red who pushed her to try tonight. “I- I don’t think I’m ready, Red.” She opens her door to let the other in, Not even noticing as the other looks her up and down.

“You look gorgeous, Love. What’s making you nervous?” Wrapping his arms around her as the two stare into the mirror. “They’re gonna look at me all night. You know they’ll make comments. ‘Asking why the mighty Blue is wearing a dress’ and saying how wrong it is.”

Red nodding along, as he listens to her worries seriously. “They might, and if that isn’t something you wanna deal with you don’t have to; But you hate dressing up in the men's tunic. I see how much you despise it And how agitated it makes you.” Pulling something from behind his bag, Red pulls out an intricate but usable hammer, a smaller one she can sheathe to her side.

“I knew you would be feeling nervous tonight, so I had this made. It should be easy for you to keep at your side, but still allow you to bash any skulls.” Cradling the hammer in her hands, polished beautifully. Her favorite designs along the edges and handle. It’s gorgeous and made by a truly talented craftsman.

It would be such a shame to not wear it tonight… and it is made for her dress. “I’ll do it. I’ll wear my dress tonight.” With a rough grin on her face, She swings the hammer from hand to hand. Green is gonna hate Red for this at the end of the night if she has her way.

“Let’s go Lover boy! I’ve got bigots to fuck with!” A happy Blue is a beautiful Blue in Red’s opinion And if he had it his way she always would be. “Coming, dear. Have I said how lovely you look tonight?”

“Only a thousand times; but I won’t say no to another, Sunshine.”

“You are like the sun rising after a dark night, Blue. Beautiful, awe inspiring, and powerful.”

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monochromaticbeans · 23 days ago

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Chapter 63: Falling

Suffer, now that you’ve seen what you were like back when you’d lost yourself.

“Falling -NINTH MIX” ~ the Gazette (Eng. translation)

When Hikari woke the next morning, her body screamed with aches, and a relentless pounding hammered inside her skull, each beat echoing like a drum of hollow, vacant pain. Her chest felt tight, as if something vast and oppressive had settled inside, pressing against her ribs. She forced herself out of bed, wincing at the sterile stillness around her. The apartment was stripped bare, devoid of any warmth or familiarity—no photos, no mementos, nothing personal at all. It felt like a hotel suite, an empty shell masquerading as home.

She shuffled into the bathroom, her feet dragging like weights. When she finally dared to look in the mirror, her heart stumbled. The reflection staring back made her stomach turn—a stranger’s face, cold and unforgiving, gazed back.

Her hair was cropped into a severe, asymmetrical bob that hung around her face like a curtain, shadowing over features she barely recognized. Her cheeks were hollow, her skin stretched too tightly over the bones, as if life itself had been carved away. Her eyes looked wrong—smudges of dark makeup clung to her lids and lashes, smeared from dried tears, framing her gaze in harsh charcoal. The eyes themselves were empty, hollowed-out things that seemed to look right through her. Her septum piercing glinted under the bathroom light, a sharp edge in a face that once held softness. She couldn’t remember ever choosing this look; it was more like the world had chosen it for her, reshaping her in its unforgiving image.

Slowly, Hikari lifted a hand to her face, her fingertips grazing the sunken hollows of her cheeks. The sensation felt distant, as if she were touching someone else’s skin. Who the hell am I?

The thought settled over her like a shadow, creeping into the corners of her mind. Her hand drifted to her hair, fingers tangling in the short, sharp cut. It was rough, almost brutal, a mirror of the life she’d been dragged into—a life that had eaten away at her, piece by piece, leaving something colder and darker behind. She once carried resilience, but now her face bore something else entirely: the haunted weariness of someone who’d lost too much and left too much buried just to survive.

She let out a long, trembling breath, pulling her gaze away—but the stranger’s reflection lingered, taunting her, looking straight through her. She couldn’t escape the sense that this new version of herself was watching her, waiting for her to surrender to the darkness. The thought sent a shiver down her spine, as if the mirror itself held a twisted, mocking version of her soul.

Her hand reached for her phone almost instinctively. Her fingers hesitated before dialing Chifuyu, clinging to the one voice that still felt like an anchor in this fractured reality. It rang once, twice. Each ring echoed in the stillness, and she closed her eyes, listening—each sound a lifeline to something familiar.

Finally, his voice came through. “Hey.”

Her throat was raw, her voice barely a whisper. “Can you meet me at the storage unit?”

A pause. She could almost see the worry in his eyes, could feel him weighing his words. “I’ll be there,” he replied, soft but steady, a hint of warmth in the midst of all the cold.

As she lowered the phone, her gaze drifted back to the mirror. The stranger was still there, waiting. But somewhere deep beneath the sharp lines and hollow eyes, a spark of something else stirred—a resolve, quiet but unyielding. Whatever this world had made of her, she wasn’t ready to lose the pieces that still felt like home.

***

The storage unit door creaked open, and stale air spilled out like a breath trapped in a tomb. Hikari stepped inside with Chifuyu, armed with dust rags, soap, and polish. The musty smell wrapped around her like chains, the weight of years spent avoiding this place pressing heavily on her shoulders. But this time… this time, she wasn’t going to let herself run.

Her gaze fell on the pendant dangling from the motorcycle handlebars, caked in dust and tarnish. With shaking hands, she took it down, polishing it slowly, carefully, until a glimmer of silver shone through the grime.

“It’s time for this me to wake up, Keisuke,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. She slipped the pendant around her neck, the familiar weight settling over her heart.

As they worked, the memories began to surface. Every inch of the storage unit held echoes of her past—her guitars, his bike, photos and keepsakes tucked away like forgotten relics. Dusting her acoustic guitar brought a rush of bittersweet memories, and instinctively, she tuned the strings, feeling their resonance vibrate through her fingers.

She lowered herself to the floor, her fingers finding the chords. The first song that came to mind was raw and fitting, a song of isolation and resilience. She began to strum, her voice raspy and strained but steady as she sang:

"We chase misprinted lies

We face the path of time.

And yet I fight, and yet I fight

This battle all alone

No one to cry to

No place to call home."

The notes lingered in the air, heavy with everything she’d kept buried inside: the loneliness, the grief, the endless fight against a life that felt like a shadow of her own. She let it all pour out in her voice, a raw and cathartic release.

Chifuyu stood nearby, silent, letting her process it all. When she finished, she set the guitar aside, feeling a little lighter.

“It’s good to hear you play again,” he said softly. “It’s been a long time.”

For him, maybe, she thought. For me, it was just yesterday.

Together, they wheeled the bike outside. The sunlight struck the chrome, dull from years of neglect, but beneath the dust, there was still life. They worked in silence, washing away the years of dirt and polishing every inch until it gleamed, almost like it used to. With each pass of the cloth, Hikari felt something in herself begin to clear, as if the act of cleaning away the grime from the bike mirrored the slow healing inside her.

When they finished, she took a step back, staring at the bike, her chest tight with a mix of nostalgia and sadness.

“All it needs now is new tires and fresh oil,” Chifuyu said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded softly. “I know who would have loved to take care of that,” she said sadly, thinking of another loved one painfully missing from this reality. Her always-brother, one-time-husband in a very different version of the future.

“Draken,” Chifuyu said, understanding.

Her smile grew wistful. “You know… in one timeline, I ended up married to him. He and Inupi had a bike shop, and I was a music teacher.” She glanced at Chifuyu, watching his eyebrows lift in surprise.

“What?” he asked, clearly caught off guard. “Are you serious?”

She laughed softly. “Yep. And in another one… you and I were married.”

His face went red as he nearly choked. “What?” he repeated, his voice going up an octave. He loved Hikari like a sister, he couldn't imagine ever loving her any other way.

“Both of those futures, as weird as they sound, were infinitely better than this one.” The tiny smile faded from her lips. “At least then, I was still… myself. Not some emotionless bitch.”

His brow furrowed. “You're not a bitch, Hikari.” He wasn't having her believe any of that nonsense about herself.

She scoffed lightly, but without any bitterness. “I do recall headbutting someone when I was sixteen. That’s pretty bitchy.”

Chifuyu chuckled, shaking his head as he remembered. “Yeah, well, Naomi deserved it. Call it ‘justified bitchy,’ maybe?”

“Yeah… I guess I can’t argue with that,” she said, the hint of a real smile playing at her lips.

As they stood side by side, the sun casting long shadows over them, Hikari wiped a bead of sweat from her brow, feeling lighter. It wasn’t just the bike that they’d polished and restored; it was something in her, too, a small but vital part of who she once was.

Chifuyu’s words broke the silence, soft but full of meaning. “Welcome back, Hikari. I missed you.”

Her breath caught, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to feel something other than grief. In the quiet of that moment, she let herself feel hope.

***

The version of herself that had numbed out in this bleak timeline was dissolving, fading into the Hikari who had jumped in from somewhere better, somewhere that hope still had roots. This Hikari held treasured memories of love, friendship, and loyalty—of everything that made life worth holding on to. She wasn’t about to let this hollow shell, this shadow of herself, keep burying all that had once been good and real.

Over the next few days, she took every step she could to reclaim herself, piece by piece.

The storage unit had been a tomb, holding all the parts of her life she’d once cherished. Keisuke, Hotaru, Toman—their memories had been locked away too long. She was determined to bring them back to life. One by one, she packed up the guitars, the photos, the boxes of mementos, carefully wrapping each item as though it were sacred, and took them back to her apartment. This was more than just moving things—it was breathing herself back into existence.

Her apartment had been sterile, more like a waiting room than a home. But as she hung each photo, the walls began to feel like her own. Group photos of her friends from Toman, of her with Emma and Senju, snapshots with Keisuke, glimpses of moments that hollow Hikari hadn’t allowed herself to feel for years. The weight of each memory settled over her like armor, insulating her against the coldness of this world.

Her guitars took their rightful places back in the corners of her home. As she tuned each one, the familiar feel of the strings brought a surge of bittersweet memory—the way her fingers used to move over chords effortlessly, the way her voice blended with the strumming. Each instrument was a reminder of the music she loves, a reminder of who she truly is.

The biggest step came with Keisuke’s bike.

She had it fitted with new tires, changed the oil, polished every inch until it gleamed like it had in those days when they rode together. The first time she turned the key, the engine’s roar filled the air, throaty and alive, like a heartbeat. She revved the throttle, feeling the vibrations in her hands, the sense of power and freedom pulsing back into her bones.

The first place she rode was to his grave.

The wind was sharp and cold, slicing through her clothes as she approached. Yet the warmth in her heart rose with every step, insulating her against the chill. She brought incense, lighting it reverently with a steady hand, watching the tendrils of smoke curl up into the gray sky. Beside the headstone, she set a tray of peyoung yakisoba, a small, absurdly familiar offering. It had been his favorite, and in the stillness, she could almost see him beside her, smirking, teasing her for bringing it. She smiled despite herself, a real smile, though it was tinged with sadness.

She knelt down, pressing her hand against the cold stone, her voice barely above a whisper. “Keisuke… I’m trying. Everything’s so goddamn crazy. I do not belong here. At all.” Her fingers traced the rough edges of the stone. “The me that was already here… you’d be so disappointed in her. She gave up. But me… I don’t know if I can make it here.”

Her hand found the wolf pendant hanging around her neck, her fingers tightening around it. “I miss you. Every day, I miss you,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion.

The wind stirred, lifting a few leaves in a rustling circle around her, and for a brief, fleeting moment, it felt as though he were there with her, watching over and protecting her. The air grew heavy, almost alive, like the warmth of his presence wrapped around her heart. She took a shuddering breath, trying to hold onto that sensation, wishing it would stay just a little longer.

Perhaps it was Keisuke watching her. Someone else was watching, too.

*For the same gravesite scene told from Keisuke's perspective: The Ghost of You.

#tokyo revengers #bonten #chifuyu matsuno #baji keisuke #tokyo revengers angst #sakayume #fanfiction #fanfic

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fluffy-critter · 3 months ago

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#crosspost #busybee

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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 2 years ago

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“Anything”

Pairing: Meássë x Tulkas

Themes: Smut | Medieval! Ainur

Summary: Meássë returns to explain her actions to Tulkas.

Word count: 2.3k words

Rating: 🔥🔥🔥 | Minors DNI. You are responsible for the media you consume. | 18+ | Rules and tag form here.

A/n: This is a continuation of this ficlet.

Tulkas stood beside the fireplace when she walked into the hall that evenfall. "Come for more, my lady?"

"I have come to explain." Meássë straightened her spine and looked Tulkas in the eye. She was not telling him how his kiss had preyed on her all day. "My kiss was just a means of distraction. That is all. Your kiss... it... it meant nothing to me."

Tulkas, pretending to be wounded, pouted before giving his favorite student a measured look. "Nothing, you say. However, you are different whenever we dine together, if we train, or if I am near you. You are quieter and more likely to listen and rein in your temper. I have not seen that in you when you are with anyone else. Not even your twin."

Meássë had the decency to blush. Tulkas, not wanting to press the issue, took pity on her and said, "Come. Dine with me. We can carry on like nothing untoward took place."

"You are not angry?" She asked, confused. Despite his ready laughter and easy smile, Tulkas had a temper and his pride.

"I am not Makar, my lady," Tulkas replied, and strode to the small dining table on the dais. "I will not hold a lady's refusals against her. I certainly do not believe in taking what is not offered to me freely.”

Meássë blushed again, this time with shame. Still, she followed Tulkas and took her customary place by his right hand. Her lord lifted a little bell by his side and rang for the food.

Tulkas knew how to set a generous table. It was in his nature to do so. Elves came into the Lord's Hall carrying polished wooden trays laden with roast fowl and olives and cheese and beets and greens, followed by little onion tarts and fresh river fish roasted with herbs and apples baked in cinnamon and sugar. Meássë was served generous portions of each dish, but found her usually hearty appetite deserting her. Every time she glanced at Tulkas, she found him gilded by the faint light of nearby candles. His hair was like new gold, and his amber eyes were warm and open. Her gaze drifted to his lips. Meássë blushed and turned away. She remembered how her skin prickled when that thick, coarse beared of his brushed against her cheeks and remembered his kiss, how his lips simply crushed hers, how it set her body ablaze with hunger and need. Thoughts of his lips gliding over her skin slowly seeped into her mind. She turned to face Tulkas again. Her lord was studying her silently and intensely.

"Leave us," he commanded. The elves gracefully curtsied and bowed before leaving the hall and closing the great doors behind them. He turned to Meásse as soon as the doors slammed shut.

"My kiss meant nothing, you say," he observed, drumming his fingers against his cup as he did so. "Then why do you look at me with such burning hunger?"

Meássë felt a flush creeping up her neck. "You imagine things, my lord," she mumbled in a rush.

"Do I?" Tulkas pushed his chair back and rose. He set his cup to one side and inched his way over to her. "Then why are your cheeks tinged in pretty shades of pink? Hmm? Why is your breath ragged? Your eyes too curious for their own fucking good?"

"I..." Meássë's tongue tied itself in knots when Tulkas curled his fingers around stray locks of her hair. "My lord..."

"Your hair," he coos, "How I have often pictured it spread all over my pillows under a spill of starlight."

"You have?" Meássë nearly fell out of her chair in her hurry to stand.

Tulkas grinned in triumph. "Yes," he replied softly before letting go of her wisps of hair. "Many a moment when I lay in bed. I have seen your hair spread out all over my pillows. I have felt your nails raking down my back while I filled you with my cock and my seed. The things I have done to you in my dreams... Words alone cannot describe them."

"You are being impudent now, my lord," Meássë retorted, embarrassed by how easily her body prickled and heated at the thought of him bedding her. "I would be within my rights to strike you and leave."

"I am merely being honest." Tulkas simply smiled and spread his hands. "And as I said before, I do not take what is not given to me freely. If you do not wish to go beyond us sparring and sharing meals, you need only say the word, and this conversation will end here."

Meássë licked her lips and studied him. She wanted to say, "Thank you, my lord, but I must decline," and would have succeeded had her own curiosity not gotten the best of her.

"What do you do to me in these dreams?"

Tulkas did not answer with words. He grabbed her and leaned in, his lips possessing hers. Meássë suddenly found herself unraveling the same way she did when Tulkas kissed her the first time. Her entire body was aflame with raw, unbridled lust. Her eyes flutter shut when she felt him flush against her. Desperate to draw him even closer, she tried to throw her arms around his shoulders. Her attempts were a failure. Tulkas was tall, taller than even her twin. But she did not have to say anything. Tulkas crouched and slipped his arms under her thighs, lifting her up with ease. He growled when she returned his kisses with equal passion.

“Eager!" he laughed into his kiss and set her down on the table. "And so desperate. Will you let me do whatever I want to you tonight?"

Meássë found herself being pulled into a dark tunnel of desire. Tulkas was over her and around her. His kisses were rough, his lips greedy, and his hands gentle, despite being callused after years of fighting and sword use. White-hot jolts of pleasure licked up her spine when she felt them palm her breasts and play with her nipples over the fabric of her tunic.

"Anything," she pleaded, even as she surrendered and her body grew pliant. "You can do anything."

There was a sharp rip. Tulkas had shoved his hand down the front of her tunic and tore it down the center before tugging his own over his head and throwing it to the floor. Meássë whimpered when he drew her back into his embrace and she felt his skin over hers.

So warm, she mused, her mind growing hazy by the fury of his kisses. His skin is so fucking warm.

Tulkas shivered when she slipped her arms around his shoulders, and her nails gouged into his back. "Anything?" He hissed through his teeth. "Wonderful."

He dropped down to his haunches and went to work on her boots. One joined the growing pile of clothes on the floor. The other followed not long after. Tulkas rose again and loosened the lacings of Meássë's riding leathers, fully aware her eyes were on him the entire time.

His hair was like a river of gold now, and those tattoos of his—how they gleamed in the light. When they lay in bed, she thought to ask about them, what they meant, and touch every one of them. She could let her lips and tongue glide over them if he liked it. But that was all for later. When he said so, Meássë lifted her hips, and her leathers and small clothes were pulled down her legs and thrown along with the ruins of her tunic unceremoniously to the floor, leaving her exposed. Tulkas took a moment to drink her in: her alabaster skin, her seashell-pink lips, her thick, auburn hair. Then there were her eyes. They were sharp and a vivid green, eyes he imagined himself drowning in.

"You are a vision, my lady," he whispered in admiration.

Meássë blushed and looked away. There may have been others, but no one looked at her like Tulkas did, with eyes filled with reverence. It left her speechless. He gripped her chin, and his mouth opening over hers soon drowned out her thoughts. His kiss tasted of honey and cloves. The sweet, clean scent of him soon filled her with each breath. When he cupped her back her legs slid open and moved up his thighs before resting over his hips. Tulkas growled softly.

"When I take you to bed after this, I am going to fuck you until you cannot walk," he vowed, nibbling the shell of her ear.

"I will hold you to that vow," Meássë murmured helplessly.

"I have dreamed of this," he said as he slid a finger over her slit, groaning when he found her slick and wet and ready for him. He tightened his other arm around her waist while slipping his finger into her hole, sending waves of unimaginable bliss coursing over her entire body. "And not just sinking my fingers inside of you, either. I want to feel you come around my cock."

"And as I said, my lord, you can do anything to me." Meássë was overwhelmed by what he was doing to her. Tulkas was exceedingly skilled, even when it came to giving pleasure. He made her feel like she was drowning and being pulled under the waves repeatedly. And he was so perfect. So utterly perfect. All through the day, all she could think of was his kiss. Now he was before her, making her feel pleasure she had never experienced before.

"Good girl," he whispered approvingly. Tulkas sank to his knees and pressed little kisses over the expanse of her legs. He did not stop until he reached the apex between her thighs. Meássë threw her head back and cried out softly, her hands digging into the edge of the table when he ran his tongue over her cunt again and again. She forced herself to open her eyes. Tulkas would grunt with each lick, his hands gripping hard at her flesh whenever he pressed deeper. She murmured under her breath. Her secret sweetness soon poured onto his tongue and lips and even his beard. He flicked his eyes at her and found her pretty green ones dark and needy and wanton. Meássë sighed and trembled. A sweet tightness grew in her belly. She was close. She could feel it. But it was not enough. His tongue, as sinful as it was, was not enough.

"I need you inside of me," she breathed, her voice hoarse and ragged.

Tulkas did not have to be told twice. He stood up and moved his hands to his belt, tugging down on his breeches just low enough to free his cock after he undid the buckle. Greedy hands moved to her hips. He kissed her again, and Meássë could taste her essence all over his lips and tongue. His beard tickled against her skin just like it did while he was between her thighs. The prickling feeling proved too overwhelming, and she kissed him all the harder for it.

"Desperate little slut," Tulkas laughed softly against her skin. "Yes?"

Meássë, utterly lost in a red haze of lust by now, managed a weak, "Yes."

Tulkas laughed again, taking his time to kiss all over her throat before nipping it with his teeth. Meássë moaned softly when he guided his cock into her velvety core, prodding her open little by little. He felt thick against her walls and she squirmed as he moved inch by agonizing inch. When he filled her completely and started to move, she jolted. Pleasure and pain mingled in a heady mix while she shuddered and sobbed his name.

"You are so fucking tight," he muttered and slid his arms around her waist. The table slowly creaked every time he thrust and bruised the insides of her thighs with his hips. "So tight. And how well you take me. It is as if you were made for me."

"And you feel so good inside me," Meássë could not help but reply. Every time Tulkas found that place that gave her indescribable pleasure, it made her see stars behind her eyes. "My lord."

Tulkas whimpered softly. "Touch me," he urged, desperate to feel her hands all over him. "Please."

It was even better than his wildest dreams. Elegant hands glided over his arms, splayed over his torso and the small of his back, setting him ablaze whoever they touched. Meássë's skin was so soft, like her velvety insides. Tulkas groaned when nails raked through his hair and sinful lips kept seeking his. He grew drunk on it all and was soon lost in her flesh.

"Scream for me," he commanded when Meássë bit back her cries. "I want to hear you scream for me."

"But the elves… your attendants…"

"They will not say a word even if they hear. Let go. I command you to let go."

It was as if a dam had burst. Meássë’s cries spilled free and rattled around the hall. Tulkas thrust even harder, and new jolts of pleasure struck them both. He pushed her onto her back before quickening his already tortuous pace. The new angle he found sent her spiraling. Her back arched every time he drew his hips back and pushed them back in. Meássë had to grab at anything she could to try and keep herself steady. She knocked a glass over in her bid to hold onto something. It fell to the ground with a loud crash.

“Mine," he groaned whenever her walls fluttered and grew tighter and tighter around his cock. "You are mine."

His words undid her completely. Meássë’s body shook as her orgasm ripped through her. Hot flashes of pleasure spread all over her while Tulkas thrust one final time, moaning deeply when he filled her with his spend, his nail digging into her hips. Meássë could not move and lay there, too lost in her own state of bliss to even care.

The world came into focus little by little. Tulkas pulled out of her, leaving her feeling strangely empty. Meássë tried to regain a sense of bearing and soon found herself being carried and covered in something incredibly soft. She opened her eyes. That something soft was a pelt finer than silk. Tulkas crooned sweet words of endearment into her ear while he settled into his chair, keeping her with him as he did so. He brushed his lips over her hair. She sighed wistfully and rested her head against his shoulder.

"Eat," Tulkas said gently, and proceeded to feed her with morsels from his plate. "You had so little during dinner. When you have had your fill, I am taking you back to my bed."

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tags: @cilil @asianbutnotjapanese @wandererindreams

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