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sparrowrye · 4 months

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Demi Demon || Alastor x Reader, A3 part 9

Synopsis: Alastor disappeared for 8 years, leaving you confused, crushed, and angry. You spent those years building up your new self and protecting the haven from dangers left and right. What will happen when he returns to the new changes? Will he return anytime soon? Could you even go back to the way things were?

Previous part

Part 9: dominating discoveries

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Alastor's magic was all over me, as was he, the second I stepped foot in the house. He was searching for more injuries and sorting through my mind for anything ill will.

"Stop fussing," I said, attempting to push his chest away. His arm was still firmly wrapped around my back, cane in hand, as his other hand trailed over my head and shoulders for the umpteenth time, light as a feather. "My clothes are in worse condition."

"Angelic weapons are dangerous," he stated, "you may not have healed all the way."

"I'm fine. I'm half Angel, remember? But they do hurt like a bitch."

"Your language has gotten worse, my dear."

"I've heard you curse before. Here or there isn't going to hurt anyone." I scratched the healed spot on my nose. His palm came up to cup my cheek, claws cold to the touch despite the extreme warmth of his hand. His red eyes examined me in a long moment of silence.

"Alastor?" I brought him out of his trance.

"Hm?" he hummed, blinking twice.

"Thank you. For not interfering."

He blinked again. "You asked and I obliged. It would not do to make you loathe me again."

"You drive me nuts sometimes," I interlaced my fingers with his on my cheek, "but I don't think I could loathe you."

His smile was light and genuine. He placed a gentle kiss on my forehead. The brush of his hair on my cheeks, and the feeling of his lips on my skin, brought back our earlier conversation.

"I do believe—" I placed a kiss on his palm. "—I promised some quality time when I returned." His smile seemed slightly strained from the motion.

"I believe you did."

My heart hammered in my chest as I reached up to pull him down to my eye level by his bow tie. "Our bedroom may be a more...preferable space."

He snapped back up and pulled me close. Shadows warped my field of vision, thinning out to reveal the bright red master bedroom. I peeled away from him and took off my partially stained jacket.

"You did amazing tonight," he said from the place we had manifested in. He still had his cane in hand as he watched me drape the coat over a chair and return to him in the center of the room.

"I've done harder things." I leaned my weight into him and ran my hand over his clothed chest. I heard a sharp intake of static. I leaned my head on the front of his shoulder, letting my hand continue to wander down his arm. "How was the talk with Thatcher?"

I felt something jolt in his mind. "He...was not receptive, nor was Nym. They are both now asleep in their beds."

"So you didn't remedy what I had asked." I stepped away from him, watching him try to hide a wince at the loss of magical and physical contact. "Perhaps then we don't need to spend time together. I do need to clean my coat." I walked back to the chair to grab the material. As I pretended to examine it, he appeared behind me so that my back was against his chest.

"I attempted, as you asked." He was using his sweet, unfiltered voice. He was playing nice. I didn't want to, though. I had envisioned so many things during his absence, all thanks to the various books I had picked up.

"I told you to remedy it, not attempt to." I tilted my head at a funny angle to look up at him. His smile was strained but he was trying to keep his chipper tone.

"You know the children best," he tried. "Thatcher is terrified of the smallest of creatures. It will take some time for him to even look in my direction."

"You're telling me the Radio Demon can't handle children?"

"The Radio Demon does not like children," he returned, "but his soulmate does." He gently poked a claw under my chin. "Perhaps you will indulge me, darling? I did well not to interfere, as you requested."

"That's true." I abandoned the coat in exchange for facing him completely. "I suppose you deserve something for that."

He leaned down to allow the kiss. I put my hand behind his head to press harder into his lips. He hummed a laugh as his arm wrapped naturally around my back like he always did.

My other hand trailed down his arm to where he still held onto his cane. I tapped the cold metal twice and sent him a mental message to rid the thing. It disappeared with black and green electricity. It allowed his now free hand to mirror mine on his head. He leaned further over me, bending me backwards and pulling me into him.

As gently as before, I shifted through his brain. I wanted to satisfy my curiosity from earlier but didn't want to let him know what I was looking for; didn't want to run the risk of being pulled out of his mind. So I carefully ran my tongue on his lips and felt him dull his teeth enough for me to meet his tongue. It was enough of a distraction to let me in, his naturally dominating personality taking over of the physical actions.

I gently went back to the memory of my scolding. He was on his knees with my hand squeezing his ear. I pulled him down a second time and when he looked up; that's when I felt it. I searched in that part of his mind, shifting and moving to sit exactly as he was in that moment.

It took another moment of gentle digging to discover a shocking truth:

He had liked it.

He hadn't refused to use his magic against me because he was afraid of my anger, but because he was enjoying the power and aggression I was exhibiting...on him.

I dared another memory. He watched everything unfold at the factory through my eyes. At certain points that same feeling returned.

He was always in control, always had to be, so was it relieving to give it to someone else he trusted instead? Did he trust me like that?

I slithered out of the memory right as he pulled away from the kiss. Both of us were breathless. His antlers had grown a few inches.

"Are you alr—" he didn't get to finish his sentence as I shoved him backwards. I walked him right into the wall, grabbed his chin, and pulled him back down for another kiss. It took him a moment to register what had happened before he gave into the kiss. That same feeling from his memories was rising again.

One arm trapped my waist to his hips while the other grabbed the back of my head. His long, thick tongue was stronger than mine, pressing harshly around my mouth and daring to go too far back. Mine was close to the same length, tangling with his, and never allowing him to keep me in one place.

My free hand reached up to hook around the hem of his jacket. He flinched but didn't stop his advances in the kiss. So I continued, feeling around for how he got this thing off.

There were two buttons hidden under the fabric that were thankfully easy to undo. I sucked in more air through my nose as I slid both hands under the jacket at his shoulders. He detached his hands from me, never once breaking the wet kiss, and let me push it off his arms.

An unspoken thought passed through us: we were not ready to go all the way yet.

But that didn't mean we couldn't do other things. So, I sent an image to his mind before breaking the kiss. I gathered the ridiculously long jacket in my hands, stole a quick glance at him in his red button up, then turned away to hang the jacket on the chair with mine. As I did, my tail lightly trailed up his arm and flicked his hair. His palm brushed against the end as he moved to sit in the vacant chair.

I watched him pull the bow tie off and set it on the table. He then elegantly sat in the chair, arms on the rests, and tilted his head to the side to watch me. I put my hands behind my back and glided over to him. For once I couldn't read his expression. He was holding his flat-tooth smile, canines still large and on display, but his eyebrows were in a neutral spot.

If it wasn't for our magic, I might've thought he didn't want to continue.

But we did have soulmate magic. So I could feel his magic desperately trying to coax me into coming as close as physically possible. I stepped so our legs were somewhat intertwined and reached out, taking his chin in my palm and rubbing my thumb across his smooth skin. He was shorter by an inch or two in the chair but it still made it so he needed to look up to keep eye contact.

Was I actually holding the Radio Demon's face like this? Was he actually allowing me?

I drew my hand away, catching a small noise like a whimper from him, before slamming them on his arms and using extra magic to hold them in place against the armrest.

Alastor bristled.

His teeth sharpened.

I put my weight on his arms and brought both legs up to fold on either side of him, straddling his hips just as we had done the night before his disappearance. I threaded my hands through his hair on the side and made my way up to the base of his ears. His lips parted on a sigh, aggression disappearing as quickly as it had come on, as I gently ran my hands up and down the sensitive appendages.

With his eyes closed, he wasn't expecting my sudden kiss. This time the noise sounded like a squeak in my mouth. I laughed into the kiss, causing his ears to flatten sideways from embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, dear," I half mused half meant. I lightly ran my claw along one ear until I reached his antlers. I began scratching around them and watched him fall back into his trance.

"Allow me...to...to touch you," he tried. I could feel how much effort it took him to speak those simple words. My other hand reached behind his head and drew a sharp claw down the back of his head, down his neck, until his collar was in the way. He shivered at the sensation and groaned, eyes peeling open to look at me. "Y-you are doing things t-to me darling."

My hand came down from his antlers to press against his cheek. I brought my face closer so our noses touched. "Good."

A weird staticky noise gurgled in the back of his throat. I felt him push against my magic but I clamped down on it with my shield again. His head made a slight jerk to the side and he peered up with a glare.

"What has brought this on, my dear?" He straightened up and shifted his legs. My tail wrapped around both of his ankles, earning another staticky reaction.

"I've waited eight years to be able to kiss you." I kept my face close but never went in for that kiss. I could feel his mind trying to convince me to close the distance.

"You are doing much more than kissing," he pointed out.

I leaned back and placed my hands on his trapped arms. His eyes instantly looked me up and down. I could hear him begging for skin to skin touch. Though he would never admit it aloud. I would need to be sneaky.

"I'm experimenting." My hands glided up his arms until they reached the red collar. His eyes suddenly gripped mine and I found myself unable to look away. It was almost like a dare; a challenge.

My hands felt what they needed as I began unbuttoning his shirt. I had planned to stop but something compelled me to keep going. My hands moved on their own. There was something warm pumping through my veins.

It wasn't until I had neared his belt that I realized he had been coaxing me. His mind was filling my mind and seemed to have one hell of a grip. I couldn't shake him. Even when he dared to move my hands for my sharp claws to hook on his leather belt. A shot of nerves went through my body.

He brought my hands back up after a chuckle and finally made that desired skin to skin contact on his chest.

He let go of my mind then, licking his lips and leaning comfortably into the chair. I was about to make a remark when I realized I was touching fur. My eyes jumped down to his half exposed chest.

The fur was the same color as his skin and very short. It was soft.

I pushed the sides of shirt to the side to see how far his fur extended. It went down the center of his chest and covered about 3/4 to the sides. It turned to skin near his ribs.

"Just full of surprises," my tone went from surprise to mischief halfway through.

"You can't have all the fun, darling." His hands touched my back, earning a violent flinch from the unexpected contact.

"When did you—"

"You have not trumped me yet, love." His now free hands moved to my waist where his thumbs rubbed the bone hidden beneath my pants. "I've allowed you to have your fun. Now it is my turn."

His arms wrapped around and under me as he abruptly stood up. I clung to his shoulders and wrapped my legs around him on instinct. I kept my tail out of the way of his boots as he landed my back firmly on the mattress.

Not all the way. We thought in union.

With both agreeing on the same idea, it gave plenty of room to see just how far we could go without going all the way.

I kept my legs around his waist as his he looked down at me. He took up most of my vision with that devilish smile of his. He brought my claw to his face where he placed a gentle kiss on it. Seeing him tower over me like this brought on a funny feeling.

He let go of my hand and moved to my shirt. He asked the question through my mind—waited for an answer—before slipping his palm under the fabric to touch my skin.

It burned.

But in a good way.

I could feel how careful he was being. His palms rang over my stomach without his claws poking me, then hooked gently on the side. I started to laugh and pulled his hands off.

"My my, are you tickilish, my dear?" He pressed against my grip to touch the tip of his claw on my side again. I arched funny and brought my feet up to push him away. "I don't think so." He brushed both feet to the side with one arm and climbed all the way on the bed.

His arm hooked my back to drag me further up towards the pillows. He let me drop and ran his claw along my side again. I stifled a yell, somehow able to remember we had children in the other rooms, and pulled on his antlers to make him stop.

His claws left my skin and grabbed my wrists, yanking them off and pinning them to the bed on either side of my head.

I abruptly went still.

He let go of my wrists and leaned on the mattress instead. He planted a gentle kiss on my forehead then leaned back to look in my eyes. He brought the back of his claws against my cheek in his usual way. His smile was small and genuine.

He snapped his fingers to dress both of us in our nightly outfits. I silently slipped under the sheets and waited for him to do the same. As soon as he was laying on his back, I attached myself to his side.

I felt a smooth wave of warmth travel between our minds. He was happy, and a little bit relieved. So I rubbed my face against his shoulder, hooked my one foot on his, wrapped my tail around his ankle, and slipped my hand just barely under his shirt so my palm touched his skin. He was so warm.

I sent him a picture in my mind and let out a sigh of relief when his gentle claw went under my shirt to rest on my back. How cold his claws be cold but his fingers so warm?

He placed another kiss on my forehead.

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Author's Note:

I can't promise what day I'll upload, but I can promise that y'all will be rewarded for your undying patience. Next part is gonna be juicyyyy

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Taglist:

@wendigonamecaller @saccharine-nectarine @thesimpybitch @papas-ghoulette @masochist-downfall @martinys-world

#demi demon #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #soulmate au #soulmates #reqs open

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springsylph · 7 months

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WITCHING HOUR, CH 2/3 — [18+]

(18+) - MARKED FOR EVENTUAL SMUT, MINORS DNI!

fem!reader x arthur morgan

summary: the prodigal son returns tags: marked 18+ for smut in later chapters, reader has a backstory kinda (but now a little more than kinda), original side character(s), does arthur count as a tag, he needs his own warning, its more exposition please don't leave

word count: 4.9k

a/n: HERE! DAMN! (i'm so sorry this took so long)

<< previous chapter | read on ao3 here | masterlist

you can find a link to the playlist here! tag list (look how crazy. i have a LIST.): @photo1030

The subsequent mornings are painted with varying shades of gloom. It was smeared over the sky in thick coats, and if it was just a little thicker, it might be able to keep out the spears of light.

Sometimes, they tickle. Sometimes, they recoil from the rigid mounds of snow and blind you and anything else unfortunate enough to get caught in the line of fire. Pain in the ass, really. A particularly nasty pain in the ass flickers in the cloudy metal of your spoon one morning while you’re shoveling grits into your mouth.

“You planning on eating the table too, kid?”

Your eyebrows shoot up, as does your spine once you lower your spoon back into the chipped bowl.

“My apologies,” you gulp. “You’ll uh, have to forgive me, Mrs. Campbell. Seems the winter air’s gotten to my head.”

Mrs. Campbell was a wiry, dark-haired woman of 63, and had spent more time rearing cattle than children. She was rough, tough, and at present, leveling you with a stare so doubtful that you wonder if the look you often catch on the livestock is embarrassment.

After holding your gaze for a few moments more, she resumes the rocking of her chair from the corner and returns to her darning. A large red sock, the same one she’d whacked Mr. Campbell over the head with after she’d found it on the floor of the living room only thirty minutes ago.

“No, no, you’re alright.” Mrs. Campbell pauses, though her hands continue to work. Under, over. In, out. Not a single finger pricked. “Think that’s the most I’ve seen you take down in one sitting, is all. You bite like a bird.” She makes a funny chewing motion with her mouth—or, at least you think it’s supposed to be funny. It seems to amuse her well enough; most strange things did.

She then asks how much horse feed is left, and you tell her enough to last for the next two weeks. You ask how her daughter’s baby boy is doing, she tells you he’s been picking his nose, and the two of you return to your respective distractions: the pulling of thread and a spoon fishing around a now empty dish while you consult silently with the peeling floral wallpaper.

Arthur Morgan’s appearance had set you on edge, loathe as you were to admit it. The fact that there’d been no sign of him since you’d first spoken only hastened the growing dread, more so than the lack of response after your father’s men had been so kindly disposed of.

Contingencies had been thoroughly accounted for, leaving you mildly inconvenienced at best and dead at worst. There were other conclusions you’d drawn up, of course, but dealing in extremes had its benefits.

You press your thumb absentmindedly into the corner of the dining room table. Could the Campbells have heard your exchange? No, they couldn’t have, too old. And that was excluding the fact that the main house was rather far from the cabin. Given the time frame, it would have been well beyond what was reasonable for your…situation to have been brought up.

Besides, this was important. Better to sort this out now than when—if—he showed up at your doorstep again.

“I have a question.”

Mrs. Campbell snorts. “I presume you’re lookin’ for an answer.”

You set your spoon down, and stand to clear the table. “Do the two of you get…stray cats often?”

This time her hands waver. “During the warmer months, sure. But in this weather? I mean, if it had the guts to get through all that ‘winter air,’ I don’t see why not.” Her eyes flick up. “Would have to be real hungry, though. Or stupid, which I doubt, ‘cause cats ain’t stupid—sonuvabitch!”

You jerk as her needle clatters to the floor. She lets a curse slip as she hunches over to retrieve it; another follows as she tugs the string loose, just a little, and her fingers trip over themselves before falling back into a steady rhythm.

Her brows pinch in concentration. “Never met a stupid cat,” she repeats.

“I…I see.” Moving around to the other side of the table to collect what's left, you frown when you catch your warped reflection in a bent spoon. You pick it up, and your fingers brush over the bump unconsciously. “I saw one,” you say slowly. Mind fumbling over any disastrous outcomes. “A cat, I mean. He’s been hanging around my cabin for a while now. I was only asking ‘cause he’s been spooking the chickens.”

When Mrs. Campbell doesn’t answer, your mouth gets the better of you. “Only, he turned up again a couple nights ago. Acting real docile, you see.” Not docile. The farthest thing from it. “Nearly shot him then and there, but—oh, he just looked so pitiful! He’s real mean looking, all scratched up and such, but I was tired, so when shooing him off didn’t work I let him in. Didn’t hiss, didn’t bite, nothing. But, I think I may have scared him. Skittered right out the door, quick as lightning. He’s been pissin’ me off—pardon my language—but, I just don’t see why he’d go through all that trouble to show up if he was just looking to leave the moment I raised so much as a finger.”

You only cease your rambling once you realize that you’ve bent the spoon too far in the wrong direction. “I…should turn him away, shouldn’t I? If he shows up again?”

Mrs. Campbell lets out an exasperated exhale, smooths out her apron, and sets her mangled sock down in her lap. “He kill any chickens?”

“No, but—”

“You feed him?”

“No?”

“Well, I think you should. It’d be real funny.”

Funny. Funny, she’d said.

You look to the silverware for consolation, but they can only produce a weak gleam.

“Quit making faces at my utensils, I hate when you do that. If you got something to say, say it now so I can finish this damned sock.”

Instead of making faces at the spoons, you reserve them for the tablecloth. “I just—don’t think it’d be wise.” A wanted man, with a lofty bounty at that, and you were comparing him to a mangy feline. Attempting to see him as anything other than what he so obviously was would be disingenuous.

And maybe Mrs. Campbell wasn’t the right person to be speaking to about this, because her nose crinkles with such distaste that you have to remind yourself that you’d remembered to bathe. “You’re grown,” she says, “and you work here. I’m inclined to believe that you have enough know-how to keep yourself from doing anything too dumb. If not, oh well.”

“…Right.”

Sometimes you wonder if her daughter had moved out not for marriage, but to escape Mrs. Campbell’s dreadfully indifferent way of speaking. Still, you take her words with relative care and pray that the “feeding” portion of her advice can be altered into something much more metaphorical.

When you attempt to bring the dishes to the water bucket, Mrs. Campbell’s head snaps to you and she clicks her teeth. “Drop it.”

“I was just—”

The sock finds its way into a basket of other half-finished projects at her feet, and she pushes herself up to stand just as tall (if not taller) than any tree before snatching the dishes from your hands. “I don’t pay you to do my dishes, girl.”

You smile. “I don’t believe you pay me at all, Mrs. Campbell.”

“Precisely. Your Pa pays me. And enough with that ‘Mrs. Campbell’ mess; makes me sound like an old crone. Told you to call me Fran, didn’t I?”

Shrugging past the bitterness in her tone at the mention of your father, you turn to the doorway and pull your coat off of the hook you’d tossed it on the night before. It’s only slightly warm from where the sun has touched it.

The beams have softened their assault on the curtains; it’s still fairly cloudy, but there’s no sign of incoming snow. Chores would be alright, if only for today.

“I’ll work on it, Mrs. Campbell. But, I do have one more question, if you don’t mind.” You wait for a nod while you pull on your boots with a wince. “How come you don’t take on any other help?”

Like most of her responses, Mrs. Campbell doesn’t give much away. Nothing remarkable that you can discern, at least. She merely winks and carries on with her washing. But just as you set a foot out the front door, she calls out to you.

“Hey, kid?”

You turn.

“If the worst you can call him is a spooked cat, he can’t be all that bad, can he?”

You freeze. “Pardon?”

She looks up at the ceiling, as though her next words will appear if she gets her eyes to narrow enough. Glasses had been the first of many neglected suggestions you’d offered upon your arrival. You’d even offered to buy them yourself, with what little you’d been able to bring with you. But Mrs. Campbell, being Mrs. Campbell, had simply laughed.

Squinting, she returns her focus to the bucket and reaches for a cake of lye soap. “Ah, and tell that idiot if he slams my doors, I’ll send my foot so far up his ass that them science folks won’t have any animals left to call him.”

Illusory warmth finds you a few weeks later.

It isn’t quite spring yet; winter is a stubborn mule, and though the snow has receded into the dirt it still stamps its hooves into the wind. In the water, too—freezing rain taps its fingers onto the windows. Soft and melodic, it nearly puts you to sleep from your place on the floor before you remember the annoyances it’s dragged along with it.

There’d been no sign of trouble tonight, and the chicken wire had been reinforced a few hours prior. That’d mostly been the work of Mr. Campbell, though. He’d chirped about some promise he’d made to his “lovely wife,” and went on his merry way after leaving you with some choice words from the wife in question about the importance of rest.

The rain had started not long after. Which was great, for someone out there. But, bad for you. Pretty bad. Ugly, messy bad—because it was cold, dark, and the dirt hadn’t the moral backbone to keep itself together for any longer than two blinks before your boots were practically swimming in it.

The trudge back to the cabin was only slightly humiliating, considering the fact that the sole witnesses were the owls you knew were hiding out in the safety of the trees.

Scampering from the uneven path to the front porch, however, was another story. Although the pliant (no good, backstabbing) earth was quick and eager to drag you to its depths, you were aggravated enough to be slightly quicker, and your palms shot out to catch you just before your chin could meet the full wrath of the wood.

But the word “just” was a pebble cast into a pond, and the first ripple was the metallic tang that flooded your mouth. Diatribes were spat onto the ground alongside the blood, tongue throbbing with a vengeance before you drove the heels of your palms down to push yourself up. The second ripple was a little less red, but just as irritating. The rain had pulled the wet fabric of your work shirt and trousers tight over your limbs, and it had begun to border on painful when water droplets struck like one might strike the skin of a drum.

“I’m grateful, I’m grateful, I’m oh so fucking grateful…” It was a mantra you often found yourself repeating whenever nature’s pranks sought to drive you mad. Rain was good. Rain was fine, actually, so you’d ignored the creaking of your knees and hobbled your way inside.

And here you sit: back propped up against the wall, shivering like a fool with your knees tucked into your chest. The mud crusting between your fingers barely registers while you work on releasing yourself from your wet clothing.

Which, of course, is when the light tapping on the window takes its cue to crescendo. It’s a rather flimsy cloak for the uneven thunks outside that make no attempt to conceal themselves. But your bones know better.

Awful timing, that man.

You feel the weight of his fist against the door before he makes contact.

(One.)

You shoot up.

(Two.)

You lunge for the table.

You decide against greeting him with the rifle, which is a significant improvement. It’s a revolver. But you did have the good sense not to kick the door again; the rusty hinges were fragile enough without your meddling. Instead, you let it creak open with one hand on the doorknob.

You’re met with a bruise, planted right atop a cheekbone. A swollen bottom lip, blood threatening to split it wide. He’s got a button missing from his rumpled jacket, and the caving of the porch underneath his feet clues you in on the fact that he’s favoring his right leg. He’s been fighting. Fighting, and he looks about ready to keel over and die. Or pick another fight. Probably both.

Part of you unwinds at the sight of him, battered as he was. Present as he was. But the more logical part of you senses that he’s here for something, and the even more logical part of you remembers exactly what it was that stood at your doorstep.

It’s then that the stench of alcohol hits you, and the familiar smell of mud sweeps in not long after. Arthur is completely covered in it, save for his face. And—

There. There it is again.

That look.

Your pulse trips in your throat, and you pray that he’s inebriated enough to ignore it. “You’re on my porch. Why?”

Bright blue comes back into focus, and his hands fall to his hips. “I can go where I damn well please.”

“That’s all well and good, but why are you on my porch?”

He sniffs. Peers just over your shoulder. “...House call.”

You step to block him. “Now that’s two chances. I have it on good authority that one is just fine these days, but I’m feeling generous.” And confused. Extremely confused.

His face contorts into a heatless grimace, and the doorknob squeals. You’re suddenly reminded of the odd tales of shapeshifters you’d stumbled upon as a child: one moment a man, the next a bloodthirsty predator. Not a particularly helpful development—especially since your talk with Mrs. Campbell—but it was a development nonetheless.

Arthur rattles off the courtesies typically extended toward esteemed guests while you look him over again, and your eyes lock onto his hair. Another familiar connection—doe brown strands, streaked with mud and nearly plastered to his head from the light downpour. Much less ferocious than the rest of him. But, tonight, if you have to pick, he’s a wet dog. A wet, potentially drunk dog, who was missing his hat.

And suddenly, the natural chatter of the trees comes to a halt.

“What’d you just call me?”

…You idiot.

“I didn’t call you jack shit,” you lie. Arthur gives a loose smirk, and your next protests become nothing but bluster. “What, the little girl that hit you knock your ears shut?”

“Figured I’d let her get a hit in, out of the kindness of my big ol’ heart.” Arthur sways on his feet a bit, peering down at you through the water that he hasn’t bothered to wipe from his lashes. Gravity finds eventual triumph, and he leans into the post before eying the revolver still in your hands. “Don’t suppose you’re plannin’ on pullin’ that trigger any time soon.”

“What’s it to you?”

Arthur’s face begins to harden, and he crosses his arms tight over his chest. “You know, last time I was here I said you were lucky. Well, I’d like to make an addendum: lucky and stupid, lady.”

You cast a disbelieving look at the leg he’s been keeping his weight off of. “And you’re drunk. The fact that you got here without your horse cracking your head open is a miracle.”

His brows draw low, and he rubs the heel of his boot against the muddy spot where you’d fallen earlier. Blinks at the ground. Then, with the vigor of a child caught sleeping in church, wipes angrily at a speck of mud on his thigh. “M’not drunk,” he finally mutters, flicking the offending dirt out into the yard and crossing his arms again. “And I’ve got enough trust in my horse to fill at least half of that barn y’all got.”

“Just half? Not the whole thing?”

“Whole thing would be two horses.”

You almost laugh. Almost. When you don’t reply, his eyes drop back down to the gun, gaze contemplative. “You got any idea how easily I could’ve knocked that flimsy thing outta your hands?”

“Why of course I do, Mr. Morgan.” The dampness you’d been struck with pulls at you, bones heavy and patience now worn thin. You give the revolver an exaggerated twirl, the metal snatching what can be seen of the moon through the rain and reflecting it at him. “I’m real lucky you’re here to tell me so, ain’t I? Matter of fact, why don’t you go and fetch me my chair before I topple right on over? ”

“That ain’t what I meant, and you know it.” You think he sounds somewhat regretful. But somewhat isn’t enough.

“Do I now,” you say dryly. “You seem to ‘not mean’ an awful lot.”

Arthur pushes himself off of the post with his shoulder and shoves his muddy hands into his muddy pockets. “I just don’t see why you people are so eager to act like you got your life for dog-cheap.”

“You people?”

“Yeah, you heard me. You people.” He’s looking at everything but you now, eyes wild but body frighteningly still. “You’ll look trouble right in the eye, and lie right through your damn teeth till it gets you laid out cold in a ditch somewhere.” Arthur gestures to the embarrassing height your shooting arm has dropped to in the time that he’s spoken. “I can tell each time you open that door that you won’t shoot. Can’t, I’d argue, ‘cause if you didn’t have my big head within one inch of that barrel, you’d be some deep shit.” His words are a forlorn echo amidst the rain, now nothing more than a light haze.

You could shut the door and go back inside, you think. Tell him he’s wrong, because he most certainly was. Peel out of your damp clothes, because standing outside in the chill spelled nothing but trouble. Arthur wouldn’t push. He was just as prone to bluffing as you were.

And yet.

“I could say the same about you. Don’t think your kin would take too kindly to the fact that you’re hangin’ around someone that knows your face. Who you are.” You steady your aim. “That’s a loose end, Arthur. You don’t seem like the type of man to keep many of those around.” It’s the first time you’ve said his name all night; you’re only sure because the moment it leaves you, his entire body tenses before he sags back against the wooden post.

The way he looks at you then might be considered cruel and unusual punishment. You think of butterflies, embroidered into blankets from childhood. Tacked to the wall of your father’s study. The only difference between them and you is that you’re free to leave.

If only you possessed something to sweeten the deal—whatever deal you could come up with in the next five seconds. To mask the returning waver of your voice, now laden with inconceivable realities. “Am I a loose end, Arthur Morgan?”

He opens his mouth to speak. Closes it. Untucks a hand from the arms he’s wrapped around himself to scrub at his beard and finally wipe at the water you’ve been eyeballing from his lids. He opens his mouth again, now on the precipice of what might be an explanation.

“S’dangerous,” is all he says.

You see red.

The arm holding the revolver is dropped so you can poke a finger into his chest. “You’re not making any sense!” Each word is enunciated with a jab, and you cringe at the feeling of rain rewetting the mud underneath your fingernails. “You cut and run, turn up drunk and beaten half to death, practically beg me to let you inside, and then you get upset when I say I won’t pop a bullet into your head?”

Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose, voice beginning to escalate. “Now if you would just listen for more than two seconds—”

You cut him down with a harsh whisper. “Listen? Listen?” Your eyes momentarily check for any sign of a light being turned on in the main house. Nothing. Your finger falls away then, and a violent chill wracks your body from head to toe. “No, you listen. I don’t know you. You don’t know me. You said your piece the last time we spoke, and you left, so why are you on my porch!”

“I don’t know!”

Something cracks, and your vision blurs when you whip your head to recheck the lights. Still nothing. The crack fizzles out into nothingness, and you return to find Arthur close. Awfully close. And your hand is warm and—oh.

It seems his pluck is rather contagious. The noise you’d heard wasn’t thunder, but the sound of your treacherous hand clapping right over Arthur’s mouth.

Time stills. Or speeds up, more like. The only thing you can be certain of is that ring of greenish gold around his pupils. The brush of his lips against your palm. Humid air being released in slow, steady clouds. You briefly wonder what else this warmth has dominion over, save for your cupped hand. Who else.

The speed of the exhales increases, and envy wriggles in the dirt of your heart like unearthed worms. Did his mind wander, as yours often did? Surely not as emphatically. It no doubt ambled from one thought to the next, attention snagged only when he had the energy to do so. Had you been interesting enough to snag his?

The spell is broken by a lamp flickering on in the distance.

“Shit!”

Sheer panic sinks its claws into you before rationality can, and you’re curling a hand around Arthur’s wrist and yanking him inside before he can protest.

You’re both panting ragged breaths once the door shuts behind you, in spite of the mere two steps it’d taken to cross the entryway. Tangible confusion permeates the air, and Arthur looks at you expectantly. It’s only fair that the (secondary) perpetrator speak first.

But words are tricky, tricky things. And as much as you partook in your fair share of falsehoods, finding the right ones when you didn’t feel that your life was on the line was an unfamiliar practice.

Voice quiet, you blink at the muddy footprints on the floor. “You left my door open.”

“I remember,” he replies. Simple.

The silence returns, eerily reminiscent of your first encounter. You consider telling him about the warning Mrs. Campbell had wanted you to relay to him. But then you think about all of the other things he’s missed since he’s disappeared, and your mind becomes saturated with just about everything, and somehow nothing at all. But Arthur’s voice, once again, cracks the fragile quiet.

“God damn it!” He begins to pace, rubbing at the shadows under his eyes. You’re thankful that he’s finally lowered his voice to a whisper, though the close quarters don’t seem to help with the intensity. “I ain’t supposed to be here. Not like this.”

“Not like what? Arthur what do you—”

“This isn’t how this was supposed to go,” he says, voice edging on the side of desperation.

“How what was supposed to go?” You look at his hands, fumbling with his belt loops. He sucks in a brittle gulp of air when he catches you looking, like he’s surprised you’re looking at him at all.

And then, miraculously, the pieces of the puzzle fall into place.

“I’m to kill you. Ideally this evening.”

Until it all promptly falls apart.

You turn away. Begin to work open the half done buttons of your shirt. Arthur turns to face the door. You decide to humor him. “Who.”

“Some man, your Pa, I presume,” he says. For the first time in what feels like eternity, his voice is devoid of any feeling. It sounds small. Not defeated, not yet, but oh so small. “Willing to pay big bucks to get rid of a ‘financial thorn’ in his side. Knew ‘bout my business in Blackwater, which I assume you’re also aware of. Said he’d had some bonds on that boat.” Blunt fingernails scratch lightly at the curtains. “He said I could sniff things out, see if I wanted to to his dirty work.”

Shirt falling to the floor, you allow yourself some time to stew numbly in your naivety while you get the fire going; you could be disappointed all you wanted once you were warm. You can hear Arthur scrubbing at his beard again when you begin to drag a chair in front of the fireplace. You sit, or collapse rather, and shuck off your boots with little care for where they land. Where the mud splatters.

“How’s Marlene?” You ask.

Rustling. He’s turned around. More frantic rustling. He’s turned back to the wall. “I’m sorry?”

“Marlene. Chicken. ”

“Ah. She’s uh, good. Eating good. Still pecks like hell, though.”

And, once again, more silence.

You bark out a dry laugh. It hurts—hurts like hell, but it tumbles out of you with a sharp snap. It snowballs into pure, unadulterated laughter. Bouncing off the walls, the drinking glasses, the mud, right into the fire and back out again. It continues until you’re left with nothing but a pathetic wheeze rattling your lungs.

Settling into the back of the chair, your head lolls back till you can see an upside down version of the bewildered Arthur you’d turned away from. The angle is awkward, and the blood rushing to your head makes him look all warm and fuzzy, but it’s precisely why you’ve chosen it.

“Didn’t think finding all this out would be so funny.” He speaks as if poking a tiger.

Another half-hearted chuckle slips out of you. “Good god, I thought you were trying to proposition me.”

“Proposition you?” He scowls. “What on earth would I—”

Arthur stops. Blinks one of his blinks. Gives his eyes another rub. Blinks again. He’s been doing that a lot, lately. This “blinking” thing.

“Oh.” He frowns.

Frowning right back, you push yourself to stand and toss some old papers from your table into the fire. “No need to seem so put off by it, gosh. Should’ve told me you were out for my head from the start. Would’ve made this a hell of a lot less embarrassing.” Disappointment had beat out the warmth.

You wait for an apology, or a joke. Or something. Anything. But you’re met with nothing. The paper eventually crumbles into nothing, too, smoke tickling your nostrils alongside the smell of rain.

His voice sounds from the back of the room.

“I didn’t say that.”

You whip around.

“Say what.”

He speaks as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I didn’t say I wasn’t. Interested, I mean.” When you point to yourself, he rolls his eyes. “No, the couch.”

There was no couch.

The two of you watch each other for a bit. Then Arthur finds another annoying spot on his thigh to rub at, and you’re watching him.

“You’re drunk,” you conclude, voice flat. You pull on a blanket, suddenly conscious of the bareness of your shoulders. “You’re drunk, or tired, or both. You weren’t here. I didn’t see you, you didn’t see me. Am I clear?”

You stand on wobbly feet and motion for him to leave.

“You don’t think I’m joking, do you? I meant what I said.” He brushes past your outstretched hand to clunk into the chair, mirroring that same awkward position you’d found yourself in earlier. Strong neck arched, fire light catching the water that’s begun to bead on his cheeks. “I don’t do charity. Don’t think I have the money for it, actually.”

“How kind of you.”

“I mean it. Truly.”

“Then come back tomorrow,” you blurt.

Fuck.

What the hell were you doing? “You come back tomorrow night, sober, and we’ll see.” No, we would not.

But it’s too late—Arthur is rebounding off of the chair, straightening out his jacket (he’s noticed the missing button, finally), and striding to the door before you can retract your mistake. Even so, you follow after him like a besotted moron, only stopping when he turns to face you once the door is back open.

“Tomorrow, then,” he says. Eyes dark. Searching.

And then he’s stooping down. Reaching for your hand. Pulling it to his dry lips, and pressing a chaste kiss right to the top of it. He chuckles when you shiver, still clutching the blanket tight around your shoulders.

You’re released soon after. And Arthur gives you one long look, tells you to lock your door, and leaves.

—

next chapter >>

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #ao3 #archive of our own #fanfiction #witching hour

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libbee · 2 years

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Why I Think That 8th House Placements Are Most Valuable

OBJECTIVITY:

During my 8th house initiation, I met not one but 10+ bad people back to back; they were coming into my life one way or the other as if a bee attack. In the beginning I was very frustrated to see all these narcissists and sociopaths around me, but later on I started peeling my own layers and realized that I was not an angel like I thought. These encounters were like a mirror to me, they showed me what I could not see otherwise in myself. They showed me my own vanity and narcissism. They showed me my own darkness, ignorance and blind spots. I thought I was a normal person until I realized I was actually an emotionally manipulative asshole who had simply not matured yet. And this trickster exists in everyone, but they do not realize it until they go deep within. Most people live their lives on surface levels, while those who do go deeper keep their lives private and secretive so you would not know their affairs unless you are personally involved with them. The reason for keeping their lives private is that the world does not seem to understand them, the world ridicules them and outcasts them.

VANITY DETECTION:

8th housers and scorpio placements have an inbuilt vanity detector in them. They can tell who is being insincere, self-contradictory, manipulative, arrogant, who has ulterior motives, etc. They will physically feel sick and disgusted around people who do and say superficial things. Their disgust pushes them to seek answers that are beyond superficiality. This is why 8th housers run from public eye because they want to stay away from persona as much as possible while being true to their emotions and authentic self. These natives learn from their experience, which is why they try to be the most authentic that they can because they want to be that one source of true light in this blind world of superficial niceness and social performance.

TRAUMA AS AWAKENING:

8th house gives trauma like no others. But these traumas, after you have gone through the duration of it, will show you hidden insights. They will push you away from material life and deep into spiritual layers. You will see deeply materialistic natives turning spiritual and emotional. Nobody knows true empathy like an 8th houser because they have actually known their own narcissism and its impact on others. They know how dangerous they can be because they have seen their own darkness, which is why they show true kindness and empathy towards everyone. These natives know that even if the situation gets very bad, they will still survive and come out on the other side with a bag of lessons to understand and accept. These natives are the type to ask "What if I was in their shoes? Will it still be so funny?" this is why they can be so kind, understanding and empathetic.

DISSOLUTION OF EGO:

Self actualization is their favorite hobby. The thing with 8th house is that it forces you, breaks you, crushes you to your extreme limits. It tests your limits. It tests how much you can bear and still survive. And this house is deeply psychological. So the events and trauma of life really deeply impact the ego of the native. No matter how hard shelled they were, they are forced and crushed to the ground until they awaken. The native suffers so much, so much, so much that the suffering finally breaks their ego attachment and helps them see their own ignorance and blind spots.

In some ways suffering ceases to be suffering at the moment it finds a meaning, such as the meaning of a sacrifice. ― Viktor E. Frankl, Man's Search for Meaning

DARKNESS:

While it appears that the rest of the world who do not have 8th house placements can live a conventional life blindly it is the 8th housers that are being faced with revelations and setbacks that are hidden and complicated. These setbacks are so "below the surface" that the 8th housers are compelled to analyze people and wonder how others can live their lives so carelessly and still be highly functional. It is the 8th housers who are being faced with the darkness of psyche again and again until they surrender to it and begin to explore the irrational and unconscious side of the life. There are two worlds: one in which the non-8th housers live and the other in which the 8th housers live. The world of 8th housers is deep, beneath the surface, seeing the hidden patterns between people and situations, seeing the hidden patterns between people and their fate. They are forced to look at the world this way otherwise they keep encountering problems in physical life that have no solutions.

TRANSFORMATIONS:

8th housers go through a lot of revelations and transformations. While other people can live their lives with same set of beliefs, thoughts, perspectives, ideals as ever; 8th housers are always being faced with shocking, manipulative, psychically controlling situations that make them change their whole beliefs and perspectives and start again, only to be challenged again by another psychic complex. Their whole life is a series of complex psychological problems that they have to change their beliefs about people and events from experience all the time. While others can be living their life through a breeze, 8th housers wonder why they are making errors in judgment, why they find themselves in complicated situations though they had good intentions, why they are being tested though others seem to be winging it easily.

8th house placements are not for the weak-hearted. Whoever said that humans are sweet kind angels can take a hard look to all the cruelty, wars, murders, rapes, crimes, genocides that happened in this world. Is that what you call sweet kind angel? There is potential for cruelty in each one of us, no matter how self-righteous and strong willed you claim to be and nobody knows this better than 8th housers/plutonic people. In their own journey of self discovery, they will see the images of their own devil, trickster, all the wrongs they have committed unconsciously in past, all the secret fantasies, the evil dark thoughts they hide from the world. These natives know their darkness, they do not claim to be saints because they are not. Nobody is.

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lilyinavalley · 2 months

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The dance of the black feather

Sylus x reader Fluff and a bit mature towards the ending 1749 words

youtube

Music inspo ^^

It was evening and I was taking a stroll in Linkon city’s crowded streets, around me there were all kinds of people with so many different ways of life; sometimes when i’m alone in places full of life my mind starts to wander, I often try to imagine the countless lives i could have had if i made different choices, life is such a strange thing, like, what if instead of being an hunter i decided to continue my studies to be a lawyer, or a vet, or maybe i took cooking courses to work in a restaurant and eventually opening one on my own…

My thoughts were interrupted by the cowing of a crow, coming from my … purse?

Yeah, right, the real question is, what my life would have been like, if i hadn’t met… him.

Under the perplexed gazes of the people that passed by, I removed the phone from my purse and picked up the incoming call.

“Sylus, are you for real? Have you seriously changed my ringtone again to that cursed sound?”

“Hello to you too sweetie, also, Mephisto wouldn’t be happy to hear what you just said you know?”

His deep voice tickled my eardrums.

“Nevermind, did you have something to say?”

A sneer followed by a subdued laughter came from the phone speaker.

“I just happened to see a lost kitten while I was going back home”

As soon as I heard that, I felt a gaze piercing the back of my head, my heart started to beat a bit faster than normal and I turned around.

About 10 meters ahead of me stood a tall man, he was surrounded by people that were passing by, in his gaze a veiled sweetness.

When our eyes met, a gentle warmth slowly spread, starting from my heart to all parts of my body, my expression started to soften and my lips curved upwards.

Like magnets we started to walk towards each other, the call, that was still ongoing, was by me long forgotten.

As soon as he reached me he quickly ended the call and tossed the phone in his pants pocket, without hesitation he raised one hand and his fingers passed through the hair that framed my face; the surroundings became blurred, the only thing i could see was the bottomless passion in his crimson eyes, the noises of the city disappeared in a second, as the only sound I could hear was the firm beating of his heart.

“Do you mind spending the rest of the evening with me?”

Said the white haired man with a soft voice.

“What do you think?”

So he moved by my side and the fingers that were previously tangled through my hair touched my fingertips, then they went up slowly, caressing the skin that covered the inner part of my fingers, and when he reached the palm, with a swift motion he intertwined our hands.

As much as I wanted to stay away from him, I just couldn’t; our first encounter wasn’t the best, but slowly I peeled off layer after layer and the man I found underneath lured my soul.

His long legs tried to keep my pace, way slower than his, but he didn’t complain about it. Everytime he was in Linkon he tried to find an excuse to go out with me, I always found extremely funny seeing him in his bad boss attire in mundane places like Karaoke, playrooms or the vanilla cafès where we could play kitty cards; the lengths he would go just to stay with me.

We walked side by side until we reached an isolated area where a motorbike was parked, two helmets hanging from the handles.

“Are you up for a joyride?”

He said with an ironic tone, as this was the umpteenth time he asked me the same thing.

Without saying anything I jogged towards the vehicle, put on the helmet and hopped on .

Sylus remained flabbergasted for a second and then a satisfied smirk appeared on his face.

“You’ve become quite bold haven’t you?”

“If you’re not coming I’m going to steal your precious motorbike”

“Mmmh, that’s quite the statement kitten, with what keys exactly are you doing that?”

Oh… right.

Without saying anything further he put on his helmet and got on in front of me, as he turned on the vehicle, I circled his abdomen with my arms and I rested my head on his back.

Everytime I went on a ride with him I didn’t feel an ounce of danger, as he always rode carefully, our bodies glued to each other, hearts beating in sincro, as he was speeding, the lights emitted by the street lamps flashed my eyes, so i closed them, and I got lulled by the vibration of the engine and the light warmth of his body.

Love often comes with absolute trust, and in every gesture and action, even the unconscious ones, I poured it to him; he, on the other hand, drowned me with raw affection.

After some time we entered the N109 zone and I started to recognize the streets that at that point have become almost familiar; we stopped at the feet of an extremely luxurious building, where at the top I already knew there was one of his penthouses.

We got off the motorbike, he took my helmet and with a natural gesture he circled my waist with an arm.

“What are we going to do tonight little crow?”

“Hah, this is new, it’s kinda cute, but are you sure that the adjective “little” is appropriate to describe me?”

“Oh my god Sylus” I said while laughing.

He also let out a soft laugh and then we reached the elevator inside the building.

“So?”

“You’ll see soon sweetie”

As soon as we arrived at the top floor Sylus disappeared in a cloud of black feathers and red smoke, so I was left alone in an unfamiliar place; the huge living room was similarly furnished as all the other houses I was brought to.

“Sylus?” I shouted. But I didn’t receive any response, so I started to search for him.

After I entered all the rooms of the ground floor I went up the stairs, only then I heard a soft melody coming from the end of the hallway. When I was getting closer, the sound rose in volume and I could finally distinguish clearly the notes of the beautiful song that was coming behind the closed door.

“Tchaikovsky’s Waltz of the flowers, good taste”, after whispering this words I pushed the double door open and I entered a circular room, the floor was of black marble with golden veins, corinthian style columns made of the same material created a smaller circle, that still left a lot of space in the center of what looked like a ballroom. The music was playing on loop from a gramophone near a pillar; when I almost reached the center of the room Sylus appeared in front of me in a cloud of smoke and swiftly he took my hand.

“My beautiful lady, will you grant me this dance?” he said with a smug face.

I chuckled a little.

“So this was the reason of your sudden disappearance dear gentleman; yes, I’ll give you this dance”

My hand took his and my other one was gently placed on the blade of his right shoulder, I wanted to reach the back of his neck, but because of his tall stature I couldn't.

His hand laid on my lower back, but it was so large that he almost covered the entirety of my width.

And then we started to dance, actually we didn’t really know any of the moves, nor have we ever practiced this kind of waltz, the only experience we’ve had with dancing together was at the protocore auction that happened months ago.

Somehow we never stepped on each other’s feet and we twirled trying to follow the flow of the music, at some point he also lifted me up from the ground and the music suddenly melted with our carefree laughter, creating an idyllic symphony.

The lightness of that moment was interrupted, when tired from the frenetic dance, we just swayed while completely abandoned in each other’s arms. His head was resting on top of mine and his hot breath slightly moved my hair. My cheek was pressed on his chest, one ear listening to the fast beating of his heart, the other unconsciously assimilated the rhythm of the music.

In that embrace, our feelings didn’t need to be shared, as our loving gazes soon started to burn with passion. My hands unlatched his back and one on each of his cheeks lowered his head until our gazes were on the same level. Soon after, we simultaneously closed our eyelids and our lips collided, firstly like feathers tickling each other, but then the flame of lust took over.

His hand started to wander around my back, when he reached the area behind my thighs he lifted me up and I automatically circled his waist with my legs, my right hand moved on the back of his head and with my fingers through his silverish hair I pushed his scalp towards me, not giving him a chance to get air.

It was like a battle to gain dominance, two lions fighting for the upper standing.

When we realized that none of the two could surpass the other, we separated, hot breaths miglings and languid eyes crossing.

The adrenaline subsided and he brought me back to the ground, limbs never leaving mine.

“My lovely lady, thank you for the dance” he brought my hand to his lips and kissed my ring finger while never leaving my gaze.

“It was more thrilling than I expected”

He raised his head and while still holding my hand, he disappeared for the second time, leaving behind only a cloud of black feathers.

When he left, I noticed a silver ring with a black tiny gem resting on the finger he kissed and a piece of paper on the ground.

<Will this beautiful lady also join me for dinner?> was written in elegant calligraphy.

I let out a soft snort and I left the ballroom, the melody still playing in the background.

That’s right, it doesn’t matter how many great possibilities i could’ve had if i walked different paths, this one, where i met this great man, for me, is really the most beautiful one.

#love and deepspace #sylus #sylus x reader #l&ds sylus #sylus x you #sylus x mc #Youtube

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luveline · 2 years

Note

for the steve zombie au requests 🙏🏼 how about the first night when they finally get their own place at the college? ily

thanks so much for your request! steve zombie!au | fem!reader ♥︎ 1.1k

"My arms are crying," you say.

"Keep moving," Steve demands. "It's only another minute."

"I'm spoiled, Steve, you know this."

Steve is doing most of the work, dragging your double mattress through the series of doors that lead from the first wing of Little Hawkins to the second, where you and Steve have finally been given a room after sharing with Robin for two weeks and three days. You regret your happiness — Robin has proved to be exactly the kind of person worth walking the earth for. She's funny and zesty and a secret sweetheart. She's a lot like Steve, minus his moods.

Steve trusts her implicitly. You do not. You haven't slept properly in the days you've shared a room with her, and everyone can tell. It's why Steve isn't actually mad at your half-hearted pushing.

When your new front door is in view you stop pushing. Steve sighs and heaves it to the door jam. He turns to look at you as he finishes, wiping his hands together. You give the mattress a weak kick.

Steve, despite the image he projects, feels very sorry for you in that moment. You can see it in the soft wrinkle between his thick brows, and the immediacy with which he extends his hands.

"Celebratory hug," he says, kissing your temple quickly as he pats your back.

His hugs are two extremes. Swift and friendly or languid and long. This hug is the former, and you'd wanted the latter.

"Where's the key?"

You dig in your pocket for the key. There's a piece of white tape wrapped around the head with the apartment number and a sticker on the teeth, where you assume Jeremy, the communities co-leader, to have written your name in marker.

"See this?" you ask, brandishing the sticker at him with a peppy smile. "Know what that means? This is my room, Harrington. You're just sharing."

"Yeah?"

You don't like the sound of that.

He takes a step toward you as you take a retroactive one back, and your foot scags on the curved corner of the mattress. Steve throws his hand out to make sure you don't fall, and you grab his arm in turn, key digging into his forearm.

"For me? You shouldn't have," he says, pleased.

You roll your eyes and fork over the key. Steve opens the door, and everything feels much less scary, because he waits for you to take his hand before he walks inside. It's a very small room, meant for one person, and the bed frame is a single — your mattress won't fit.

"Oh," you say with a laugh.

"Don't worry, I asked Hopper about it, he said there's some crates behind the town hall."

"The town hall," you say. He's already using all the terminology, like he's been here for months.

"We can clear out the frame." He rubs the back of your hand with his thumb unconsciously. "We'll keep the desk though?"

"For what?"

"For stuff. We can have stuff. Books and clothes and stuff."

"Stuff."

He steps in front of you and turns, forcing you to meet his eyes. He watches you watch him, and he rubs under your eyelashes with a careful fingertip.

"Sit down, baby."

You feel strangely like crying. The soft but ordinate tone he uses with you in moments like this is shocking, the memory of his recent I love you thrumming at the front of your head. He loves you. You can feel it.

You sit down in a puddle of dust on top of the desk. It holds your weight no problem, only creaking quietly when you start to slouch in on yourself, cheek pressed to the side of one of the storage cupboards above it. It's cold, and it smells like a holiday home, or a hotel.

Steve lifts the bed frame all by himself, the muscles of his back bulging and shifting underneath his shirt. He peels it off and you rouse from your dozing to whistle, delighted by his scandalised face and the follow up smirk. He flexes his bicep and you laugh softly.

"Oh wow," you drawl, meaning it one hundred percent.

"Right?"

"Very impressive, Stevie. You've always been a loveboat, you know?"

"Tell me more."

He pushes the bed frame out into the hallway. You wait for him to appear again, though the mattress comes first, Steve pushing it inside your room like it doesn't weigh a thing. It is, admittedly, very hot.

"Even when we didn't like each other, I thought you were handsome. Hot," you admit.

He pushes the mattress down. It lands with a puff of dust so thick you both wince and lean back. The dust settles, and Steve sidles into the space between your legs, shirtless and a little bit sweaty, a smile on his pretty mouth.

"I've always thought you were pretty, but not so much anymore." You flinch as a pit opens in your stomach, alarmed and hurt that he would say that you. Steve takes your face into his hand, and he tilts his head to the side and says, "These days I think you're beautiful. Capital B."

"Smaller pause next time."

The tips of your noses kiss. He doesn't close his eyes, so you keep yours open.

"You get prettier every day. I feel real lucky that I get to see it." His smile turns bashful, the facade of his confidence fading away. "I can't believe we're here, and I know everything is different, and that it's been hard. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," you say, eyebrows pinching together.

"I want you to be happy," he says.

You pull his face closer to yours, impossibly closer, not an inch of room between you. "I am."

"I want you to sleep," he says knowingly.

You grin, and kiss him blindly, missing his lips a little. He's gracious enough to correct you, and to return it with an adoring ferocity.

You push him away so he can see your smile.

"I'll sleep just as soon as my boyfriend makes the bed."

Steve looks electrified with purpose. "I'm gonna make our bed so well," he promises. "Gonna make that shit into a sport. If they ever throw an Olympics again, they'll add a bed making category, and I'll win the gold for you, babe."

Our bed. Despite your worries, your impulsive fears, and your propensity for suspicion, you have to admit it: 'our bed' sounds pretty damn good.

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4 #steve harrington fic

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seijorhi · 2 years

Text

Glitter and Rot

What better way to ring in the new year than with my favourite, degenerate twins. Happy belated new year, y'all <;33

Miya Osamu x female reader x Miya Atsumu

w.c 6.8k

tw: extreme dub-con, themes of infidelity, major character death, smut lite, slight gore/violence, somnophilia if you squint, murder, and, as always, yandere themes

The rain comes heavy, soaking the dirt beneath your bare feet.

The cotton of your nightgown, drenched, plastered to your skin, does little to keep the chill of the midnight air from seeping into your bones. Raindrops fall from the leaves of the trees above you, dripping onto your shoulder, clinging to the ends of your hair, your eyelashes.

In the mountains, away from the city lights, the night glitters with stars, streaks of soft moonlight spilling through the canopy on clear nights. Tonight, though, with the rain clouds looming ominously overhead, there’s no light beyond the sole beam of torchlight, steadily making its way closer towards you.

Your toes wriggle in the earth. Run.

He calls out your name, twigs snapping in the undergrowth behind you.

How… how did you get out here?

The wind picks up, biting at your soaked, exposed skin. You shiver, and he calls your name again. This time you can hear a note of concern – not quite panic, though. Not yet.

Run, that quiet voice urges.

You take a step. Another–

And the torchlight finds you. Squinting under the sudden bright light shining on your face, there’s only a sigh, and the beam shifts downwards.

A familiar countenance peers back at you through the rain; dark hair, grey eyes, a strong jaw. Your husband.

“You’re gonna give me a fucking heart attack one’a these days, sweetheart,” Osamu says, with a wry sort of laugh. “C’mon, let’s get’cha home.”

Holding an umbrella in one hand and the torch in the other, he passes you the latter so that his arm can snake around your middle, tucking you into his side and out of the rain. Unbothered by the dampness of your skin, he presses a kiss to your temple, his thumb rubbing at your side.

“… I’m sorry,” you mumble, “I don’t know– I don’t remember–”

He squeezes you side, offers you a crooked smile as he helps you back through the trees. Back home. “It’s fine, the Doc said this could happen, remember?”

You do, vaguely. The Doctor had said a lot that day, most of it lost to the ringing in your ears.

Neither of you say much as you make the trek back to the house. There’s a gentleness to the way he helps you peel off your sodden nightgown, letting the shower heat up before ushering you in.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him again, when he passes you the big, fluffy towel to rub yourself dry.

Sorry for causing him to worry. Sorry for making him chase after you in the rain in the middle of the night. Sorry that you can’t remember what came before, the life you built with him and all the happiness surrounding it.

You feel like a shell, hollow and useless. You don’t know why he keeps putting up with it, and somewhere in the back of your mind, a nasty voice whispers that he won’t for much longer.

But Samu just shakes his head with a snort, “Don’t be stupid. You’re my wife, ya don’t apologise for anythin’.”

You muster a weak smile in return, quickly glancing away. He’s only being polite, you remind yourself, pulling the towel tighter around yourself. Accident or not, none of this is ideal. It’s been weeks now, and you haven’t gotten better. Your memories are still gone, and no one can tell you with any degree of certainty when or if they’re going to come back, not to mention that tonight officially marks the third time you’ve wandered off in your sleep.

What if your memories don’t come back? What if you never return to the person you used to be?

Before this you had a family, friends, a history. Likes, dislikes, funny stories from your childhood and weird habits. The things that shape who you are from where you’ve been. You’re just supposed to slide back into the life you had, but how can you when you don’t know who that person was?

What kind of man would want–

“Hey,” he says, catching your jaw to coax your face back up. Grey eyes appraise you, a frown pulling at his features. “I mean it. None of this is your fault. Not the accident, or your memories, the sleepwalking, none of it. And I’m not going anywhere either, alright?”

He holds your gaze, surveying you intently until you bob your head in agreement.

“Good girl. Now are ya comin’ back to bed or are ya planning on leavin’ your poor husband high and dry for a second time tonight?”

Your cheeks heat, the heaviness between you easing somewhat as amusement dances across his face. He’s handsome, almost intimidatingly so – striking features and excellent bone structure. Something coils in your stomach as the weight of his gaze bores into you. Taking your face in his palms, his thumb brushes along the curve of your cheekbone. Slowly.

Your mouth parts then, but whatever response you have is lost as his lips descend on yours, kissing you deeply.

When he pulls away, when you’re breathless and slightly dazed, satisfaction and more than a touch of pride gleams from his expression.

“Though we might have to invest in some better locks. Don’t want ya wandering off too far on me.”

—

Sometimes it feels like you’re waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under you.

As if you’ve woken in someone else’s life, or a dream, and it’s only a matter of time before it all comes crashing down and you’re whisked away back to reality. A handsome, devoted husband, not one but two houses – the mountainside retreat you’re staying at while you get better, and a place in the city you haven’t yet seen – even the ring on your finger, the bright, sparkling diamond that sits next to your platinum wedding band.

How can it be real?

He tells you that the two of you work together in his restaurant back home, and that too sounds sweet in an oddly domestic way.

And looks can be deceiving, you know that. Money, success, the image of a perfectly happy couple, it doesn’t mean anything. Façades can crack, rot can fester beneath the surface, slowly eating away.

Everything he tells you sounds so… good.

You’re happy. In love. Fulfilled with your job and comfortable enough financially for the both of you to take the time off while you’re still trying to fix the broken pieces of yourself.

Accident aside, no one gets everything they want. Surely no one can be this happy.

There’s a niggling sense of unease that bites and gnaws. No one can be this happy.

There’s a woman who keeps calling Osamu’s phone. You know because those are the calls he lets ring out, ignoring them until he thinks you’re asleep or busy, distracted by whatever task he’s set you on for the day.

He calls her Hikari. No, that’s not entirely true now, is it – he calls her Kari.

“Kari, you know I wanna be there, but I can’t. Things are just– it’s not a good time right now, s’all.”

And the house is quiet enough that you can hear her desperate sniffles on the other end of the line, “Samu, please, this is important. I need you back here.”

He huffs, running a hand through his sleep mussed hair, pacing the length of the living room. “I can’t,” he repeats. “I’m sorry, I am, but after everythin’… it’s too much.”

She cries again, and it’s a strange thing but your heart squeezes in response. She sounds so broken, so lost and scared, a fragile, pitiable thing. “… I know… “ her voice trembles, “Despite what happened, I know you still care about her. I need you to come back. Please, Samu.”

You slip away then, unable to bear it anymore.

Sliding back beneath the covers of your bed, you let out the shuddering breath you’d been holding, trying to process the conversation you’d overheard.

There were perhaps other explanations beyond an affair, but as you lie there, mulling it over, none come to mind. If she were a friend–

‘I know you still care about her.’

No. You’re not that naive. Maybe you were before the accident, or maybe you had suspicions, hell, maybe you’d physically caught him in the act – you suppose none of that matters anymore, does it? All that matters is what you’re going to do with this new development.

And as your husband returns a few minutes later, crawling into bed beside you, an arm hooked over your waist, the warmth of his muscular frame pressed up against your back chasing away the winter chill, you wonder if he sees this as some kind of atonement.

Osamu exhales, nuzzling closer in an effort to get more comfortable, and amidst the strange heaviness in your chest, you close your eyes and will yourself back to sleep.

—

If Osamu knows that you eavesdropped on his call last night, he gives no indication come morning. Although, admittedly, that might be because of your visitor.

The day the Doctor came to the house, he’d said a lot about what was happening to you. A result of head trauma, there was no telling if or when your memories might return.

He’d spoken to Osamu, taking your concerned looking husband aside just before he’d left.

“What did he say?” you’d asked when he’d returned dutifully to your side.

He hadn’t answered straight away, choosing instead to reach out and take your hand in his. For a moment, his focus remained on your entwined fingers, and then he’d said, “To take things slow. Too many people, too much it might… might overwhelm ya. Until things are better, it’s best if it’s just you ‘n me.”

Today, apparently, marked a change to that, because his twin brother was arriving to stay for a little while.

Which, shortly after mid morning, he does.

Naturally, you’ve seen pictures, you and the twins back in highschool, posing with a friend of theirs, grinning toothily and laughing at the camera. Seeing the two of them in person, though – it’s a whole other ball game.

Next to each other, they’re a mirror image, but… not. Tiny, subtle differences that weirdly make them appear more similar than less. It doesn’t make any sense at all, and yet you have no other way of explaining it.

Osamu stands at your side, his arm slung over your shoulder as his brother pulls up front in a fancy, fast looking car. Atsumu, however, pays him no mind, eyes – a few shades browner than his brother’s – fixed solely on you, a familiar, smirking grin broadening across his handsome visage.

Osamu tells you that the three of you are close, yet with only a faint, glimmering recognition and your husband’s words to fall back on, it’s hard to know how you’re supposed to greet someone you once knew and loved.

With an arm loosely wrapped around your front, you settle for a smile.

Atsumu notes this with a raised eyebrow. “Aw, c’mon now, that ain’t no way to greet your favourite twin, is it?”

Before you can stop him he’s on you, yanking you away from Osamu so he can pick you up into a near crushing hug, spinning you around for good measure. You shriek and bury your face in his neck, clinging to him while he laughs, eventually setting you down on wobbly feet.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he says, ignoring Samu’s disapproving scowl in favour of taking you in, hands settling on your waist. And there must be some giveaway, a hesitance he notes because his demeanour turns curious, head tilting to the side, “Still nothin’, huh?”

You shake your head, shrugging. “Sorry.”

Feels like that’s all you’re capable of saying lately.

“Nah, don’t be. Not your fault.”

While you don’t necessarily agree – it’s hard not to think of any of this as some kind of moral failing, as though the only reason you can’t recover those precious memories is because you’re simply not trying hard enough – it’s… nice having someone else around to help fill in the gaps a little.

Not that you aren’t endlessly grateful to Osamu – more than you actually know how to convey to him, and you have tried. It’s just that when you woke up in an unfamiliar bedroom, being watched over by a man you didn’t recognise, and with no memories of who you were or what had happened, you hadn’t reacted well.

Being your husband (the issue of fidelity aside), he’s supposed to be the person who matters the most to you, and you assume that’s a two way street. In a sense, forgetting him is its own kind of betrayal, with that comes the heaviness of expectations and fears and awfulness.

Plus, things have been… strained between you two, lately.

So yes, having Atsumu here as a sort of buffer between you two is a relief. Having someone else to help fill in the gaps in your life, to tell you about the person you used to be – the one you’re trying to fit back into – even more so.

“That year we made it all the way to the finals before gettin’ knocked out.”

His finger draws across the picture; the volleyball team, sweaty and defeated, bowing before the roaring crowd. All these years later, now a pro playing in arguably one of the best teams in the country (according to him), a two-time Olympic medalist, and he still sounds pissed about it.

You bite back a giggle, following when he turns the page of the year book. “I dunno, second in the nation when you’re still in high school doesn't sound too bad to me.”

“You were there that day.”

Glancing up, you find Osamu considering the two of you from the kitchen, elbow deep in food prep for dinner. “I was?”

He nods. “Yeah. Ya came to all our games, right from the start.”

“There,” Atsumu taps on the next page, a picture of a younger you cheering wildly from the stands, hands cupped around your mouth to amplify your shouts, maroon ribbons in your hair. “Our cute little cheerleader.”

“We begged ya to become our manager, but ya kept turnin’ us down,” Samu adds, then smirks, “Said you couldn’t stand being around Tsumu for another ten hours a week.”

The dig reaches its mark, Atsumu sneering as he flips Samu the bird, while his other arm slides from the backrest of the couch to drape over your shoulders. You hardly notice, utterly transfixed by the book on Tsumu’s lap. You don’t think you’ll ever get over how weird it is to be seeing these pictures, like peering into some alternate universe; you, but not you. You look happy, though.

It makes your heart ache a little.

Did you like sports, or was it more of a school pride sort of thing, you wonder. Or was it them – him, really – who drew you into it? If you watched a game now, would you feel anything, some glint of recognition? Excitement?

Flipping the page, you study the various pictures until one in particular catches your eye – only after a second glance. To be fair, the photo isn’t of you – well, it is, but you’re not the focus. Rather it’s of two girls who appear to be in the same year as you, posing cutely with each other on the school’s courtyard. Behind them, though, in the background there’s a wooden picnic bench in the shade of an oak. Perched cross-legged atop it, sitting amongst piled up books and notes, there’s you – and you’re not alone.

Shoulders back, eyes closed, soaking in the rays of the sun filtering through the leaves sits another boy. Not Osamu, one of his teammates, a dark haired kid you recognise from a bunch of the old photos they’d shown you.

The image itself might not be so remarkable – you’re not doing anything all that interesting, one of a number of people captured in the background, and slightly out of focus at that– if not for the one tiny detail that has a strange feeling racing through your heart.

Barely visible but for the way you study it, your hand is curled in his.

“– listenin’?”

“Huh?”

Mid-way through scraping out his rice, Osamu fixes you with an odd expression. Atsumu, however, just snickers and flicks your forehead. “Ya always were a little spacey.”

Halfheartedly, you chuckle along with him.

The smart thing to do – perhaps the right thing – would be to leave it.

Samu told you the two of you dated right through high school, so it can’t be anything like that. There’s a possibility the two of you were just close. Good friends, judging by how often he appears in the photos with you and the twins. He’d told you your parents, the only family you had, died in an accident years ago, but Samu hasn’t really spoken much about your friends. You know why, and understand it to an extent – he doesn’t want to stress you out unnecessarily, not while you’re still so fragile.

‘The doc said we gotta take things slow, baby.’

Nevertheless, your lips part, the question burning on the tip of your tongue–

Suddenly, as has become a frequent occurrence in the past few days, Osamu’s phone blares to life, the loud vibrations against the marble countertop startling all three of you.

He doesn’t answer it, by this point you no longer expect him to.

—

You dream of fingers running through dark hair, of lips smiling lazily. Someone laughing, ‘You’re an idiot.’

There’s a warmth, a slow burning heat that ignites in your body, trailing from your jaw, down the slope of your neck, dancing along delicate collarbone, another unfurling deep within your core. You chase the pleasant sensations, a soft, pretty moan drawn from parted lips.

Only when teeth bite down, a tender nip to sensitive flesh are you roused from your dreams to find your husband straddling you, his mouth now between your breasts, dark eyes that glint in the low morning light taking in your visage as you slowly come to.

“S-Samu, wha–”

“Shh.” He chuckles, your stomach flipping at the deep rumble, “Relax. Gonna make ya feel good, baby.”

Whatever protests you might have (if you have any at all) are lost when you realise that the heat pooling in your guts is due to the two digits Osamu has curled up inside of you, slowly easing in and out.

It isn’t the first time the two of you have been intimate since the accident, and while you hadn’t fought him those times either, there’s a slight niggling sensation, nearly lost to the burgeoning pleasure, that twists and knots at the thought of what’s to come.

There’s no possible way of knowing how often you’ve had sex with each other in the years you’ve been together. For him, this must be old hat. For you though, with no frame of reference, no past partners to call to mind, there’s an edge of vulnerability you wish you could get rid of.

A hesitance you don’t give a voice to – not that Samu offers you much of an opening to do so.

Pushing up the hem of your nightdress, your husband lifts your hips enough to ease off your panties, dragging them slowly down smooth legs until they’re dangling from one ankle, and you kick them aside.

Spreading them either side of his broad frame, Osamu stands briefly to rid himself of his own underwear, crawling on all fours back between your legs – gripping one thigh to sink his teeth into soft, delectable flesh – his tongue quick to soothe the hurt when you cry out.

“A-Atsumu, he’s gonna wake up,” you murmur as he once more takes you by the waist, hefting you forward so that you lie flush against him, your legs hiked up over his hips.

The very last thing you want right now is an audience.

With one hand, he strokes his cock with the fingers that had been buried inside your pussy, spreading the glistening mix of your slick and his pre over the thick member. The other’s planted near your shoulder, keeping him stable while he rolls his hips forward, slowly bullying his cock into your warm, tight little cunt. Osamu grins roguishly, lowering his top half down to hover above you as you fist at the sheets, your spine arcing, ankles locking over his back.

“Maybe–” he grunts, relishing in the sounds of your sweet cries and gasps as he inches his way into stuffing you full. “Maybe I want him to hear.”

—

A heavy weight drops onto the couch beside you. “Somethin’ on your mind, sweetheart?”

You fiddle with the rings on your left hand. How many times now have you caught yourself toying with them, completely lost in contemplation, their weight on your finger almost foreign?

A few times now you’ve taken them off to wash up and forgotten about them entirely, not noticing their absence until Samu himself comes to take your hand in his and slide them back on.

Did you used to do that before the accident?

No… no, you probably spent days marvelling at them, wiggling your fingers to make the diamond sparkle in the light. You were probably enthralled by the pretty thing. Blissfully in love.

Happy.

“I think Osamu’s cheating on me.”

You don’t dare raise your eyeline when you say it, afraid of what you’ll see. You might be his wife, however poor a job you’re currently doing, yet the one person Osamu’s closest to is undeniably his brother.

Since Tsumu arrived three days ago, all they’ve done is bicker between themselves, and yet without either of them saying as much, the writing’s on the wall. It’s in the looks they share, full of silent conversations you’re not privy to and won’t ever have a hope of understanding. In the way they move around each other, that implicit, frankly unnerving trust they have with one another.

There are things Osamu can’t share with you – or won’t, maybe – but there’s not a doubt in your mind that if Samu were sleeping with somebody else, if he loved them as he claimed to love you, Atsumu knows about it.

It’s not confirmation that you’re searching for, though. You doubt he’d admit it to begin with – between you and Samu, there’s no question of which side his loyalty falls. This isn’t about that.

For days now, weeks, you’ve had this gnawing pit in your stomach that keeps getting worse, and worse and worse.

With each day that passes, you should be making some kind of progress towards regaining your memories or, if not that, then at the very least becoming more comfortable around him. Yet you still feel like a stranger inhabiting this body, and to make matters worse, your marriage might be failing before you can try to adjust yourself to it.

Atsumu’s really the last person you should be saying this to. It’s the sort of thing you accidentally let slip to a friend after one too many glasses of wine, letting them comfort you and offer advice, commiserate, even.

Yet Samu won’t so much as bring up the friends you had before for fear of making things worse – because you’re fragile and weak, and you haven’t shown any signs of getting better. From the complete and utter radio silence on their ends, you can only assume none of them bothered to fight him on it.

Again, rationally speaking you can understand it – that doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting in its own bitter way.

Beside you, Atsumu laughs. Actually laughs.

Indignation – hurt – burns, heating your cheeks as your hands curl into pathetic little fists in your lap and shake. Much to your dismay, tears prickly uncomfortably at your waterline. You go to say something, only for a lump to settle in your throat, blocking all noise. You didn’t think he’d spill the truth just like that, but to laugh at you?

In a split second decision you start to rise, planning on stalking off to go lick your wounds alone in your bedroom until Samu comes home, when a hand on your shoulder stops you.

He chuckles again when he’s met with your poisonous glare, “Hey, c’mon. Don’t run away, I wasn’t laughin’ atcha.”

Raising an eyebrow, you scoff. His lips curl into a smirk, hands coming up in a peaceful gesture. “Okay, okay, I was but… s’just funny to me that you think Samu’d ever look twice at another girl. He’s been in love with ya pretty much from day one.”

The words should be more of a reassurance than they are. Your shoulders rise and fall, a tight shrug as your gaze dips once more to your lap, to the rings that shine mockingly on your left hand.

Atsumu, however, isn’t so willing to drop the subject.

“Nah, you don’t get to say some wild shit like that ‘n then go all quiet on me. Explain.”

If you got up and left, would he follow you? Probably, you muse. If anything, Atsumu’s proven over the past few days that he’s nothing if not persistent. He’s clearly amused, at your expense, mind you, yet the way he scrutinises you now, the slight narrowing of his eyes, that reminds you of a dog with a bone.

No, he won’t let this go.

Nibbling at your bottom lip, you shrug again, “There’s this girl– woman, I guess. She keeps calling him… Samu won’t talk to her if I’m around.” You swallow tightly, “I–I overheard them, the last time she rang, and…”

“What’d ya hear?”

You fiddle with the hem of your skirt as that tell tale prickle stings at your tear ducts. After your early morning tumble in the sheets, you’d thought that things might’ve been different between you two. But Samu still left, some hollow excuse about running errands, and all you can think is that he’s with her now, that whatever you gave wasn’t enough and–

“Look at me.” Atsumu’s no longer laughing. If anything, he actually looks mildly pissed off by the whole thing, his jaw tightening even as he tries for a reassuring smile, scooching closer and touching your shoulder again, “What did she say to him?”

“She told him she needed him, begged him to come home.” Your voice breaks, just as the dam to your tears do, tumbling down your cheeks as your shoulders shake and crumple inwards.

Atsumu runs his tongue over his teeth before muttering a quiet curse, and you suppose that that’s confirmation enough. Without a word he pulls you into his arms, your face held to his chest while he strokes your back and you cling to him in turn, letting all the frustration and grief and confusion of the past few weeks spill out of you in horrid, trembling cries.

You don’t know how long you sit there, half cradled in Atsumu’s lap before he finally speaks, “I don’t care what ya heard. Samu loves you more than anythin’, we both do. He ain’t gonna throw that away for nobody.”

Drawing back, he takes your cheek in one hand, cupping it in his palm, the broad pad of his thumb sweeping away the remnants of your tears with a tenderness that near breaks your heart.

“I mean it,” he says. You’re close enough that the warmth of his breath tickles your skin, that you can count every last one of his eyelashes. Your stomach flutters. “You mean everything to us. Nothin’s gonna get in the way of that.”

And before you can stop him, before you can blink, Atsumu’s closing the gap between you, his lips meeting yours.

Like a computer short circuiting, there’s nothing you can do but freeze and falter as he kisses you, wholly unbothered by your lack of participation. His lips are surprisingly soft, warm as they move against yours, and while his tongue brushes along your lower lip, he makes no real effort to deepen it, seemingly content with the contact he has.

Your heart pounds against your ribcage so violently that it drowns out all other noise. Your stomach twists, flips, churning as he moans softly into your mouth, but for the life of you, you can’t move, can’t stop this. You’re frozen. Shellshocked. Only when Atsumu breaks away, pupils dilated, eyes slightly glazed over, wearing a stupid, self satisfied little grin do you finally gain control over your body again.

By that point, he’s already shifting to settle you back on the couch, rising himself. “Samu and I love ya. We aren’t goin’ anywhere, stop worrying your pretty little head about it, yeah?”

And then he’s walking away, whistling as he goes.

—

A little while later, Atsumu calls out that he’s going for a run. You don’t acknowledge it.

The front door opens. Closes. The sun moves across the sky, minutes tick by, and eventually he returns, sweaty and panting, popping his head in the door to make sure you’re right where he left you.

The whole time you sit stationary on your bed, staring vacantly out the window to the forest that lies beyond. Numb, just numb.

“Gonna go have a shower, then I think you ‘n me should talk before Samu gets back.” He waits and you don’t acknowledge him. Shrugging off his shirt, something wicked enters his expression, “Unless ya wanna come join me?”

That, finally, gets a reaction; your head jerking back to regard him with wide, scandalised eyes, “What?”

He winks, snickers when your gaze drops briefly below his shoulders, eyeing his muscular chest, the well defined planes of his stomach. A bead of sweat rolls from his neck, you track its path with a rapt focus, down to his navel, the smattering of hair there, the cut of the V shaped muscles that draw your attention towards–

Abruptly, you force your attention upwards, cheeks burning as blood rushes to your face.

Atsumu, grinning smugly, missed none of it. “Next time, then.”

And with that, he waltzes off, leaving the door ajar.

… What the hell?

What the actual fuck?

Head reeling, you have no idea how you’re supposed to process this sudden shift in… well, everything. Had this – you and Atsumu – happened before? Did Osamu know about it?

Were you cheating, too?

Was that what your relationship with Osamu was; two deeply unhappy people screwing countless others to avoid fixing whatever it was that festered between them.

Your mind jumps to the picture you’d seen in the year book, you and that boy on the picnic bench, your hand wrapped around his. Osamu told you that you’d been dating ever since your high school days, had you been unfaithful that whole time – spreading your legs for his friends and brother until he gave up trying to be loyal in return?

You feel sick at the thought.

What other option is there, though? What explanation? Either Atsumu’s being particularly cruel and messing with you, or he isn’t and you’re apparently more than okay fucking not only your husband but his brother as well.

‘Despite what happened, I know you still care about her.’ Hikari’s words ring mockingly in your head. All this time you’ve been so bent out of shape over the idea of Osamu with another woman, and it’s now occurring to you that maybe you might’ve been the one to drive him to it.

Despite what happened.

You draw in a shuddering breath, you bring a hand to your lips, either to stifle a sob or to keep yourself from throwing up, you’re not entirely sure which.

And as the sound of running water filters through the room, so too does a sense of calm clarity.

For weeks now you’ve been trying to make this work, trying to slip back into the person you were, a life that you don’t truly remember.

And it isn’t working.

You still don’t feel normal around Osamu. You don’t remember anything, and despite what you’d been told from the start – despite fighting it every step of the way – you have to accept the possibility that that might not change.

Your spine straightens, the grip you have on the duvet easing as you take another, calmer breath in, letting it fill your lungs and clear your head.

The answer’s been staring you in the face this whole time. If you can’t find your way back to the life you led before you got hurt, perhaps rather than clinging to a past that doesn’t truly belong to you anymore, it’s time you cut it loose and walk away.

A clean break doesn’t sound like such a bad idea when the current situation promises nothing but messiness, hurt and heartbreak for everyone involved.

Even if the thought of going it alone is a terrifying one.

Even if it means leaving the one – now two, you suppose – people who stood by your side in the aftermath behind.

And as if the universe senses the tumultuousness inside your head, the sharp, trilling sound of a ringtone shatters it, snapping you out of your thoughts and back into the moment.

You figure that it must be Atsumu’s phone and despite being startled, you’re content to let it ring out – after all, it’s not your phone, not your business.

Atsumu’s a professional athlete, an incredibly successful one at that, there could be any number of important people on the other end of the line, and if it’s critical, whoever it is can leave a message. You’re not his receptionist.

After a few seconds, the ringing stops. And begins again.

Frowning, you push yourself up from the bed, heading towards the dining room. Atsumu’s still in the shower, you can hear the faucet running, your only thought is that if it’s Samu and it’s something urgent, he won’t mind.

Except when you find it, lit up and vibrating on the kitchen bench, the caller ID isn’t his twin’s. Again, the ringing stops, and again, after a short beat, it begins anew.

The picture that fills the screen is of a pretty girl with dimples, her arms looped around a familiar looking brunet.

Not Osamu, but the boy from the yearbook. Older, of course, smiling lazily at the camera while she pokes her tongue out and throws up two peace signs.

Little Suna, the caller ID tells you, and in brackets next to a sun emoji; Hikari.

Your heart squeezes, a thick lump settling in your throat as you survey the image of the two of them. But it isn’t dismay, or the hurt you’d felt earlier when Osamu was hiding her. You can’t put a finger on what it is exactly, only that looking at that picture fills you with an incomprehensible and near overwhelming sense of grief, like someone’s clawed their way into your chest, taken your still beating heart in their hand and slowly, agonisingly, ripped it from you.

Without consciously choosing to do so, you slide the little bar across, answering the call and clicking on the speaker icon.

“H-hello?”

The silence you’re met with is heavy. Pregnant. Why did you pick up? Why the hell did you answer?! Panic and common sense sets in and you silently curse yourself for being so stupid, your finger moving to hurriedly tap the end call button.

And then you hear her gasp, a tiny, sharp little thing that spears right through you. Hikari stutters your name, “You… Wha– they… they found you?”

She starts to laugh then, or maybe she’s sobbing, it’s difficult to tell exactly.

“You’re okay?” she asks, the sound muffled by choked, ragged noises. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re okay! A-after they found Rin, I-I thought–”

White noise drowns her out.

… Rin.

Rin…taro.

Suna.

Your knees go weak, giving way beneath you. Pain sings through your kneecaps as they collide with the wooden floorboards, but it’s nothing compared to the agony that overtakes your chest, spreading with every beat of your frantic heart until it’s the only thing you can feel, and you cling to it. Desperate. Gasping.

There’s a frantic noise somewhere, Hikari calling your name; it’s lost to the pounding haze. Nothing more than the buzz of a gnat flittering around your head.

Every thought eddies from your head, only him. Only that name; Suna Rintaro.

And suddenly–

“You’re an idiot, you know?”

You laugh, throwing an arm around his shoulder as you wriggle your fingers in front of his face, admiring the sparkling ring. “But it’s so pretty, don’t you think? It suits me.”

He raises an unimpressed eyebrow when you turn to cheekily grin at him, “Considering I was the one who picked it, yeah, that was kind of the idea.”

Giggling, you stretch up on your tippy toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

………

“Gin can’t make it. Somethin’ about his girlfriend and the baby,” Rin mutters, appearing in the doorway of your bedroom. “So it’ll just be us and the twins, I guess.”

“Well geez, no need to sound too excited about it,” you say, eyeing your boyfriend – fiancé now, you have to keep reminding yourself – from the mirror as you battle with the clasp of your necklace. “It’s fine, we’ll see him when we see Kita and the others next month.”

A few seconds pass with no sign of victory, and Rin rolls his eyes, “Let me.”

He comes up behind you, taking the delicate gold chain from your fingers and nimbly clasping it shut in what feels like a mockery of your struggles. Adjusting the pendant so that it falls better, he exhales, letting his arms fold loosely around you, his chin coming to a rest atop your head.

The faint crease between his brows, the set of his jaw – to anyone else he might appear bored, annoyed even. You aren’t so easily fooled. You know Rin, know better than to push. It’s not hard to guess what’s bothering him, though. “You think it’ll be weird?”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then he shrugs, “I think it’ll be weirder without Gin.”

“It was years ago, they’ve both moved on – a long, long time ago. They’re our friends, Rin. The only thing they’re gonna be is happy for us.”

………

A hand covering your mouth, another roughly shaking your shoulder, rousing you from sleep. “Shh, shh, it’s just me. There’s someone in the house,” Rin’s voice whispers in your ear. “Get under the bed and don’t make a sound, okay? I’ll be right back.”

“Rin–”

“Not a fucking sound!” he hisses, and quietly slips from the bed. As if on cue, a loud shattering noise cuts through the room, and terror, absolute terror, grips you. You do as he bids, limbs shaking and clumsy, the sound of every breath enhanced in the quiet stillness Rintaro leaves behind. You clamp a hand over your mouth to try and muffle it.

You wait, and wait, trembling in the darkness.

And then a crash, heavier than the last one. Rintaro’s yelling, more voices raised, more muted thumps, grunting and howling bellows of agony that have every hair on your body standing on end, and abruptly–

Silence.

It rings in your ear, echoing.

Your pulse thunders, every beat of your heart pumping a paralysing mix of fear and panic through your body. You’re shaking like a leaf, tears streaming down your cheeks as you try – try so desperately – not to make a noise like Rin told you to.

The footsteps that approach have your blood running cold, and you squeeze your eyes shut, wheezing terrified breaths as you choke back sobs and pray that they won’t find you.

You aren’t that lucky.

You aren’t that quiet.

They stop at the foot of the bed. Two of them. One bends down, a hand finding your ankle and with a snickering laugh, yanks you out into the open.

You scream and fight against the figures clad head to toe in black, thrashing like a wild thing for all the good that it does you. You’re determined not to go easy – at least, not until they carry you out past the living room, the mess they left there.

Rin, but not Rin. Not with his face brutalised like that, his skull all caved in, limbs broken and splayed out all wrong.

No.

No, no, no, no.

One eye, empty and lifeless, staring back–

It’s too much.

You blink, jerking back to the present with a heaving gasp. Glancing up, your gut tightens into a knot as two things become starkly apparent.

One; Osamu’s finally returned, standing half frozen in the doorway, appraising you with an uncharacteristically cold expression.

Two; it’s deathly quiet. Turning your head, you find that the call with Kari’s gone silent, a shirtless Atsumu, hair damp, a towel wrapped dangerously low around his hips, gripping his phone, jaw tightly clenched.

It twists into an awful sort of forced grin when he notices you’ve come back to them.

“I really, really wish ya hadn’t done that, baby.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere miya atsumu #yandere miya osamu #yandere atsumu x reader #yandere osamu x reader #yandere miya atsumu x reader #yandere miya osamu x reader #yandere atsumu #yandere osamu #tw: non/dubcon

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peachesyeo · 8 months

Text

obsession ── minjae peaches

💌 parings: yandere!minjae x fem!reader 💌 genre: yandere, oneshot 💌 contains: mentions of kidnapping, stockhole syndrome (if you squint), sister's boyfriend!minjae, delusional!minjae, allergies, minjae is borderline crazy, reader is terrified of minjae. 💌 word count: 0.5k words

:̗̀➛ 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 + 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 :̗̀➛ 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭? :̗̀➛ 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞? :̗̀➛ 𝐣𝐨𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭? (for all works)

You're allergic to peaches.

You sat on the couch, watching as your boyfriend Minjae slowly peeled the peach, revealing it's rich and ripe insides. You averted your eyes, staring at the dim light on the ceiling instead.

"Jagi, are you alright?" Minjae smiled at you, noticing your strange behaviour. He was a little disturbed at how uncomfortable you seem to be. "Is everything okay?"

With the best of your efforts, you managed a smile. "I'm fine, j-jagi."

The loving pet name stumbled on your tongue as it tries to make its way out of your mouth. You weren't used to the whole situation, but Minjae believed that in the future, everything would work out for the both of you.

Satisfied with your answer, Minjae hummed to himself, neatly placing the plate of peaches on a clean plate before making his way over to the couch area beside you. You closed your eyes as he placed a light kiss on your forehead, taking his place next to you. "You're such a good girl, jagi. should we watch the news?"

You nodded your head tiredly. Minjae grinned, switching on the television. the news was on, and you laid your head on Minjae's shoulder, your mind shifting away from reality.

"Jagi, look at this." Minjae's voice pulled you back. He sounded amused, as you moved your eyes to the screen.

The news anchor was reporting something about a girl missing. that got your attention. You stopped leaning on minjae immediately, placing your full attention on what was on the screen.

"...has yet to find the whereabouts of the young girl, and may any eyewitness who has the clues to her whereabouts step forwards and report to the police. Ms Kang's family and friends were still extremely distressed about her disappearances, or, as I may say, kidnapping..."

"Funny the police haven't found her yet, don't you agree, jagi?" Minjae's voice was deep, as he stabbed a piece of peach with a fork. "Do you want some, jagi?"

Your eyes widened in fear as you suddenly remembered.

Kim Minjae is not your boyfriend. He was your dead twin sister's boyfriend, who moved his obsession over to you after she had passed away from a deadly car crash. He had drugged and carried you away to this small town after one month of her passing, unable to get over the love of his life and searched for her shadow in you instead.

You moved away from him, from the peach. Your twin loved peaches.

"Minjae-ssi, i'm not-""Answer my question, jagi. Do you want some peaches?"

Minjae's voice was dangerously low. You shivered, as he advanced on you more. "Jagi? Answer me."

"N-no." You stammered. Minjae sighed, ignoring your flinches as he reached over and stroked your hair. "Alright, jagi. You could have just said that." He swallowed the piece of peach, placing the fork back on the table next to the plate. "You're acting really weird."

You were visibly shaking. Minjae was in his own world, drowned in his delusions. He wrapped his arm around you tighter, as the news anchor continues to report your disappearance on the television. You froze, as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

"I really love you, jagi. I love you so much."

He pressed a light kiss on your neck.

"I'll never let you go."

#xikers #xikers fanfic #xikers oneshot #yandere xikers #xikers x reader #minjae #kim minjae #yandere minjae #xikers minjae #minjae x reader #☁️by k #xikers imagines #xikers drabbles #kpop #yandere kpop

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penaltyboxboxbox · 2 months

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If you want to share; do you have any horror movie reccs? I kinda like the less indie ones haha, but anything is nice!! I really enjoyed Talk to Me and Black Phone from some of the recent-ish ones. Looking forward to watching Longlegs!

oh man do i !! ill share some of my favs and this got really long so under the cut lol

i love scifi horror, and prometheus/alien covenant is such a big pick for me, david8 one of my fav horror antagonists ever. Also in the scifi horror genre, i ADORE event horizon, its basically demonic haunted house in space with the best cast ever and you should watch it.

I love Robert Eggers generally (the lighthouse is probably my favorite movie of all time tho i dont really consider it horror) but the witch is definitely horror and if you like historical/period pieces its an absolute must watch.

If we want some more serious veined and disturbing horrors imo- lets go with Dogtooth and The Killing of a Sacred Deer by Lanthimos. Theyre slower and heavy and too bright and too horrible. their strangeness just picks at you, movies that really feel like someone grabbing your face and forcing you to look. in a similar world, i like funny games, both the original and the remake, as well as suspiria, the original and the remake. It's become rather trendy lately, i keep seeing gifs of it around lol, but Possession is also fantastic, another great performance from sam neill.

I love 80s horror, The Thing is probably one of the best horror movies ever made, just a masterclass of tension and effects work. I love the movie CHRISTINE which is about a murderous possessed car. the shining is a fucking classic and still one of the most unsettling movies for me to watch. i also love children of the corn, the strange folk horror of it is really just kind of crazy cool and underrated imo..

back to recent, its very hyped but It Follows definitely lives up to that hype. one of the best film scores in recent memory, insane performances and sense of dread. if you dont mind extreme heavy violence, green room is a fantastic watch. get out is a modern horror classic and another must watch, and i see it talked about less, but i love peele's US even more and find it so so terrifying, lupita nyongos performance in it is beyond haunting.

im a huge huge sucker for a monster movie, i adore monsters, i've already mentioned the thing and alien series which are great examples but here, take some more! i loved crawl, alligator themed florida horror. Underwater, if you like a big monster. del Toro's mimic is crazy and creepy. Annihilation isn't what id call a horror movie, but its quite horrifying, and definitely has some of my favorite movie monsters... same with When Animals Dream its more a coming of an age than a True Horror but its my favorite werewolf movie ive ever watched so i would be remiss to not mention it

i also LOVE found footage, a subgenre only really pursued by horror film, and theres a lot of bad ones but a few good ones lol. The Bay is one i'll always recommend, it uses so many mediums so well to weave this very real and awful tale of ecohorror. the OG, the blair witch project. Hell House LLC is the perfect halloween movie to get freaked out on before you and your friends go to a haunted house...

i could go on and on but this is already a lot lol....but theres so many great horror movies out there!! you need only to watch them 🫶 hope you enjoy if you do check any of these out!!

#ask

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sunoooism · 1 year

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› summary : in which two truths and a lie turns into something much more exciting, which soobin interrupts.

› fluff / wc: 846

› warnings : f2l, an almost kiss, soobin the mood killer, m!reader.

it was supposed to be a sleepover with the whole friend group. It was supposed to be. halfway through the night Soobin had passed out on the couch and only wiggled further into the cushions when someone tried to wake him. then, Taehyun had announced he'd accidentally left the abundance of snacks he'd bought back at his and Beomgyu's shared apartment. and of course wherever the former went the latter followed, so that left you, Kai and Yeonjun playing cards together, until he just had to answer his crush's text. that was half an hour ago. Soobin was still out cold, Taehyun and Beomgyu were probably making out in Kai's car that they borrowed, and you could hear Yeonjun giggling away at his phone from three rooms away. what a turn out.

you sighed and glanced at Kai, the peel off face mask you had applied on him was dripping down his cheeks and you couldn't help but laugh. startled by the sudden sound he turned to you, "what? what's so funny?" you only chuckled more at the sight of his confused features. when he repeated his question with more volume your eyes widened and you continued to giggle while shoving a hand over his mouth and pointing to a drooling Soobin.

"don't wake him up!" Kai rolled his eyes and unpleasantly decided to poke your palm with his tongue, you gasped quietly and stared at him like he'd slapped you across the face. who would have guessed your best friend could become more of a barbarian than he already was.

"what is it?" he looked at you innocently, flashing his pretty eyes with a sweet smile and blatantly choosing to brush aside your disgusted face. that damned smile. the same one you'd unfortunately fallen in love with. you decided to look past his previous action as well as the slowly wrinkling face mask in order to forgive him, partially persuaded by his puppy eyes and cheeky grin that not even Odi could resist.

you could see gears turning in his head, last time you'd seen him thinking like this he'd almost gotten kicked out of a restaurant. "let's play two truths and a lie" he said, and since you didn't have anything else or better to do you agreed.

"okay! I'll go first, I love plushies, my eyes are blue and I have a crush on you!" there was a mischievous glint in eyes as he beamed at you, but then again when wasn't there. you didn't even have to think about this one. "that's too easy, Kai. you obviously love your plushies and your eye-" your bright attitude faded all too soon, realization of what had just been said sinking in and speeding up the rate of your heart immensely. "Ning, your eyes aren't blue…."

he laughed and rolled his eyes like it was any other normal conversation, like he didn't just confess to the boy who'd had a crush on him for three years. "well, duh. I think I would know the color of my own eyes"

"but- that means you have a crush on me?"

he nodded, his floppy hair tickling his forehead. "you don't have to feel the same, I just thought you should know. but do you?" he had already taken the initiative to confess first, thank fuck. the worst that could possibly happen was that this was all a big joke. normally you wouldn't put it past Kai to pull something like this. but surely he was smart enough to not mess with somebody's feelings, you hoped so anyway. and the best thing that could happen, well you had been secretly dreaming about that since he had taken you apple picking three years ago. the amount of times you had been caught staring into space when you were really just wondering what it would be like to be so domestic and couple-y with Kai had hit too many around 100 times ago.

"I do"

the silence between you was now deafening. neither of you moved or spoke, just sat there and soaked in this recently discovered and extremely pleasant reality.

you gazed upon Kai intently as his eyes flickered down to your lips, his own parting so that his tongue could dart over them swiftly. you swallowed the last of your nerves and pushed yourself closer to the man who was currently causing your heart to skip beats. his pajamas felt soft under your touch as you laid a hand on top of his and you swore you almost exploded the moment your nose brushed against his. this is really happening, you thought and closed your eyes so you could do what you'd be wanting to do for years.

"awe, that was a sweet confession.."

the sudden and very startling voice had you both jumping away from each other and in turn away from what would have been a very enjoyable first kiss.

"soobin?!"

"you creeper! how long were you awake?!"

"what? It's not like you were actually going to kiss with all that goop on your faces, right?"

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shittysawtraps · 2 years

Note

on the topic of horror movies are there any ones you wold recommend for someone who hasn't gotten into that genre of movies, i like horror like junji ito or like r/nosleep stories and ive been wanting to start watching horror movies but i hate jump scares any recommendations would be nice

A lot of "beginner" horror movies do have jump scares. But here's a few I can recommend!

The Orphanage. This movie is very creepy with only maybe 1-2 jump scares in it. It's a beautiful, heart-wrenching story and its directed by Guillermo del Toro...but please keep tissues handy. Please. It's a serious tear-jerker.

Hush. Fucking love. this. movie. As someone who isn't super into slashers, this movie floored me. I love it. A deaf woman is the protagonist.

The Haunting of Hill House. This is a show on Netflix, but would still absolutely recommend it. But, again, bring tissues. You'll cry. There are some jump scares in this, but they aren't excessive.

The Barbarian. Some jump scares, but they are minimal. It's a newer movie that managed to really scare and impress me. It's incredible, but very scary. Be prepared for it if you decide to try it.

Get Out. Minimal jump scares. Very psychologically twisted. Excellent racial commentary. Funny and extremely well-acted. Anything by Jordan Peele is just...chef's kiss.

The Silence of the Lambs. One of my favorite movies of all time with minimal jump scares. Just be aware it's very suspenseful and very scary, and does have gore. There's an unfortunately well-known transphobic stereotype in this film, as the book was written some time ago. I could write a whole essay on the...very odd social commentaries of Thomas Harris's books, and as a trans person, even provide some argument in defense of Buffalo Bill (that one should take with a grain of salt -- it is, unfortunately, still transphobic despite the context the novel provides) but it can be a little shocking if you aren't prepared.

I tried to find some without too many jump scares, so I hope you like these if you decide to give them a shot!

-Mod Sam

#not a trap #shittysawasks #mod sam

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amaretigris · 2 months

Text

An Ancient Attraction

Taglist: @mylittlemermaid221 @notagreekgal28 @luna2034 @hopeisrising @justagirlthatlovedtoread @jonahhauer-kingg @freyagallileaevans @daydreamerwithnohobbies @jonahmermaid23

A/n: This is a self-indulgent thirst chapter 😋 Enjoy 💖

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Ch. 5 | 2.2k words | Fluff & smut

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

You stirred in the morning, realizing that heat enveloped you. You attempted to turn your body, but you felt restricted. Peeling one eye open, you found Jonah's strong arms wrapped around your abdomen. You stilled, and all of last night's events came flooding back to your mind. You smiled up at Jonah's relaxed face. He was extremely handsome whether he was awake or asleep. He had quickly become your rock; a new, steady constant in your life. It's funny to think that you couldn't stand each other a few weeks ago. You tried to strategically slip out of Jonah's hold, but it was impossible.

"Oi, quit yer squirming," Jonah sleepily mumbled, constricting his arms further.

You laughed, looking up at him mischievously.

"I was trying to get up to brush my teeth before I kissed you good morning," you feigned exasperation.

Jonah peaked at you from under a heavy eyelid. The sight in front of him caught his full attention. You looked so cute with your bed head, slightly colored cheeks, and lopsided smile. He screwed his eyes shut again.

"Damn, you're adorable," he groaned.

Jonah seemed to freeze for a moment, as if a thought occurred to him. Opening both eyes fully, he ran his fingers through your hair as you watched him carefully.

"You know, I didn't want to take advantage of your vulnerable state last night, but it just occurred to me that you're in bed with no bra or pants on."

Jonah held his breath waiting for your response. Thankfully, you smirked.

"This is true. All the more reason to get up to brush my teeth," you sighed.

Jonah smiled, and in an instant he had flipped you over. His brow quirked up.

"Ah, it's just a little morning breath. Nothing I can't handle. I kind of like that you're in this raw state with me," Jonah pressed his bulge into your thigh.

You gasped, and Jonah took the opportunity to grab your chin, invading your mouth with his own. You moaned into the kiss, bringing your hands up to his cheeks. From there, you slowly traced your fingers down the ridges of his taut abdomen. Jonah kissed you like this for a few moments. He seemed to be waiting for you to make the next move, and decide how far this went.

"What do I have to lose?" You asked yourself.

You pulled back from him to lift your shirt over your head, and throw it to the floor. Jonah simply took in the beauty of your breasts. Grabbing his hand then, you brought it down to your panties, letting him feel how drenched they were.

"Are you sure, (Y/N)? We'll only do what you're comfortable with," he whispered.

You nodded.

"You wanted to earn it, right? Well, you earned it," you bit your lip as you pulled your panties to the side, and dipped his fingers into your wet sex.

Jonah's mouth fell open in a silent o, and his eyes quickly descended to where he felt you - where you felt so soft, warm, and inviting. Experimenting to see what you liked, he gauged your reactions to his fingers' ministrations. When your mouth fell open in a moan, he knew he found your sweet spot. He teased you by dancing around the area until you grabbed his hand again to place his fingers exactly where you wanted them. Licking your lips at the delicious pressure, you looked back to Jonah's fixed features. His mouth still hung open as if in awe. Your eyes traveled down to his neck when you saw his throat bob with a swallow.

"You're beautiful, (Y/N)," he uttered breathlessly.

You looped an arm around his shoulders to bring his mouth back to yours. You felt Jonah begin to push his sweatpants down. You kept your eyes closed until you knew he'd shed his briefs, and kicked them down to the floor. You gulped, sucking in a breath before you opened your eyes. To say that his dick was perfect was an understatement. It was long but girthy with a single, pronounced vein running along the shaft. Your gaze swept back up to Jonah's. He smirked at your expression.

"Now that's beautiful," you breathed.

"Are you ready for it?" Jonah's ocean eyes searched yours for any hesitation.

You wanted this. You were ready for it. You kissed him passionately, then reluctantly withdrew. Your eyes focused on his again.

"Yes, I'm ready," you nodded as you spoke.

You felt rather than saw Jonah line himself up at your entrance. You watched him bring his hand up to spit in it, but you grabbed his arm to stop him.

"You won't be needing that," you laughed.

You brazenly took a hold of him, rubbing the tip through your folds. Jonah moaned at the sensation, and you practically whimpered. You moved your hand to allow him to push into you. Your mouth fell open in a silent moan while Jonah stretched you. You grabbed his shoulders to ground yourself. He soon found a rhythm with slow, deep ruts.

"Oh my god," you pulled back to view where you were connected with him.

You looked back to Jonah's face. His brow was furrowed in concentration.

"You feel so good," you sing-songed.

Pressing your chest to his, you lost yourself in the pleasure. Everything about this moment felt magical. You could hardly believe it, considering you'd never experienced a fraction of this pleasure with anyone else. You were sure you weren't half as experienced as Jonah, but you were beyond grateful for his experience now. You were quickly climbing towards your precipice, and he felt it as your muscles tensed around him. Jonah let out a guttural groan.

"I know you're close. Let it go baby," he whispered to you, and proceeded to lick a stripe down your neck.

Your eyes flew open as he delicately sunk his teeth into your flesh there. The sensation instantly sent you over the edge, and the satisfaction washed over you. Jonah swallowed your moans, and soon worked through his own peak. You held him through it, observing his features now contorted in rapture. Once he came down from his high, you ran your fingers up and down his back in a soothing motion. Jonah rested his head on your chest, evening out his breath.

"You're really good at that," you chuckled.

Jonah lifted his head to look at you with a smug smile.

"We're really good at that. It's about chemistry," he lifted his fingers to brush some of your hair out of your eyes.

"I honestly didn't know it could feel that good," you admitted.

"But I guess it's because I finally did it with you."

Jonah's expression softened at your words. He pushed himself up to kiss you.

"Come on, let's get up, and get ready. I'm taking you to breakfast," he mentioned before hopping out of bed.

You unabashedly admired his naked form until he pulled his briefs and sweatpants back on.

"Do you have a spare toothbrush I can use?"

Jonah turned back to you to ask. You smiled knowing that he had caught you ogling.

"As a matter of fact, I do," you pushed yourself off the side of the bed.

It was Jonah's turn to ogle.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Jonah drove you to a local brunch spot that you just so happened to mention was your favorite. He held his hand on your knee for the entire ride, and your fingers laid on top of his. You were on cloud nine arriving at one of your favorite restaurants after just being intimate with the man of your dreams. You hadn't admitted that to him yet, but as Jonah took your hand and led you to a booth in the cafe, you realized that it was true.

"How about here?"

Jonah stopped at a booth towards the back of the restaurant. It was further away from the other tables. You realized that you could have him all to yourself that way.

"This is perfect," you smiled.

You scooted into the booth first, and Jonah moved in beside you. You were a little surprised that he chose to sit by you instead of across from you, but you weren't complaining. Letting out a contented sigh and leaning your head on his shoulder, you picked up the menu in front of you to examine it.

"Do you know what you want?" Jonah asked patiently, kissing the crown of your head.

"Yes, I'm going to get the biscuits and gravy. Oh and a chocolate milk," you answered sleepily.

A waiter came to your table with some waters and napkins. You yawned as he went through his introduction. You didn't want to be rude, and you brought your hand up to stifle the yawn.

"Good morning, Flynn. My girlfriend will have the biscuits and gravy with a chocolate milk, and I'll have the pancakes, please."

Your head had shot up at the word girlfriend. Flynn scribbled the order on his notepad before taking the menus, and scurrying off to the kitchen. You stared at Jonah, blinking your eyes several times. He slowly turned his head to you.

"What's that look for? I was comfortable with you on my shoulder," he pouted at you.

"You called me your girlfriend," you replied like it was obvious.

"Oh, well you pretty much are, aren't you?"

He shrugged with a crooked smile. Your eyes glinted with playfulness.

"Am I?"

Jonah dramatically rolled his eyes at that.

"Pray tell, who exactly made you this tired after you just woke up?"

Jonah brought his finger to his chin, and looked up in contemplation. You scrunched your nose at him, and brought your hand to his thigh under the table. You don't know what came over you, you weren't usually this bold.

"You're proud of that, yeah?" You teased.

Your hand was moving closer to his zipper when he grabbed it, and brought it back up to the table.

"Don't do that unless you want to be banned from this place," he warned.

His eyes darkened for a second, and your breath caught in your throat. Flynn suddenly reappeared.

"Here's that chocolate milk," he sat the glass down with a straw.

Jonah tore his eyes from yours to thank the man. He turned back to you after he opened the straw, dipping it into your beverage for you. Your eyes searched his for the lust that you'd just caught a peak of. No one had ever looked at you that way before. You'd seen it in movies, and so badly wanted that for yourself, but you'd never gotten it in real life - until now.

"You should try the chocolate milk," Jonah smiled at you.

"As a matter of fact, I'll try it," he lowered his mouth to sip from the straw.

You watched his lips perform the action. Jonah lifted his head, turning back to you. He grabbed your chin, and pushed his lips to yours before you could react. You instinctively closed your eyes and opened your mouth, and he spit some of the chocolate milk from his mouth into yours. Your eyes flew open as you swallowed the liquid. Jonah pulled back from you, wiping his mouth with a chuckle.

"If you keep looking at me like that, we won't make it through breakfast fully clothed."

"That wouldn't be so bad," you shrugged, letting your eyes fall back to his lips.

Jonah laughed again. Running his hand through his hair, he smiled.

"Before we get too carried away, I have something I want to give you," he tilted his head to look at you.

"What is it?"

You quirked your brow. Jonah reached into his hoodie to pull something out. It was a small, wrapped gift. There was no bow on it, but gold wrapping paper encompassed the item. You took it from the hand that he extended to you.

"You shouldn't have gotten me anything," you batted your lashes at him.

Tearing into the paper, you gasped, and brought your hand to your chest when you saw it. There lied a framed portrait of you and Jonah. It was from the photo shoot. You looked prettier than normal, maybe because of a filter, and you were staring into Jonah's eyes. The whole picture gave off the raw emotion of infatuation; even love.

"Jonah, this is beautiful. Thank you," your finger traced the black and gold frame that he'd chosen.

Jonah cleared his throat to get your attention back on him.

"I've been meaning to show you..."

He reached into his pants to retrieve his phone. When he hit the lock button, the screen illuminated with the same dreamy portrait before you. Your mouth fell open in shock.

"That's right, I decided that I could stare at this lovely portrait of you until I was able to see you again. Luckily, it was sooner than I expected."

Your heart swelled in your chest. It was such a simple act, but it spoke volumes to you. Flynn arrived with your plates as you stared into Jonah's eyes.

"I'm sorry, mate. Can we get those packed to go, please?"

Jonah spoke without looking back at Flynn. You heard a huff, but your server retreated from the table. Jonah leaned in closer to you.

"We'll take the food back to your flat. I'm going to need the nourishment today," he spoke in a low, dangerous voice.

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